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palbabor-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Yōkai

Hawks Week 2020 - Prompt: Horror Tales

Warnings: Ghosts, spirits, blood, gore, adult language, death, mentions of violent crime

Word Count: 9403

The people here are strange. They’re a superstitious bunch for sure. Everything has an underlying reason. Don’t forget to toss salt over your shoulder when you walk into that crime scene, Hawks. It’s bad luck if you don’t.

Despite the strange mannerisms that surround him, they are right about one thing: there’s more to these killings than meets the eye.

Notes: I went with a whodunit theme for this fic with some healthy ghosts and haunts thrown in. As this is pre-All Might’s retirement, Hawks is the #3 Hero.

Yōkai

Yōkai are a class of supernatural monsters and spirits in Japanese folklore. The word 'yōkai' is made up of the kanji for "bewitching; attractive; calamity" and "spectre; apparition; mystery; suspicious."

The small island of Miyako is renowned for its turquoise waters, pristine coral sanctuaries, amusement parks, and sprawling mansions. All in all, it’s a trust fund tourist trap. Still, like most pristine and shiny things, there’s a seedier underbelly that’s scrapes against the rough, sandy bottom. Come at low tide and you’ll catch a whiff of decay and rot.

Miyako Island is another example of that duality that exists within everything. No matter how pretty the water, there are always dark creatures that lurk in the shallow shoals and coves.

Hawks isn’t looking forward to his new assignment on the island. He’s been called in by the HPSC and Miyako’s police force. There’s been a string of unsolved murders and, with the onset of August, tourist season is in full swing. Homicide is bad publicity during the best of times. But, combine the discovery of freshly charred corpses popping up in various buildings, piers, and alleyways, with mass hysteria and you’re going to have a big problem on your hands.

For eight open murder cases, there’s not much for Hawks to go on, and the data he does have is spotty.

Hawks poured over the notes as soon as he got off the phone with the HSPC, the luster of the new assignment fresh in his mind. He swiped through the briefings and crime scene photos that were attached in the long email from Miyako’s chief of police.

It looks like the trouble started in the poorer areas of town. No matter how bright the city lights shine, there’s always the common shadow of a downtrodden, overworked, and underpaid populous straining under the weight of “keeping up appearances.”

Who else would do the nitty gritty jobs that ensured that the tourist season stayed afloat, and, most important of all, profitable?

Sadly, it’s the blue collar areas that first experienced the horrors. The notes on these cases are borderline elitist, skirting close to xenophobic. The usual: ‘it was just something that happened when you crammed people in that close’. ‘What else did you expect’? ‘Most of the victims aren’t even from the island’. ‘They’re strangers, they’re not locals.’ ‘They’re not one of us’.

The word immigrant pops up in the documentation frequently and it feels like a slur each time it appears. There’s a slinking, cloying animosity curling behind the looping words.

It pisses Hawks off.

The only reason he’s been called is because the crimes have jumped over the poverty line. Now, two prominent members of Miyako society have been murdered. So, what’s the connection you ask?

It’s the state of the bodies.

All of the victims, rich or poor, have been mutilated. Something sharp was drawn across their skin, cutting and splicing, marring them, marking them. Then, as if to add insult to injury, they’d been set aflame. It must have been a scorching blaze. Something that leaves them so crisped and blackened that they’re more husk than human. In each case, it’s taken dental records to identify the deceased.

The Miyako chief of police is doing a review of the known peculiars with Hawks.

“They mirror the, uh, earlier crime scenes. As you can see, this one, she is, er, was a woman in her late 30’s-”

“She was 37,” Hawks supplies, his golden eyes running over the chart that the chief of police is showing him. He’s trying his best to hide his agitation, but his feathers still bristle, the red plumage flaring, refusing to lay against his back.

“Uh, yeah, a bad age they say.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just, it’s supposed to be bad luck. You know?”

“I don’t. Can we get back to the matter at hand, please?”

Hawks has to grit his teeth to keep his tone even. He’s really not liking the way these crime scenes are processed and he’s made his opinion known to the police chief and investigative team. Why now, he’d pressed, hours after flying in, sweat still clinging to his brow. Why didn’t the bodies matter when it was relegated to the lower socio-economic citizens?

He’s also critical and skeptical of the motives of this police chief. There’s something about the whole thing that feels...off.

But, now’s not the time to project that suspicion. He’s only just arrived, besides, he needs more information, more data. Despite his agitation, he gets why the HPSC sent him on this assignment. He’s known for doing things quickly. Plus, he’s usually calm, collected, and he’s got the clout to get things moving again.

He’s also observant. The HPSC both loves and hates this particular skill of his, but it’s to their benefit in this instance. His sharp eyes might spot something that’s been missed, they’d said on the phone with him as they handed off his assignment. If he played his cards right, they said, he could pull these murders from unsolved to solved. Oh, and the commission is thinking these murders might involve some agents from the League of Villains.

It’s not a confirmed connection.

There’s nothing solid about it, besides the body mutilation and burned corpses. But both are known habits of two members of the League. They’re shadowy leads, more steeped in hearsay than fact. All the same, one is rumored to have a fascination with blood, and the other, has a proclivity for using a bright, blue flame. It’s a hot heat, perfect for cremation and these bodies have all been practically, well, cremated.

“Have you met the other heroes that will be assigned to work with you?”

Hawks snaps out of his head and nods at the tall, balding police chief. “Amano and Matsuura? Yeah, we’re supposed to take a look at the first locations as soon as this...meeting...is concluded.” Hawks hopes the police chief can hear the air quotes he just put the word meeting in.

“Good, good. I saw your additions on the later cases. I really feel that we should look a little harder into those. One was a member of the city council. He was beloved by the city and-”

“If I’m looking for a pattern, there’s a higher probability that the killer was sloppier in the earlier cases. New habits and all. I’ll get to the councilman when I get to the councilman. Again, this string of murders started in the lowlands. While I realize that doesn’t get you the most publicity, and I hear a re-election is coming up for your position as chief of police this fall, I’m not going to pick at certain elements of this and leave others by the wayside.

You gotta’ problem with that, take it up the HPSC. But, listen, they’re a lot meaner than me and they’re not going to like that you’re obstructing my investigation. You asked the commission to send someone down, and, lucky you, you’ve gotten yourself stuck with me.”

Hawks flashes the police chief a bright grin, his teeth gleaming as his eyes crinkle to crescents. The man stammers for a moment, his face flushing under Hawks’ false joviality, then he tosses a bulky manilla folder on the desk.

“Why you...I heard you were an arrogant son of a...no, no.” The chief sputters, his teeth clenched, anger bared behind the grinding of his jaw. “You’re right, we’re so very grateful to the number three hero taking time out of his busy modeling schedule to lend us a hand with these murders.”

“Ooh, you saw that spread in the sports magazine? Nice use of color right? Loved that new set of watches I’m sponsoring.”

Fucking prick. Hawks is used to this kind of irate reaction, hell, it’s pretty expected now. He’d heard it so many times he has it memorized. Yeah, yeah, he’s twenty one, a kid who’s too big for his boots. He has no idea, no real world experience. Did you hear how he talked to me? The audacity.

Let this guy try to report his snarky attitude, it’s not going to get his low level wannabe bureaucratic ass anywhere.

“I’ll get my agency to send you a signed copy. I had no idea you were such a fan! Lemme grab these files, got some work to do. Catch you around, sir!” Hawks pantomimes a salute, a serious expression making his eyes narrow. Fuck this dude. He’s got bigger fish to fry.

Closing the door on the police chief’s mottled expression, he meanders down the stairs of the police precinct, his wings still arching and rustling his temper. You’d think this case didn’t matter to these buffoons. The sheer implication of Hawks’ presence should clue them in. The HPSC doesn’t do anything lightly. Nah, these killings could be related to the League. Plus, his background checks on the victims had revealed some startling discoveries.

All of them, down to the nineteen year old restaurant hostess, were involved in minor villain activities. Some had smuggled drugs, some laundered money on the side, one was a known broker. They kept climbing the ladder of severity. It was worrisome.

While the chances of the LOV’s involvement was low, the commission was still searching for their hideout. He’d caught wind of some of the activity revolving around that ongoing mission. He wasn’t assigned to it, but he liked to keep an ear to the ground.

Association with the LOV or not, these homicides kept bothering him. There’s something he’s not seeing. He dislikes the sensation. It makes him tense, ill at ease. Once he steps outside the police headquarters he launches himself into the sleet grey skies.

It looks like rain.

If he’s wanting to glean as much as he can from those early crime scenes, he better hurry. Hawks doesn’t like rain. It makes his feathers feel bogged down and dampened. Unfortunately, it has the same effect on evidence. Rain can whisk the little details away, slicking and drifting as it washes down to the vast sea. It can easily snag vital clues on its meandering path, erasing as it goes.

******

The first murder took place on the fourth floor of a shabby apartment. The victim lived in the 19th unit and was a 43 year old male. He was a well known loner. So, it was a shock to discover that he ran a pilfering ring. The ring wasn’t a small scale enterprise either. No, this went deep. It connected to three other islands and the Japanese mainland. There’s no way this guy was a simple recluse. If anything, he was nothing short of a criminal mastermind.

His body had been left in an odd position. It was likely staged, purposeful.

He was discovered by his landlord. Rent was due and it was unusual for him to be late with the payment. So, the landlord let himself into the 19th unit. It’s a small wonder no one reported the smell earlier. Apparently, it was putrid, acidic, gut churning. A mix of tarnished copper and old, rotten meat.

In all likelihood, he was murdered elsewhere and dragged back to the unit. Nothing in the room, besides his corpse, was scorched. The victim was splayed on his small bed, but the placement was strange. His feet were resting on his ashen pillow, shoes still on his feet. Meanwhile, his head was at the foot of his bed, pointing northward.

Hawks and one of the assigned heroes, a friendly guy named Amano, are going over the case file with two members of the forensic team. Apparently, one of the team members hadn’t been part of the original investigation clean up and bagging. As Hawks and Amano are sharing the crime scene photos, asking the forensic team questions, the taller of the two, gasps, clapping a hand over his lips.

Hawks tilts his head at the man’s reaction, his feathers automatically feeling for his pulse. It’s elevated and the guy appears to be truly bothered. It’s an upsetting picture, to be sure, but this is his job. He cleans up blood and guts for a living. Surely, he’s seen worse.

“You ok?” Hawks’ asks, his amber eyes shifting over the man’s face.

“F-fine. It’s just, well, look at him.”

Hawks takes the photo back. Did he miss something?

“What about him?”

“Look at the direction his head’s facing.”

“Uh,” Hawks examines the position of the hazy sun that peeks through the rain clouds outside the window. “North?”

Now the other forensic team member gasps. What the hell? What does facing north have to do with anything? It’s a cardinal direction. What would they say if he was facing the West? Again, are these people deliberately trying to bog his investigation down?

“I don’t see what, uh, relevance that has.” Hawks tells the two, looking over to Amano. The hero doesn’t seem to be bothered by their outburst. He just shrugs at Hawks’ frank stare.

“It’s supposed to be bad luck, but yeah, there’s not-” Amano begins, finally placing some clarity on the forensic team's outburst of paranoia, but he’s interrupted by the taller, jumpier man.

“Not just that. You collect iron in your blood if you sleep facing north. It brings death.”

The guy said death like it might summon the fearsome spector down on them at any moment. Amano coughs, his hand covering a badly concealed smile. “Yeah, sure. Facing north is bad luck, and, I guess it can bring death, too. Learn something new everyday...”

“Worked pretty well in this guys case,” Hawks muses, arching an eyebrow at the jittery forensic team. “You guys see anything else? Something a little more, I don’t know, pertinent?”

They don’t get much further with that crime scene.

Amano tags along for Hawks’ review of the other two cases. His agency runs out of this area and he was one of the first responders. He’s not got a lot of extra information, but he knows the people and they know him. It takes the edge off, lets the locals open up a little more.

The next case is in a home. Well, home feels generous, it’s more like a shack. Apparently, the victim liked to collect cat figurines. Like, really, really liked to collect cat figurines. There’s over sixty of them, they’re scattered around the place, tucked into nooks and crannies. It feels like a thousand little eyes are watching the two heroes as they canvas the space. It’s creepy. Hawks dislikes the sensation. His feathers keep lifting, feeling, spreading out.

The woman had been found at her kitchen table. She was propped into a chair, sitting, like nothing in the world, save her crisp remains, was amiss. The only way you could achieve a staging of that caliber was to wait for the body to enter rigor mortis.

That takes time.

Full rigor sets in around 5 to 12 hours after death has occured. Whomever did this must have had time to spare. And they weren’t worried about being caught during that time. No, they were too busy planning out the dramatic effect of their crimes.

Once again, he feels like he’s missing something.

One body was left pushing a garden cart. Literally, the man was found, early in the morning with his hands tied to a wheelbarrow. He was posed mid task, his arm lifted, reaching for someone, or something. Trouble was, the guy didn’t work as a gardener. No, he was a low level broker. Someone darting under the criminal radar. He’d eluded the police and heroes for months. Looks like his luck ran out.

The eighth body, the congressman, was discovered at a popular wharf. This crime scene is still in the process of being cleaned up, so there’s a flurry of people bustling around. Amano, and the other hero, Matsuura, who’s also been assigned to Hawks’ investigation, are talking with witnesses, gathering information and scheduling interviews. This kind of hero work is never ending. Hawks is grateful they’re willing to take on the grunt work.

As Hawks is kneeling, peering over the ledge of the pier, looking down on the blackened wood and debris, a loud cawing breaks out. It echoes on the wind, coiling and lifting. It’s a funny sound. Like it’s far away and dulled. It makes Hawks’ wings fan out, overstimulated and brittle. The heroes and crime scene investigators debate on the origin of the noise. It doesn’t help that there’s no bird that’s wheeling above them. No, the skies are dark and empty, with a light misting of rain starting to drip onto the lashing sea.

“What is that?”

“Is it a gull?”

“It’s creepy. There’s nothing even flying around. But, it sounds so close.”

“I think it’s a seabird. It’s gotta be, sometimes they fly out here looking for fish.”

“I’ve never heard a seagull sound like that.”

“There are other birds besides seagulls, idiot. It could be a pelican-”

“It’s a crow,” Hawks’ supplies, standing and turning back to the clutch of people who are quickly gathering up their supplies, doing their best to get the important pieces of evidence protected from the rain.

“Huh? Did he say a crow?”

“Oh, damn, that’s a sign of death.”

“No...I think it’s illness, not death.”

Hawks’ walks to Amano and Matsuura, he tells them he’ll meet them back at the police headquarters. He needs to start his interviews if he wants to even have a prayer of snagging a bite to eat. He’s been subsisting off coffee since he flew in and his stomach is rumbling, loudly.

The investigators are still debating the meaning of the crow caws when he takes off. His wings beat powerfully beside his head and he lifts above the grey storm clouds, coasting high, past the skyline.

Despite the strange mannerisms that surround him, they are right about one thing: there’s more to these killings than meets the eye.

Things feel off in every crime scene. Were their belongings really left that way? Or, have the details been staged? Plus, the murders keep escalating. The particulars are spreading out and deepening as they interweave. The major connecting thread is still the state of the bodies, but even that is starting to feel vague. Hawks shudders a bit of excess moisture from the tips of his wings. Fingers crossed, some of these witnesses and relatives of the victims will have a little more substance for him to chew on.

******

Oh, they have something alright.

It’s more hushed rumors and strange folk tales. God, the sheer frightened gullibility of these islanders is wild. The whole place feels so backwoodsey, lost in a bygone era. There’s always a prayer or blessing that needs to be uttered. Or, some supernatural logic that he needs to look into. Did you consider the devil, Hawks? He hides in the details, you know?

It’s fucking weird.

Hawks is treading in unfamiliar waters with this tripe. He didn’t grow up with any of this. The HPSC certainly hadn't offered him a course on Japanese islander folk traditions during his childhood. Still, these people, for the most part, seem well off, educated, cultured even. Some aren’t even from this island. But, they seem to be infected with the same disease: ghosts, oni spirits, and bad omens. It’s a whirling circle of nonsense and Hawks’ wants off this ride.

“I got a call from her.”

“From the victim, your sister?”

“Yeah, it came in at 4:49 am.”

“Ma’m, that’s not possible. The coroner noted that rigor mortis had set in by 2 am”

“She sounded faint. It was like she was underwater, but it was her. She screamed at me.”

“She screamed at you?”

“Yeah, it was this low scream. Kinda, like a gasp? Like she couldn’t breathe. It kept getting louder and louder and louder. It hurt my ears. They felt like they were ringing, pounding. Then, the line just went dead. I can still hear it, that scream. Every time I close my eyes, or whenever I least...I-I can still hear her.”

“Do you have your phone records?”

Hawks is trying to make sense of it all, but it’s like they’re talking to each other before they come into the interview room, telling each new interviewee to up the ante.

See if you can spook the number three hero. Go on, it’ll be fun.

There’s a slew of strange occurrences. Disembodied voices, knocking on windows, doors opening on their own, quiet voids of cold that they step into. Ghosts keep popping up.

Then, there’s the oni spirits. They have red faces and they lean in close, their fangs reaching, gnashing, grinding. One woman, who was married to one of the victims, burst into tears, her terrified sobbing turning into a frantic wail.

She had seen an ogre in her back garden. It was pushing a cart and the cart was on fire. Hawks’ checked his notes as he patted the woman’s back, trying to help her move through a few breathing exercises. One of the victims was found propped, pushing a wheelbarrow, could it be…

No. It’s another dead end.

This woman didn’t know that dead man, the one who was pushing the cart. She didn’t even live on the same side of town. Ugh, this is endless. It might be easier if he did apply these delusions to his investigation. At least that way he’ll feel sane.

Some of the victims had been acting suspicious, paranoid, on edge before their deaths. One of them had gotten a phone call in the middle of the night and ran off. The next day she was found dead in her home, burnt and drifting into ash.

“So, she got the call and just ran out the door?”

“Yes. But, she let it ring four times.”

“You said that already. I’m not sure-”

“She picked it up after the fourth ring.” The aunt of the victim is looking at Hawks expectantly, her blue eyes wide, starting.

“I don’t-”

“You know what that means...don’t you?”

“The hidden significance of picking up a phone on the fourth ring? No, no I don’t.”

They never fully expand on their weird theories. They’re normal comments to them. He debates looking up the meaning of the number four on his phone, but he tamps down the urge. It doesn’t pertain to the case. It’s useless drivel, a waste of time.

An adult man shows him this ugly, ugly drawing of a cat. It’s pulling a flaming cart. Hawks doesn’t even want to touch the paper. The man keeps pointing back at it as he goes over his neighbor’s timeline.

This particular witness is connected to the city councilman. The one that was oh, so important to the police chief. It’s a high profile case and it’s being taken seriously. Yet, here’s this supposedly credible witness, flashing a childish scrawl up to his nose, asking him to look for the phenomena, like it’s a normal request to ask the number three hero to look for nonexistent demons.

‘There’s gotta be more to this’, he tells Hawks, his voice broken, fervid. ‘Something, something has to be there, after all, the councilman was murdered for a reason’.

The man with the drawing is right about that, at least.

These are not random crimes. The MO is too similar. Every single victim was involved in some sort of villainous activity. Yeah, the guys correct on that one sane theory of his: ‘There’s gotta be something there’. But, whatever it is, it’s not this cat thing.

Hawks calls a halt to their interview and glumly munches on his cold chicken sandwich as he waits for the next witness to be called in. His head is pounding and he’s praying for some new development to fall into his lap, at least that way he can conclude things and get the hell off this island.

******

The 9th victim is an outlier.

He’s high up in social circles and he was a popular man. He’s also been accused of money laundering, tax evasion and fraud. He was acquitted on all charges, but his past never did stop nipping at his heels. However, that’s not what makes him an outlier.

No, that’s reserved for the state of his body.

Most of the victims have been burned to a crisp, leaving nothing behind, save bone and gristle. You can still see this guy's face and defining features. He’s a little charred, but it’s almost like the flames stopped right before they got past his chin.

They transport his body to the morgue and Hawks finishes the combing of the crime scene, setting up a new batch of interview times and creating witness reports. He leaves just as the sun is dipping under the horizon.

******

It’s late now, and the cool sea breeze blows in through his open hotel windows, soothing across his crimson plumage. It’s his first evening off in over a week. He’s still working though, typing his reports into his laptop.

He’s forgone his usual coffee this evening. He wants to try and see if he can catch a full eight hours tonight. God, what a fucking delicious treat that would be. Eight hours? That’s the real ghost here.

He shuts off his laptop and flops himself across his bed, his wings tucking into his side, burrowing his shoulders into their reassuring warmth.

He slips into the lull between realities, his mind whirring, the case resting heavily against the forefront of his thoughts. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that he can’t distinguish between dream and actuality as he drifts off.

There’s something there.

It keeps to the edge of his vision, a dark shadow that leeches the color from whatever it touches. He can feel it watching him. It shifts quickly when he cocks his head to get a better look, sliding across the blank expanse like quicksilver, fluid and slick.

He looks away from the edges of his dreamscape and turns. He blinks in surprise. He’s at one of the crime scenes. It’s the one with the man in the wheelbarrow. There’s a crowd pressing around him and that dark figure is blotted toward the back, lurking, watching. The people around him murmur and whisper, too soft to hear. They don’t seem to notice him. They also don’t appear to have faces. They’re just blank voids, with soft notches where eyes, noses, and mouths should be. Unthinking, Hawks reaches for one of them and his hand slips through the air, weightless and heavy in the same motion.

When he blinks again he’s in that lady’s shack, the one with all the cat figurines. That wraith is sitting at her kitchen table. It’s not moving and he doesn’t feel particularly threatened by its proximity. Still, he dislikes this whole thing. If he can touch it, maybe he’ll wake up.

He’s stepping forward when he hears a soft mewl. There’s a black cat on a shelf. It’s tiny and lithe. It jumps in front of him, a low purr rumbling from its chest. It looks up at him, orange eyes fastening on his amber ones. Odd, he thinks, that woman only had figures. No living cats were evident in the house.

The cat chirps four times. It’s a light, high pitched sound that makes his ears ache. It almost sounds like a phone. The cat lifts its tail and turns, padding soundlessly into the next room. Intrigued, Hawks follows.

Now, he’s walking down a street. The cat is still in front of him, weaving in and out. That purr of it is loud and sharp as it vibrates around his ears. He keeps trying to get the feline’s attention. He pspsp’s at the dark cat, clicking his tongue, but it doesn’t respond. Hawks is distracted, not paying any mind to his surroundings, wholly focused on the feline.

The voice startles him.

It’s rasping and deep and it’s calling his name. Not his hero name, no, it’s saying his real name, over and over.

KEIGO TAKAMI.

Keigo Takami, he thinks, stumbling over words that make him, him. It sounds strange now, foreign. He hasn’t heard that name in such a long time. How did…

The voice is coming from behind him now. He whirls around and is face to face with that man. The 9th victim, the one whose face you could still see. He’s charred and battered, and blood is dripping in long rivulets from his gaping skin, pooling onto the ashen sidewalk.

His eyes are wide, searching but not seeing. The pupil and iris are both milky white, rolling around in the cavities of his sockets. Then, his mouth pops open. It’s horrifically wide, like it’s caught in a scream. His teeth are crumbling before Hawks’ eyes, black pearls that slide from the man’s lips and clatter around his feet.

Hawks is stunned, unsure, but, fuck, he can’t move. He tries to flap his wings, knowing that they’ll tug him away from this horror that’s in front of him. Except, there’s no whoosh of air, no lift. There’s nothing. What? How...

His hands bat at the emptiness along his back. Where are they? What is this? His fingertips press along his shoulders, searching, desperate. His quirk, it’s...it’s just gone. He’s frantic now and that makes him clumsy. His feet tangle under him and he falls. Grounded, his legs instinctively begin to push away from the shell of a man in front of him.

The figure moves with him. Hawks keeps scrabbling away, but the man is even closer now and his bare feet are disintegrating with each shuffling pad forward. Still, he keeps on. Hawks tries to move again, tries to shift, but he’s been cast in stone. He can’t look away...he can’t…

The man is almost upon him now. His fingers are crumbling, the ash they create is making him choke. He can’t breath, he’s wheezing, unable to pull oxygen through his trembling lips. Hawks’ lungs are burning...

Then, Hawks’ wakes up.

He’s sweating. His skin feels hot and his wings are flared. The feathers are quivering, searching. They bring him back bits and pieces. There’s someone sobbing two rooms over, someone is sleeping below him, their breath warm, he can almost feel it, pushing in and out, in and out. There’s a phone ringing. How many rings? What if it’s four...

Stop, stop.

Hawks tucks his wings back, ignoring the sounds, the sensations. The plumage wraps around him and he ducks his head into the darkness that they blanket him in. He’s comforted by the reassuring, solid presence of his quirk. He thought he’d lost it. His shoulders still hurt from his flailing motions. What is going on? He’s never had a dream like that. It felt so...so real.

No. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. He doesn't believe in this stuff. It’s not real. There’s no such thing as ghosts.

He tries to lay back down.

He’s cooled off some, but his wings keep flapping, he’s stopped trying to fight them. His quirk is going into overdrive. This hasn’t happened to him in years, not since he was a kid. He tosses his pillow over his head, trying to stifle out the noise his quirk keeps drowning him in. He’s tired and overstimulated. Each breath stings and he tries to count, to walk through the steps that have been with him since childhood. Just be still, Hawks. It doesn’t matter.

The sun is peeking over the horizon when he finally dozes off, his head heavy, fogged with exhaustion.

******

Hawks grabs two nitro coffees the next morning.

He practically inhales the dark liquid, hoping it will let him evade the haze of tiredness that thrums through his veins. It’s a slow day, thank God. There’s nothing of note that occurred the night before. Everything is pacing along its planned trajectory. There are no new bodies and the last interviews go by without any mention of spirits or the paranormal.

Matsuura offers to take him for some lunch. Hawks, always eager to expand his palette, eagerly agrees and the two men head into the city. It’s a weekend, so the streets are crowded. People recognize Hawks and he chats with them, grateful for the welling of normalcy that the interactions bring. He’s signing an autograph when he catches sight of movement in a darkened alleyway.

It’s not a particularly noticeable shift, but something about it feels strange. Hawks hands the freshly signed soccer ball back to the gang of kids around him and tilts his head toward the motion. He blinks. What the fuck? That’s not possible.

It’s the man from his dream. He’s walking, steps heavy, sluggish and he’s moving into the alley. The 9th victim? But, but how? What?

His wings react to his agitation and he hones in on the spot, reaching, snatching at anything he can sense. His fierce wings never let him down. They’re versatile, practiced and perfected. Feathers detach and shimmer into the midday sun, ducking around corners and onto rooftops, feeling.

There’s nothing.

No heartbeat, no footsteps, no voices. Hawks’ eyes had slipped closed as he felt for the man and he snaps them open again, his avian pupils dilating, constricting to a fine point. He turns to Matsuura and tells the hero he’s going to check something out. His wings lift before Matsuura can answer and he flaps into the air, the sea breeze assisting his ascension.

The rooftops are empty and Hawks scans the streets below, his wings rustling as he pulls himself along. Maybe it was a trick of his mind? Did he really see that guy? That’s a stupid question, how could he have? That man is dead. It’s gotta be his tired psyche. He didn’t sleep well, plus this case has been on his brain so much that he’s even dreaming about it.

He lands on a nearby roof, his boots hitting the tiles roughly. Hawks closes his eyes again, sending a few more feathers out. The man, if he is real, will take this path if he is using the alleyway as an escape. There are no other routes available to him.

He’s still attuned to his scattered feathers when he hears the cat hiss at him. His eyes open and he sees the animal. It’s a black cat.

It’s across the street, lingering in an open window, its back arched and its fur standing on end. Hawks narrows his eyes at the aggressive display. There are way too many cats on this island.

As he and the cat continue to engage in their silent staring contest, he hears a scritching sound coming from the street below. Hawks follows the noise, leaning over the edge of the rooftop. A child is playing below. She is sketching something into the concrete with bits of multicolored chalk.

It looks like...huh?

It looks like some kind of cart, but, why...why is it on fire? She is busy tracing the licking flames, a yellow piece of chalk clutched in her small fist. She’s humming a mindless song. It sounds like some kind of dirge. It’s soft and melancholic, following a minor tune. A shiver creeps up Hawks’ spine, but he ignores the pebbling of his skin, shaking his head.

Curious, Hawks wheels down, tapping along the street. He keeps a little ways away from the girl, he’s not wanting to startle her. His long fingers reach behind him, into his utility pocket that sits on his belt. He tugs out a small sticker sheet. He always keeps little trinkets in his pockets. It takes real effort to put people at ease and Hawks prides himself on his ability to steadfastly maintain that part of his image. He kneels on his haunches, dropping himself to a friendlier level before calling out to the little girl.

“Hey! That’s a pretty picture.” His voice is all light and honey and he has a bright smile on his face.

“Oh!” the little girl chirps, beaming her own grin back at him. “Thank you!”

“Tell me about your drawing.”

“It’s a Kasha.”

“Hmm, I don’t know what a Kasha is. Can you tell me about the Kasha?”

“They come to take away bad people.” The little girl replies, going back to her sketch, perfecting her lines and colors.

“Oh! There’s a kitty in your drawing. Is the kitty a Kasha too?” Hawks asks, noticing the calico cat that’s attached to the handles on the front of the cart. It looks angry, vengeful. Strange for a kiddo to draw something so eerie.

“That’s the spirit of the nekomata, silly. Don’t you know anything?”

“Haha,” Hawks laughs, a genuine sound that makes him throw his head back, his hand bashfully scratching the back of his head. “Guess I don’t, huh? Do you like to draw...ghosts?”

“Not really. If I draw them they won’t-”

A distant voice is calling out a name. It’s female and coming from a house a few feet away, no doubt the girl’s mother or sister. The little girl calls back.

“Coming mama! I gotta go, mister.”

“Here,” Hawks begins, detaching a smaller feather and drifting the little set of stickers over to the girl’s chubby hands. “Thank you for answering my questions,” he smiles. She coos and snatches the sparkly sheet, the sunlight catches the glitter that adorns the stickers. He tickles her cheek with his detached feather and she laughs.

Her mother calls again and she starts to run off, her yellow shoes pounding on the street. Belatedly, she pauses before rounding the corner and bows low, a quick thank you slipping from her mouth. He waves back and smiles as she walks into her home, the door clicking behind her. Once he’s alone in the alleyway his grin drops and he stands, looking down at her drawing.

It’s so freaking odd. Sure, sure, these cases are in the news. But the drawing looks...familiar somehow.

Oh, that’s why.

That man he interviewed, the one connected to the congressmen, had drawn something similar. Even then, back in that dark interrogation room, the strange figures looked like something he’d seen before, but where?

That nagging feeling is back. It pulls at the back of his mind. What is going on?

Hawks pulls out a small notepad and replicates the girl’s drawing, noting the colors and positions of the nekomata. As he sketches, his wings arc above his head, lifting and lowering meditatively.

******

He comes back to the police precinct, his hands tucked deeply into his pockets. As he walks toward the chief’s office he runs into Amano. He’s the elder of his two assigned heroes and a font of knowledge about the island and its inhabitants. Maybe he’ll know something more about this doodle that keeps cropping up.

“Hey, Amano, you seen any weird drawings around town? Or, at the crime scenes maybe?”

“Weird? Like how?”

Hawks pulls out his notepad, flipping to the page with his sketch of the cat pushing the burning cart. Amano chortles, one gloved hand coming to cover his mirth.

“What is that? It looks terrible.”

“I’m not much of an artist, I'll give you that one. In my defense, it’s based on a kid's drawing, so cut me some slack here, man. She said it was supposed to be a kasha and a nekomata?”

“Oh! Yeah, I can kinda see that now. I know what those are. According to legend, kasha appear during rainstorms. They steal corpses out of their coffins. Some of the older folks say they collect the souls of the damned. You can’t get the souls back if the kasha get them, they’re taken to hell, or eaten, depending on what version of the story you’re listening to.

I mean, they’re all just old wives tales. We used to tell them on camping trips. They’re bedtime stories, something to scare kids into being good. Ooo, misbehave and you’ll get taken to hell.

Eh, that feels kinda strong when I say it outloud, hopefully people don’t tell their kids stuff like that. Anyway, it’s not real.” Amano pauses, his head tilting at Hawks’ serious expression. “Isn’t it a little early to be getting into ghost stories? It’s summertime. Besides...”

Hawks tugs his phone out of his jacket pocket, flicking through the crime scene photos as Amano elaborates on how ridiculous this ghoulish conversation is. Normally, Hawks would agree, but there’s got to be...oh...OH.

There it is.

His finger stills over the glass of his phone. It’s tiny, basically a scrawl, but it’s there. He flicks through some of the other photos, swiping through the different locations, searching. Ah-ha! Again, there’s that scrawl. This time, it’s almost cropped out of the photo. Still, there are two crime scenes with the scrawling of chalk.

It’s a tiny drawing, so tiny he looked right over it originally, but now that he knows what he’s looking for, it’s there, plain as day. It’s a drawing of a tiny cart with a cat pulling the handles, lugging the wheels forward.

Amano is still talking when Hawks looks back up. Hawks butts into his elaborations, not caring that he’s interrupting the man.

“Ok, so they take evil doers away? Spooky. Question for you. You got any theories on why it’s cropping up all over town?” Hawks lifts the phone to Amano’s face. Amano takes the device and examines the strange markings, his brow creases, but he hands Hawks his phone back with a small smirk on his lips.

“It’s just talk, man. People do all sorts of superstitious things around here. Don’t look too hard into it. You believe what you want to, I don’t know. If that makes sense. Like those old sayings: ‘Don’t clip your nails before bed’. ‘No whistling at night’. It’s just something to say.

Superstitions are weird like that. Kinda like why you don’t have a fourth floor in a hospital. The number four looks like the word for death when you write it out. It’s bad form. It’s asking for trouble. So, don’t put a fourth floor, and boom, no problems with death.”

Hawks hums at Amano’s explanation. Ok, that superstition about the fourth floor, yeah, that one he had heard about. Amano claps a hand on Hawks shoulder and tells him he’s going to call a few more witnesses in. Hawks nods distantly, his mind whirring, processing. Despite Amano’s assurances, something still feels off.

******

He’s got a night shift.

It’s only for one evening, so it shouldn't fuck up his sleep schedule too much. Hawks has already decided that he’s going to circle back to all of the crime scenes. He’s not used to being out of the loop, or being the one that people are looking at quizzically.

He’d shown the drawings to the head investigator and the man had given him a blank look before asking Hawks if he needed some time off from the case. If he’d been asked that question a few days later, Hawks might have taken him up on the offer.

It’s been five days since he had that dream, but he’s still seeing that man. He’s determined to haunt him, to flit on the side of Hawks’ vision, drifting around like a dead leaf in a breeze.

He saw him at a bus stop the other evening. His dark hair was plastered to his face, burnt skin sloughing off his shoulders. He looked like a walking horror and Hawks had brought himself to an abrupt stop, staring at the figure below. The bus pulled up to the stop seconds after, the sleek metal shielding the man from view. By the time Hawks lifted himself higher, the man was gone.

He saw him in windows, peering sightlessly out of the glass. He spied the man walking home from the train, trailing long streams of ash and smoke behind him. He never makes any sound. He’s not alive, so why would he? He had spoken to him in his dream, called his name, but after that? There was nothing.

The vacancy of his presence is what startles Hawks the most.

There’s nothing to feel, nothing to sense. It’s just this vast, blank, emptiness. For someone with a quirk like his, it’s deeply unsettling. Hawks’ life revolves around his ability to sense, to feel. The plight of the dead man makes his chest hurt with its loneliness and abject barrenness. Is that what it’s like to die? You drift into this void, alone? He doesn’t seem to have anywhere to go. Is this his routine? Is he trapped in an endless loop, playing out his final movements? How long does he have to participate in this charade? Is this some kind of purgatory for him?

Distracted by his thoughts, Hawks spots a different man down a dark street as he flies overhead. It looks like he’s pushing a creaking wheelbarrow. Wait. A wheelbarrow? He looks again, wheeling back through the night sky, but there’s no one there now. No, the street is desolate, not even the gleam of the moon can brighten the winding sidewalks.

Is this really a ghost? Do these visions even exist? Hawks has never given the topic of the paranormal much thought. It’s always been an outlier, untrue, and untested. A pseudoscience. Well, ghosts or not, whatever is going on, Hawks needs some rest.

The rest of the night passes uneventfully and Hawks collapses onto his bed, drifting to sleep as soon as his golden head hits the pillows.

******

After a goodnight’s sleep, it does get a little easier.

He feels like his mind has cleared, the cobwebs brushed to one side, for now. Despite the clarity, he’s still seeing something. The man hasn’t gone away. No, even the daylight sun isn’t able to banish him. He saw him in his hotel lobby this morning, waiting for an elevator. By the time Hawks zoomed over, he was gone, the only evidence of his presence is the rising numbers on the illuminated floor panel, clicking up, toward the 4th floor.

That night, while getting a late night coffee, Hawks, long since given up his avoidance of caffeine in the evenings, spies something a little more sinister. As he’s paying the friendly barista, he notices someone lugging something across the road. It looks like it’s heavy, dragging against the street. They’re struggling to hoist it and it’s looking more and more like a body to Hawks’ frazzled nerves. He can’t be sure if it’s the specter that’s been lurking after him, but he’s not taking any chances. Again, Hawks is fast, but it’s not his speed that’s letting him down here.

Each and every time, there’s just nothing there.

Is he freaking haunted now? Is that a thing? That crazy dream hasn’t returned, so that’s one, fleeting, plus. Wait. Does thinking about the paranormal bring it into existence? Is that how ghosts work? Ugh, if he’s going to be plagued, he might as well read up on this shit. What the fuck is going on? Is it the town? Is it the pressure of this case? Is it him?

As he takes himself, and his coffee, up to his hotel room, he ponders the strange predicament he’s landed himself in. He can’t fit all the pieces together. It’s too strange, too abnormal. He wants to lay down, try to get a little sleep. But, a hero's work is never done. He’s got another report to type up and another set of interviews to schedule.

As he sits at the small desk that faces the window, he hears a strange cawing. It sounds close, almost like it’s right outside the glass. It’s not the call of a seagull, no, it’s that crow again. But, crows aren’t indigenous to the island. He’d looked them up after that discussion on the wharf. No crows have been spotted on the island in over 50 years. The last known specimen was an old bird, living in the Miyako zoo. It died over 3 years ago.

Hawks pulls himself to his feet, scraping the chair legs against the floor. He opens the window and pokes his head outside. He can smell the salty aroma of the sea. It tickles his nose and makes him take a big inhale of air, filling his lungs with the crisp aroma. The crow can still be heard, shrieking into the night. There’s a soft, familiar, beating of wings, too. He cranes his head, scanning the blackness, his wings are lifted as well, but there’s no bird. Per usual, there’s no movement, and no creature is flapping its way into the night sky.

He closes the window and the cawing echoes to the other side of the room before fading away. Annoyed, he takes a sip of his coffee. Hopefully that’s the last he’ll hear of it. He’s got enough ghosts fucking with him, thank you very much, he’s not wanting to add a disembodied crow to the role call.

******

The next morning Hawks is on a patrol.

The murder cases have stagnated again. While this, on the whole, is good news, simply because there are no new bodies, he still can’t get that damned drawing off his mind. It feels like things are slipping away from him, pulling out with the tide and into the vast realm of the dreaded: unsolved cold case.

He’s frustrated, no, he’s not frustrated, he’s pissed.

He feels like he’s letting the whole town down. He’d been called out here to do a job, but what good has he really been? Sure, the townsfolk are weird, the police chief is an ass and the lead detective pretty much has Hawks written off as a conspiracy theorist nut, but he was sent here to do a job. He’s good at sniffing things out. He’s good at being a hero. He’s not good at waiting, and that’s all this case has turned into, one long stint of stagnation and thumb twiddling.

Hawks glides across the bright sky, the sun reflecting warmly on his ruby red feathers. His eyes and wings are alert, feeling for any disturbances. He’s rounding onto the main street when he sees him.

It’s a living, breathing man. Hawks can feel his heartbeat, it’s pounding against the man’s breastbone. Only problem is, he shouldn’t be in the realm of the living.

The 9th victim ducks into a large bank, his familiar dark hair gleaming in the sun.

Hawks maneuvers to land immediately, his wings tucking against his back and dropping him to the earth at an alarming speed. He startles the small huddle of pedestrians on the sidewalk, but he’s too intent on catching his quarry to smooth any ruffled feathers. He races up the steps of the bank, one broad, gloved hand yanking the glass door open.

There he is. He’s talking with someone. Hawks can almost hear what he’s saying, he just needs to get closer…

“Sir? Can I help you?”

It’s a bank employee. He’s wearing a crisp blue suit and his eyes are wide behind his horn-rimmed glasses. Hawks pauses at his question, then slides past him, but it looks like it was just enough time for the 9th victim to evade him. He’s walking now, disappearing from view, stepping down a back hallway. It looks like he’s following someone…

Hawks turns back to the bank employee, his wings vibrating with annoyance and impatience. “I need to talk with that man, he’s wanted in a murder investigation. My name is Hawks, my hero number is-”

“Oh, I know who you are. O-of course, please, do what you need to d-”

The bank employee’s voice fades as Hawks lifts himself, pulling over the heads of the people waiting in the lobby. A few feathers dash out, feeling, searching.

Where did he go?

Hawks reaches the hallway in record time, his wings folding as he paces over the marble flooring. There’s not much back here, but it does lead to a large, closed vault. Damn it all.

“Sir, sir, SIR! Can we help you? I am the bank manager. You’re not permitted to be back-”

“Sure, you can help me. I need access to this vault. There’s a man, you can check your security cameras, he just walked-”

“I do not have access to the vault. You will need to make a formal-”

“Whaddya’ mean, “you don’t have access”? Then find someone who does. Two men just...Damn it…”

Hawks phone is ringing, he tries to ignore it, but it persists, vibrating and chiming against his leg. The bank manager is bristling, his mustache quivering as he babbles on about warrants, and how heroes can’t act like cops. It doesn’t matter if Hawks is the number three, he can’t ignore protocol. He needs to come back with a warrant, or get out…

His phone’s ringtone continues to slice through the tense air and Hawks, after the 9th, exasperating, ring, lifts it out of his pocket, glancing at the caller ID: it’s the HPSC. Fuck. He accepts the call on a final, shrill note.

“Hawks, here.”

“You need to come back...there’s been...All Might...Kamino...attack…”

An intermittent static keeps breaking over the phone line. It’s a crackling sound, snapping and rustling, it makes his skin crawl. It almost sounds like someone is whispering something, just below the faint hissing. “What? The line is breaking up-” Hawks lifts the phone, ah, there’s no bars in here.

The bank manager is still carrying on, heedless of Hawks’ inattention. “And so, I am within my rights to ask you to-”

“I’m going to need you to wait here and don’t move. Yeah, yeah, sure thing buddy, I don’t have a warrant, but I can make things pretty rough for you if you don’t do as I say. You don’t want to be involved in this case, believe me. Now, do what I asked and stay here.”

Lifting his wings, he flies across the lobby again, swiping a quick text to the police chief, if they hurry they might be able to catch this un-dead, dead guy. He jets himself onto the sidewalk, scattering a gaggle of beach goers.

As he re-dials the HPSC’s number he hears it again. It’s the call of that crow. It startles him and he almost doesn’t lift the dialing phone to his ear. God, this has gotta stop. He scans the sky for any physical sign of the screeching bird. It’s close, cawing and shrieking into the wind. It’s different from the other calls it’s made. It sounds angry, desperate, trying to reach him...trying to tell him something...

The line picks up and a voice repeats the familiar greeting of the HPSC.

“HAWKS, here,” he says, vexed, eyes scanning, looking for the disembodied crow.

The person on the other end asks for him to hold, and a few seconds later the head of the HPSC is answering, her soft voice both grating and reassuring to Hawks.

“Hawks. You need to return to Tokyo, immediately. All Might has been attacked by All for One. There are developments that we cannot discuss over the phone. Leave whatever intel you’ve gathered for the Miyako police chief and get back here. This is a national emergency. We need all hands. I don’t need to tell you, but the implications of this are dire. Hero society as we know it will be forever changed. I repeat, drop whatever you’re doing and get back to headquarters.”

The line clicks and that static sound rises again. There’s a garbling, muttering sound that’s rising from the hiss. It’s saying his name. KeigoTakamiKeigoTakamiKeigoTakami.

Then, all is silent. The voice is gone, the cawing is gone. A deep feeling of dread washes over him. It makes his feathers flair, plumage spreading and flexing. All around him, voices are chatting, laughing, living. They have no idea, blissful in their ignorance. Everything is, no, nothing is ever going to be the same again. God, All Might. If he can’t recover, if he dies...

Hawks lowers the phone, his eyes wide. Suddenly, all these ghosts of his don’t feel so important now.

Notes: @hawksweek2020

Beta edited by @albinoburrito

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papermoonloveslucy · 4 years ago

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LOOK! MEN ARE MESSY!

August 14, 1951

For the final shot of “Men Are Messy” (ILL S1;E8), the “I Love Lucy” props department mocked up a magazine cover using the actual August 14, 1951 edition of Look (volume 15, #17). The episode was filmed on October 25 and aired on December 3, 1951.

Lucy’s hillbilly photo covers up a trio of real Universal Studios starlets: Joyce Holden, Peggy Dow, and Julia Adams. The other cover photos are of Pope Pius XII, author Gayelord Hauser, and the B-47 Jet.

This episode is based on Lucy’s radio show “My Favorite Husband” “George Is Messy” broadcast June 4, 1950. In that script, the magazine that is mentioned in the final moments is Young Homemakers, not Look.

Look was a biweekly magazine published from 1937 to 1971, with an emphasis on photographs rather than articles. A large-sized magazine of (11″ x 14″), it was a direct competitor to Life, which began publication months earlier and ended in 1972, a few months after Look shut down.

Inside this issue of Look:

Full page ad for Happy Go Lovely, an RKO musical comedy with David Niven, Vera-Ellen, and Cesar Romero

Full page ad for Cyrano de Bergerac, with Jose Ferrer.

Gayelord Hauser author of the book Look Younger, Live Longer.

Tarzan actor Lex Barker married Arlene Dahl, and is vacationing in Oklahoma.

Look reporter and photographer Ben Kocivar goes up in a B-47 Bomber.

Two page ad for Walt Disney’s Alice in Wonderland.

The Pope’s secret plans in case of war.

Tennis player Art Larsen.

16 top economists predict what the dollar will buy in December.

America’s ten most televised women.

Movie review of A Streetcar Named Desire.

How Hollywood stars are created: includes Tony Curtis, Piper Laurie, Rock Hudson, and others.

The great American sandwich.

Full page color Camel Cigarettes ad with opera star Rise Stevens.

On the date this issue hit the newsstands, the publishing world changed forever with the death of William Randolph Hearst, one of the most powerful and wealthiest men in America. He was the model for the Orson Welles film Citizen Kane (1941). Hearst, however, did not own Look magazine. Look was founded by Mike Cowles of Des Moines, Iowa, and owned by Cowles Media.

Look is also prominently featured in “Lucy Gets Ricky on the Radio” (ILL S1;E32) with Lucille Ball on the cover...

...and “Ricky Loses His Temper” (ILL S3;E19), with French actress Jeanmarie on the cover.

"Redecorating” (ILL S2;E8) opens with Ricky napping with the August 26, 1952 issue of Look Magazine over his face. Model Jean Zahorsky is on the cover showing off ‘dormitory duds’. It was no coincidence that this particular magazine and issue was used. It contained:

A full page Philip Morris ad with Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz.

An article about CBS building a 25 acre city in Hollywood (Studio City) to house its television operations.

A review of the Bob Hope film Son of Paleface.

It was even used for one of the flashback intro of a re-run during Lucille Ball’s pregnancy leave. Notice that Vivian Vance puts her hand over Ball’s photo, obscuring it from camera. It was common for Lucy and Desi to repay magazines providing coverage of their show with on-air placement.

Although the script changes the real-life musician’s magazine Down Beat to Half Beat, Look Magazine plays itself. From 1952 to 1971 Lucille Ball appeared on the cover of Look nine times!

More about LOOK, LIFE & TIME Magazines and Lucy!

RICKY: “Lucy, this man is not from Half-Beat Magazine.” LUCY: “He ain’t?” PHOTOGRAPHER: “No, I’m from Look Magazine!” LUCY: “Ewwww!”

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leemotionalwreck · 4 years ago

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Of Black Chats and Fallen Angels (chapter 3)

Read it here on AO3!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | You Are Here | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 *********************************************

His eyes opened at the same time Nathalie opened his bedroom door.

“Adrien.”

“Hmm,” he grumbled.

“School in ninety minutes,” Nathalie gave the form under the covers a once-over with a disgusted look on her face. “And please, take a shower.”

He hummed from under the covers. “I’ll think about it.”

Adrien swore he could hear her rolling her eyes.

She huffed. “Shower. Now.”

Throwing the covers off of his face with a groan, he stared groggily at the ceiling. Despite reassuring Ladybug last night, Adrien had been terrified. Since when was Hawkmoth able to give his victims that much power? The akuma itself hadn’t been much of an issue. What had ended up taking them well over an hour to defeat was the citizens-- people everywhere were running wild.

He hadn’t been able to sleep-- tossing and turning. Trying his best to force the images of burning buildings and dead bodies from his mind to no avail. There had been too many times that night when he’d had to step away from a structure close to collapse; oftentimes with people still inside. Of course, everyone knew that the miraculous ladybugs would fix everything in the end--

But it didn’t change the fact that the screams of Paris as the city burned had followed him into his dreams.

*********

Stepping out of the shower, Adrien noted the lack of noise as he tried his best to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Plagg was usually blabbering on about something or noisily shoving cheese down his throat on his holders’ bed before being stuffed into Adrien’s jacket.

This time, as Adrien crossed his room to his dresser, he was met to complete silence.

“Plagg,” he called out, hoping Nathalie was far away enough for him to not be heard. “Plagg, where are you?”

Being answered in silence again, Adrien searched his entire room about three more times before finally hearing a voice from behind him.

“Do you ever miss it?”

Adrien turned from where he had been searching his desk to see his Kwami had been sitting on the windowsill, gazing at the sun. He sighed before answering. “I mean, yeah. Who wouldn’t?”

Because, truly, who wouldn’t? Who wouldn’t want to return to a place of complete freedom? A place more beautiful than anything anyone could ever imagine. Paris seemed like a junkyard compared to where he had come from.

Plagg turned to face his Chosen, a heart-wrenching sadness in his cat-like eyes. “Then why did we have to leave?”

Adrien stood in silence. He’d been asking himself that question a lot lately.

*********

He stepped out of his car, waving Gorilla goodbye as the model trudged towards the school entrance. Lack of sleep had caught up to him, and it didn’t help that it was finals week.

“I’m sure there’s no point in telling you this, but you look like shit, dude,” Nino said as he caught up with Adrien.

“And in other news,” he snarled in response. ”The damn sky is blue.”

Nino snorted. “Good morning to you too, princess.”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” Adrien sighed as he rubbed a hand down his face. “It’s just, we’ve got finals. Not to mention the fact that I’m booked for four days this week. It’s not the most I’ve had to do but last night’s attack didn’t help anything.”

“I don’t blame you,” Nino looked down to avoid tripping on his way up the steps, his bright orange headphones almost falling off of his neck. “The city looked like hell. My parents we at work and Alya got stuck at my place-- would’ve been great if Chris hadn’t begged to sleep in my room.”

Adrien’s mind wandered as Nino retold the story of how Chris ruined what would have been a great night for him and Alya, longing for the extent of his troubles to be annoying younger siblings and lack of alone time with his girlfriend.

He walked towards the classroom in a dazed state, finally snapping back to reality when Nino pointed out there was a new girl sitting in their seat. Mme. Bustier must have noticed the confusion in his face because she explained it right away.

“Good morning to both of you,” she beamed as they waved.

What was she always so happy about?

Both boys responded at the same time. “Good morning Mme. Bustier.”

“I’m sure you must be wondering who this is and why she’s sitting here,” they nodded. The teacher turned to the girl. “Mlle. Rossi, would you like to introduce yourself to them and the rest of the class?”

The new girl stood slowly, her gaze constantly flickering to Adrien’s. “Hello everyone! My name is Lila Rossi, and I’m Italian,” He could have sworn she winked at him as she said that. “I’m sure many of you are wondering why I’m just now attending school, and it’s actually because I’ve just returned from my trip around the world! I’ve been everywhere with my mother; Beijing, New York, San Francisco, New Delhi, Achu, Rome, and now we’re here!”

“Really?” said Alix skeptically from the other side of the classroom.

“Oh, of course!” Lila said. “I’m extremely close to Prince Ali. We’re like this,” at that, Lila twisted her middle and pointer finger, making them intertwined.

The new girl frowned at Alix’s skeptical expression. “I figured people wouldn’t believe me when I told them this, so here’s a picture of us in his throne room.”

The class oohed and ahhed as Lila flashed a picture of her and the Prince exactly where she said they’d be.

“I’ve also met Jagged Stone,“ she said, putting her phone in her messenger bag. ”He wrote a song about me, but never released it to avoid making his fans jealous.”

Max sniffed. “Excuse me, but why would Jagged Stone compose a song about an underage girl?”

Lila rolled her eyes dramatically. “Not like that, silly. It was just his way of thanking me for returning Fang after an incident.” A troubled look came over her face while she continued. “The pilot had been taking off and Jagged hadn’t realized that Fang wasn’t on the plane. We’d been having our weekly dinner and I was heading home when I saw poor Fang sitting there looking so scared.”

“I’m so sorry Lila,” Mme. Bustier spoke softly, but firm. “But could you please explain to them why you’re in Nino and Adrien’s usual spot?”

Lila sniffed and wiped away a few tears before continuing. “Of course, Mme. Bustier. I’m so sorry, it’s just-- I get so emotional thinking about the situation. What if I hadn’t been there to help? Fang would have been separated from Jagged for who knows how long!?” She fanned her face in an attempt to lessen the steady flow of tears from her face but continued to cry. “Ugh, I didn’t mean to cause such a scene on my first day back-- perhaps it would have been better had I just stayed with my mother back home in Italy--”

“Oh no,” their teacher interrupted. “Lila we’re so happy to have you here. Please, take as long as you need to calm yourself.”

As the new girl walked quickly out of the classroom, the faces of nearly everyone in the room were full of sympathy. Adrien shifted awkwardly next to Nino in the doorway as his teacher turned to face him.

“Adrien, you have some of the best grades in the class, I figured it would be best to have you help her catch up on any missing work she has to do. As far as the new seating; while helping Fang, Lila suffered serious damage to her right ear and has hearing trouble. I hope you don’t mind helping her.”

Adrien turned to glance at Nino, who shrugged. “Uhm, sure. I guess I don’t mind.”

“Excellent!” Mme. Bustier clasped her hands together, a bright smile still on her face.

Seriously, what was she always so happy about?

“Nino, if you don’t mind, you’ll be sitting in the back for the time being.”

A slight frown crossed Nino’s face but brightened when Adrien promised to let him copy his notes while he dozed off in class.

*********

Eventually, Lila opened the door and slid right next to Adrien in the front row. Somehow, there were still a good six minutes before class began. He started to put his head down to get a quick nap in when a voice next to him began speaking.

“Oh. My. Goodness,” said Lila-- her olive-green eyes impossibly wide.

Adrien looked up to see Lila staring directly at him. “Uh, is there an issue?” he asked tentatively.

“Are you the Adrien Agreste?” she gushed. Adrien noted the way her ”As in, son of fashion designer Gabriel Agreste?”

He chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, that’s me I guess.”

“How did I not realize that earlier? I’m such a big fan of your work! You looked amazing in the latest edition of Mensuel magazine. Your father’s designs for the fall line was ingenious. ”

“Uhm, thank you?” Stealing a glance behind him, Adrien saw a confused Alya and an amused Marinette.

She placed a hand on his thigh and frowned when he pushed it off. “You know, I’d love to get the chance to model with you someday. It would give us a great chance to get to know each other.”

Marinette sighed from behind them and Lila turned to face her.

“Hello,” her smile seemed to stretch across her entire face-- any trace of her earlier meltdown completely gone. “I’m not sure we’ve met yet. Lila Rossi.” She stuck out her hand at Marinette.

The designer smiled back sweetly, a hint of exhaustion and something else in her eyes that Adrien couldn’t quite place. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng. It’s nice to meet you, Lila.”

“You seem like a really great person,” Lila beamed. “I’d love for us to become closer friends, if that’s okay with you, of course.”

“I wouldn’t mind that at all,” Marinette grinned. “In fact, Alya, Nino, and I were all going to head to Andre’s after school-- you could tag along if you’d like.”

“I’d love that!” turning to Adrien, Lila grabbed his arm and smiled. “What about you Adrien? You’re not busy this afternoon, are you?”

Adrien eyed Marinette for any sign of annoyance. Once he decided he was in the clear, he agreed.

“Yeah sure,” he said. “I’m always down for ice cream-- especially Andre’s.”

Mme. Bustier clapped her hands together, smiling once again, as the bell rang. “Alright everyone, please open your books to chapter eight for review.”

Besides, it was just ice cream. What’s the worst that could happen?

#ml #miraculous ladybug #of black chats and fallen angels

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arcticdementor · 4 years ago

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At the end of last summer, Le Débat, France’s most prestigious intellectual review, accompanied its 40th-anniversary issue with a wholly unexpected announcement: It would cease publication forthwith. Le Débat and its three or four thousand loyal readers had maintained an allegiance to the political left since the Cold War — but the meaning of “left” has been shifting. Rivals now claim the term, particularly social movements that arose in France in the 1980s to champion what is variously called identity politics or social justice. After waging a decades-long twilight struggle against these movements, Le Débat has lost.

Intellectuals of all persuasions have been debating what that defeat means for France, and they have reached a conclusion: The country’s intellectual life has come under the sway of a more ideological, more identity-focused model imported from the United States.

Le Débat was always resistant to American imports. It never fully made its peace with the free market in the way that self-described social democrats in America did under Bill Clinton. Nor did it climb aboard the agenda of humanitarian invasions and democracy promotion, as left-leaning American intellectuals like Paul Berman and George Packer did. That was all fine. But Le Débat’s reluctance to partake of identity politics as it arose in France, always a couple of steps behind (and always in imitation of) American civil rights advances, brought the review into disrepute with a new generation of leftists.

Many French people see American-style social-justice politics as a change for the worse. President Emmanuel Macron does. In the wake of the death of George Floyd in police custody last spring, protests and riots across America brought the dismantling of statues and other public symbols — sometimes on the spot, sometimes after further campaigning and agitation. Aware that such actions had found a sympathetic echo among some of his fellow citizens, Mr. Macron warned that France would not follow suit. “It will not erase any trace or name from its history,” he said. “It will not forget any of its works. It will not topple any statues.”

By last fall Mr. Macron was also inveighing against foreign university traditions. “I’m thinking of the Anglo-Saxon tradition, which has another history, and it is not ours,” he said, before singling out “certain social-science theories imported from the United States of America.”

To look at how Le Débat unraveled is to see that these tensions have been developing for years, if not decades. They bode poorly for the future of intellectual life in France — and elsewhere.

…

With Le Débat dead, its critics on the left are shedding few tears, having viewed the publication less as a venue for ideas to be argued with and more as an obstacle in the way of social justice. The historian Ludovine Bantigny, interviewed about the demise of Le Débat, had no pieties to spare about the marketplace of ideas. “By repeating that there’s a problem with immigration in France,” she said, “by waving around this so-called ideologization of human rights to question the legitimacy of new rights and by relaying the arguments of the Manif Pour Tous” — a movement against gay marriage — “the way Gauchet did, you wind up legitimizing magazines like Causeur or Valeurs Actuelles.”

Ms. Bantigny’s allusion to the “legitimacy” of these two very different magazines was curious. Causeur is a spirited monthly barely a decade old, edited by disillusioned anti-multicultural liberals; Valeurs Actuelles is a long-established archconservative newsmagazine on the Time/Newsweek model. Apparently one no longer debates the things written in magazines. One questions the “legitimacy” of the magazines themselves. Where did this very un-French attitude come from?

The editors of Le Débat have an answer: America. A few days after announcing that the review would publish no more, Mr. Nora spoke about its closing on Alain Finkielkraut’s radio show. Mr. Finkielkraut was pointing to disturbing tendencies in French intellectual life, but Mr. Nora wanted to take the conversation in a different direction: to the “mouvements à l’américaine” that start on campuses across the ocean and tend to show up in France. “What they call,” he said, “to follow the argument to its logical conclusion, cancel culture, which is to say the extermination of culture, the will to. …”

Here Mr. Nora paused before continuing: “Anyway, I daresay some of us are old enough to have echoes in our heads of Goebbels when he said, ‘When I hear the word “culture” I reach for my revolver.’”

#christopher caldwell #new york times #france

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wikipediaredoengl199fa20 · 4 years ago

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Brennan’s Wikipedia Redo on Elon Musk page

Edits are in bold. Original Wiki page can be found here.

Early Life, Human Flight and SEC Lawsuit

Early life and family

Elon Reeve Musk was born on June 28, 1971, in Pretoria, Transvaal, South Africa.[15][16] His mother is Maye Musk (née Haldeman), a model and dietitian born in Saskatchewan, Canada,[17][18][19] but raised in South Africa. His father is Errol Musk, a South African electromechanical engineer, pilot, sailor, consultant and property developer.[20] He has a younger brother who was an early business partner of his, Kimbal (born 1972), and a younger sister, Tosca (born 1974), the CEO of the video streaming site Passionflix.[19][21][25] His maternal grandfather, Dr. Joshua Haldeman, was an American-born Canadian.[26] His paternal grandmother had both British and Pennsylvania Dutch ancestry.[27][28]

After his parents divorced in 1980, Musk lived mostly with his father in the suburbs of Pretoria,[27] a choice he made two years after his parents separated but which he subsequently regretted.[29] Musk has become estranged from his father, whom he has described as "a terrible human being... Almost every evil thing you could possibly think of, he has done."[29] He also has a half-sister[30] and a half-brother on his father's side.[31] After his parents divorced in 1980, nine year old Musk and his younger brother primarily lived with his father in the suburbs of Pretoria,[27]. This was a choice he made two years after his parents separated but it was one that he subsequently regretted.[29] Musk has become estranged from his father, describing him as emotionally abusive and tough to his children. [Kosoff 2020] He also has a half-sister[30] and a half-brother on his father's side.[31]

During his childhood, Musk was an avid reader.[32] At the age of 10, he developed an interest in computing while using the Commodore VIC-20.[33] He learned computer programming using a manual and, by the age of 12, sold the code of a BASIC-based video game he created called Blastar to PC and Office Technology magazine for approximately $500.[34][35] His childhood reading included Isaac Asimov's Foundation series, from which he drew the lesson that "you should try to take the set of actions that are likely to prolong civilization, minimize the probability of a dark age and reduce the length of a dark age if there is one".[29]

Musk was severely bullied throughout his childhood and was once hospitalized after a group of boys threw him down a flight of stairs.[29][36][37] He attended Waterkloof House Preparatory School and Bryanston High School[37] before graduating from Pretoria Boys High School.[38]

Although Musk's father insisted that Elon go to college in Pretoria, Musk became determined to move to the United States, saying "I remember thinking and seeing that America is where great things are possible, more than any other country in the world."[39] Musk knew it would be easier to get to the United States from Canada and moved there against his father's wishes in June 1989, just before his 18th birthday,[40][41] after obtaining a Canadian passport through his Canadian-born mother.[42][43]

Human flight

On May 30, 2020, SpaceX launched its first manned flight called Demo-2 becoming the first private company to both place a person into orbit and to eventually dock a crewed space-craft with the ISS.[108] Further, the launch was the first time since the end of the Shuttle Program that an American astronaut has been launched from American soil on an American rocket.[109]

During discourse with his peers when the technology of SpaceX was criticized or had the potential to cause fatalities, Elon Musk has described himself as the company's responsible chief engineer/designer, while giving the entire team at SpaceX credit for its success.[110][111]

On November 16, 2020, Space X successfully launched with NASA (National Aeronautics and Space Administration) four astronauts into their space mission on SpaceX Crew Dragon. They docked with the International Space Station (ISS) approximately 27 hours later. Unlike the test flight in May, 2020, this flight had a full set of scientific experiments planned for the trip, as well as plans for a stay on the ISS for six months. The launch was nearly stopped, as Elon Musk announced that he had symptoms of COVID-19 the day before the launch, but careful contact tracing verified that the astronauts had not been exposed. This joint project, where the space vehicles are owned by Space X but with NASA buying their use for missions, means that Space X will be able to fly tourists, private scientists and others, with a projected ticket cost of $50 million for the trip. [Wattles 2020]

SEC lawsuit

In September 2018, Musk was sued by the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) for a tweet claiming that funding had been secured for potentially taking Tesla private[149] (at a price of $420 a share, an alleged reference to marijuana[150]). The lawsuit claimed that verbal discussions Musk held with foreign investors in July 2018 did not confirm key deal terms[151] and thus characterized the tweet as false, misleading, and damaging to investors, and sought to bar Musk from serving as CEO of publicly traded companies.[149][152] Musk called the allegations unjustified and that he had never compromised his integrity.[153] Two days later, Musk settled with the SEC, without admitting or denying the SEC's allegations. As a result, Musk and Tesla were fined $20 million each, and Musk was forced to step down for three years as Tesla chairman, but he was able to remain as Tesla's CEO.[154]

Musk has stated in several interviews since that he does not regret sending the tweet that triggered the SEC investigation. According to Reuters, Musk said the tweet was "Worth It".[155] According to ABC News, "As recently as Oct. 4, 2018, Musk issued a sarcastic tweet, describing the agency [SEC] as the 'Shortseller Enrichment Commission,' despite having agreed to settlement terms a week earlier that his company, Tesla, would monitor his tweets and other communications."[156] In a December 2018 interview with CBS's 60 Minutes, Musk stated, "I want to be clear. I do not respect the SEC."[157] On February 19, 2019, according to Forbes, Musk stated in a tweet that Tesla would build half a million cars in 2019.[158] The SEC reacted to Musk's tweet by filing in court, initially asking the court to hold him in contempt for violating the terms of a settlement agreement with such a tweet, which was disputed by Musk. This was eventually settled by a joint agreement between Musk and the SEC clarifying the previous agreement details.[159] The agreement included a list of topics that Musk would need preclearance before tweeting about.[160] On May 19, 2020, a judge prevented a lawsuit from proceeding that claimed Musk's tweet on May 1 regarding the price of Tesla stock ("too high imo") was in violation of the agreement.[161][162]. Legal experts suggest that some of the legal actions by the SEC against Musk for stating his view, is a violation of First Amendment rights of free speech, and that he should have equal protection of free speech about his viewpoints on how successful his Tesla company will be. These experts argue that this is no different that the free speech protection provided to political figures. [Markham 2019]

Essay -

This essay addresses a review of the Wikipedia page of Elon Musk, an entrepreneur, industrial designer, engineer and also billionaire. It is a detailed web page covering his extensive business ventures, and when converted to a single-spaced Word document, it was approximately sixteen pages long. Three sections were addressed in this review, his Early Life, Human Flight, and SEC lawsuit.

There seem to be a number of biases in the Wikipedia page by omission of content. This might be considered implicit, perhaps someone forgot to add the information, perhaps they did not think it was important or necessary. It also might be considered explicit, such as purposely excluding content that might give someone a different view of the subject, in this case of Elon Musk. Some of the omissions could be in progress, such as the discussion of the November 16, 2020 successful space launch, which was covered in depth by the United States Press, both on media and print. On the other hand, Wikipedia pages can be updated in a day, which often seems to happen when someone dies.

In the first part, Early Life and Family, there seems to be an explicit bias against Elon Musk’s father, and includes a quote from Musk, according to Rolling Stone Magazine, saying of his father, that he was "a terrible human being... Almost every evil thing you could possibly think of, he has done." There is no clarification of what these evil things might have been, but it sounds pretty horrendous. There is no counter argument to provide any context for his father. I modified it, changing the line above to one used in an article by Kosoff that refers to his father as being emotionally abusive and tough on his children. This still conveys a difficult home life, but without evidence it doesn’t seem right to describe it as evil. There did not seem to be any available resources on the father’s perspective of his son. Also added the detail that Musk was only nine years old when he moved to live with his father. I removed the line that described some of his ancestors as it seemed to try to provide implicit bias for him, in particular to explain why he might have the right to come to Canada first and then the United States as a citizen, since his ancestors were from there. This convey that he is entitled because of his ancestors, but it seemed out of context to list one maternal and one paternal grandparent.

The section on Human Flight ended with the May 2020 test launch and did not include the highly publicized and successful mission launched with four astronauts on November 16, 2020. This seems a dramatic omission, as it was all over the news. This seems to me to be an explicit omission, perhaps because of the COVID-19 scare, which also meant he could not attend the launch, or if it was because some are jealous of the success of his ventures.

The SEC Lawsuit section presents an implicit suggestion that Musk is rejecting the right of the SEC to regulate company officers, in particular to protect investors. The SEC did have a number of legally defensible points, which led to a large fine and limiting Musk’s participation in the Tesla company. However, there are some legal experts that also defend the right of Musk to have free speech about his opinion of how the company will do in the future, which is different that suggesting he has arranged for company financing to go private.

The revisions that I made primarily fill in gaps in the Wikipedia page, that indicated potential bias. While much of the document appears to be very factual, the omissions, although only a few, can lead to bias.

The sources reviewed and then used for this review are included in the Works Cited section below. These included news articles, business stories and biography sites. There are also books available, that would have provided some additional depth and analysis, but they were not used for this particular review.

Works Cited -

"Elon Musk." Wikipedia, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elon_Musk. Accessed 8 Dec. 2020.

"Elon Musk Biography." The Biography.com website, A&E Television Networks, 17 Nov. 2020, www.biography.com/business-figure/elon-musk. Accessed 7 Dec. 2020.

"Elon Musk Promoted Coronavirus Misinformation for Months. Then His Own Infection Kept Him out of SpaceX's Astronaut Launch." The Business Insider (Blogs on Demand), 2020. EBSCOhost, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=edsgao&AN=edsgcl.642824056&site=eds-live&scope=site.

Kosoff, Maya. "Elon Musk's childhood was 'excruciating' and he got beaten up a lot." Business Insider, www.businessinsider.com/elon-musks-childhood-was-excruciating-2015-5. Accessed 7 Dec. 2020.

Markham, Jerry W. "Securities & Exchange Commission vs. Elon Musk & the First Amendment." Case Western Reserve Law Review, vol. 80, no. 2, 2019, pp. 339-79.

McLean, Rob. "Elon Musk Says He Has Moved to Texas." CNN.com, 9 Dec. 2020, www.cnn.com/2020/12/09/tech/elon-musk-texas/index.html. Accessed 9 Dec. 2020.

Shephard, Alex. "Oligarch of the Month: Elon Musk." New Republic, vol. 251, no. 3, Mar. 2020, p. 5. EBSCOhost, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=buh&AN=141536506&site=eds-live&scope=site.

Wattles, Jennifer. "SpaceX launch: Four astronauts take off aboard Crew Dragon bound for ISS." CNN, 16 Nov. 2020, www.cnn.com/2020/11/15/tech/spacex-nasa-launch-crew-dragon/index.html.

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lonelypond · 5 years ago

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Soldier Game: Operation LA Smile

NicoMaki, Love Live, 5.2K, 1/?

Summary: Soldier Game is called in to protect a team of fashion designers who have been assigned to smuggle scientific data into a hostile United States. Working as models requires a new skillset and Nishikino Maki's first encounter with Yazawa Nico explodes with tension.

ROUND ONE

Sprawling government complex. Full of busy offices, tracking numbers and citizens, calls and meetings being held in a variety of languages. Competent, concerned, efficient bustle. Take a left at the Innovation For A Cool Earth Liaison office, down a very quiet hallway, and take an elevator to the second floor, where the lights were lower, and noises of grunting and bodies falling could be heard. Third door to the right was slightly ajar and inside, Tojo Nozomi, long purple hued hair in a very professional ponytail, had printouts spread all over her desk. And the latest fashion magazines in a row at the top like a barricade. And on her very very secure government issue but Nozomi tweaked to make it even more secure laptop the message from RiceQueen, pleading for help biohacking a prophylactic treatment for the coronavirus. Nozomi’s supervisor stared at her from the doorway.

“Come inside and close the door.” Nozomi shut her laptop, “I’ve read through all the files you had forwarded..

The Deputy Minister nodded and shut and locked the door. “And your conclusion?”

“I think we should go through artistic channels rather than our usual operatives.” Nozomi waved at the chair opposite her.

“What do you mean?”

Nozomi slid a magazine toward the Deputy Minister, open to a page with the latest collection from FeatherSmile Designs. Intricately woven graphene fabric that lit up with neon kanji. “We would have to upgrade their tech, but I think they could carry the message effectively.”

“But they’re not agents. We’d be putting civilians at risk.”

“We give them minimal details and protection. I’d need Soldier Game.”

The Deputy Minister nodded. “They’ve been on standby for months so that wouldn’t be a problem.”

Nozomi glanced at her laptop. “I’ve built a personal relationship with our US contact. I’d like to be involved.”

“That’s unusual.” A tilt back in the chair. Nozomi was starting to lose her audience.

“She’s very skittish.”

“It is difficult to get US visas.”

“For a mini movie in LA? The Governor has negotiated higher threshholds for funded projects. Here’s my plan.” Nozomi handed over a folder that had been marking a particular fashion spread. “We bring FeatherSmile in under the cover of assisting with increasing the positive response to Japanese businesses and citizens. I have a contact in California we’ve used before, Kousaka Honoka.”

The Deputy Minister read the plan over, “Bold thinking, Tojo. May be useful on several fronts. I’m impressed.”

Praise for the obvious wasn’t something Nozomi wasted time over. “People are dying, ma’am. Ignorance and bigotry are on the rise. And someone has asked us for help.”

“So what’s our first step?”

“Contact Yazawa Nico and Minami Kotori. Bring them in. And inform Soldier Game of their new assignment. I’d like to see them on some photoshoots now, rolled out over the next two weeks in separate locations. Maybe one of them vacationing in the middle of celebrities. Send Nishikino for that. She’s got the status.”

The Deputy Minister typed quickly into her phone, “Anything else.”

“I’ll be taking my driver.”

“Of course.”

“I have a list of gear we’ll be needing. I’ll put Sonoda on that and let Rin assist.”

“Then I’ll put Ayase and Nishikino in the field this week while Sonoda preps.”

“Perfect.” Everything on Nozomi’s list had been checked off. Now to talk to the tech team about upgrading FeatherSmile’s textile output.

###

Nishikino Maki, bright red hair under a floppy straw hat, stretched out on the chaise, her book next to her, the sun hot against the skin exposed by her bikini. And then the waiter’s shadow blocked her light. She tipped up the hat, with a snarl, “Just leave it on the table.”

The waiter nodded, placing the tall glass. Maki held up a finger to keep the waiter’s attention, reached over, picked up the glass, and sipped.

“Too salty.’ Maki spat in the sand. A murmur of horror rippled down the row of seats. “Take it back. Tell your master mixologist that Bloody Marys should let the tomato juice shine.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you’d better be back here before I finish this chapter.” Maki picked up her book and took her sunglasses off, “Management fires my least favorite employee each and every day. Survival of the fittest.” Maki winked. “Or the cutest.”

Next to Maki, a banking dynasty scion fresh from the London School of Economics rolled her eyes at the vapidness of the idle rich. Nishikino had landed in Hawai’i last Thursday and by the weekend had been spoken of in terror by hotel staff members all across the Big Island.

###

Ayase Eli, blond hair in a tight bun, stretched, laying back across the barre, smiling at the smaller woman waiting next to her. “It’s been too long since I’ve had a job with a full dance studio.”

“Oh, are you a dancer?”

“Trained in Russia.” Eli’s tone was polite enough but something in the icy blue of her eyes encouraged the other woman to shuffle farther down the barre. Eli did another perfect move, “It’s great that dance is having such a strong surge. I’m hoping to get a job on a movie in LA or something.”

“Oh, that’d be cool. It’s hard to get work in the US now, with their strict visa limits.” The smaller dancer moved from first to third position.

Eli leaned forward, relaxing, watching herself in the mirror, “But haven’t you always dreamed about Hollywood?”

“Who hasn’t?” The other dancer dropped into a full plie.

###

Sonoda Umi had the supply list memorized, with her own additions. Soldier Game had their own preferences. Dressed in a simple black pantsuit, light blue shirt, gun holster hidden, Umi swiped the pattern that opened the door for her. A clerk greeted her.

“Sonoda-san.”

Umi glanced at the nametag, “Fujioka-san. Please inform Tojo-san that I will meet her driver in the Armory.”

A bow and Umi moved through the checkpoint. That was one of Umi’s favorite things about having to work from Headquarters. There were no unnecessary conversations, everyone prided themselves on efficiency and detachment, Umi felt not at home, but at work. Which was one of Umi’s more productive places. And Umi’s productive places were Umi’s happy places.

###

Yazawa Nico swivelled her chair, forcing her eyes away from the multiple screens in front of her. “Nico knows the computer’s doing most of the work, but…” Nico shook her head, “This much information is making Nico’s brain hurt.”

Minami Kotori, in a custom made Rumi Rock yukata, was pinning fabric to a dressmaker’s dummy. “Take a break. We can finish programming the looms later.”

“Nah.” Nico shook herself, slapping her face, “Sooner we get it done, sooner we can cut the garments. Did we get the model measurements?”

Kotori nodded, “All the details. Did you see the pictures?”

Nico closed her eyes, yes, she’d seen the pictures, but how do you...then Kotori interrupted her with a giggle, “I’ve been having the most...exquisite dreams.”

Nico decided a change of topic was her best strategy before Kotori breached TMI territory.

“Anything we make will drape well.”

“And practically drip off.” Kotori giggled.

Nico refused to be lured to after hours chatter. “I think the redhead would look great in that lilac twisted tweed you showed me.”

“Ooohh, it would really bring out the lavender in her eyes. Tweeds will also easily disguise any patterning.”

“Yeah, if we use the free color slot to match their individual eye colors…”

“Oh, I can see it,” Kotori stepped over to her drafting table, swift strokes creating three almost capes, Nico guessed from her distant, odd angle.

“So we’re going with a Fall/Winter book?”

“Would you rather see them model bikinis?” Kotori asked wistfully.

Nico dropped her head to her clasped hands, exhaling. What the hell kind of trap question was that to ask a respectful, modern woman so so gay she can’t stop thinking about her new co workers playing nude beach volleyball? There was no safe answer.

“This is so much flashier and more complicated than our usual drop jobs. Can’t we just…” Nico really needed a steady girlfriend so she wouldn’t get preoccupied by random curves.

Kotori frowned, she’d had a late night conversation with their international headquarters. “Command thinks this ask is a mole trying to get information about our operations.”

“Damn. So flashy it is. All personality. Nico nico ni.” Nico, hands raised to her temple, smiled, then sighed, shrewd glance meeting her partner’s.

“Yeah.” Kotori bit the air.

New information absorbed and back on task, Nico considered the juxtaposition of life saving science and sexy swimsuits. Too distracting. But then again, no one would believe it was about anything but pretty women in pretty clothing. Everyone underestimated pretty women. And none of the models were shy about their assets, from the pics Nico had seen.

“Bikinis. Nico just thinks no one will notice the thin pinstripes are actually graphene circuits if they have those models to look at.” Plus, if Soldier Game was investigating them, that little fabric would make guns or recording devices harder to conceal.

Kotori raised an eyebrow at Nico, “You always have the best ideas, Nico.” A few quick adjustments with her pencil and the capes become beach covers, in linen, not tweed, “Ready to wear, on demand we are. With reclaimed fabric. Eco friendly.”

“Eco sexy.” Nico snapped her fingers.

“Sexy sexy” Kotori giggled.

Nico decided a mutual review of their corporate sexual harassment policy was a very necessary next step.

###

Umi stopped, pivoted on her heel and glared over packed duffle bags at the short, energetic ginger haired woman bouncing down the hall after her.

“Let me help, Sonoda-chan.”

“Everything is wrong with that.” Umi stated through gritted teeth.

The ginger shrugged, mischief flicking in chartreuse eyes, “You won’t let me call you Umi-chan.”

“Hoshizora-san.” Umi stated deliberately, as an example, “Perhaps I could speak to your direct report.”

“Nozomi-chan? Oh sure, she always loves it when I stop by her office. She’ll have tea ready and we can talk about what I found out about…”

Umi stopped the spread of information as quickly as she could. “Where is Tojo-san’s office?”

“Right this way.” Hoshizora sped down the hall. Umi briefly wondered if the cat like gimmicky gestures were the actual result of some kind of genetic experiment with cheetahs, but surely there would have been more rumors. Hoshizora skipped -- skipped?!?!?! -- through a door and Umi increased her pace to catch up. Pausing, she knocked, but the door was ripped open, the mini cheetah hybrid speaking to someone inside, “Sonoda-chan wants to see you, Nozomi-chan. She doesn’t like…”

Umi stepped inside the room, stern. “I can speak for myself.”

Tojo was dressed appropriately for the office, in a dark suit, unlike her driver’s Nadeshiko Japan soccer jersey and jean shorts, exuded polite propriety. “Please take a seat, Sonoda-san. How can I help you?”

Hoshizora slid into the chair behind the desk, “Sonoda-chan” Hoshizora winked, “objects to my “‘overt familiarity and lack of respect.””

Nozomi had a slight smile that bordered on a smirk. Umi adjusted her initial impression. She was beginning to suspect that this division was not run to military specs. Nozomi’s voice was a giggly, syrupy mess with hints of rural accent, “Now, now, Lt. Commander, I’m sure you are aware that you will be undercover beginning tomorrow.”

“Of course. I read the dossier.” Umi started to prickle.

“So why do you object to my assistant following my orders that you be eased into a non military environment by ignoring a strict hierarchy.”

Hoshizora, Rin, Umi corrected herself, was rocking the chair back and forth, silently laughing. Umi cleared her throat, “I was not aware those were...Rin’s orders.”

Rin leaned forward, eyes wide, sticking out her tongue.

“Are you going to be aware of everything happening on this mission?” Nozomi asked quickly.

If I can be, Umi’s head went, but she just shook her head in lieu of a verbal reply.

“So, as you are temporarily under my command, you should be aware that I find keeping my charges in a state where they are continually alert leads to the most successful missions. Perhaps not as planned as what you are used to from your time with the Defense Forces, but our skillset needs to be more flexible.” Nozomi tilted her head, almost coquettishly, “Do you understand, Lt. Commander?”

“Of course.” Umi stood at attention, her eyes locking on Rin’s, “Umi will be fine from now on, Rin-san.”

“Rin.”

“Rin.” Umi grinned. Deliberately.

“Good.” Nozomi leaned back against her desk, relaxed, Rin spinning in the desk chair. “And call me Nozomi. Tomorrow, we meet Yazawa and Minami and we need to have our covers locked down.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Nope.” Rin giggled. “You’re slow.

Umi bowed. “My apologies, Nozomi. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. It’s why I requested your unit.”

Umi hadn’t been aware that the assignment had been an outside request. She’d been too eager to return to the field, even if it involved rather shameless activities. She made a mental note to pay more attention to details. And to cultivate Rin’s acquaintance. She seemed like the detail spilling sort.

“Where’s the tea, Nozomi-chan?” Rin rolled the chair to the credenza under the window.

“Why don’t you take Umi-chan down to the canteen and tell her about our last job.”

“Ooh, that’s a great idea. C’mon Umi, I’ll race you.” And Rin was out the door.

Umi glanced at Nozomi, who shrugged, “Better sprint.”

Umi sighed. So this was a test of physical as well as mental acuity. Fortunately, she had a route to take from here that would be a short cut. Umi headed to the window, raised it and dropped down two stories to the courtyard.

“Unexpected.” Nozomi watched as Umi landed lightly, then raced diagonally toward the kitchen’s loading doors. “Interesting.”

###

Maki Nishikino had never been subject to so much scrutiny. Especially while in this little clothing. The interest in the narrowed ruby eyes was clinical and the fingers that reached out to adjust the bow at her breast were disturbingly impersonal. She reverted to a childhood habit and wrapped her arms around her torso, stepping away from this Yazawa person with a frown.

“This one can’t seem to smile…” “Maki.” Maki snapped and Yazawa raised an eyebrow. “Call me Maki.”

“Maki.” Yazawa bit off every syllable, “doesn’t seem to get sunny or smiling so we’ll have to go for moody sexy on the shoot.” Yazawa stepped back, hands on hips, eyes still roving over Maki’s body in a way that made Maki feel like she was wearing even less. “So either slightly less fabric or a lot more.” “I can smile.” Maki bared her teeth at her antagonist.

Nico shook her head, relaxed her lips in a smile that somehow seemed to make the air glow around her, then called back casually over her shoulder, “Less clothing, maybe lose the top, lots of mood lighting, a fabric that will shimmer. Make a note for the photographer. Cool, wet mystery.”

Maki would have choked when Nico said wet with a smack of her lips but she was fortunately not drinking anything, just reaching out her hand for the water bottle

Now the other designer, Kotori was staring at Maki with speculative, measuring eyes, “Yes, I see what you mean, Nico. Maybe something that looks like washed up on a rocky shore.” “Mermaid? Hmmmm…” Nico gave Maki one more head to toe examination, shrugged, rolled her eyes, and turned away, “Show me a sketch.” Maki pulled on her coverup and retreated to a chair, knees pulled up, trembling with anger and embarrassment. This was not what she expected this assignment to be. Where was someone she could kick? Or suture? Or shoot? Where were Umi and Eli?

Kotori suddenly purred as the door opened, “Oh, hello, Sonoda-san. Welcome to our temporary studio.”

Maki thought studio was a generous description for a grungy boxing gym with a green screen set up in front of the ring.

Umi stepped in, dressed for some reason in her kendo workout gear, while Maki was wearing this wisp of thing that would get washed away in a light swell on a calm lake. Both Nico and Kotori were suddenly all attentive to the newcomer.

Umi, as polite as ever, bowed, “My apologies for my tardiness. One of my students had a minor injury I needed to tend.”

“Are they all right?” Kotori asked.

Umi nodded. “Just a small accident.”

“Good. We had a chance to start with Maki.” Kotori waved a hand in the direction of the chair, “If you’ll follow me into the locker room, I’ll get you suited.

“I am at your command.” Maki snorted, loud enough that Umi would hear so Umi pinched up her lips in a frown at the volume, Maki rolled her eyes and then was distracted by Nico with her hands on the arms of Maki’s chair, “Eyes here, Red.”

Maki was startled and snarled. “What do you want?”

Nico sighed, “Okay, Nico knows your brand is temperamental celebrity and we want other temperamental celebrities to see how all…” Nico flipped her hand dismissively at Maki, “this looks in our swimsuits, but it’ll help if you’re at least polite on the set. Don’t etiquette classes come with the wealth package. Or do you like getting thrown out of countries?”

“I can be civil.” Maki said coldly. “Oh good. Nico can’t wait to hear it. Now can you smile? Watch me.” WIthout even a beat, Nico leaned in, staring deeply into the depths of Maki’s eyes, paused just long enough that Maki’s breath caught, and then hopped back, a manic gleam in her eye and a sunblast of a smile on her face, “Nico Nico Ni needs you to act as pretty as you look.” Then there was a wink and Nico twirled, her back toward Maki and Maki had a minute to recover, “Nico will grab a camera and we’ll try the poses again.”

Maki groaned. Nico heard it and hesitated as she picked up the camera. Nico wasn’t a cruel woman. For all the red carpet photo shoots and TWIG selfies, this would be Nishikino’s first professional photoshoot. Which is part of why Nico was drill sergeanting Maki into the patented, 125% successful Nico Nico Ni practice practice practice mindset. The brat, though attractive in the conventional burn down the seacoast with laser eyes sense, would benefit from the confidence that came from repetition. Nico grabbed her oversized pink hoodie from the director’s chair and as she turned with the camera in hand, she tossed it at Maki, “Put this on.”

Maki hesitated, then shrugged into it, relaxing slightly at the warmth and additional coverage, “Why?” Nico shrugged, “This is just a practice shoot, you don’t need to freeze.”

“How did you?” Maki blushed when Nico raised an eyebrow and flicked her glance to Maki's chest for a second. Maki immediately looked anywhere but Nico, “I can handle it.” “Yep. Sure you can, Ma-ki. But tell the camera that.” “Huh?”

Nico raised the eyepiece, pointing the lens at Maki, “Confront the camera. Nobody worth your time wants passive pretty. We want fight.” Nico chuckled, “Hate hot. Flirt fight.”

“Flirt fight?” Maki said slowly, actually glad for some direction. “With you?” Nico lowered the camera, “With the lens. Nico’s not even here.” She raised her hand in front of her face like a magic trick and then Maki was looking at the lens again. Maybe if she imagined a target?

Nico decided to help, “So what makes you mad?”

Maki’s lip twisted, “Exploitation.”

Fancy word. Nico wondered if that was personal.

“What makes you happy?” Maki shrugged.

Not thrown off by no answer, Nico kept up the patter, Soldier Game needed to up their casual talk game, Nico was doing all the work here. Of course, she was prepared to do all the work. Nico relied on no one.

“Hobbies?” Nico kept moving, her voice even. “Music.” Maki’s posture opened. “I play the piano.” “Nico cooks. Pick up those boxing gloves and put them on.” Commands camouflaged in conversation, after years in the fashion business Nico was a master.

Maki walked over to the table and laced into them.

“Hit the heavy bag.”

This was better, Maki thought as she pounded into the leather, feeling a little like Steve Rogers, stuck in a place he didn’t want to be.

“Classical?”

“Jazz. Spent a lot of time in America, studying…Ellington, Basie, Baker, Chet, and Jospephine, Bessie Smith for the blues…” Maki had an easy rhythm going, hardly noticing Nico clicking away. “Then…” a snarl, “everything got openly toxic for women and Asians so I hit the road.” Good cover, Nico thought. Maki was Soldier Game's American link. “And you know Ayase and Sonoda how?”

“School. Families.” Maki shrugged, “We know the same…” her voice hardened, “people.”

“Got a jazz trio going?” Nico asked lightly. Maki laughed, the mood dispersing, rolling her shoulders and shaking out her arms before attacking the bag again.

“Look at me.” Not a request.

A graceful turn, sharp purple eyes snapped onto Nico, narrowing, curious, alert, cardigan slipping unnoticed off a shoulder, strong legs braced for the next blow.

“Got it.” Nico announced, lowering the camera with a flair.

Maki tilted her head, “Got what?”

“Nishikino Maki.” Nico glanced down at her viewscreen, ruby eyes with a happy twinkle. “I’m about to rethink our whole campaign. Kotori likes sweaty.” Nico froze. Oh damn, she’d better go rescue the kendo champ. “Wait here, Cassius.” And Nico hustled to the dressing room.

###

Kotori was sitting primly, legs crossed, hands folded in her lap, eyes never leaving the muscles on Umi’s back as the other woman changed into the swimsuit Kotori had chosen for her. Nico barrelled through the door, Umi gasped and grabbed for a towel, and Kotori frowned and turned, “Nico, I was concentrating.” “Sure you were. But Nico has this genius idea. I took some pics of Red there,” Nico flicked her thumb back toward where Maki was slouching in the door, “with gloves and my hoodie over the suit and you’ll love the aesthetic. Just take a look. Plus, I ran a quick search on boxers…” “When did you have time?” Maki wondered. “There was a whole hallway; Nico is fast.” Nico slid next to Kotori, “Found Muhamad Ali quotes. One of them is “I’m too fast. I’m too smart. I’m too pretty." And with these three...”

“Nico” Kotori turned, wide eyed, hands reaching for Nico’s while Umi and Maki shared a confused glance, “That’s PERFECT.” “Nico knows.” “People will swoon.” Nico took a quick glance back at Maki, “Nico knows. And Ali's an American icon, so cultural resonance. Coated in pop culture candy."

Kotori stood up, muttering, totally ignoring Umi, who was standing with a towel clasped at breast level offering some cover for her bare torso. “Just a few changes, maybe robes, maybe some of those big, satin shorts, sliding down…” Kotori swept her hand down her hip.

“Nico can see it.” “Now that I’ve seen them I can…” “Yeah, yeah, less talk, we get on a plane in tomorrow, go make magic happen.” Nico shoved Kotori from behind, forcing the designer seamstress into a stumble toward the door. Nico picked up Umi’s shirt from where Kotori had been sitting on it, handing it to the owner with a wink, “You can thank Nico later.”

Umi grabbed on to the lifeline and nodded.

“When Kotori finds you again, tell her Nico’s in the gym, setting up a few things for tomorrow’s shoot.” “Of course, Nico.” Umi buttoned up quickly.

“Thanks, champ.” Nico blew a kiss as she bounded out of the room, past Maki with barely a side glance. Umi chuckled.

“You’re amused?” Shocked, Maki settled across a bench, twirling a curl of hair.

“By Nico?" Umi considered. "Yes. She and Kotori have an interesting working dynamic. Completely different from ours, but just as professional in its own way, I think.”

Maki looked doubtful. “She seems a little flaky.”

“It’s mostly for show.”

“Really?”

“Yes, like when a bird displays its full foliage.”

“To impress someone? With flakiness?” “With energy. Very desirable from a mating perspective.” “You want to ma…” Umi, now flustered, rushed to interrupt Maki’s question, “Birds, birds do such things to attract a mate. I am a complete professional, as always.”

“As expected.” Maki agreed. Umi never cracked. Eli would occasionally start to have...Maki hated the f word....feelings, but Umi, Umi was always 100% on the job, ready, focused. Maki relied on that. What Maki did with....emotional precursors was work them out, leave them to wilt in the blaze of the open, actively exhaust her imagination so she didn’t have to wonder about things. Remembering a flare deep in devilish eyes and hands confidently maneuvering a camera, Maki considered if acting on the impusles flashing through her thoughts would be best before she got on a plane with Nico and flew into even more unfamiliar territory, Maki knew how she worked, and she knew who and what she would be thinking about. Nico’s exacting glance had had a tactile quality and Maki’s skin felt like it had been barely brushed by exploring fingertips. Which was going to be distracting. And Maki knew too well that distractions could be deadly.

“I’ll be in the gym. Don’t find me.” Maki decided.

Umi withheld her commentary. Every job was dangerous. Every Soldier prepared in her own way.

###

Nico had taken the green screen down and was in the center of the boxing ring, looking through a frame made by her fingers, muttering. Maki slid a weight in front of the door and approached the ring, hanging over the ropes.

“I saw you looking at me.” Accusatory snap. Why not? Hate hot. Nico had said that. Nico inhaled, sighed, and turned with hands open, “Look, Nico is sorry, and is so so professional, but you’re just so…” “Hot.” Maki ran a hand through her hair, “I know.” Switch the mood, check. Nico’s expression soured, “Okay. When did Nico sign up for your publicity blasts?"

“I don’t DO relationships," Maki announced, as if Nico had not spoken, "but you’re obviously into me, we have to work together, and I’d really rather not spend a lot of time wondering about whether you’re any good in bed,” Maki stepped through the ropes, strutted toward Nico, making certain to brush by the shorter woman, “like...you know.” And Maki shrugged, casually as she turned, and offhand arrogant multiple x rated seXXXy flashed neon in Nico’s mind.

Nico shook herself, quickly recalibrating the expected response. Ms. Too Cocky For Containment, Too Shy for Eye Contact here obviously wanted Nico to skip the apology phase and go right to impress. “Nico does fine. No complaints. Thousands of need more Nico texts.”

Maki’s quirked eyebrow read dubious as she leaned back, with liquid grace, in the corner of the ring. “Sure. Because your lack of detail encourages belief.” Amethyst eyes dared Nico.

Was this a trap designed to lower Nico’s defenses? Work of the mole? She and Kotori had decided wariness was essential with the new security team, but showing weakness was no way to keep the upper hand. And Nico thrived on the offensive.

“Would you like pics?” Two steps and Nico had blocked Maki into the corner, and the grungy, windowless gym had shrunk to the size of the ring as the combatants sized up their next moves, “Testimonials?” The tip of Nico’s nose had now landed a jab against Maki’s as dark pink lips landed the verbal followup, snapping, “Nico doesn’t even need a bed.”

Nico knew there was a big chance that saying that would completely blow the atmosphere and the super stupidly hot redhead who wouldn’t stop looking super stupidly doable would just collapse into hysterics. And, Nico thought, honestly that might have been a relief, because right now, Nico was pretty pretty sure pretty pretty Maki was smoldering with some fire Nico didn’t start and Nico wasn’t sure exactly what was supposed to happen. Or if everything would just explode. But Nico had never gotten anywhere by not being bold.

“Oh really?” Maki pushed herself up, voice trembling slightly to belay the confidence in her actions, but as the movement rippled through her abs to her bosom, the thinking parts of Nico’s brain, the ones that had been slowing her down, shut off and her hands shot out to grab Maki’s waist.

“I liked you better down here.” Nico dropped Maki onto the stool, leaning in, one hand sliding slowly over Maki’s ear, through her hair, fingers exerting the lightest pressure on the neck, other hand holding Maki at the back of the waist.

“Oh.’ That squeaked out of Maki and Nico was suddenly at her neck, nibbling, confident, certain, as she felt moans her...opponent, sure let’s go with boxing analogies, was swallowing. Maki had not anticipated Nico’s response to be this fast. Or...effective. Maki could feel her heart hammering and Nico’s nearness raising the hairs on her arms. Was this a standard thing for Nico and models?

Nico nipped the earlobe and timed with the shudder, went for the hook, “Want more?” following quickly with an uppercut, her lips on Maki’s throat, slipping to the jaw, hand sliding down to tease Maki’s breast. Maki almost convulsed, no longer asking questions, all of her attention now on Nico’s next advance.

Nico heard a hiss. But no words.

“What was that? Nico was now between Maki’s open legs, leaning in in a way that would have surprised her at the brazeness of the move, if Nico’d been thinking at all, but no, she wasn’t, so she pushed in and Maki leaned forward, even as she squirmed on the stool, legs bumping Nico’s waist, her arms slipping through to wrap themselves in the ring ropes to either side.

“Maki?” Nico avoided the lips, even as Maki nearly roared, concentrating on the reddening chest above Maki’s bikini top, a hand on the bow and the bikini fell open, and Nico stopped for a heartbeat, breathless, she would be going there, as soon as…

A hissed word full of whispery need. “yssss.” And Nico bit, and Maki screamed, and the stool got kicked out of the ring, and Maki was suspended against the ropes, head thrown back, hair in crazy, bouncing tousles, and Nico could never watch another boxing match again, and every taste and touch of skin was so soft and supple and Nico had to dodge a thrashing leg, and Maki was about to rip the stanchion out of the ring, and Nico freed Maki's arm from the ropes, and fell backwards with both of them like they’d switched to wrestling and with Maki on top, Nico even impressed herself, hands flittering as fast as butterflies, kisses hitting as hard as taps on the speed bag, Maki mouthing nothing that made sense. And, then, with a cry, it was over. And for just a brief second, Nico caught a bright glance wide with wonder, then long lashes fluttered closed, and Nico had to scramble for something to cover them both as Maki passed out.

“Wow.” Nico sat, catching her breath, back braced against the stanchion that had managed to survive upright, redhead snoring at her side, under a beach towel. “But what the hell?”

Maki muttered and Nico hushed immediately. Now was not a time for Sleepy Beauty to be wide awake in beast mode. Nico was thinking.

A/N: Twitter, where I live, was in a Bodyguard AU mood so it got me thinking. And all this Maki X Not Nico stuff also got me grumbling. And here we are. Can't promise when the next chunk will come, as I am working on finishing Apocalypse Midnight Dance Party chapters (and Tiger By The Tail) but I wanted to post this start. Enjoy. And stay safe. And drop me a song for my Soldier Game playlist.

#NicoMaki #Bodyguard AU #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #Soldier Game #Ayase Eli #Sonoda Umi #Minami Kotori #Tojo Nozomi #Hoshizora Rin #Koizumi Hanayo #Kousaka Honoka #Slightly OOC #Lily White

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asfaltics · 5 years ago

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a creamery means

A few enquiries began 1 as a “few fews accounted it 2 afterwards, and not of a few fews, that 3 so the Conversion - of a few fews is an Earnest of 4 A Few Wheres Where are you at, when everything you take goes to your head and even interferes with the poetry of your pedestrianism? 5 and the only lands cultivated are a few heres around 6 A creamery means, in a few heres. Just this about the 7 land has little chance of getting even a few Heres 8 depriving a few heres 9 you know an’t a few ! There’s 10 in rhyme, Nay, not a few : There’s many 11 Here, in a few anys 12 name ye a few : There’s 13 too “ove not a few, there’s two 14 now—only a few. There’s not encouragement 15 a few. There’s staym Ingincs, That stands in lines 16 A few anys after 17 a few, there’s a few and there’s a 18 ‘Red Book’ that’s read by a few. There’s 19

sources (some OCR misreads, some not)

1 Jane Austen, Mansfield Park (1814), Vol. III, Chapter VII : 161 2 OCR misread of “a few Jews” (as are next two entries) ex Ed. Stillingfleet, D. D. (1635-99 *) his A Defence of the Discourse Concerning the Idolatry Practised in the Church of Rome, In Answer to a Book Entituled, Catholicks No Idolaters. The two first parts (London, 1676) : 773 3 ex Spes Fidelium: or, the Believer’s Hope. Being an epistolary dissertation, wherein the Doctine of the Millennium, or, The Thousand Years Reign of Christ with the Faithful upon Earth, is asserted, and prov’d from the Holy Scriptures... (London, 1714) : 110 4 ex John Wesley, Explanatory Notes Upon the New Testament, second edition (London, 1757) : 416 5 ex (Thomas) Nast’s Weekly 1:23 (February 18, 1893) : 6 6 OCR misread for “a few acres,” ex A New Universal Gazetteer... originally compiled by R. Brookes, M.D., the whole re-modelled and the historical and statistical department brought down to the present period by John Marshall, Esq. (1832) : 453 7 ex (with great OCR confusion) advertisement for Empire Cream Separator Co., in The Rural New-Yorker : A journal for the suburban and country home, vol. 62 (October 24, 1903) : 751 8 OCR misread of “even a few acres,” in Farmers’ Review vol. 35 (October 27, 1904) : 747 9 OCR misread of “a few honest men,” in the anti-union The Square Deal : A magazine devoted to industrial peace, published monthly by the Citizens Industrial Association of America (edited by Wilson Vance), 3:5 (December 1907) : 18 10 ex J(ohn). C(artwright). Cross (1770 ca.-1809, *), In Love, in Debt, & in Liquor : Or Our Way in Wales; a new musical drama, performed for the first time at Jones’s Royal Circus, St. George’s Fields. On Wednesday, June 28, 1797. (London, 1797) : 5 11 ex “A Lesson for Old Maids,” (From Oulton’s Poems) in The Spirit of English Wit; or, Post-chaise companion: being an entertaining budget of laughable anecdotes, smart repartees, prize bulls, pointed epigrams, humorous epitaphs, droll descriptions, sprightly witticisms, singular characters, bursts of merriment, curious advertisements, flights of imagination, effusions of fancy / including several original jeu d’esprits. The Fourth Edition. (London, printed for Thomas Tegg, 1815 (?)) : 109 12 OCR misread of “Here, in a few days, her sister deserted her,” ex Guildhall report in The Examiner No. 531 (London, March 1, 1818) : 143 13 ex a “ballad” in Robert Gilfillan (1798-1850), his Original Songs, (Edinburgh, 1831) : 138 on Robert Gilfillan, see wikipedia and, for a beautiful and engaging account, this from Significant Scots 14 OCR misread of “we’ve not a few, there’s two to one” in sheet music for “There’s Nothing Like It” in (?) Lafferty, Universal Favorites, a collection of songs (1856) here (a strange rabble-rousing song, includes a verse against abolitionists, another against “reform”) 15 ex “Number Five Brooke-street” Chapter 9, “Plans for the Night,” in The Dublin University Magazine : A Literary and Political Journal (March 1866) : 285-92 (287) 16 ex “Studies of English Authors” by Peter Bayne, on W. M. Thackeray, His Poems.—The King of Brentford’s Testament (in which are some lines from Thackeray’s poetic description of wonders displayed at The Crystal Palace exhibition), in The Literary World : Choice Readings from the Best New Books, and Critical Reviews (London, October 31, 1879) : 281 17 snippet view only, pointing to George D. Dornin, Thirty Years Ago : 1849-1879 (1879) 18 ex James H. Hyslop. “Summary of Experiments since the Death of William James : II. Carroll D. Wright, ” in Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research 6:6 (June 1912) : 356 19 ex “Brayings of Balam,” in Everybody’s Poultry Magazine 24:10 (October 1919) : 650-652

—

1 of n

#a red book #current reading #fews #interference #onsense #poetry of pedestrianism #Jane Austen #a few

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thetaeprint · 5 years ago

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Kim Taehyung aka BTS V: A Prodigy Of This Generation

ITunes

1. Taehyung is the 4th Korean Artist and and 3rd Korean Solo to enter the US iTunes Singles Top 10 with Singularity (peaked at #4).

2. Singularity is the 3rd highest ranking BTS solo song in Worldwide iTunes Song Chart at #6. [Source]

3.His OST song “It’s Definitely you” with Jin charted in 52 countries and peaked at #1 in 3 countries.

Apple Music

1. Singularity is the 3rd highest charting BTS solo song in the Worldwide Apple Music Song Chart at #104. [Source]

Billboard Charts

•Japan Hot 100

1. Taehyung’s’s solo “Singularity” is the second BTS solo song to chart at #34 (after Daydream). [Source]

Singularity BTS (BTS) #34

Total points --- 1,400

•K-pop Hot 100

1. Singularity debuted at #10. [Source]

"Intro _ Singularity" #10 May 28, 2018

•World Digital Song Sales

1. Singularity peaked at #3 and charted for 3 weeks. (#1 & #2 were BTS). [Source]

2. List of Taehyung's songs which debuted

A. Stigma (#10)

youtube

B. Singularity (#3)

youtube

C. It's Definitely You (#8)

youtube

Other Charts

•Singapore Regional Streaming Top 30

1. Singularity entered at #16. [Source]

•France Top 100 Downloads

1. BTS V’s solo “Singularity” charted at #100. [Source]

•Hungary Single Top 40

1. Singularity debuted at #23.[Source]

Sales Record

•Single Sales

1. Singularity has more than 10k pure sales in the USA. [Source]

2. Singularity has sold over 100,000 units in the US. [Source]

Year-End Lists

1. BTS V is the second Korean solo (after Psy) to have his song‘Singularity’ in the NY Times’“The Best Songs of 2018” list. [Source]

The 65 Best Songs of 2018 by New York Times

Singularity was at #20 with FAKE LOVE in the NY Times’“The 65 Best Songs of 2018’. It is the only Korean solo song in the list.

[Source]

2. Singularity is at #4 and is the only Korean song in the LA Times’ “Best of 2018: The 10 (orso) songs that demanded to be replayed”. [Source]

@ No. 4 BTS V, ‘Singularity’ by Los Angeles Times

Seoul’s hyperactive K-pop scene finally went mainstream in America this year thanks to BTS (V), the hugely popular seven-member boy band that topped the Billboard 200 twice on its way to a sold-out tour that stopped at Staples Center for four shriek-filled nights. Yet the group’s most arresting song from 2018 was also its least frenzied: “Singularity,” a breathy, methodically paced soul jam with echoes of D’Angelo and Luther Vandross.

3. Singularity was included with FAKE LOVE and LY: Tear in The Guardian’s “best albums and tracks of 2018”. It is the only Korean solo song in the list.[Source]

4. Singularity and Daydream are the only BTS solo songs which charted in the PopAsia's Top 100 Asian pop songs of 2018.[Source]

PopAsia's Top 100 Asian pop songs of 2018: 50-1

BTS: Singularity @ #24

From V's deep vocals to the minimal funk bass and piano propelling the rhythm, "Singularity" is breathtaking, teasing in its languid pace and melancholic undertones. It's essentially a work of art.

J-Hope: Daydream @ #23

This is what sunshine sounds like if it was produced by one of K-pop's biggest stars. While it bops along with tambourine and addictive percussion, the lyrics go deeper as J-Hope confronts the juxtaposition of daydreaming despite living a dream life.

Streams

1. Singularity is the “fastest” BTS solo song to reach 60M streams on Spotify. [Source]

2. Stigma is at #36 in the BTS' Official Top 40 most streamed songs in the UK. [Source]

SoundCloud

1. BTS V’s song “Scenery” is the second biggest 24 hours debut on SoundCloud with 5.95M streams. [Source]

2. Scenery is the most liked song on SoundCloud in the first 24 hours record with 372K likes. [Source] [Source]

3. Scenery is the fastest BTS solo track to reach 20-50M plays. [Source]

4. “Scenery” accumulated the most streams in a 24-hour period (not the first 24 hours, Promise has that record) after listing a total of eleven million streams within one day. [Source]

5. BTS V's solo track "Scenery" breaks the record for fastest song to hit 100 million streams on SoundCloud, in just over 14 days. [Source] [Source]

6. BTS occupy the record for the top three most streamed and liked debuts in the history of SoundCloud via solo songs from Jimin, V and Jin. [Source]

7. Scenery is at #14 in the SoundCloud Top 15 Most Streamed Songs of All Time. [Source]

Radio

1. V’s song “Singularity” was played for the very first time in U.K BBC radio. It’s a first time for any idol’s solo song to be played. [Source]

3. V’s song Scenery was played by NRJ Radios Digitales, France. [Source]

4. US radio station KissChattanooga played 4 songs of V for 15 min as a special, making good debut of ‘Scenery” in US radio. [Source]

5. 'Scenery' was aired in a Korean radio program, the first among songs released on SoundCloud. Although it is a free song which has barriers to be aired in broadcasting, it was aired in a radio program. [Source] [Source]

YouTube

1. Singularity is the fastest solo Korean artist MV to surpass 10M views (15 hours). [Source]

2. Singularity is the 3rd fastest solo Korean artist MV to get 3M Likes.

3. Singularity is the highest BTS solo in the YouTube Weekly Global Chart at #19. [Source]

4. Singularity is the fastest BTS solo song to surpass the 90M views. [Source]

5. Singularity is the third fastest BTS music video to surpass the 10 million count. [Source]

6. Singularity becomes the fastest BTS solo MV to reach 100 million views. It is also the 2nd BTS solo MV to reach 100M views. [Source] [Source]

7. BTS V’s solo “Winter Bear” debuted at #25 on the Global YouTube Music Videos Chart. In grabbing a Top 25 position, it notably outranks any other video by a Korean act. [Source]

youtube

Wins/Nominations

1. Order of Cultural Merit (2018) - Won

2. President Award (2017) - Nominated

3. Best OST (MMA 2017) - Nominated

4. Best Idol Actor (Soompi Annual Awards 2018) [Source] - Won

5. Best Acting Ensemble (Soompi Annual Awards 2018) [Source] - Won

6. Best Choreography for Singularity (Soompi Annual Awards 2019) - Won

Other Achievements

1. BTS V was included as "The Most Daring" in the Highsnobiety's List of Grammy 2019: Grooming Looks. [Source]

2. List of songs accredited to his name by the Korea Music Copyright Association. (ID # 10005240) [Source]

3. Kim Taehyung aka V was named the most handsome face of 2017 by TC Candler. [Source]

4. V came at #5 in the TC Candler’s “The 100 Most Handsome Faces of 2018”. [Source]

5. He was placed first in the Starmometer’s “100 Asian Heartthrobs of 2018” list. [Source]

6. V was also selected as the “Most Handsome Man In The World” in 2018 according To Famous Star 101. [Source]

7. TATA, which V had participated to design, is the bestseller among the BT21 line. Line Friends’ people said the re-order couldn’t catch up the demand of TATA.

[Source]

8. Among the BT21 characters (when they were launched), TATA was always sold out & out of stock. [Source]

9. Out of all BTS and K-Pop related words, V was revealed to be the most searched term on Google from 2013 to 2018.

10. After a month of Singularity's release, Guardian added it to the Top 50 songs for the month of June 2018 playlist. [Source]

11. Kim Taehyung was ranked as the 9th most preferred idol of 2018 by Gallup Korea. [Source]

12. Chilean magazine ismorbo included V's "Scenery" on their report "12 newly released songs you should listen to". [Source] [Source]

13. V was drawn in the cover of Marvel comic 'Runaways' #11. [Source]

14. Kim Taehyung or V came at #1 in the Asian Male for I-MAGAZINE FASHION FACE AWARDS YEAR 2018. [Source]

1stKim Tae Hyung

SOUTH KOREAI-MAGAZINE FASHION FACE AWARDS YEAR 2018 - ASIAN MALE

5. Japan’s “Play Up” contact lenses which V modeled got sold out in Japan. His lenses were not only the #1 on the websites sales charts, but also the first to be sold out among BTS members. [Source]

16. In Tumblr’s ‘Year in Review 2018’, V ranked #3 on the most popular K-POP Star Top 50. All members ranked from #1 to #7 in the Top 10. [Source]

17. V turned a traffic light spot in UK into a tourist spot. [Source]

18. BTS V’s tweet received 1 million 'likes' in 4 hours and 23 minutes, which is the record for the shortest period of '1 million' likes. [Source]

19. 4 O'Clock was selected as the #1 unreleased BTS song by topstarnews (Promise #2 and Ddaeng is #3). [Source]

https://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/327128519/download?client_id=Iy5e1Ri4GTNgrafaXe4mLpmJLXbXEfBR

20. The BISCO (Busan Infrastructure Corporation) marked and posted the path which V walked and took a photo in the Busan Citizens Park and recommended that path to take a walk. The photo was taken before the BTS MUSTER in Busan. [Source] [Source]

21. The Royal Academy of Arts’ shop added a sentence “As worn by K-pop star V from BTS” on their online website of Paint Palette brooch as he wore that brooch. [Source] [Source] The Palette Brooch got sold out.

[Source]

22. Daegu Seogu Bisandong pre school, which is known to have been attended by V will be relocated and the original building will be remodeled for tourist attraction with BTS V's theme.

[Source]

23. In less than a hour after V posted a video wearing a Lissom green shirt on BTS Twitter, both green & ivory shirts from this brand sold out and are currently out of stock.

24. Bruno Major gave a shout out to BTS V on his IG post. [Source]

25. Producer/writer of 'The Simpsons' Al Jean responded to V’s request to be 'Drawn like a Simpson’. [Source] [Source] [Source]

26. According to Famous Birthdays, Tae is at #48 in the top 48 most popular Pop singers in the US. [Source]

27. Taehyung is at #2 in the “The Top 50 Most Searched K-Pop Male Idols In Mid 2019” according to Google. [Source] [Source]

28. BTS V helped increase the sales of a small charitable company called Choi Changnam made or ccnmade. The fund raised from their sales are used to sponsor dogs, cats and children with heart disease. [Source]

29. V’s perfume Eu de Musk was the first and only perfume that sold out in less than an hour at the VT Cosmetics Carollton Texas, USA and even VT Cosmetics Vietnam said that Eau de Musk is out of stock all over the world. [Source]

30. V is the 2nd most searched K-pop idols based on global Google searches in 2019 according to Nielsen. [Source] [Source]

31. V was praised for his unique tone and charming vocals by vocal coaches and musicians such as Rok-Town, JoongSeob Shim, Adam Mishan, Charlie J Perry, Yoon Jong Shin etc. [Source] [Source]

32. Just immediately after V’s Seoul promotional video was released, fans were mesmerized by BTS V's cuteness and trendy fashion especially the robe he was wearing in the advertisement. Curious Army flocked online to search for the clothing brand only to be amused and disappointed at the same time-THE ROBE WAS SOLD OUT----AGAIN

https://twitter.com/TK_MyBaBies

33. BTS V's Mattel dolls has also sold out globally. Fans attested that they were not able to get hold of the doll in Barnes and Nobles New York, and even from the famous SM Megamall, one of the biggest and most popular shopping malls in the Philippines, where even the BTS V DOLL ON DISPLAY was sold out. The doll is not even available for order online, based on an ARMY's testimony.

[https://www.allkpop.com/article/2019/09/bts-v-achieves-another-all-kill-sold-out-clothes-and-toys-harnessing-the-power-of-his-brand-name]

#© shadow_twts (Wandering Shadow) for the required information #taetae #taehyung #kim taehyung #bts taehyung #btsv #v bts taehyung #bts v

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