#adjacent?

[karlydraws]

You Will Bring Him Home By 9

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

We've only just begun (a Mon-el introspective? Idk dont ask me) (Rhea's wedding plans succeed)

Mon-el jolts from his misery when the door to his cell clicks open, and shoots to his feet when he sees Lena Luthor on the other side. He blinks in surprise.

"How...?"

Lena flashes an access key, apparently palmed from some soldier's gauntlet. Her smirk is flat and humorless. "You should really have a talk with your guards."

Mon-el scowls. "They're not *my*--"

"Whatever," comes the dismissive retort. "Coming?"

Mon-el is certainly not staying. But he's not about to let Lena Luthor take the lead, either. He overtakes her brisk pace in a jog, and though she huffs with derision, she thankfully doesn't protest. Kara's heroics have rubbed off on him enough to know that if Lena got hurt while he lagged behind... well. The less said about that, the better.

Mon-el manages to take out the few guards they run into on the way to the nearest transmat pad, but their disappearance is noticed just as Lena swipes the access key across the final sensor keeping them from their escape.

A siren blares, echoing in the empty corridor. Closing themselves in the transmat chamber is no better-- there the pulsing wail of the alarm presses close around them, even as Lena surges towards the control panel.

"Damn it!" she curses, fingers flying over the control board. "Shit!"

"They shut it down remotely?" Mon-el guesses correctly. Lena glares at the console. "We're trapped then."

"Maybe not!" Lena shouts over the klaxon. "If I can--"

The door opens behind them, admitting a squadron of guards who swiftly spill into the room. Mon-el smoothly disarms one, then floors another with a strike to his sternum. He knows all he can do to aid their escape is to buy Lena time--

Three guards pile on him at once, driving him to the ground. In moments he's restrained in manacles and pinned to the floor with a knee digging sharply into his back.

"Step back!" a guard barks at Lena, aggression plain in his posture.

Lena ignores him, jaw tight as she focuses on her task. In horror, Mon-el watches the guard level his staff weapon at Lena, preparing to fire.

"Step back!" the guard bellows again.

Again, Lena ignores him, even when the weapon at her back whines with a building electrical charge. Mon-el twists against the guard pinning him, to no avail. Finally, he sags.

"Lena," is all he says.

At the sound of his voice, Lena's fingers pause. Then her eyes close for a long moment, lips thinning into a tense line. Finally, she lifts her hands from the controls, and steps back.

In an instant, the guard seizes her by the arm and yanks her away. She gives a cry of pain as she stumbles, her bare feet scuffing against the floor.

"Careful!" Mon-el snaps, even as his own captors heave him to his feet. The guard flashes him a glare, which Mon-el meets with all the haughty authority he can muster. "The queen won't be pleased if you damage her."

The man scowls, but his grip relaxes ever so slightly. Mon-el meets Lena's eyes briefly, and finds a heady mix of irritation and despair staring back at him.

"Let's go!"

The guards march them from the room. Mon-el expects them to be escorted to the throne room, where his mother would chide them like children, but to his surprise, his escort turns back towards the cells. Lena's, however, turns the opposite direction.

"Hey!" Mon-el shouts, digging in his heels to try and maneuver back towards Lena. "Stop!"

"Mon-el!" Lena calls back, twisting desperately against the grip on her arm. She knows that separation would leave them both vulnerable. "Let me go!"

But no one listens. As the distance between them grows, Mon-el cranes his neck to look over his shoulder towards Lena, only to have his stop plummet when he sees her growing terror. Unable to do anything more, Mon-el draws on the only reassurance he has to offer.

"Supergirl will come!" he shouts to Lena, even as her captor turns them around the corner out of sight. "She's coming!"

---

Kara doesn't come. Not soon enough, anyway. He waits and hopes while he sits in his solitary cell, while he wonders if Lena was unharmed, when a pair of servants deliver a set of fresh finery to dress in.

"For your nuptials," sneers one of the two guards now posted at the cell door.

When he's dressed and finally escorted back to the throne room for the ceremony, Mon-el is relieved when Lena trails in just a few minutes later. She'd been given the same treatment, her dark gown traded for one of the richest red-- the color reserved for the very highest of rank. It is the color of Rao, and a symbol of his approval for the ceremony to come.

Lena seems defiant as she stalks towards the dais where Mon-el stands, but as Rhea commands the broadcast to begin and starts her speech, Mon-el feels Lena trembling beside him. He looks at her from the corner of his eye, and sensing his gaze, Lena looks back with apprehension in her eyes.

He hears Lena swallow thickly when Rhea orders them to face each other, and the fingers Mon-el takes in his own shake with the power of her thundering heartbeat. He wants to offer reassurance, but has none to give. This is happening, and nothing either of them can do will stop it.

A priest winds a silver ribbon around their joined hands, binding them together in the sight of Rao and his witnesses. As Rhea declares their marriage firm and final, Lena blinks, spilling a single tear down her cheek.

The broadcast ends, and Lena yanks her hands from Mon-el's the instant the ribbon is removed. She scrubs the tear away with the heel of one hand, swallowing again to steel herself as Rhea approaches.

"You performed beautifully, my dear," his mother says. She reaches out to brush Lena's cheek, who sharply pulls her head away from the touch. Rhea tsks. "Ah, well."

She turns to address them both. "I would have allowed you to spend your wedding night together, however after your little escapade, I don't trust that you won't cause trouble."

With a clap of her hands, the guards step forward once more, gripping them both tightly. Mon-el keeps his attention on Lena, watching as her gaze goes flat-- numb.

"I'm sorry," Mon-el says before Lena is dragged away, and he himself soon after. It echoes in his ears as they return him to his cell, and thunders in his head when his helplessness closes in around him.

I'm sorry.

----

Supergirl arrives a week later, after coordinating resistance against the Daxamite soldiers on the ground. When she arrives in the cell block where Mon-el waits, Kara's brow furrows in alarm.

"Where's Lena?" she demands.

"I don't know," Mon-el replies dully. "She may be in the royal wing, but I'm not--"

"Let's go."

Kara barely spares a moment to wrench the doors apart before marching away, and Mon-el is all too willing to follow. Backing Supergirl is something he can do-- now, he can finally help. He leads them to the most lavish of the court's chambers, correctly guessing that his mother had extended her the luxury of a high noble.

Within the chamber they find Lena, now changed from her red wedding gown to robes of deep purple. Between that and the way her hair is styled in the fashion of Daxam's courtiers, she looks every inch a Daxamite princess.

Lena turns from the window at their entrance. Her gaze bounces between them briefly. "Supergirl."

Kara is already closing the distance between them. Mon-el sees the way her arms lift to embrace Lena, only to redirect midway to grasp her friend by the shoulders.

"You're all right?" Supergirl asks.

Lena nods. "Yes, thank you."

Mon-el wonders if Kara can hear the distance in Lena's voice. If she does, she gives no indication as she shifts to the task at hand. "Let's get out of here."

Taking Lena by the hand, Kara guides them both from the chamber. With Supergirl as their escort, not a single guard can stop them: each one ends up crumpled at their feet, senseless or dead-- Mon-el isn't sure he wants to know which.

To his surprise, Lena slips her hand from Supergirl's after the second guard goes down, scooping up his sidearm as she follows the hero's path. The fact he hadn't thought to do the same pricks at Mon-el's pride, as does Supergirl's swift dispatch of any opponents they run into. But he keeps it to himself, aware that they are only this close to freedom because of Kara's help.

The alarms sound a few corridors away from the transmat room, and Lena's shoulders stiffen. "They'll have locked down the consoles," she says stiffly. "But if you can--"

"We don't need the consoles," Supergirl delivers with a smirk. She plucks a small fob from beneath the neck of her suit. "Different exit strategy."

At that, Lena's features spread into a conspiratorial grin, and for a moment Mon-el feels entirely out of place. Then Supergirl turns to him, nods, and cocks her head towards the end of the corridor.

"This way."

They make it to the far end of the ship without Lena having to fire a single shot. Reaching a deserted room, Kara guides them inside, then clicks the button on her fob just once. Instantly, the ship melts away, and the world coalesces around them once more into an entirely different scene.

Suddenly-- still-- attuned to Lena, Mon-el registers the moment Lena realizes where she is. Her eyes widen in surprise, scanning the icy fortress around her. In that scan, Lena's gaze lands on a tall, slender woman who must have activated the device to bring them home. In an instant, Lena's features shutter once more.

"Mother."

The woman saunters forward, and in her regal stature and haughtily bemused features, Mon-el sees his own mother. And just like with Rhea, Lena recoils when her mother reaches to touch her cheek.

The woman sighs at her reaction. "Even now, Lena?"

"Don't pretend you're here out of the goodness of your heart," Lena snaps.

"I'm here for you," her mother delivers firmly. "For my daughter."

"So you'll leave without me?"

At this, the woman frowns. "They are the reason this happened, they cannot be trusted!"

She reaches for her daughter's arm, only for Lena to wrench herself out of reach.

"*I* am the reason this happened, mother," Lena hisses. She glances guiltily towards where Kara has stiffened in surprise, but powers through. "*They* are the ones who will help me fix it."

"That's absolutely out of the question--"

"Your opinion means nothing." Lena bristles with obstinance, as though all the resistance she'd been unable to enact on the ship had found its outlet in this moment. "Now leave, so the rest of us can go home."

The woman scowls. "You're making a mistake."

"Not this time," comes Lena's firm reply, only for her mother to lift a knowing eyebrow.

"We'll see."

---

Once the woman leaves with her henchmen, Supergirl removes her cape to wrap it around Lena, whose thin gown offered little resistance to the Arctic cold. Lena accepts the gesture with a thin, shivering smile.

"Thank you."

Kara nods in reassurance. "Let's go home."

Outside a DEO helicopter waits for them with a pilot standing by. The trip feels long to Mon-el, spent in awkward silence seated between his girlfriend and his new wife.

Wife.

That means something to him, he finds. He watches Lena carefully throughout the ride, though she largely ignores him in favor of staring out the window. Supergirl, for her part, studies the both of them. The helicopter lands twenty miles from National City, not trusting the Daxamite fleet wouldn't shoot them from the sky on approach.

When they disembark, Mon-el sees Lena's look of surprise when he turns to help her down from the helicopter. But after that moment of hesitation, Lena accepts his assistance by placing her hand in his.

The last leg of their journey is spent in the back of an SUV, and Mon-el's shoulder brushes Lena's as they speed down the interstate. When the National City skyline comes into view, Lena stiffens at the columns of smoke still rising from the city. It looks like a scene from one Winn's movies, but it's not. It's real, and from the way Lena barely seems to breathe, the reality presses on her just as heavily.

They arrive at the alien bar with little fanfare. But even the quiet embraces Alex gives Kara and Winn gives Mon-el leaves Lena standing pointedly alone. Upon seeing Lena draw Supergirl's cape more securely around herself, Mon-el extricates himself from Winn's tight hug.

"Perhaps you have some clothes more comfortable?" he asks. Winn follows his gaze, seemingly only then noticing their final guest.

"Oh!" he chirps. "Yeah, of course! Hi, Miss Luthor."

Lena offers only the smallest upturn of her lips in gratitude. Her eyes flash to Mon-el, her features inscrutable in the barest of moments before she allows Winn to lead her inside. Mon-el almost follows, but lingers when Kara does. They finally embrace, and Mon-el releases some of the tension he'd been carrying with a sigh.

"Thank you," he murmurs quietly.

"I saw the broadcast," Kara says. When she pulls away, her face is creased with worry. "The wedding. Are... are you okay?"

Mon-el pauses, and realizes he doesn't quite know how to respond. For want of an answer, he deflects.

"Lena spent the most time with my mother," he says, half jokingly. "She's the one you should worry about."

Kara frowns, a wrinkle forming between her eyebrows. "I can worry about you both."

"I'm fine." As he says the words, Mon-el can feel how untrue they are. He tries again. "I'll be fine when my people have left this planet for good."

Kara's gaze searches his, but thankfully doesn't push any further. "Now that we have you both back, we might stand a chance."

---

Their chance, as Mon-el had long suspected, is entirely Lena. When Mon-el follows the team to the DEO, Lena parts ways, heading for L-Corp. That she would go to her place of business instead of her home carries a meaning Mon-el can't quite define. Perhaps it is to Lena what the throne room is to his mother: a place of power, control... both of which Mon-el is certain Lena feels the need to regain.

Even so, he's relieved when she returns just a few hours later with a plan. His heart drops when he learns that plan is to poison Earth's atmosphere with lead, but when his gaze connects with Lena's, he finds no malice. If anything, she seems reluctant to offer the plan, clearly a last resort.

"We won't need it," Supergirl declares. She is sure of two things, where Mon-el is only certain of one: Supergirl may win the Dakam-ur, but Rhea will not honor it.

For the first time in his life, Mon-el wishes he'll be wrong.

He isn't.

---

Supergirl is the one to press the button, but it's Kara who says goodbye. Her eyes are full of tears, and even as he chokes on the air in his lungs, Mon-el wants nothing more than to wipe them away.

"I'm a better person, because of you," he coughs thickly. "Kara, please..."

"I'm sorry," she whispers hoarsely. "I'm so sorry."

Mon-el shakes his head. There's nothing to forgive. Instead, he has a request of his own.

"Take care of Lena."

Kara stares at him, confusion clouding her tear-filled gaze. "What?"

"She's going to need you," Mon-el gasps. "And you'll need her in return. Let her be what I couldn't."

"Mon-el..."

"Tell her I'm sorry. Tell her... I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to be the person she needed me to be. The person you both needed me to be." He wheezes painfully, every breath a thousand knives prickling his throat and lungs. "I should have stopped the wedding. You would have."

Kara shakes her head, but Mon-el knows. Had it been Supergirl in his shoes, she would have thought of some way to thwart the ceremony.

He should have thought to challenge his mother to the Dakam-ur himself, right there on that dais.

"Don't let Lena blame herself," Mon-el continues. "And don't blame yourself either. You made the right choice."

He doubts Kara believes him now, but in time, in the months or years it takes for the ache to fade, he knows she will. It is the right choice.

His final goodbye is a wave through the shuttles window as it lifts off the ground. Pre-programmed to exit Earth's orbit as swiftly as possible, he soon loses sight of Kara as the pod lifts through the atmosphere and into the dark of space.

In that void of expanse, Mon-el knows that whatever else, the two women he leaves behind will be fine. His wife and the love of his life will find their way through, together.

[renatogpadilla]

How Lux Met Jinx:

The locals called her "Isha, the Witch"...

Luxanna Crownguard, calls her "Firework". But it didn't start like that.

It had just been another day. That's what she referred to them now. "Another day". Another day of hiding who she was. Of hoping against hope she had enough Petricide Potion to keep her powers in check another day...

She needed a break. She needed to GO. So when she rode her beloved horse Starfire to a little village on the outskirts of Demacia to clear her head and heard about a Witch in the woods that even the Mageseekers were scared to go after? She cursed her own curiosity and immediately went to see who or what this being was. A distraction, she thought, to take the edge off. To meet a fellow Mage, and one that didn't fear the strict anti-magic sentiment the kingdom held for their kind at that! Lux was ecstatic...

It took her the full afternoon to find the little hut. A pretty, ramshackled thing. One story, made of what looked like straw and some gleaming bits of metal on the frames, like it had been cobbled together by someone who CLEARLY didn't know anything about architecture. She found it quaint. Cute.

And then, the next thing she knew, there was a sound, like a giggle, and she was hanging upside-down. She felt her foot hit something metallic right before... A trap, obviously. "The Mageseekers fear this woman. Why would there NOT be traps?", she thought, feeling the blood rush to her brain.

And then there was another sound, a soft click and then a hum, like a very large bug taking flight, followed by a voice that put her on edge immediately.

"Don't you know it's dangerous to wander the woods at night...?"

Oh, there was some CATSCRATCH in that voice. Lux felt her hands growing hotter by the second. If she lit up now...

"So, tell me. What's the name of the person who seeks me out today? And what is it you want? Curse a family? An enemy? A glimpse into the future?" The voice was getting louder and closer, the humming as well... "Not now." Lux thought. "PLEASE, not now!"

The figure came closer, finally moving around so Lux could get a clear look at her. "'Cause I'm warning you. I'm not that kind of Witch".

She was hooded, with a strange, cape-like jacket that looked like it had teeth on the top rim of her hood. A falling shock of blue hair made it look like her hoodie was sticking out its tongue at her. She was also really pale, and she had these... Unnerving eyes. Not purple, no. Violet. That was the color. She was also holding the source of the humming: A little metal contraption, with what looked like a trigger, like a crossbow, and a glass... cage? that hummed melodically and glowed blue, so that her face was lit up by it.

A twitch in her facial features assured Lux of one thing: This woman could only be who she had been looking for. She looked like someone who didn't care what the Mageseekers, if anyone, thought or tried.

"Isha the Witch?", Lux asked. A dumb question, she though, like it wasn't obvious. "My name is Luxanna Crownguard. I mean you absolutely no harm, but I need you to let me down from here!"

At the mention of the name, she seemed to twitch again. A sarcastic, half-cocked smile that didn't reach her eyes formed for a second.

"Crownguard? Ha! I did not know my humble abode warranted the presence of nobles!" She did a very exaggerated and sarcastic bow as she said this and a long braid fell from under her hood with a light thud against the forest floor. "I was convinced people were too chicken to try to come push me out... Is that why you're here?"

At that last line, her voice changed. No longer mocking, but dead serious. She was dangerously close now, the little humming device pressed up against Lux's forehead, hanging lazily from Isha's hand. She was getting nervous... Too nervous. Keep it in check, keep it in check, keep it in check...!

"Please, no, I have no desire to hurt you! That's not why I'm here! I-I just got curious! I swear, please let me down, I'm begging you! I don't want to hurt you!" She was squirming against the trap now. Isha thought she looked like a very enthusiastic fish outta water.

"You don't want to hurt me?" Isha said. The catscratch was back... Was she enjoying this? "It's cute that you think you could."

"LET ME DOWN NOW!" Lux demanded.

Too late.

Like it always did, it started with her hands. She felt the light come through like the warm summer sun. In any other situation, the sensation might have been comforting. Not like this. The feeling moved up her torso, down her legs, the glow penetrating every fiber of her being until her eyes, her hair, her entire self was a glowing, resplandecent, magical sign that said "Mage here! Come imprison me!" in big, bold letters... The Witch got half a "What the fu-" out before Lux couldn't hold on any longer

The light burst forth, blasting from her body, breaking the wires of the snare trap she found herself in, blasting Isha away and dropping Lux on the ground. She heard the scream the Witch let out and immediately started to concentrate again. Breathe, Luxanna, BREATHE! Dim down, dim down!

Until, eventually, almost as quickly as it had come, the light was gone.

She saw Isha with her hands on her eyes. Twisting on the floor, a second braid now fallen from her hood. The weirdest part was that Lux couldn't tell if the woman was in pain or if she was... Gods, was she giggling?! Lux suddenly felt REALLY uncomfortable.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I swear I didn't mean to hurt you! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Lux crawled to her and sure enough, she was giggling. Like the initial scream of pain had given way to some twisted joke she found absolutely hilarious...

Isha sat up as she slowly regained her sight, the first thing she saw were Lux's huge baby-blue eyes staring at her. She looked close to tears, the poor thing!

"Damn, Flashlight!" Isha's scratchy voice said, maybe a little too loud, between giggles. "I stand corrected! You pack a punch!"

"You're not... Hurt?"

"Oh, it stings like a BITCH!" She wheezed. "But the joke of it all is so much more entertaining... A Mage noble? In DEMACIA?! Who ever heard of THAT before?"

Every single danger warning in Lux's body went off at once. She knew now. She couldn't know! She couldn't let anyone know! This could kill her. It could kill her whole family! Her brother knew, and that was problem enough! This could-

The Witch spoke again. "Alright. I'm too curious now. Come inside, girlie, let's see what ails you." Mockingly, that last line was spoken, and lazily, like a ragdoll, the witch of the woods got up.

"You can't tell anyone! Not a SOUL can know! Please, miss Isha, I know I have no right but you must understand! If someone were to find out...!"

The Witch turned on her heel, and curved a finger towards the young Mage. Then she walked towards her ramshackle hut and opened the door...

"Trust me, Flashlight. I won't tell anyone. Besides, if YOU got made, that probably means people wouldn't leave me alone for not bringing you in, right? Come on. I don't get a lot of visitors and you're not a baby or anything, so I promise not to eat you. Mind the traps! There's like three more on the ground over there."

Lux saw the logic in it... And besides, if she ratted her out, she'd be screwed as well, right? She could afford to be welcoming. Isha held all the cards... And Lux supposed, if the absolute worst outcome happened, she could just let go and incinerate the hut and the witch with it, but she really hoped it didn't come to that.

She made her way, carefully avoiding the traps laid out in front of her, now uncovered by the blast. She wondered how Isha could hide them so well while they were painted with such vibrant colors... She made it to the door.

"Come in, come in!" Said the witch, gently tapping Lux's shoulder inside, like they were friends or something. "Tell me everything!"

Jinx had left for Demacia so no more magic could hurt her. So she could be at peace knowing no HexTech or any other insane, arcane invention could put her in danger. She'd left to be safe. She'd left to be left alone...

But now? She had that buzz between her ears again... And something told her that she was about to have a lot of fun with this one.

[rosie-tyler]

[devisopod]

not sure what brain worm had me doing this

Daphne and Stan don't interact enough ig

[riverphoenixsgothwife]

cunt reznor. is this anything

[feliadox]

Dystopian AU go bRRRRRRRRRRR

[imabsolutelyticketyboo]

i wrote a poem i hope you like it :)

[i-write-shakespeare-not-disney]

Princes and Pickpockets (Completed)

Summary: Rody Soul had long since stopped believing in fairytales. The real world has left him to make a dishonest living just to keep a roof over his siblings' heads. Until a strange guy with an even stranger dream and moral code pops into his life to chase him through the streets, insistent on a fantasy world of magic and princes.

Apparently from a completely different land with entirely different rules, Midoriya Izuku seeks refuge with Rody and his siblings where he begins to learn that right and wrong might not necessarily be as black and white as he thought. He agrees to help Rody with his siblings while they help him find a way home to his friends and fiance.

Meanwhile, in another world, a prince and a dragon rider are desperately searching for Midoriya who disappeared without a trace until it lands them in a strange land full of strange people and no place to start their search.

Ch. 1: Once Upon a Time

Ch. 2: Good and Evil

Ch. 3: Prince Charming

Ch. 4: Wish Upon a Star

Ch. 5: Just One Bite

Ch. 6: True Love’s Kiss

Epilogue: Happily Ever After

[limbuscompanysituations]

heathcliff x gregor x reader headcanons?

Now this is an interesting relationship!

Heathcliff isn't the kind to share, but he doesn't see Gregor as that big of a competition. He's old, he's got that smoker stamina, and is also bad at the whole seduction game. It's an easy win for Heathcliff, right?

Wrong. What Gregor lacks in social skills he more than compensates through his awkward, old man charm. He's super loving and devoted, and doesn't try to puff up his chest and act all big and mighty. Oh Heathcliff, you don't really know what you're getting into...

Sometimes they passively 'fight' over their mutual partner, and sometimes those 'fights' end up with them kissing and making up? It can be either quite confusing or arousing, depending on what their partner is into!

Both Heathcliff and Gregor shower their partner with love and gifts whenever they can, which also leads to them trying to one-up the other. Poor person who's in the middle of this metaphorical cockfight... At least they're super devoted though!

[crimsontentacles]

Figuring out how my F&H OC's brother actually looks like. AIming for "spoiled but dashing at the first glance, creepy and scummy on closer inspection" vibes.

[tenderwatches]

sometimes you need dialogue tags and don't want to use the same four

[shadesofmauve]

I want to step away from the art-vs-artist side of the Gaiman issue for a bit, and talk about, well, the rest of it. Because those emotions you're feeling would be the same without the art; the art just adds another layer.

Source: I worked with a guy who turned out to be heavily involved in an international, multi-state sex-slavery/trafficking ring.

He was really nice.

Yeah.

It hits like a dumptruck of shit. You don't feel stable in your world anymore. How could someone you interacted with, liked, also be a truly horrible person? How could your judgement be that bad? How can real people, not stylized cartoon bogeymen, be actually doing this shit?

You have to sit with the fact that you couldn't, or probably couldn't, have known. You should have no guilt as part of this horror — but guilt is almost certainly part of that mess you're feeling, because our brains do this associative thing, and somehow "I liked [the version of] the guy [that I knew]", or his creations, becomes "I made a horrible mistake and should feel guilty."

You didn't, loves, you didn't.

We're human, and we can only go by the information we have. And the information we have is only the smallest glimpse into someone else's life.

I didn't work closely with the guy I knew at work, but we chatted. He wasn't just nice; he was one of the only people outside my tiny department who seemed genuinely nice in a workplace that was rapidly becoming incredibly toxic. He loaned me a bike trainer. Occasionally he'd see me at the bus stop and give me a lift home.

Yup. I was a young woman in my twenties and rode in this guy's car. More than once.

When I tell this story that part usually makes people gasp. "You must feel so scared about what could have happened to you!" "You're so lucky nothing happened!"

No, that's not how it worked. I was never in danger. This guy targeted Korean women with little-to-no English who were coerced and powerless. A white, fluent, US citizen coworker wasn't a potential victim. I got to be a person, not prey.

Y'know that little warning bell that goes off, when you're around someone who might be a danger to you? That animal sense that says "Something is off here, watch out"?

Yeah, that doesn't ping if the preferred prey isn't around.

That's what rattled me the most about this. I liked to think of myself as willing to stand up for people with less power than me. I worked with Japanese exchange students in college and put myself bodily between them and creeps, and I sure as hell got that little alarm when some asian-schoolgirl fetishist schmoozed on them. But we were all there.

I had to learn that the alarm won't go off when the hunter isn't hunting. That it's not the solid indicator I might've thought it was. That sometimes this is what the privilege of not being prey does; it completely masks your ability to detect the horrors that are going on.

A lot of people point out that 'people like that' have amazing charisma and ability to lie and manipulate, and that's true. Anyone who's gotten away with this shit for decades is going to be way smoother than the pathetic little hangers-on I dealt with in university. But it's not just that. I seriously, deeply believe that he saw me as a person, and he did not extend personhood to his victims. We didn't have a fake coworker relationship. We had a real one. And just like I don't know the ins-and-outs of most of my coworkers lives, I had no idea that what he did on his down time was perpetrate horrors.

I know this is getting off the topic, but it's so very important. Especially as a message to cis guys: please understand that you won't recognize a creep the way you might think you will. If you're not the preferred prey, the hind-brain alarm won't go off. You have to listen to victims, not your gut feeling that the person seems perfectly nice and normal. It doesn't mean there's never a false accusation, but face the fact that it's usually real, and you don't have enough information to say otherwise.

So, yeah. It fucking sucks. Writing about this twists my insides into tense knots, and it was almost a decade ago. I was never in danger. No one I knew was hurt!

Just countless, powerless women, horrifically abused by someone who was nice to me.

You don't trust your own judgement quite the same way, after. And as utterly shitty as it is, as twisted up and unstead-in-the-world as I felt the day I found out — I don't actually think that's a bad thing.

I think we all need to question our own judgement. It makes us better people.

I don't see villains around every corner just because I knew one, once. But I do own the fact that I can't know, really know, about anyone except those closest to me. They have their own full lives. They'll go from the pinnacles of kindness to the depths of depravity — and I won't know.

It's not a failing. It's just being human. Something to remember before you slap labels on people, before you condemn them or idolize them. Think about how much you can't know, and how flawed our judgement always is.

Grieve for victims, and the feeling of betrayal. But maybe let yourself off the hook, and be a bit slower to skewer others on it.

[astriiformes]

One hill I will die on is that it's always infinitely funnier for mad scientist characters to have an actual area of expertise, and the narrower it is, the funnier it gets. Like, they're mad scientists. They can branch out from it. But it's a very special thing to be able to point to the person who built a death ray/engineered life in their basement/etc and be able to confidently state what they got their PhD in.

"Doc Brown is a mad scientist" Well yeah, obviously.

"Doc Brown is a mad physicist" Now we're getting somewhere!

"Doc Brown is a mad nuclear physicist" Specifically conjures up images of a guy who spent his PhD doing a million repetitive cyclotron tests and eventually said fuck this, I'm building a time machine instead. Comedy gold.

[hinamie]

not my usual lineup