#Class 195
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train stations (with trains in them)
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Side-by-side
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See pinned for more info on the tournament, see below for more info on trains.
Class 195 "Civity"
Current Operation: Regional services in the north of England.
Class 375 "Electrostar"
Current Operation: Regional services south east of London.
Class 168
Current Operation: Chiltern Mainline services from London to Oxford and Birmingham.
Class 165
Current Operation: Chiltern Local services, branch lines between London and Reading and regional services in west England.
Former Operation: Commuter services from London Paddington
#natrail posts#natrail polls#natrail tournament#round 1#poll 14#Class 195#Class 375#Class 168#Class 165
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A Curse [Chapter 2: Harbor Gateway]
A/N: Thank you for the warm welcome you have given this series!!! I am sick with bronchitis currently so this has been a big bright spot in an otherwise miserable week 😅 I can't wait to show you where this story is going, I hope you're ready for it 🥰💜
Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent...at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon's right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.
Chapter warnings: Language, a tiny bit of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, some body dissatisfaction/dysmorphia, ice cream, judgmental parents, aggressive Akitas, we're literally in Minnesota!!!
Word count: 6.1k
💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜
Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰
🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️
Afterwards, Mason pulls his clothes back on as you are absentmindedly drawing stars in the steam on the windows of his Chevy Silverado. On the other side of the glass is inky Minnesota night, a full moon dissolving away, glowing freckles of constellations. You’re staying with your parents and Mason has roommates, so the truck was the expedient choice. It was good, not that you finished; you didn’t say anything, he didn’t ask, but even if he had you would have told him not to worry about it. It can take forever, especially with an audience. You’d rather wait until you’re alone.
Mason glances down at the used condom on the floor of his Silverado, hastily discarded, viscerally slick in a way that becomes sickening in the letdown, as the endorphins and the adrenaline slip away and the blood pumps slow and unclouded. He smirks as he asks: “You sure you don’t want to get back on the pill?”
You sigh, drawing another star. You are still naked and sprawled across the back seat, glistening with sweat in the moonlight. “Well I tried three different prescriptions and had three miserable experiences, and I’m really not interested in playing side effect roulette again. And I can’t risk my skin going insane and random bleeding when I’m running around all over L.A. trying to get parts.”
“What about that little sperm assassin T-shaped thing?”
You look at him. “An IUD?”
“Yeah.”
You wince, engraving another star into the steam on the window. “I don’t think I like the idea of having a piece of metal shoved up inside me.”
He laughs. “But you’ll get silicone implants?”
You shrug; you can’t deny the irony. “I don’t need an IUD to be an actress.”
“Look, I’m not complaining about the tits thing,” Mason says, holding up his hands. “Obviously I’d enjoy them too. And you’d still have them when you move home, so it’s not a waste even if the acting thing doesn’t work out.”
You already know he feels this way, and yet still, it hurts. “When I move home?”
He smiles and crawls back on top of you, his Carleton College hoodie whispering against your belly and chest, soft royal blue cotton on damp skin. He had been a Political Science and International Relations major who took Theater Arts 195: Acting Shakespeare for an arts credit. He was beyond terrible and had no appreciation for the field whatsoever, but he was tall and strong and jolly, an earnest corn-fed Midwestern boy, and when one day after class he’d asked if he could take you to Culver’s for a burger and frozen custard, you’d said yes.
Here and now, in the back seat of his Chevy Silverado, Mason kisses your forehead. Then he ghosts his thumb over the ridge of your orbital socket and cheekbone, where your dark glittery eyeshadow has smudged like a spreading bruise: Galaxy by Anastasia Beverly Hills, Elysian by Natasha Denona. “I’m not saying you aren’t good. But how many people on this planet get to be movie stars? It’s just not realistic. And it’s about so much more than talent. It’s about who you know, and luck, and chemistry, and looks, and a bunch of other things that are mostly out of your control. You’re never going to be the type of girl who’s an influencer or winning Miss America, you’re just not. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t very, very pretty. And I loved you anyway.”
Loved, past tense. You and Mason stopped using that word a year ago; now the nostalgia is painting memories like the walls of an old house. His memories, anyway. You sit up and start yanking on your clothes: oversized yellow Santa Monica crewneck, black sweatpants with elastic cuffs at the ankles. “I think I’m going to get the gummy bear implants.”
Mason licks his lips. “Yum.”
“They’re a type of silicone, but they’re supposed to feel more natural and be less dangerous if they rupture.”
“Will you have scars?” he says as if the notion has just occurred to him, troubled, perhaps a little revolted.
“Well yeah, they have to end up under my skin somehow.”
Mason shudders, then he has another thought. “Who’s going to take care of you after surgery when you’re all sore and zonked out on opioids?”
“My roommate Baela said she would. She’s had friends who have gone through it already.”
“Okay, good. I wouldn’t want you to be alone out there.” Mason touches the back of your head, a quick fond gesture. He’s the only man you’ve ever been with, and even that took a while, months of trying to envision him undressing you before you were sure you could do it without flinching, without being afraid or shy or bewildered. But in the end it had been easy, always easy, which is why you keep coming back to him like a comet. Your elliptical orbit takes you far away and then close again, and such natural patterns are effortless to keep.
You say, the edges of your lips curling into a furtive smile: “I’m definitely not alone.”
Mason groans. “You’re going to hook up with that new agent guy, aren’t you?”
“What? No! No way, he has a fiancée.”
He rolls his eyes, but he’s more amused than annoyed. “Okay, whatever.”
“You know I don’t date anyone.” Which is why each time you’re home visiting, Mason gets a text: Want to get lunch at Culver’s? or Can you drive me to Target? or Pick me up around 9 p.m.?
Mason smirks and taunts: “I don’t know, with the way you talk about him you sound kind of obsessed.”
“I’m just grateful. Someone finally gave me a chance.” You look to the window; the steam and your hand-drawn stars have evaporated away. “And yeah, he’s interesting and he’s cute, and he’s kind of mean but then unexpectedly caring sometimes, and I think he’s one of those people who are really good at what they do but only when they’re inspired…but that doesn’t mean I’m into him romantically.” A pause. “And even if I was, there’s no harm in a super-secret, one-sided crush.”
“Okay. Have fun with all the adulterous sex.”
You chuckle. “Thanks, but that is not the plan.” You slip on your flip-flops, shimmy out of the back seat, and trot around the Silverado to the passenger’s door. Mason climbs into the driver’s seat and turns his key in the ignition. You ask: “What happened to that ballerina girl who was in your Instagram stories for a while?”
“Had to ghost her, she got super clingy and controlling. She was texting me at work all the time and got pissed off when I was putting a ton of hours into that election thing for CNN.” Mason is a political analyst. He turns to you. “You ever feel like people are the best versions of themselves before you really know them? Then you get too close and all the cracks start showing.”
“I think people are wonderful. You just have to find the ones you click with.”
“I should have figured you’d say something like that.” He steers his truck out of the otherwise empty parking lot in Lac Lavon Park. “I’m looking forward to you being home again.”
“I’m not.”
You both laugh, and then Mason drives you to your parents’ house.
At the dining room table, Mom and Clara are researching wedding venues, vast countryside estates and metropolitan historic hotels. Clara got engaged two weeks ago during a vacation to Turks and Caicos. In the living room, Dad and Tripp are watching commentary on the NBA Finals. Tripp’s name isn’t really Tripp; he is the third James in a row, named after your father and grandfather, and Tripp is short for triple. All over the house, there are Akitas lolling in plush dog beds and clicking around on Brazilian Cherry hardwood floors. They have faces like teddy bears, but their dark eyes track you mistrustfully, as if you are an intruder.
No one asks where you have been. They barely acknowledge that you are back. “Hello, dear,” your mother calls distractedly from the dining room, and that’s all. You jog upstairs to the bathroom you share with Clara before anyone can notice your smeared makeup and the unsavory post-car-sex sweat gleaming on your skin. You get into the shower, turn on water so hot it is nearly scalding, and close your eyes. With your back pressed to the jade green tiles, your hand wanders down over your belly and stops between your legs. Your mind cycles through fantasies, but nothing seems to be working.
It’s not real. It can’t hurt anybody.
You imagine that Aegon is the one touching you, and in under a minute it’s over.
~~~~~~~~~~
“I want there to be horses,” Clara says, scrolling through her phone and ignoring the food on her plate: roast chicken, homemade mashed potatoes, green beans sauteed in garlic and olive oil, panzanella salad. Mom prepared it all herself, not because there was no help available—your parents have a housekeeper named Angela who comes by several days per week—but to prove she could. In the living room are shelves heavy with books by Martha Stewart, Ina Garten, Cat Cora, Julia Child, Nigella Lawson. You hear echoes of ambient clicking, Akitas meandering down hallways and staircases.
“Horses?!” Tripp replies with a mouthful of mashed potatoes, gesturing to the sliding glass door. “Don’t you get enough horses in your everyday life? Don’t you have like five right out there?” Your parents’ house sits on ten acres of land, including a barn and several paddocks for Clara’s rescued Thoroughbreds.
“I want beautiful horses,” Clara insists. “Unusual, photogenic, so they can be in the background of all the photos. Maybe Friesians or Haflingers?”
“I’m not sure we can sort the venues by types of horses available, dear,” Mom says. All that’s on her own plate is a heap of green beans and a few pieces of skinless white meat chicken.
Clara moans and drops her face into her hands. “It’s so overwhelming!”
“You’ll find a place you like, Clara Bear,” Dad says mildly, painstakingly slicing meat off a drumstick with his fork and knife.
“And Owen is no help at all. Every time I ask for his opinion he just tells me to do whatever I think is best, but I don’t know what’s best, that’s why I’m asking him!”
Your mother pats Clara’s shoulder reassuringly. “Guys don’t care about weddings,” Tripp says, twisting around in his chair to see the television in the living room. On a rerun of E! News, the hosts are discussing Chris Hemsworth’s rigorous fitness regime and Meghan Trainor’s “mommy makeover.” You peek under the tablecloth. One of the Akitas, Yuki, is glaring as she waits for you to drop something for her to eat.
“You could do something like that,” Mom says to you, and you realize you haven’t been listening to the conversation.
“Sorry, do what?”
“You could be a wedding planner or a real estate agent. Those are actual careers, but there’s more creativity involved, isn’t there? And didn’t you take a design class in college? That would certainly come in handy.”
“Hm,” your father says with a frown, still dissecting his chicken. He would rather you go to law school like Tripp. You would rather lie down in traffic.
“I took a set design class, Mom. Because I was studying how to be an actress. And that’s what I’m doing right now in Los Angeles, trying to be an actress.”
“You could become an architect!” Mom bursts out with sudden enthusiasm. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”
You titter evasively. “I can’t draw, Mom. Or use the modeling software, or do math.”
“You know, you don’t need any specific degree to get into law school,” Tripp says, and your father gives him a nod of approval. “You could have majored in dance or bagpiping or Egyptology, it doesn’t matter. All they want is a high undergrad GPA and a 168+ LSAT score, and I bet you could get that if you studied. You can even retake the test a few times if you need to.”
“Why do you do that?” Clara snaps at him. You eat your panzanella salad and pretend not to be listening. Beneath the tablecloth, Yuki growls. You toss her a few cubes of Italian bread so she won’t bite you.
Tripp shovels mashed potatoes into his mouth. “Do what?”
“Why are you always wasting your time trying to convince her to grow up and get a real job? If she wants to embarrass herself, let her. I have problems that I’m trying to solve, so how about applying yourself to those instead?”
“Are you serious? You think I should be calling around to wedding venues asking about their selection of exotic draft horses?”
Clara aggressively stabs at her green beans with her fork. “Fuck off, Tripp.”
“Hey, hey, kids, no swearing,” your mother says. “It’s Father’s Day. Be respectful.”
Dad turns to you. “You could be an entertainment lawyer, how about that? You could work in intellectual property or negotiating contracts.”
You smile warily. “I’ll think about it, Dad.”
Clara says to your parents: “Well I hope all the money you’re throwing out the window to support her in California isn’t coming out of my wedding fund.”
You close your eyes and think: I can’t spend my life in a cubical. I can’t spend every minute of every day trying to forget who I am.
“Shh, shh,” your mother pleads, rubbing the back of Clara’s clenched hand. “You will get exactly what we promised you, that amount is still set aside for your wedding. Nothing she does affects you.”
“And it’s only until the end of the year,” your father adds. “Then the vacation is over.” Then the meager allowance they are funneling to you will stop and you will be ordered to return home to pursue an honorable course of existence. You have six months to succeed in Hollywood, or the dream dies.
Your father is now asking Tripp about his summer associate position at Latham & Watkins in Chicago. Your mother is advising Clara to get a wedding dress with a corset back so it can be adjusted in the event she gains or loses weight at the last minute. Underneath the table, Yuki is growling again; she noses your knees threateningly.
“I got an agent,” you say, and everyone looks at you.
“Really?” Mom asks, sounding a little perplexed.
“Who is it?” Dad says.
“Aegon Targaryen. He has a small office in Elysian Park.”
“Oh, I think I recognize the last name.”
“His family is in the industry.” You are beaming; you can feel the heat rising in your face. “But Aegon kind of does his own thing and tries to stay out of the limelight. He was an actor when he was my age. And I guess he thinks I can get roles, so that’s really exciting.”
Your mother seems concerned as she nibbles at a shred of white meat. “Is he an older man?”
“Not that much older. He’s thirty-five.”
“Well, be careful, darling,” your father says gravely. “Who knows what his intentions are.”
Clara evidently agrees. “Men can be so creepy. I had this one professor in pharmacy school who cheated on his wife with one student, then cheated on her six months later with a different student. And then he retired to Boca Raton and was never heard from again.”
“Oh, that reminds me!” Tripp says to your father. “We read about Clinton v. Jones in torts class, it was wild, I didn’t know he was such a freak even before the Monica Lewinsky thing…”
After dinner, while your father and Tripp are flipping through television channels in the living room and Clara is upstairs on the phone with Owen, you go to the kitchen where your mother is washing dishes in a bubble-filled sink. Again, she doesn’t have to do this; Angela will be here to clean the house tomorrow. But it’s part of being a perfect homemaker, and if she’s not good at this then she’s not good at anything.
She glances over when she hears you come in. “Did you get an appointment with one of the doctors your father recommended?”
“I did, yeah. I have a consultation on Friday.” You lean against the marble countertop and cross your arms so you don’t fidget nervously. From a dog bed on the floor, Mochi glowers at you. “Do you think I should get the surgery?”
She shrugs; you’re not certain if she is more indecisive or apathetic. “Your cousin Madison had a nose job the summer before college. Your old classmate Emma got a blepharoplasty and then met her husband three months later. Practically all of my friends have had breast augmentations, and I’ve certainly never regretted mine. I think if you’re going to get anything fixed, it makes sense to pick that.”
You try again to elicit a strong opinion, whether an endorsement or objection. “I don’t think I’d want to do it if I didn’t feel like it was necessary to be an actress.”
“Well, regardless of whatever you have going on in California, you’ll either have to get them done now or after you have children,” Mom says. “I love you and Clara and Tripp, but you destroyed my body. At least doctors can repair breasts. My bladder is still useless.”
You stare at Mochi distractedly. The dog huffs, unwelcoming. “What was the recovery like?”
“Oh, hell,” your mother says. “But once you heal up it’s worth it. I can wear square necklines and strapless dresses again.”
“Technically, you could have worn whatever you wanted.”
She gives you an impatient look, a you’re too old for that sort of frustration. “No one wants to see some sad flabby woman.” She is including your father in this statement. You remember being home for Thanksgiving Break during your freshman year at Carleton and inadvertently stumbling upon emails from one of the hospital interns when you used his laptop to buy movie tickets: indecent inuendoes, flirtatious photos, no smoking gun but certainly more than was appropriate between colleagues. You had tried to tell your mother, and she had deflected over and over again until you realized that she didn’t want to know; it was easier to be carried by the currents of momentum than to rock the boat until it sank. “This agent of yours…is he celebrating Father’s Day with his family?”
“No, Aegon lost his dad when he was in college.”
“That must have been difficult,” she says vaguely as she scrubs a pot with a green Scotch-Brite dish wand. Your parents are now at the age when their friends have begun to succumb to strokes and heart disease and cancers, and the lurking specter of mortality both horrifies and fascinates them. “What did he die of?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Mom?!” Clara shouts from upstairs. “Osaka is puking in the hallway!”
Your mother sighs and dries her hands on a dish towel, then leaves you alone in the kitchen. You linger there for a while, listening to the faint drone of CNN from the living room television, then leave the house through the sliding glass door in the dining room. Outside the sun is setting, and you gaze westward as the aging daylight turns the tall green grass and silhouettes of horses to gold like the mines that first brought settlers to California. You slide your phone out of the pocket of your denim shorts and take a photo, then post it to your Instagram story with the caption Home and a smiley face emoji.
A minute later, you receive a DM. Aegon has typed: This explains the big horse girl energy
You laugh and respond: They belong to my sister, I am personally very anti-horse
You hope he’ll continue the conversation. You don’t have to wait long. How’s Minnesota? Aegon asks.
You stop and consider how to answer, then decide not to overshare. Devoid of palm trees…but good!
There is a pause—perhaps thirty seconds—and then Aegon types: How’s the ex-boyfriend?
Is he curious or jealous? You smile. Still not standing in the way of anything :)
Aegon reacts with a heart emoji, then immediately switches it to a thumbs-up. You cannot ignore the wave of warmth and fondness and exhilaration that overwhelms you. Logically, you know he’s engaged to another woman. Emotionally, it doesn’t seem relevant.
You think: It’s just a crush. It can’t hurt anybody.
Then you remember what your mother asked, and as you stand outside in the fading dusk light you Google Aegon’s father Viserys Targaryen. He has his own Wikipedia page. You scroll to the bottom, where it reads in nondescript black letters: On October 27, 2009, Targaryen passed away at his Malibu residence after a long illness.
~~~~~~~~~~
You have just finished ringing up a Like It-sized Apple Pie A La Cold Stone when Josh says: “Hey, there’s an old guy asking for you.”
“What?” You look towards the ice cream freezer and there he is, dark jeans, green Nike Killshots, a yellow Hawaiian shirt that’s too big for him. “It’s my agent!” you shout as you rush over to meet him, loud enough that everyone in the shop turns to stare.
“Shh,” Aegon says, but he’s laughing.
“What are you doing here?” you ask from behind the counter.
“I got some good news, and I wanted to tell you in person.”
“Cool! Should I make you ice cream first?”
“Um, sure.” Aegon surveys the menu of Signature Creations. He seems overwhelmed; he actually looks a little panicked.
“Are you usually a chocolate or vanilla person? Or peanut butter, or coffee? Or mint?”
“Strawberry,” Aegon says.
“Strawberry,” you echo, surprised. “Okay, I think you’ll like Our Strawberry Blonde.”
“Neat.”
“Because, you know, it has strawberries and you’re blonde.”
“Sounds literally perfect for me,” Aegon says, smiling.
“What size?”
“Uh…” He reads the labels on the cups in the display case. “The big one.”
“No, you have to say the real name.”
He chuckles. His cheeks are pink, his turbulent blue eyes sparkling. “I’m not saying that.”
“Then I’m not making you ice cream!”
He groans. “I want an Our Strawberry Blonde in the size Gotta Have It.”
“Cup, cone, or waffle cone bowl?”
“Stop asking me questions or you’re fired.”
“Waffle cone bowl,” you decide. Aegon studies you as you work, his head tilted thoughtfully to the side: scraping a mound of strawberry ice cream out of the freezer with your metal spatulas, taking it to the cold countertop, and smashing in graham cracker pie crust, caramel, fluffy whipped topping, and fresh strawberries. You use one of the spatulas to expertly scoop the mixture into a waffle cone bowl, not spilling a drop. Then you hand Aegon his ice cream and ring him up at the cash register. He pays in cash.
You ask Josh, the manager on duty, if you can take your fifteen-minute break now. He frowns. “I thought you were going to refill the yellow cake and Oreo cookie mix-ins first.”
“Hey,” Aegon says. He waves a ten-dollar bill in the air to show it to Josh and then dunks it in the tip jar. “Do it yourself.”
“Fine,” Josh mutters to you. “But you don’t get a second over fifteen minutes.”
There’s no time to waste. You hurry to a small table by the window. It’s 8:30 p.m., and outside the world is indigo-dark and threaded with inorganic sparks of headlights, streetlights, kaleidoscopic neon signs. Your eyeshadow is vibrant and pink, because no one cares about that when you work at an ice cream shop: Push by Natasha Denona, Coax by Urban Decay.
Aegon takes his first taste of his ice cream as he sits down in the chair across from you. “You were right, this is delicious. A bop, not a flop.” Then he notices the bruise on your right wrist. “What the hell happened to your hand?”
“Oh. One of the Akitas bit me. Don’t worry, I can cover it up with concealer.”
Aegon is irritated. “Why is your mother letting her Akitas bite you?”
“It was my fault. I forgot that Oni doesn’t like when people pet his feet.”
Aegon sighs, stirring his Our Strawberry Blonde. “You want some of this?”
“I can’t,” you say reluctantly.
He raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean you can’t?”
“I already had a little cup when I got here this afternoon so I have regrettably hit my ice cream quota for the day.” And then, when Aegon clearly does not approve: “I try not to restrict too much but obviously staying the same size takes effort. That’s not a disorder, it’s just reality.”
Aegon seems to debate arguing, then instead scoops up a heaping spoonful of ice cream and holds it out across the table. “Come on. It doesn’t count if it’s on my spoon.”
You smile sheepishly and open your mouth for him. Your lips close around the plastic spoon: coldness, sweetness, the grit of pulverized graham cracker pie crust, the infinitesimal black seeds of strawberries that catch between your teeth. When Aegon begins to pull it away, you grab his hand and don’t let go until you’ve licked the spoon clean. He laughs hysterically as he watches you. “I haven’t had strawberry ice cream in forever,” you say.
“Don’t tell me you’re a vanilla girl.”
“I am,” you confess. “I know the joke. But I really do always get the vanilla-adjacent flavors. Cookie dough, French vanilla, sweet cream, cheesecake…”
Aegon smirks playfully. “Pathetic.”
“So you’re an enlightened being because you eat strawberry ice cream.”
“Boring people like vanilla. Kids like chocolate. Interesting adults like strawberry.”
“Do you actually have good news for me or did you just come here to be a ghoul?”
“I got you a part.”
“What?!” you squeal, and people are gawking again. This time, Aegon doesn’t tell you to be quiet. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he replies, grinning like he can’t help it.
“A part in what?”
“It’s small,” Aegon warns. “It’s an episode of Grey’s Anatomy.”
You scream; Josh scowls at you from behind the counter. “Oh my God, no way, no way!”
“You’re going to be the wife of a guy the doctors kill with negligence. Three scenes, two are pretty short and unremarkable but then you get to yell at the surgeon in the last one. Gives you the opportunity to show some range and make an impression.”
You can’t believe this is happening. “They aren’t going to make me audition first?”
“Well…it’s very last-minute,” Aegon says. “The actress who was supposed to do it has a drug problem or something, I guess, so she ghosted and they were scrambling for a replacement. And I completely fabricated your credentials.”
“What? Really?”
“Yeah, I typed up a resume and sent it over and they loved it. So try not to talk about your actual experience because none of it will match.”
You shake your head, stunned, amazed. “What if they try to contact one of my alleged former employers?”
“Then they’ll be talking to Aemond, and he will lie and say you were an absolute pleasure to work with.”
Aemond Targaryen: Aegon’s younger brother, a screenwriter, a philanthropist, a well-respected entity in Hollywood, and you know this from the Googling that preceded your first meeting with Aegon last week. “And Aemond doesn’t mind helping you commit fraud?”
“It’s not a favor I call in very often.” Aegon finishes his ice cream, then begins breaking apart the waffle cone bowl and shoving shard-like pieces into his mouth.
“When’s the shoot?”
“Very very early on Thursday, that’s the bad news.” Thursday is two days from now. “So I’ll have to pick you up at your apartment at like 5 a.m.”
“That’s fine. I’ll be ready.”
He smiles, gnawing on a chunk of his waffle cone bowl. “I figured.”
“You’re going too?” The hope is unmistakable in your voice.
“Of course I’m going.”
“I didn’t think agents usually went to film shoots.”
“Well, fortunately for you, your agent is imminently fleeing Los Angeles and has already parted ways with most of his clients and really has nothing else going on besides hiding in his office and playing a Nintendo 64, so I figured I could make it. And also if I’m going to be enthusiastically recommending you to people, I should probably see you work at some point.”
You wiggle your eyebrows flirtatiously. “Do I get to make out with my fake husband?”
Aegon is amused. “From what I understand, you get to chastely kiss him once. They’re sending the script over to my office first thing in the morning, so you’ll only have a day to learn your lines.”
“That’s enough time. I’ll make it work.”
“Always so agreeable,” Aegon muses. So desperate is more like it.
Thursday. “Is the shoot just one day?”
“Yeah, they should be able to get everything they need from you on Thursday morning. Why?”
“I have a doctor’s appointment on Friday and I was just wondering if I’d have to reschedule it.”
Aegon is immediately vigilant. “What kind of appointment?”
“Uh…” You smirk guiltily. “It’s just a consultation. No slicing yet.”
“And you’re going to cancel that,” Aegon says flatly.
“Seriously?”
“Do you want implants because you want them or because you think other people want you to have them?”
You hesitate. “Both.” That’s probably a lie.
Aegon leans back in his chair and studies you. “Yeah, you’re cancelling that appointment.”
“Why?”
“Because when I agreed to sign you, you told me that you’d do anything I say. And I’m telling you to cancel it.”
“But why don’t you want me to get implants? Everyone gets implants.”
“Because once you begin to treat scalpels and needles as prescriptions for everything you don’t like about yourself—or everything that other people don’t like about you—it’s very difficult to stop. First it’s your tits, then it’s your eyes and your nose, then it’s your chin and your cheeks and your neck and your ass, and it’s just this revolving door of painful, dangerous, unnecessary procedures that are condemning you for being mortal, that are carving away your humanity one incision at a time. I’ve seen it happen to more people than I could count, and I don’t want it to happen to you. Because you seem very, very human, and I’d like you to stay that way. Which means you don’t cut yourself up because some agent or producer or casting director told you to.” Then he adds, perhaps as an afterthought: “And anyway, you don’t need implants.”
You smile, then reply quietly: “You’ve never seen me.”
Aegon grins. “I don’t care if you have twelve nipples under there like a fucking beagle, you don’t need plastic surgery.”
You both laugh, and the tension evaporates, and even if you don’t cancel the appointment—Aegon is one person, the entertainment industry is omnipotent and eternal—you are glad he seems to like you the way you are. Behind the counter, Josh is waving manically to get your attention and summon you to return to work. You pretend not to see him.
Aegon asks: “Why don’t you like horses?”
“They freak me out. They’re all teeth and legs and they’re huge, I’m always scared they’ll step on me.”
“Your dad’s a doctor, right? I thought all rich girls had horses.”
“Where I’m from, a lot of women ride horses to distract themselves from the fact that their husbands are riding their receptionists or interns. I’d rather have no horse and no awful cheating husband.” And Aegon stares at you and turns serious, because perhaps you’ve inadvertently addressed the elephant in the room: he has a fiancée, and neither of you are acting like she exists. You swiftly pivot. “I’ll make an exception for you, though.”
He appears startled. “What?”
“The Chinese zodiac. You’re a horse. So you’re the only horse I like.”
“Oh, yeah. Right.” Aegon chuckles uneasily and gets up to throw his trash away, then stands under the florescent lights with his hands in his pockets, his blonde hair falling out of its gel and hanging over his forehead. He gazes down at you pensively; you are still seated at the table. “When does your shift end?”
“I’m closing tonight, so I’ll be done around 10:30 or 11.”
“Okay. Can I come back to pick you up and drive you home?”
You are puzzled. “Why?”
He gestures to the inky dark window, incredulous. “Because obviously you shouldn’t be walking alone in Harbor Gateway at midnight? You know there was a shooting a block from here last week. I looked it up.”
“I walk home all the time.”
“You really need to stop doing that.”
“You are being very dramatic for a non-actor.”
“Listen, I can’t go to my house and try to fall asleep while I’m wondering if you’re getting mugged or murdered.”
You look at Aegon. He does seem genuinely worried. “You can drive me home.”
“Great. See you in two hours.” He strides away and shoves open the glass door; the little metal bells hanging there jingle.
“Aegon?”
He halts mid-step and turns around. “Yeah?”
“Does Becca know where you are right now?”
His face is some amalgamation of emotions you can’t read, and this is unusual.“Why do you think I paid in cash?”
And before you can reply, he’s gone.
~~~~~~~~~~
On Thursday, June 19th, Aegon picks you up in his white Chrysler Sebring convertible while the city is still asleep. The sky is dark, the streetlights passing by overhead, infinite pinpoint supernovas. There are hardly any other cars on the road. Aegon’s hair is a mess and his eyes are bleary; he’s sipping a Starbucks coffee with one hand and holding the steering wheel with the other. He is wearing a suit, but he still manages to look unpolished, his white shirt half-untucked and his black tie too skinny. He sets his coffee down in one of the cup holders and passes you something venti-sized and iced.
“I got you a vanilla latte, vanilla girl.”
“Aw, thanks! Skim milk?”
“Nope,” he says, smiling. You smile back and take a gulp of it, cold and sweet and bracing. “What’s your hype song?”
“I can’t tell you,” you say, embarrassed.
“Why not?”
“You’re going to terrorize me.”
“Don’t Stop Believing? Don’t Stop Me Now? I Gotta Feeling?”
“Lose Yourself.”
Aegon throws back his head and cackles, his hair flying in the wind. “That’s definitely a fireable offense. I’m ditching you the second we finish this shoot.” But he taps around on his phone and plugs in the aux, and then Eminem is thudding through the speakers as the Sebring sails north and the red-gold dawn rises on the horizon, a celestial message from the East Coast, an omen from the future.
Aegon drives you to Prospect Studios in Los Feliz, just east of Hollywood. Filming will be indoors on a soundstage. You spend what feels like forever in hair and makeup, and the costume designer—who had prepared for a different actress—dresses and redresses you over and over again, frowning at your chest and waist and thighs, and you have a sudden pang of nauseating panic and dread: I don’t belong here. What the fuck was I thinking?
Then you are in the scenes under intensely radiant artificial light, and just like it did in your roles back in Minnesota, the real world vanishes and all that exists are these characters, these moments, and your body and mind become theirs, and perhaps even your soul too. Your husband is handsome and kind, and here in this liminal fictional space you love him, and when the surgeons wheel him off to the operating room you are full of blind naïve surety. Then the doctors update you on his condition and you are still hopeful, but it becomes a fragile thing, like something that shatters when it’s dropped from a height. And then he is dead, he has been taken away from you, he has been stolen, and you are eclipsed by a blood-red wrath that is animalistic and unforgiving. After each take when you are ripped back through the veil and into reality, you can’t remember exactly what you did or said, and the director doesn’t have many critiques so you aren’t sure how it’s going.
But when it’s over, while you are still standing on the soundstage with the other actors, Aegon puts on his sunglasses and smiles at you from across the room; and you remember what he said outside his office on the day you first met—you are so bright, sunshine—and you know you’ve done a good job.
#aegon ii targaryen#aegon targaryen#aegon ii#aegon targaryen ii#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon x reader#aegon x y/n#aegon x you#aegon ii x you#aegon ii targaryen x reader#aegon ii x reader#aegon ii fanfic#aegon fanfic
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Chapter 195 | Clash! Class A vs. Class B!
#panel with text#all might#yagi toshinori#toshinori yagi#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#bnha#mha#nemuri kayama#midnight#mina ashido#pinky
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Chapter 195 - Clash! Class A vs. Class B!
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ok so.... i made a completely new character that is twisted from Glut the Shark
name: Iara Ketos
birthday: July 17 (Cancer)
age: 18
height: 195 cm
homeland: Coral Sea
grade: Junior
class: E
club: Soccer club
best subject: Flight
hobbies: Handicraft
pet peeves: People running from her
favorite food: Her mom's food
least favorite food: None
talent: Unintentionally slandering people
nicknames: Mademoiselle Requin (Rook) maybe I'll think of a better nickname later
Personality
Iara loves making new friends, she's sociable and friendly, and always gets excited to meet new people or talk to them, but tries her best to do so in a chill way.
As a kid, she used to be very hyper and extreme about everything, so when she tried to approach people, they always felt overwhelmed by all of her energy and avoided or ran from her. Not only they felt overwhelmed, but she's always been a person who's easy to misunderstand. If she's really happy, she talks very fast with a lot of energy and might seem like she's angry or aggressive.
This made Iara very self-conscious, so she's been trying to learn how to control herself and not be so hyper about everything, toning all of her energy down. She's been trying really hard to be chill, and it's kind of working, but she's not happy with that, after all, she's not been true to herself.
Iara doesn't measure her kindness, but she's also a people pleaser and the kind of person that goes with the flow. She tends to be very considerate of other people's feelings, which means that even if she disagrees with something, she might agree just because it'll make them happy.
This leads to funny situations because, while she always tries to be nice, there are sometimes when she either says something worded in a very bad way that ends up sounding like an insult, or her inner thoughts escape out loud and she proceeds to accidentally slander people when just one second ago she was praising them.
Despite that, Iara wants to love people and to be loved back, not in a romantic way, she just wants genuine, real friends, people she can count on, and who can count on her too.
Sadly enough, not only because of her appearance (she's hella tall, so people are intimidated) but also because she's toning down her personality so much, she still hasn't had much success in making friends. Also, NRC might not be the best place for that...
Background
Iara had a happy childhood inside of her home. Her family was composed of her mother, father, three younger siblings and two older siblings.
Iara was the middle child, which means that she could get jealous of not only her older siblings, but also the younger ones too. Still, it was fun growing up with them, everyone would sometimes fight, but would also take care of each other.
Of course Iara would expect everyone from outside of her home to be as nice as her siblings, but she quickly realized that she was wrong. In fact, people were scared of her. When she first went to school, not only the other children were scared of her, but the teachers were too.
She's a shark-mer after all. No matter how sweet sharks can be, their reputation of being murderous and aggressive monsters will always speak louder.
Still, she tried to make friends. The moment she opened her mouth to smile to another kid, the kid started to cry. (lmao poor Iara) Iara immediately closed her mouth, confused but also sad.
Still, Iara didn't give up. But if it wasn't her smile that would turn people off, it was her crazy amount of energy. She had so much energy that she couldn't stay still, so her behavior always annoyed all of her teachers. If she wasn't annoying them, she was annoying the other kids, because she was simply overwhelming to them and no one could keep up with her. If she talked, she would talk too much and just not stop, for example.
Her strength was also a bother to people. She was a walking disaster who would accidentally break everything she touched, simply because she didn't know how to control her strength. When she tried to play with other kids, she would always accidentally hurt them — and this was the last thing she ever wanted, but she did it so many times that everyone assumed she was doing it on purpose.
Over time, Iara grew up to be fond of handicraft. She just likes making handmade things, it's something that helps to pass the time and helps her improve her management of strength. She feels very proud of the little trinkets she makes.
In order to find inspiration to make new handmade things, Iara would always wander around the Sea to see if she could find the things that would fall from the mainland above. She is a curious person and always loved discovering new things.
One day, she found Prince Rielle, who was also looking for trinkets that are dropped from above. Of course Iara knew who he was, but still didn't care about his status and wanted to befriend him. After all, he looked really nice and they both seemed to share the same interest.
But she ended up getting too excited and Rielle just got scared of her and ran away. Iara didn't even think anything about it, she was like "well he's a Prince, of course he doesn't want to mix with people from lower classes". But then she got sad lmao.
Still, Iara never gave up on trying to improve herself and stay positive, working hard on her flaws to be someone better.
Unique Magic
Pierce your Heart
Iara, with much ease, can break anything, literally anything, being it hard like metal or soft like a marshmallow, even diamonds, with her teeth, and without hurting herself. If she bites a person while casting this spell, well it won't be pretty...
Some other info
Iara loves soccer. The moment she got legs and feet she was like "I CAN KICK STUFF????" and got super excited. SHE LOVES RUNNING AND LOVES KICKING STUFF!!!
She quickly became very good at soccer and, surprisingly enough, a lot of people joined the club after they saw how great she was, because she inspired them (and also incited everyone's competitive spirit).
Are these people her friends? No, they just want to compete against her. But she appreciates their presence.
Flight classes are also something that she loves. She finds it so dope to like... fly??? On a broom, but still fly. And she probably loves doing crazy tricks with the broom while flying (she probably fell in front of everyone a shitton of times, but she doesn't care).
While she definitely doesn't have the best scores out of all students from Octavinelle, Iara is carrying them when the subject is P.E.
The only thing she's scared of at school is receiving a ball on her face, since her nose is pretty sensitive.
Iara has a heightened sensitivity to smells, and sometimes some thoughts can escape out loud and she ends up saying things like "yeah, but you should brush your teeth ASAP" or "i can tell what you had for lunch, it doesn't smell pleasant" or even "your perfume is cheap" without even realizing. She feels so horrible after this, though.
People get really mad at her insults, but they don't really do anything about it because 1 - they're scared of her, and 2 - she's huge and could win from them in a fight.
Also, Iara can get mad and very angry, but she represses all of her anger, since she's aware she's scary enough for being a shark-mer, so she doesn't want to act aggressive. She often cries in her room when she feels emotionally overwhelmed, because she just... can't express her anger or any negative feelings/thoughts.
She's just a huge girl who's trying her best to not cause harm to anyone.
Iara LOVES her siblings and parents, and loves meeting them, since with her family she can always be herself. She can be aggressive, because they are aggressive too and don't mind it. She can be angry, sad, energetic, playful, shout however she wants and show all of her sides and she'll be loved by them — they are the same as her, after all.
Iara's voice claim: Wakana Shiki from Love Live (though Iara's voice sounds a lot more energetic when she is with her family).
Iara is bigender and doesn't mind being referred to as a guy or when others use he/him to refer to her. Most characters use male pronouns to refer to Iara (including the Octatrio, they refer to her as a "that guy") and some don't even know that she's biologically a girl. When she speaks tho, people get really confused because of her voice.
#twst#twisted wonderland#twst oc#twisted wonderland oc#disney twst#oc art#oc#twst art#disney twisted wonderland#iara ketos
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DADA Class
“Look at him, Moony…all grown up,” Sirius said as Harry rolled his eyes at him. Remus ignored him and continued reading the Prophet. Sirius pretended to fuss over Harry’s robes and Harry swatted him away.
“You’re ridiculous. Save it, will you?” Harry said impatiently, looking at the clock. “My first DADA class is in an hour, and I have to set everything set up.”
At this, Remus put down the paper and went over to Harry. “You ready?” he asked, handing Harry his briefcase.
“I…I think so.” Harry said.
“You’ll be great,” Remus said, pulling him into a hug.
Sirius joined the hug. “Go on now, Professor. Don’t be late,” he said. Harry nodded. He squared his shoulders and stepped through the fireplace calling “Hogwarts” as he did.
Both Sirius and Remus watched after him. “I’m glad you recommended him for the job, Moony. It suits him,” Sirius said, dropping his joking demeanor. They were both relieved when Harry left the Auror force to take the job at Hogwarts, now that Remus retired.
“I agree. And it’s not cursed anymore. So he can do it as long as he likes,” Remus said with a wink.
Word Count: 195
@wolfstarmicrofic
#wolfstar#sirius black#remus lupin#wolfstar microfic#harry potter#good godfather sirius black#dada professor harry#dada class
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light yagami reaction - love languages
includes: reader is in college and drinks coffee, reader cries about being burnt out lol, maybe ooc l?? set during the few months when light gives up the death note NOT KIRA LIGHT
a/n: i'm in love with pre kira light
male reader (he/him pronouns)
⋆。°✩ physical touch
(word count 183)
“hey,” you say, setting your backpack down on the ground as you pull out the chair beside light. “mind if i sit here?”
“of course not,” he smiles, subtly pushing his notes to the side to make room for your own. you ignore l’s glance as you pull out one of your textbooks and its corresponding notebook.
silence falls over the task force headquarters once again aside from the occasional noise of a mouse clicking or your pencil scraping against the page.
light occasionally glances down at your work, silently double checking your answers. he waits for you to finish answering the hardest questions before he shifts slightly closer to you. he moves now using his left hand to continue researching the yotsuba group. you smile softly when he reaches over, subtly resting his hand beside yours. you silently reach over to take his hand into yours, intertwining your fingers together before you turn your attention back to your notes.
you pretend not to hear matsuda’s cheering or light’s father scolding him in favour of absentmindedly rubbing small shapes against light’s skin.
⋆。°✩ quality time
(word count 195)
light softly smiles to himself as he quietly enters your shared bedroom before closing the door behind himself. your body lays sprawled out on the bed - one of your arms haphazardly thrown across one of his pillows, keeping it closely pressed against your bare chest.
a small sliver of moonlight just barely illuminates the room as light tugs his own shirt off. he tosses his clothes into a laundry basket hidden away in your closet. he slips into an old pair of your sweatpants before carefully slipping underneath the covers to lay beside you.
you stir awake at the feeling, lifting your head up just enough to squint at him in the darkness. “light?” you whisper.
“go back to sleep, y/n,” he murmurs. you shuffle even closer to him, tangling your legs together underneath the blankets. your arm lays draped over his side as you lean in to nuzzle yourself against his body. he stifles a chuckle, pulling you even closer. goosebumps raise along your waist when his hand ghosts against your skin. he leans down to press a kiss against your forehead. “i love you,” you whisper.
“i love you too,” light murmurs.
⋆。°✩ gift giving
(word count 184)
you stifle a small yawn as you tiredly walk back to the makeshift workstation you had set up at one of the free tables in the middle of the task force headquarters. the fluorescent lights beam down on you from above as you walk through the sea of empty desks until you find your computer.
set delicately in the corner away from your computer is a small bouquet of flowers and a fresh cup of coffee with a small note taped to the mug. you smile softly at the sight as you approach, setting your bag down on the ground before you sit down in the chair. you push your computer aside, reaching over to grab the still-warm cup and opening the note.
my y/n,
l asked me and the other task force members to assist him on a mission. we’ll be back soon.
i love you,
light
you smile as you pocket the note before you pull your phone out of your pocket to quickly send him a text before finally sitting down to start doing your work.
i love you too
⋆。°✩ acts of service
(word count 188)
“i don’t understand why this is necessary,” l says, reaching out to eat another chocolate-covered strawberry. the chain of their handcuffs clink as light reaches over to grab a frying pan to continue making breakfast. “you’re not even going to eat the food.”
“it’s for y/n,” light says. his attention remains focused on the stove despite the complaints of the man chained to him. “he has a few classes this morning so i’m making his lunch.”
l remains silent, instead choosing to observe light. he occasionally tugs them around the grand kitchen as he expertly moves to cook your favourite meal. the chain drags against the marble countertops with each movement, though their complaints are left unsaid.
the handcuffs clink once again as light leans over the counter, quickly writing a love note on a piece of scrap paper. “i still don’t understand,” l comments.
light simply shrugs as he slips the note and container of food into your lunchbox before returning it to your backpack. l watches over his shoulder as he sets the bag down beside the couch. “i do it because i love him.”
⋆。°✩ words of affirmation
(word count 197)
“y/n?” light calls as he enters your shared bedroom. you flinch slightly at the sudden noise, finally pulling your attention away from your unfinished notes to look back at him. he furrows his eyebrows slightly when he steps closer, noticing your puffy eyes as he walks over to sit beside you. “is everything okay?”
“i’m fine,” you mumble, turning to look back down at your notes. “just… a little stressed.”
“you know you can tell me anything,” light frowns slightly as he reaches over to carefully grab your hand. “what’s wrong?”
you let out a small sigh as he begins to rub miscellaneous shapes against your hand. “i’m exhausted.” your voice shakes as each word leaves your mouth. “i have so much work - it all feels neverending. i don’t know what to do.”
“y/n,” light whispers. he reaches over to cup your face in his hands. “you’re incredibly smart, and handsome, and kind,” he brushes away a stray tear as it rolls down your cheek. “you don’t have to go through this alone. i’m here for you. i love you. let me take care of you.”
you nod, leaning further into light’s touch. “thank you.”
#light x reader#light x male reader#death note x reader#death note x male reader#light yagami x reader#light yagami x male reader#light fluff#light x you#light x y/n#light imagine#light one shot#light drabble#light scenario#death note imagine#death note x you#death note x y/n#death note fluff#death note scenario#death note drabble#light yagami x you#light yagami x y/n#light yagami drabble#light yagami scenario#light yagami fluff#light yagami one shot#light yagami imagine#male reader
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Opinion of U.S. District Court Judge Wendell Arthur Garrity
Record Group 21: Records of District Courts of the United StatesSeries: Tallulah Morgan et al v. James W. Hennigan et al Civil Action Case File # 72-0911
UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT
DISTRICT OF MASSACHUSETTS
TALLULAH MORGAN ET AL., )
Plaintiffs, )
) CIVIL ACTION
v. ) NO. 72-911-G
)
JAMES W. HENNIGAN ET AL., )
Defendants. )
OPINION
June 21, 1974
GARRITY, J. This is a school desegregation case brought by black parents and their children who attend the Boston
public schools. Plaintiffs seek for themselves and on behalf of their class declaratory and injunctive releif against the
defendants for a myriad of acts that allegedly violate the constitutional rights of the plaintiff class. Defendants are the Boston School Committee, its individual members, and the Superintendent of the Boston Public Schools (hereinafter
collectively "the city defendants"), and the Board of Education of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, its individual
members, and the Commissioner of Education (hereinafter collectively 'the state defendants.").
Plaintiffs have alleged that the city defendants have intentionally brought about and maintained racial segregation
in the Boston public schools by various actions, including
_______________________
The court certified the named plaintiffs as proper representatives of a class of "all black children enrolled in the Boston Public School System and their parents." Thereafter Keyes v. School Dist. No. 1, 1973, 413 U.S. 18, 195-198, held that "petitioners are entitled to have schools with a combined predominance of Negroes and Hispanos included in the
category of 'segregated' schools." At the trial, the parties did not frame any issues as to discrimination against non-black minority students, who comprise approximately 7% of Boston's public school population; and in this opinion the term "racial segregation" when unqualified will refer to blacks only. However, at future hearings concerning equitable remedies required to convert the Boston schools from a dual to a unitary system, the Keyes holding will of course be observed and consideration given to the treatment of non-whites other than blacks. [full document and transcription at link]
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train stations (with trains in them)
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OPM Manga chapters 195-6 Review
Right, let's do this. I had intended to review chapters 195 through 197, but if I want to write this to a usable length, I need to be a little more brief.
Summary
195
Man, what's a ninja gotta do to nurse his aching head in peace? No sooner does Sonic settle down for a nice sulk with a big bag of ice and water on his head than those two turkeys, Gale Wind and Hellfire Flame, pop up with the intention of attacking him. Before Sonic can do anything about them, they're taken out by two other ninjas who introduce themselves. They're followed swiftly by several others. Collectively, they're the Tenninto, and they plan to kill Blast and Flashy Flash and rule the world under the tutelage of That Man. They task Sonic with luring Flash out to this hiding place on the morrow so they can execute him. Then they vanish, leaving Sonic to think on their words.
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Quite the collection!
Elsewhere, back at the Hero Association, we've met the great man himself. After his initial surprise, Saitama thanks Blast for getting him out of the hole, to which Blast replies that not only was it no bother, but Saitama's appearance had saved him the trouble of seeking him out. Saitama's remarkable strength had caught his eye.
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Real recognise real.
Hearing that, Flash interjected that if Blast was interested in his disciple, then he'd have to take a number -- Saitama had a prior engagement. Saitama denies this, but before that goes anywhere, Sicchi jumps in to say that Blast has confirmed that he was the one who defeated Garou. Saitama replied that he really didn't remember, which set Sicchi off on a rant about how imperative it was for him to remember. As Saitama continues not to get it, we are treated to a flashback of the conversation between Sicchi and Blast.
Without a doubt, the Earth had been in trouble, Blast told Sicchi. However, he had no idea how strong Saitama really was: it appeared unfathomable. While they did need to find out what Saitama's deal was, he did not seem like a bad guy, so he could just be left at liberty for now. This was a relief to Sicchi as he was sure that Genos would turn him into an ashtray if he laid a finger on Saitama. More pressingly, was the end of this monster Association trouble and Garou the aversion of the prophesized crisis?
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Fathoming Saitama? Good luck with that!
Not even close, Blast said. Worse was yet to come.
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By the pricking of my thumbs, something evil this way comes. Like my ex.
196
We carry on right where we left off. Flashy Flash is tired of talking about his disciple and asks Blast to talk to him about God. Blast looks at Flashy for a moment. He then tells the ninja to forget about fighting god, for he would surely die. Flashy Flash doesn't take this line down. He wants, no needs, to chop God up with his sword. Saitama unwisely asks why, and we're treated to a flashback.
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Go home, kid. This isn't your bag. That's what Blast wants to say.
Flashy Flash recounts how, in the Village he had been raised in, he and his friend (he doesn't mention Sonic by name) encountered a cube and the village leader, who had been entombed in a recovery capsule. Flashy Flash surmises that 'That Man' was granted Power by God, and thus, the Village was a faculty to turn out minions for God under the guise of running a first-class school for assassins.
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Flashy Flash doing his best Inspector Closeau impression.
Blast doesn't applaud his powers of deduction, but what he says next jibes with it. 'That Man' is his partner, named Empty Void. They had been searching for cubes together, and he had been seduced by God. Blast felt responsible for failing to stop him and regretted the young lives lost in the village as well as their many victims. It was his problem to solve.
So you let him get away? Flashy Flash asked.
Blast winced but explained that he'd been able to wound him severely.
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Awfully specific number, no? It's almost like he knows something...
So you let him get away, Flashy Flash states, adding that Blast's softness was unfitting for the top hero. Never mind, he would find God himself, he said, squaring up to Blast.
Saitama breaks the tension by asking Blast what he wants to do with his partner. Just then, over a tannoy, there is an announcement that experimental procedure preparations were complete. Blasts invite Saitama and Flashy Flash to watch. Below them, three monsters -- ex-martial artists from the Super Fight -- were strapped upright to boards. As they watched, the monsters were blasted with powerful electric shocks, causing them to scream and writhe in agony. The experiment was stopped to avoid killing the monsters, and they collapsed limply on being released from their restraints.
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You could call this a tense situation.
A failure, Flashy Flash says. Just then, one of the monsters, Hamukichi, crawls back and straps himself in, asking for the procedure to continue. He couldn't face the children at the dojo like this. The shocks recommence, and while he can't take it for long, it seems that the separation of the monster cells has begun.
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If you're a believer in redemption through pain, then demonsterization through extensive electric shocks definitely qualifies.
Sicchi noted that it corroborated what Bang had reported, that demonsterization depended on the will of the person. Flashy Flash thanks for a moment and adds that this is a very risky experiment. Could Void even be captured alive?
Just then, something catches Blast's attention. Shouting 'oh no!', he smashes his fists together. Outside, the Hero Association building is surrounded by a bubble of light and Pops out of existence. Clouds swirl around it as air rushes in to fill the sudden void. Suddenly, the ground is torn up by multiple slashes, and crevasses open up. Once the attack passes, the building pops back into existence. On top of the building, another light bubble appeared and disgorged blast, Saitama, Flash, Manako, and Sicchi.
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Now you see it, now you don't.
Everyone looks around in shock other than Saitama, who is merely mildly interested, and Blast, who is unsurprised. This is Void's dimensional slash, he explains to the others. Looks like Void is fully recovered now.
Do you think you can win? Saitama asks Blast. Well, I do have some ideas, and I haven't been doing nothing in the interim.
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Cocky or quietly confident? Only more chapters will tell!
Meta below the cut.
Meta
You expect an artist not to draw?
I don't need to rack my mind too hard as to why these chapters have been revised. For 195, having Blast and Saitama not recognising each other despite Blast having gotten the latter out of a hole was weird, and it was a bit of a missed opportunity if Sicchi had not asked Blast for his version of events. For 196, I'm no fly on the wall, but the idea of Murata penning a page full of words from a dying ninja hyping up the Village Leader without evidence probably did not sit right with him. If he's so amazing, let me SHOW IT! And boy howdy has ONE delivered a storyboard to fit. It's as ONE has said in an interview elsewhere, the nice thing about working with talented artists is that you can do more with your story.
Saved for later
We may have lost the story of how Manako was derived from Psykos, but we still have the allusion to it in her declaring herself as never having been human. It may return someday. Very little is wasted; things are mostly repurposed.
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Humility comes hardest of all
Today has been another good day for Flashy Flash getting shook. He went with the intention of teaching Saitama a thing or two, but it hasn't quite gone to plan. Not only has he been rudely reminded of how weak he is compared to Saitama, but the minion of the God he wishes to slash up has turned out to have a power that he cannot begin to comprehend, much less oppose. Will he be humble? Not a chance!
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Maybe this slashing God up plan could do with some revision...
In contrast, Saitama is as unruffled as ever. His only irritation at this juncture has been getting a long story when he didn't want one. Everything else is mildly interesting.
Yeah, I know I haven't named the ninjas. I will have to mention them later: they did introduce themselves, but we know that they're not long for this world.
Threads
On to more interesting things, then. I really have to say that I love how the long-running themes, some of which had seemed to be throw-away devices, are now coming back into play. Take the martial artists for one. It would have been absolutely fine if we didn't know anything about what happened to them: being monsters, we would presume them killed. So it's really interesting to see that at least three of them have been captured alive and are being experimented on with the objective of turning them back into people, seeing as they didn't originally want to become monsters but were coerced into doing so.
It's also very interesting to me that another throwaway, which was the people who Super S had captured and tried to brainwash into becoming monsters, all reverted to being human again after Bang knocked her out. It seems that his report has been critical in giving the Hero Association the idea that it was worth trying to reverse (at least some cases of) monsterization instead of just killing monsters or using them as pets or other inhumane things, like weapons practice.
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I really thought those monsters were dead back then. Good to see they've got some value.
Multi-dimensional fuckery
Not so long-running, but equally important, Blast and Saitama have recognized each other. It would have been strange for Blast to have no idea of how strong Saitama really was. The fact that he has learned something about this means that the story is likely to take some more interesting twists and turns. It is also good to see that the secret meeting regarding god continues to yield results. I suspect that the only reason Sicchi discussed Saitama with Blast was Genos's unbelievable story. Seeing that some of it has been corroborated is good to see. Other things haven't been left to hang as long: the ongoing threat of the prophecy is still alive and well, as Void's attack shows. The ability to attack from another dimension is a terrifying one. Weapons can appear anywhere, even within oneself, and there is no such thing as being hidden, at least not in a three-dimensional space. Garou may have gotten the power from God and learned how to make dimensional gates from Blast, but he didn't have the time to consider fully what he could really do with it; Void has had that time.
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I know many people are impatient to see just how big a fight between Blast and Void can be, but all in good time. OPM is not necessarily about the fights, even though it can deliver on the spectacle when it wants to. More important than who punches Who and what fancy technique is used, the questions of how long Blast has known Void, how long he has known about the Village (some of those ninjas are in their fifties -- Void didn't start this place up just because of 'God'), and why he wants to save Void remain to be answered. I'm sure that some of those answers are not going to be edifying.
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#meta#Blast#Saitama#speed o' sound sonic#Flashy Flash#Ninjas#Empty Void#review#oh this is getting interesting#One Punch Man
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I made Eras Tour bracelets of all the times Taylor Swift references trains in her songs. The colours are inspired by different trains and railway liveries. Excessive details under the cut:
"You know that my train could take you home" from Willow. Inspired by Great Western Railway's Intercity Express Trains. It's the train I catch most often, it's my train!
"I knew you, stepping on the last train" from Cardigan. Inspired by the subway cars in New York City, which I think of as having blue seats but it seems yellow/orange is just as (or more?) common. Idk I've never been to New York, my whole knowledge of the subway comes from Broad City and pictures of dogs in Ikea bags.
"I jump from the train, I ride off alone" from The Archer. Inspired by ye olde American locomotives like the Union Pacific No. 119. This lyric evokes Wild West imagery for me and this type of engine is what my British brain thinks of as a "cowboy train".
"Rebekah rode up on the afternoon train" from The Last Great American Dynasty. Inspired by the steam locomotives used in the 1940s by the New York, New Haven, and Hartford Railroad, which is what Rebekah Harkness would have rode up on. Sadly I couldn't find a good colour image of one, so I leaned into it and chose a greyscale colour palette. As it happens the engines were almost certainly black anyway so it's fine.
"Silence, the train runs off its tracks" from Sad Beautiful Tragic. Inspired by my boy Thomas the Tank Engine. There are a lot of derailments on the Island of Sodor, the Fat Controller should probably have been sacked.
"Northbound I got carried away, as you boarded your train south" from I Look in People's Windows. Inspired by the London Underground map. I didn't have any brown beads so the Bakerloo line has been reassigned orange.
"We wait for trains that just aren't coming" from New Romantics. Inspired by the British Rail Class 195 trains created for Arriva Rail North, the network so incompetent that even the Tories had to re-nationalise it. Those trains just weren't coming.
"You took the night train for a reason" from Champagne Problems. Inspired by the British Rail Mark 5 coaches used on the Caledonian Sleeper Service.
"Some trains you can't catch again, you've gotta leave it as it was" from Tim McGraw - Acoustic Demo. This is a deep cut that I expect even a lot of Swifties wouldn't necessarily know, but I've always loved this lyric. It totally recontextualises the song and ironically is a much more adult sentiment than the lyrics of the final recording. Inspired by the livery of Anglia Railways, which are the trains of my childhood. Anglia Railways has been sold and rebranded several times since then, so they are quite literally the trains I can't catch again.
I imagine that Taylor Swift has not been on a train in many years, for obvious reasons. However I appreciate her continued use of train imagery in her songs and I hope she never ever stops :)
#is this the most autistic thing i've ever done?#idk but it's certainly up there#this is a long post that nobody will read#but i had fun putting it together so it's fine
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Book Review 3/48
How to Speak Whale by Tom Mustill
I really wanted this to be good. I really, really wanted to have a good time with this, and there were a handful of fun facts (or "fun" facts), but mostly it was just....fluff.
I spent most of it going "where's the infodumping???" Mustill is clearly passionate about whales, but so much of the book is just...anecdotes and context. It needed to be about 200 pages longer, and at least 5 of those pages needed to be dedicated to what AI is and how he thinks it works. In 2023, he posted an afterword/update and I'm still not convinced he has any idea how neural networks work.
The other 195 should probably be about why the first two hundred pages contain so very little on the actual field of animal communication. Like yes, cetaceans are uniquely challenging, but we can and do study communication analytically--typing this out I just realized how firmly Mustill believes that cetaceans do have human-type language, it permeates the whole book, and this is probably why he doesn't spend any time at all talking about the actual current field of animal communication and how it's analyzed.
Like, my animal communication class was back in 2015 and there were still things in there that did not come up in this book, which is so fucking weird. Did all his cool infodumps get cut in editing or is he a weird ARA? Who knows.
2/5
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More info below!
Class 810 "Aurora" Manufacturer: Hitachi (2021-Present) Model: AT300 Built for Midland Mainline services. Due to be introduced in 2025. Slightly shorter than other AT300s to be able to stop at shorter platforms on the route.
Class 195 Manufacturer: CAF (2017-2020) Model: Civity Built for regional services in the North of England.
Class 465 Manufacturer: BREL (1991-1992), ABB (1992-1994), Metro-Cammell (1991-1993) Model: Networker Built for commuter and some regional services in South-East London and Kent.
Class 755 Manufacturer: Stadler (2018-2020) Model: FLIRT Built for regional services in East Anglia.
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Chapter 195 | Clash! Class A vs. Class B!
#all might#yagi toshinori#toshinori yagi#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#bnha#mha#nemuri kayama#midnight
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