#and the right way to fix oppression is not get mad and try and reach across the divide

[ben-talks-art]

Oppressed turned oppressors

I really like the concept of showcasing the ramifications of oppression or injustice by creating characters who are so enraged with the system and feel such a desire for vindication that they end up being consumed by their emotions and becoming the thing they hate.

They adopt this mentality of "The world turned its back on me, so I'll turn my back on the world" or "it's up to me to fix the world" or "I'm justified in my actions because I suffered."

It's a cool way of showing how villains can be more complex and more human than the usual bad guy of the week that just wants to take over the world.

You're basically looking at a Frankenstein monster, something created by the poor decisions of idiots with power who used it wrongly, and how now they became a problem you can no longer run away from.

And that's the thing, it's meant to be a Frankenstein monster, it's meant to be ugly, it's meant to be a representation of how acts of oppression can bring out the worst in people (so maybe stop oppressing??).

Magneto messing with the Earth's polarity and killing millions around the world, Jet trying to drown a whole village with innocents, Megatron trying to kill his own former friends, Silco using drugs to enslave and control his own people, Dabi burning people just to make his dad mad, Killmonger wanting to kill innocents using the technology of Wakanda, and so on.

They each took "the ends justify the means" to the extreme and saw themselves as the heroes in their story instead of realizing they were just continuing the cycle by unconsciously trying to replace one oppressor for another.

This usually leads to great tragic narratives about the never-ending cycle of hate and makes you think how easy it is for one to stray from the path.

The one thing I don't like about these characters, though, is how sometimes they might be a little too good at making people buy what they're selling.

I often see people who watch these characters and go, "You know... Maybe they have a point 🤔, maybe they're right, maybe they're not so bad, " and so on.

Like... No, the point is that they don't have a point.

They have valid reasons to be angry, but they don't have valid reasons to hurt innocents. There is no such thing as a valid reason to hurt innocents, that's why oppression shouldn't exist.

The moment we reach the point where we say "maybe it's okay for them to kill or hurt innocent people," it's the moment we need to start rethinking some things. 😑

These characters are not actually trying to help make things better, all they want is to vent out their personal frustration and use their pain to justify their actions and sense of entitlement over how things should be.

They're great characters, but they're terrible people.

I think the need to defend these characters comes from how the media sometimes makes people that fight oppression the villains, when instead it should be the people who use their fight against oppression to justify their atrocious actions who should be the villain, and teach that even when you think you have a valid reason to be bad, still doesn't change the fact that evil actions are evil actions.

This is what makes the people that do fight oppression without resorting to terrible actions even more admirable.

True strength isn't trampling over others to get what you want because you believe your pain entitles you to it.

True strength is not allowing your worst version of yourself to become the only version of yourself that exists, even when the world tries so hard to turn you into that version.

Oppression wants to be spread, it wants to live rent-free in people's heads, it wants to convince you it's a necessary evil, it wants to turn regular people into other oppressors, and to beat it, you need to reject it.

Not by becoming your oppressors but by becoming what they failed to be, someone better.

[rjhpandapaws]

Something Familiar

Chapter 1: Conditional Exchange

Sharing his house with someone else after years of living alone took some getting used to. And while he was a horrible patient, Silas was a great housemate. Daniel didn’t know how much of that came naturally to Silas, and how much of it was his fear of getting kicked out. He’d done enough prying already so he wasn’t all that inclined to ask. That and Silas has only just started talking to him after they had made their contract. The contract was a simple thing; Daniel would provide healing and a place to stay in exchange for magic. The conditions were that Silas remain in an animal form whenever Daniel had company or patients; and Daniel couldn’t alter Silas’s consciousness or state of awareness without explicit permission to do so. It was a small thing and Silas still hadn’t spoken to him anymore than what was strictly necessary for three and a half months. Of course things had come to a head eventually because Daniel had never been one to mind his own business. In a fight that he had ultimately caused, he learned a whole lot more about what Silas had been through than he had ever thought he would be allowed to know. Exactly how many traumatic things their contract had brought back to the fore front of his mind. It had made Daniel feel sick and he had done what he could to make it up to Silas. Which amounted to leaving the house for a little over a week so Silas could have room to breathe.

Understandably, things changed after that. Daniel learned to tread more carefully around Silas and made more of an effort to learn about his situation. It was admittedly something he should have done before they made the contract. It was too late to change anything though, as it had already been drawn up and sealed. They still agreed to new unspoken rules and began to live more like housemates than contracted partners. He spent a lot of time teaching Silas about the things he had missed. Silas taught him long forgotten healing magic and a few secrets that had been lost when the shapeshifter settlements had been destroyed. They used very little magic and almost felt like cheating compared to what he was used to. Daniel was tentative to call them friends, but at the very least they were no longer strangers in the same space. Silas often had horrible nightmares. Daniel was woken up pretty often to his cries of fear or pain, and on some occasions screaming. Though the nights those dreams didn’t wake Silas were the ones that worried him most. In the morning he would find Silas on the balcony watching the sunrise with tea or coffee in his hands, still steaming but long forgotten all the same. Some days he would be crying silently, and some days he would be blank and neutral; but there was always this hollow distance darkening his eyes.

As soon as he woke up Daniel knew he would find Silas on the balcony. The night had been a quiet one with no screaming and no tears. Which meant whatever had chosen to haunt him would be doing so in his waking hours instead. Daniel wished almost desperately that there was something he could do to help, but Silas never answered him when he offered. He would just look at him with that dark oppressive distance in his eyes. So lost to whatever memories that had chosen to torture him that Daniel was unable to reach him. He took his time to get out of bed and ready for the day. Silas wouldn’t be ready to talk for a while, and it didn’t matter when Daniel came up to check on him. Despite knowing that it wouldn’t be eaten until it had long gone cold if at all he still made Silas breakfast. Though he had gained some of it back, Silas was still concerningly underweight. Daniel made his way up to the balcony with the try. There Silas stood. As close to the edge of the balcony as he could get with the railing in his way. There were trying tear tracks on his cheeks and the steam of his coffee was curling away into the morning light. He always used the same mug. A pale nondescript thing that he had found in the back of one of Daniel’s cabinets. The difference today was that the distance in his eyes was somehow darker, and he held the mug in a white knuckle grip.

Whatever was after him this morning had to be particularly painful. As it always did, Daniel’s curiosity weighed heavily on him. He knew better than to ask though. Silas never answered him when he was like this. Which is exactly why Daniel nearly jumped out of his skin when he spoke. “There were three of us you know.” His voice was flat as he spoke. There was no emotion to it, not even pain. His grip tightened on the coffee cup and Daniel feared it might break. Silas didn’t seem to notice, “That made it out. Me and then two of my brothers. I lost them in our mad dash to get out, and now I don’t even know if they are alive.” He blinked and fresh tears rolled down his cheeks, “After everything we had been through I couldn’t be bothered to stay. I ran like a fucking coward and sold myself out in a desperate bid to survive. Some fucking brother I am.” For all his wishing that Silas would speak his mind, Daniel didn’t actually know how to respond now that he knew. Saying that he was sorry felt hollow and fake, and not to mention it was too little way too late. He couldn’t really relate; he and Simon had parted ways amicably. Daniel set the tray down and tried to gather his thoughts. Figure out a way to bring Silas some long overdue comfort. If there was even a way to soothe such deep regret.

He was out of his depth and grasping at straws at this point. “In a few weeks you’ll be healed enough to safely handle mildly strenuous activity. We could go looking for them if you would like.” “Why? So you can add them to your collection?” Came the sharp reply. Angry and emotionless at the same time, “So you can have a complete set of the last shapeshifters known to man?” “No.” Daniel said firmly, “So you can have some damn closure and a place to go once this contract is up. I actually want you to be safe believe it or not.” There was a long rather uncomfortable silence as Silas came back from whatever distant place in his mind that held him. His shoulders slumped as he came into the posture of a man defeated by his own thoughts. He set the mug down on the table beside the tray and Daniel saw the start of a crack. He would have to mend it one of these days so Silas could keep using it. “I’m sorry.” Silas said eventually. “You have been nothing but kind to me, and yet I still fear completely offering you my trust. You may very well be the only human with my best interests at heart and I keep pushing you away.” He finally turned to face Daniel and there was a deep sadness to his eyes, grief hung over him, “I'll think about it but that is asking a lot of faith from me; and for now I think I would rather be alone.”

“I understand.” Daniel kept his voice level though it took him a lot of effort, “I’ll be in the house if you need me.” Silas gave an absent nod and Daniel went back inside. Perhaps he shouldn’t have offered at all. Looking back, it did seem like he had malicious intent in that. He hadn’t meant it that way of course, but all of the humans Silas had ever met had been unspeakably cruel to him. Daniel should have been more careful with his words, or just kept the idea to himself. It was too late now of course, it was out there now and there was no taking it back no matter how badly he wanted to. He set about cleaning the house to keep himself occupied. He wasn’t expecting any patients today, so barring an emergency, all he had to keep his mind busy was cleaning an research. Had he been feeling particularly ambitious, he might have started on a travel plan; but he didn’t want it to seem like he was trying to push Silas toward an answer. He sighed quietly, “Good to know I still have a knack for getting in over my head when it comes to trying to help. Some things never change I suppose.” It was just his nature to be overly concerned for those around him to the point of being an annoyance it seemed.

The afternoon was slowly turning to evening by the time Silas was ready to be around him again. He didn’t say a word though. Just walked into the kitchen and began to clean his dishes. Daniel was at the table going over his medical books and making a list of things he would need to pick up the next time he went into town. He was glad to see Silas had at least eaten something while he battled with his thoughts. Silas seemed a little more composed now at the very least. That made him feel a little better, even if it didn’t shake off his guilt. “I’m sorry Silas.” He eventually said, “For this morning. It was insensitive and out of line.” Silas laughed and the sound was dry and humorless. It was an unpleasant shock to Daniel. He had never heard Silas laugh and this was definitely not the context he had wanted to hear it in. “Was it?” He asked sharply, “Are you rescinding your offer to help me find my only remaining relatives then?” “Well no.” Daniel started. “I just - I wanted you to know that I meant no offense by it. I feel like I’ve messed something up, and I want to know how to fix it.” He sighed quietly, “I hate seeing you so upset.”

Silas deflated some and that same posture of defeat returned, “It’s a matter of learning to trust you. My entire life so far has been spent fearing humans. I just have to keep in mind that you haven’t posed any danger to me yet.” He looked down, “I’m sorry for being so... defensive, I guess would be the word for it.” “You’re alright.” Daniel said gently, “These things take time. Even at that you have a lot of trauma to work through and - “ “Daniel stop.” Silas cut him off, “I need someone to listen to me not psychoanalysis. Believe me, I am well aware of my trauma and the power imbalance of our dynamic. I don’t need a reminder.” “Right.” He replied, “It can be hard to turn my doctor off sometimes.” “I understand. It’s the only way people will acknowledge you so it has become your primary mode of existing.” He said, apparently he was out for Daniel’s soul today, “You’re more than that to me you know. You’re the closest thing I’ve had to a friend actually.” “First of all ow. Secondly, what happened to not psychoanalyzing one another?” He replied with a laugh, “I’m glad you almost think of me as a friend.”

Silas smiled and Daniel was pretty sure it was the first real smile he had ever seen from him. “I figured that you’ve done it to me enough times that I deserved a turn.” “Fair enough.” Daniel began to pick up his books and put them away. His list was as complete as it was going to get until he ran inventory. “How many weeks?” Silas asked after a long stretch of silence, “Until we can leave?” Daniel paused for a moment as he thought about it, “Six if you mind your limitations; eight to twelve if you keep ignoring them.” Silas frowned, “That was a lot more than I was hoping.” “You’ve been stubborn.” He remarked, “Agitating old injuries and coming away from your little excursions with new ones. You need rest.” “Fine.” He said as he looked toward the bookshelf, “I’ll be a better patient from here on out. Six weeks to look for a place to start should be enough.” Daniel smiled, “Of course it will.” Silas nodded his agreement and retreated back into his thoughts. He took traveler’s guides and the few maps Daniel had then settled on his bed to look them over. Daniel started to run inventory of his supplies and started on a list of traveling provisions. They would have to be ready for anything. Daniel had never traveled farther than the town after finding his place here; and the world had changed a lot since Silas had been in it last. They were venturing out into the unknown.

[amythedvdhoarder]

Temperature Control

Pairing: Bucky x reader

For the Flex Your Muscles Writing Challenge set up by @captain-rogers-beard​

15th of June prompt: Humid

Word count: 1.1K

Summary: Temperatures in the compound rise, you need to find some way to cool down.

Warnings: Fluff

Authors notes: GIF not mine. Some more Bucky fluff for you. Slightly cheeky this one. Thanks to everyone reading these entries. Please let me know what you think, feedback is always welcome x

-----------------------------------------------------------

Upstate New York in the summer was hot. Upstate New York in the summer without air conditioning was unbearable. “FRIDAY, when is the air conditioning going to be fixed?” You crossed your fingers and waiting for the AI to reply. “I’m sorry Agent Y/L/N, I cannot find a problem with your air conditioning.” You groaned, inwardly cursing the AI as you pulled at the material of your t-shirt currently clinging to your damp skin. The air in your room was humid, so much so that you couldn’t take it anymore, you needed to get out of there. After a cold shower, you pulled on your swimsuit and left your room. Stepping out into the corridor a blast of cool air hit you. So why the hell wasn’t your air conditioning working?

You made your way down the corridor, stopping a couple of doors down from yours, and knocked. Nearly the whole team was away, the only two left were you and Bucky. He answered the door quickly, his eyes scanning up and down your body briefly. He had to bite down on his bottom lip to stop him self from audibly growling at the sight of you stood there in your black swimsuit. It wasn’t too revealing but it accentuated your body in all the right places.  Your hair still damp from the shower falling loosely around your shoulders. Bucky couldn’t think of a time where he had been greeted by a better sight. You were oblivious to the effect you were having on him, instead were distracted by what felt like a cool breeze coming from his room. “My air conditionings broken, going to spend the day by the pool. Wanna join me?” Bucky knew it was an innocent invitation on your part, but Bucky couldn’t help but feel a leap of excitement in his stomach.

“Sure, already got my trunks on” Your eyes widened at the coincidence.  He pulled off his t-shirt right there and then and threw it onto his bed. Now it was your turn to hide a reaction. You had seen Bucky shirtless before normally when he was working out with Steve at the other end of the gym and you could steal discrete glances. But now faced with the marble perfection in front you it was difficult to avert your gaze from the muscles in front of you. His trunks were low on his hips and it took all of your will power not to reach out and trace your fingertips over his defined hip bones. He pulled his door shut behind him as he stepped into the corridor. You shook your head slightly trying to shake away the desires and cleared your throat. “Great, let’s go”

All to soon the sun was going down and the day was ending. It had been a day well spent. You and Bucky had laughed, talked about this and that and had various swimming competitions. Bucky had pushed you into the pool the moment you had got there. You had taken your revenge swiftly, accepting his hand out and pulling him in as well.  The day had filled you with hope; you had always been friends with Bucky but you wanted more. You had seen his blue eyes watching you when he didn’t think you were looking. His hands lingered when he had rubbed sun cream onto your back and  on your hips when you were both messing around in the water. Bucky had the same feeling of hope from the way you had swept his wet hair from his face, the way you watched him getting in and out of the pool and the way you had leaned into him when he helped put some sun cream on you.  Neither of you said anything though as you walked back your rooms that night.

As you stepped into your room, the oppressive heat hit you. The air felt still and heavy. After another cold shower, you pulled on a tank top and a pair of shorts, slumped onto your bed and prayed that sleep would take you quickly. But an hour later you felt wide awake, the hot air in the room giving you a headache. You sat up and thought about sleeping in the bath tub, just to feel the cold porcelain against your skin. Another option hit you. Bucky had a cold room, maybe you could sleep on his sofa? You dragged yourself out of bed and padded barefoot along the corridor.

Bucky’s light was still on when he opened the door, he looked a little shocked at your appearance. “Bucky, it’s too hot in my room to sleep. Can I sleep on your sofa? Please?” At that moment you pulled the hair stuck to the back of your neck into a messy bun. Bucky sucked in a breath as your tank top rose up slightly revealing a small section of your stomach. He gulped. “Y/N you can just share the bed. It’s plenty big enough.”  You were exhausted from the heat and couldn’t be bothered to argue. He let you through and you walked straight past him to the bed and climbed in and sighed at the feeling of the cool bedding around you. Bucky slid into the bed beside you and switched off the lamp. You rolled so that your back was to Bucky. “I can feel the heat coming off you from over here doll” You grumbled in response. The bed dipped as Bucky shifted over to you. “You trust me Y/N?” He moved even closer to you, nearly pressed against you now. “Yes Bucky” you replied quietly. Bucky pressed against you. You were about to protest until his metal arm wrapped around your waist and his hand snuck under your top and rested on your stomach. The coldness from the metal sent a shiver through your whole body. You relaxed as the coldness of the metal perfectly balanced with the gentle heat coming off Bucky’s chest. A contented sigh left your lips and you felt the exhaustion getting the better of you.

Bucky listened as your breathing deepened. He grinned to himself. His plan had worked perfectly. Telling FRIDAY to turn off the air conditioning in your room and not to turn it back on was a stroke of genius. Of course, he had only planned on getting you to the spend the day outside with him. This was an unexpected bonus. He was certain of one thing, the moment you woke up he was going to ask you out, then he would fix your air conditioning. Hopefully you wouldn’t be too mad at him.

Taglist is open so let me know if you want in

Taglist: @stargazingfangirl18​, @buckys-plums3​, @silentcoyotesong​

[phantom-curve]

Mads I have to be annoying and send you another one of those prompts 😂 Platonic Alex & Reggie with "liberosis - the desire to care less about things"!

this was not the first prompt you sent in, but I had way too much fun exploring this dynamic and I couldn't resist doing this one before the others! set in the gimme a chance AU, please enjoy this deleted scene that takes place after chapter 4 ft. Alex and Reggie being completely Over It™️

liberosis - the desire to care less about things (Rated T+ for language and some slightly suggestive wording about Luke and Julie's relationship)

“Okay so like, we’re in agreement that this is just a weird thing we’re not gonna talk about, right?”

It was late. Alex had stumbled home from work completely drained and exhausted around 10 pm and Reggie had apparently been waiting up to have this conversation, work clothes still on, fingers restless as they twisted together in front of his body where he sat propped up against the couch, TV turned low and forgotten behind him. For a second, Alex wasn’t exactly sure what Reggie was talking about. And then he remembered it was Sunday. Which meant yesterday had been Saturday. And all of the stupid Luke drama he had been trying to ignore came flooding back.

“No, we’re not gonna talk about it,” Alex said firmly, meeting Reggie’s concerned gaze with a look that he hoped translated into I will literally talk about anything else but this right now. “Total radio silence as far as I’m concerned.”

“Cool, okay. Glad we’re on the same page.”

Reggie’s head dipped and bobbed as he nodded his agreement. Alex let out a sigh of relief as he hunched over to slip his work shoes off and stack them on the rack by the front door. Then, the air seemed to grow thick with some sort of unspoken tension. Alex felt it press against him like an old, uncomfortable sweater, itchy and oppressive against his chest. When he straightened once more, Reggie was waiting to meet his gaze head on. Clearly, they were gonna talk about it.

“I’m not alone in thinking it’s like...kinda weird, right?”

Alex sighed, the action bone deep and heavy in a way that only Luke’s shenanigans could make him feel. Reggie wasn’t wrong. It was kinda weird that Luke had been hiding this whole Julie thing from them. It was kinda weird that Luke had managed to pull it off at all, actually. The boy was not known for his subtlety. He had very clearly struck out with Julie the first time around, and yet somehow, he had managed to draw her back in. Alex could tell by the way Luke had stuttered and stammered over the whole thing the night before that he had been trying to keep it lowkey. As if that boy even knew the meaning of the word. Case in point: he hadn’t been able to play it cool for 5 seconds once she had started ignoring him.

“Yeah, Reg, it’s definitely kinda weird.”

“Oh, good, I’m really glad I’m not the only one who feels that way about it. Ya know, when I first figured it out, I was like, ‘okay maybe it’s just a one-time thing.’ But it’s not a one-time thing. Definitely not. And I just like...don’t understand why he isn’t talking about it? Why is he trying to pretend its no big deal? It’s obviously a big deal.”

Alex desperately wished he could go back in time and take Willie up on his offer to spend the night tonight if only to be able to avoid this uncomfortable word vomit that Reggie didn’t seem capable of stopping. If there was ever a can of worms that didn’t need to be opened, it was this one, focused on Luke’s love life and his interactions with Julie, and what all of that meant in the grand scheme of things. Alex did not have the time or patience to truly get into this right now, he really didn’t. Except Reggie was looking at him so expectantly, as if Alex would reach into his fanny pack and pull out a booklet of answers, and so he also couldn’t just leave the poor guy to obsess alone.

“Okay, so we’re gonna do this, yeah? We’re gonna talk about it? Lemme...lemme just like get some sweats on and make some dinner, okay?”

Reggie let out a deep breath that Alex hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Yeah. Yeah, whatever you need, Lex.”

Alex didn’t dawdle. This was not a conversation that was going to go away or be dismissed. Reggie needed to talk it out, and honestly, now that he thought about it, Alex kind of did, too. And not to someone like Willie who would grin and say, “can’t stop true love hot dog, gotta let them ride that wave and figure out if they’re gonna sink or swim on their own” and act all blasé about it. He needed to talk about it with someone like Reggie who, just like Alex, was in the unique position of being friends with Flynn and Carrie (which meant knowing just enough about Julie to have an idea of exactly why she would be so appealing to Luke) as well as being one of Luke’s brothers (which meant knowing him better than he knew himself sometimes). Together, they might be able to figure out if the two would be like oil and water or more like fire and gasoline. Reggie was the only person who could have that kind of discussion with him, so yeah, they were doing this.

Alex made quick work of cleaning off in the shower and switching his work clothes for sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. Reggie was still waiting on the couch, staring at the tv but not actually watching whatever was playing out on the 32-inch screen. He had managed to change out of his clothes and into some Star Wars themed pajamas though. Alex skirted around the couch edge so he could press a quick, reassuring hand against Reggie’s scalp as he made his way into the kitchen. Reggie’s eyes moved away from the screen to track his movements. Alex might be the one with anxiety, but Reggie needed more reassurance when it came to things that might end with his family falling apart in one way or another. Alex wasn’t about to let him get so worked up that he convinced himself this would be catalyst that ruined everything.

“Honestly, Reg, what are we even supposed to do here? You know he’s gonna keep seeing her no matter what we say.”

Alex tried to open the conversation gently, eyes fixed on his bowl as it revolved in circles inside the microwave. Reggie didn’t answer at first, not until the beep of Alex’s food being finished rang out in the small apartment. When he did speak, he sounded partly apologetic and partly resigned.

“I don’t know. I know I probably should have said something after last week but...he just seemed so happy. I didn’t wanna mess it up for him. But last night was weird and it didn’t feel good. I’m worried Luke’s on a one-way path to destruction and I don’t know if it’s gonna be because of Julie or because of Flynn.”

Alex tried not to let his face fall into his freshly warmed bowl of pasta as he pulled it from the microwave. He really, really did not want to think about the ways that Flynn would rip Luke to shreds when she found out what had been going on behind her back. He had learned two things about the pint-sized firecracker in the year or so that he had known her: don’t mess with Carrie and don’t mess with Julie. Luke had already kinda fucked up on one of those counts. He wasn’t super thrilled thinking about what her reaction might be when she discovered he had been messing around with the second one, and in a much bigger way, too. He turned to face Reggie, forced himself to soften his own anxiety when he caught sight of the nerves etched out in harsh lines across the bassist’s forehead. Deep breath in, deep breath out just like his therapist had taught him.

“Flynn is gonna react however she’s gonna react. We can’t control that. She’s gonna have Julie’s back no matter what so all we can do is watch out for Luke.”

Reggie was nodding along in agreement, features smoothing out now that there was something of a plan for him to follow. Alex swung himself onto a barstool, bowl in front of him as his mind turned over and over all the millions of ways this thing between Julie and Luke could go south. Reggie moved off of the couch, hesitating for just a moment before he walked over to lean against the island in the kitchen where Alex was doing his best not to spiral.

“I think he likes her. Like...like likes her.”

Reggie’s voice was quiet, like he was sharing some secret he had been sworn to silence over. Alex turned to look at him again, not entirely sure he wanted to believe it.

“Dude, we’re not in middle school. You hook up with people all the time and it never means more than a night of shared passion. Luke can do the same thing.”

The look Reggie leveled his way was nothing short of disbelieving, eyebrows raised so high they had practically disappeared into his hairline. Alex kinda had to hand it to him there. He didn’t really believe Luke actually could pull off a casual relationship, especially not with a girl like Julie who probably set every single one of his musical nerve endings on high alert. Reggie and Luke weren’t the same in that manner. Reggie wanted to give love and receive it in turn without any reservations or worries about the intent behind it. Just two people meeting in a mutually beneficial exchange and then moving on with their lives to find that again with someone else. Luke’s love was deliberate, a commitment. There was no way whatever he was doing was casual.

“Okay, okay. Put the eyebrows away already.”

Reggie’s face relaxed into something less concerned and more exhausted. Alex felt that all the way to the depths of his soul. Generally speaking, Luke was pretty exhausting. And he was even more exhausting when he wasn’t taking care of himself in order to take care of someone else, in this case: Julie. Alex scooped up his bowl of pasta and tucked an arm around Reggie’s shoulders, guiding both of them to the couch. The tv was still playing something Alex couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to, but the low hum of voices in the background made the apartment feel a little less cold and quiet. Alex shoveled a bite of pasta into his mouth, chewing slowly and deliberately before he turned to face Reggie once more.

“Look, we don’t actually have any control over any of this shit. We know how Luke is, and we kinda know what’s up with Julie, but we can’t stop them from interacting or scare them off from each other. As much as it sucks, I think we gotta just ride this one out. And if Luke gets hurt, we’ll be here to patch him up and love him through it.”

Alex blinked in surprise, not actually sure those words had just come out of his mouth. By the way Reggie was studying him, he wasn’t sure the other boy could believe it either. Then, Reggie’s lips curved into a knowing smirk.

“Willie’s been rubbing off on you. All that therapy and go with the flow shit. You’re like a whole new drummer boy.”

Alex guffawed and reached over to shove Reggie playfully, being sure to keep his now empty bowl clear of the scuffle. Reggie ducked around his outstretched arm, sneaking under to poke at Alex’s side in a way that had him twisting and nearly falling off the couch.

“Jeez, Uncle, Uncle! Fuckin hell, man, no need to go straight for the tickle spots.”

Reggie huffed out a laugh, collapsing back into the couch next to Alex. They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sound the canned laughter and predictable lines of the tv show.

“Hey, Lex?”

Alex hummed and rolled his head to meet Reggie’s eyes.

“Do you ever wish you just like...didn’t care so much about everything?”

Alex’s laugh echoed above the sound of the tv. He leaned into Reggie’s side, letting the familiar comfort wash over him.

“All the time, Reg. Literally, all the fucking time.”

[i-okamie]

How Did I End Up Here ? Ch5

Ch1 // Ch2 // Ch3 // Ch4 //  Ao3

Lena is staring at the door Jess has closed behind her.

For some reason seeing it shut makes uneasiness swell inside of her, slowly constricting her chest. Her breath is not as easy as mere minutes ago and Lena can feel her hands shaking. She knows the feeling is irrational: Jess can still hear her if need be, her security team has been called by now and is standing at the ready, and it is not as if Alex is here to hurt her …

Right?

Lena tries to swallow down her anxiety, feeling it closing her throat ever so slowly.

A few months ago, the two women had grown closer and closer through working on some scientific projects, watching over Supergirl and making sure the missions would go as smoothly as possible, and of course spending time with Kara. They even used to team up every now and again at game nights, spending the whole time boasting while the other tried to minimize the damages the best they could.

It seems like a whole different life, Lena thinks, so much has changed.

Lena had learned all about Kara’s real identity as a super hero, they all had been transported to a new planet after earth-38 had been destroyed, she had developed non-nocere out of a place of hurt and despair, hoping it would fix things.

She had worked with Lex.

Out of all those things, this one makes her feel sick. She had done so willingly, believing everything he had told her, believing that maybe the brother she had known and loved all those years before had come back to her, having her best interests at heart. Someone really cared about her. Of course he knew everything of her deep desire to be accepted, to be truly seen for who she is, he had played that string just right, and Lena had been all too happy to do as she was told.

A puppy eager to please.

The brunette had used that comparison to describe Kara more than once while she had manipulated her, biding her time till she could get her hand on Myriad and set her plan in motion. But had she really faired any better?

Reality had caught up with her, hard and fast. All the warnings from Kara had been true and Lex had once again let her down, once her purpose had been served. And sure, she had helped fighting Leviathan, but she couldn’t erase what she had done during the last months, the superfriends making their distrust clear through all their side glances and the general stiffness while she was at the DEO to help them handling that situation.

And ever since that menace had been dealt with, none of them had reached out to her, wondering how she was doing after all what she had been through. She had hoped against all odds that one of them would ask for news from her, from sheer politeness at worst. But nothing happened. No visit, no phone call, no text. The only one that had cared enough to come to her once things had settled down had been Kara, and of course she had to send her away out stubbornness, holding on her hurt and betrayal like a life line, and using harsh words to make sure the other woman would hurt just like she does.

By the time her blood had cooled down enough for her to think rationally again, it was too late to apologize, the Luthor pride getting in the way, and all Lena had done was pouring herself another drink to try to dull the ache in her chest.

Her wish had been granted. She had not heard from her ever since she had issued her threats. She was on her own all over again, and this time she couldn’t blame anyone but herself.

Agent Danvers has all the reasons to be mad at me, Lena winces internally. To want to see me hurt after what I did to her sister. In her position I would.

Seeing Alex standing here, dressed up as if about to go on an intervention, made Lena reconsider her position. If usually she was the figure of authority in that room, the tables had turned.

Unconsciously the CEO leaned back into her chair, adding some distance between herself and the other woman. Her posture was slowly turning more defensive, despite being all too aware that if the agent had set her mind on hurting her there was very little she could do, especially given her condition lately. Slow reflexes and shaky legs would make it  easier for the special agent.

And wouldn’t she like that? Lena feel a chill running down her spine.

Alex had been the most suspicious from them all, always telling Kara that a Luthor would never change, always keeping an eye on her and quick to paint Lena as the culprit of whatever happened in National city. The short haired woman would surely love to see Lena try to escape her only to trip and fall. Maybe she would catch her, not willing to see the game being over too soon, before backing her against a wall and relishing into finally having a Luthor at her mercy.

Lena could picture it and the thought makes her dizzy, her heart pounding in her chest in a fight or flight reflex.

But for now Alex is just standing in front of her desk, looking at her with a mix of confusion and concern painted on her face. If not for her straight posture and uniform, one could think she is a concerned friend paying Lena a visiting to see what is going on.

Why would Alexandra Danvers of all people be concerned about her? Or is it away to get Lena letting her guard down? To fell safe before pulling the rug from under her feet?

It’s barely 11am, but Lena is still too hungover, and the fear in her chest too oppressive, to give much thought to what is on Alex’s mind. Agents are trained to have a neutral expression at all time. The brunette has only ever seen the other woman wearing that kind of expression when something involving loved ones happened. When Reign had beaten up Supergirl into a coma. When Kara … when Supergirl had been poisoned by kryptonite. Maybe it’s about Kara, maybe there is …

“Lena, did you hear me?” Alex says, raising her voice slightly to catch the CEO’s attention.

“Sorry, what?” Lena jumps in her chair, shaken back into reality by the raised voice. She had completely lost track of what was going on around her.

What a way to prove your not a mess, or completely freaked out at having a DEO agent in the same room as you, Lena thinks bitterly.

Alex sights, stepping forward to get a closer look at her.

“Lena” Alex starts, sounding hesitant “I know we’re not friends and I won’t pretend that we are in good terms at all. But what the hell is happening?”

She leans closer into the CEO’s space, and Lena doesn’t know when she grabbed the armrests of her chair but now she is holding tight on them.

“Take a seat please” she says curtly, with a jerk of her head. “And I don’t know what Kara told but everything is …”

“Please, humor me Luthor” Alex stopes her before sitting down on the edge of her chair, as if ready to pounce on her.

Lena hates how such a detail makes her anxiety swells up even more. Get a grip of yourself, dammit!

“No need to be a genius to see you’re not okay. The dark circles under your eyes, your agar look, your jumpiness and the increase in security … I can put two and two together.” Alex gives a pointed look toward her slowly healing hand, causing the brunette to anxiously rub the scabbing still holding on her palm since she seems unable to let it heal properly and regularly find herself picking at the scabbing. Many blood-stained shirts being the collateral victims of her nerves.

Alex takes Lena’s silence as her cue to keep going.

“Besides, Kara didn’t say anything from the last time she came here. She only came back with the look of a kicked puppy and refused to pipe a word about you.”

This catch Lena’s attention. Kara didn’t talk about what she witnessed? Lena was sure she would have told her sister about she had seen at Lena’s place or at least about their last exchange “… I’m not my brother but it doesn’t mean I don’t know how to keep a kryptonian at bay if need be.” Now that she was thinking about it, not seeing a DEO squad barging in her office should have clued her on the fact that Kara didn’t share about their last exchange.

“And that’s probably the more worrying of all this!” Alex continues “Usually I have to sit through hours of Lena this, Lena has invented that, Lena explained me this, … she is unable to stop talking when it comes to you.”

Lena snorts softly at the agent clear exasperation, happy to see that the blonde woman can get under anyone’s skin.

Though a quiet Kara is a foreign concept to her, given that this woman is able to babble about any topic for hours on end. That’s something Lena had thought endearing about her, listening fondly to her former friend just to see that thousand watts smile she reserved for Lena.

That was before she learnt the truth. The endless rants about food, books or series had turned into endless streams of apology whenever she was next to the CEO, the superhero not noticing how this would only fuel her anger. Lena couldn’t stand watching the blond-haired woman looking at her with her blue eyes full of unshed tears, stammering meaningless apologies to her while she had been the one deciding to lie to Lena for years.

Alex as well. No matter how many times Lena had answered her calls and come rescuing her alien sister, she had never dimmed the brunette worthy of her trust.

Lena rubs her temple, trying to reign on the anger, hurt and anxiety threatening to drown her from the inside. She cannot let Alex throw her off balance, she won’t give her this satisfaction.

The agent stops talking to give her a thoughtful look, as if weighing her options.

“God I understand Kara’s better now … Lena, are you okay? Do you need help?”

What? Lena is struggling to process what the agent is saying.

“Don’t take it the wrong way, but … the DEO trains us to analyze people behavior and you’re looking and acting exactly like a victim in denial, or someone being blackmailed” the agent rushes out, not leaving time for Lena to stop her “Given your family history and reputation and your position as a fortune 500 and young CEO, both are probable options. So what is it?”

[eerythingisshaka]

Ficmas Day #5 “Gift of the Hargreeves”

[Diego Hargreeves x Reader]

Word Count: 1.9k

“Hold on, I have to move a little so I can get it in.” “How far down do you need to be?  I’m ready for it already.” “Don’t go too fast!  If you kill me with that thing, ain’t for sure gonna be no damn Christmas!” “Ok!  Geez, don’t get mad.  I’m afraid you’ll break it while you’re holding it and mad.” As you guide the plug in the shadows into the socket, the multicolored lights wake from their storage slumber for another year of holiday cheer. You crawl out from behind the tree, wiping off your knees as Diego takes your hand to help you up.  As he holds you from behind, you hold hands watching the tree in its glory. “We did that, huh?”  you ask. Diego nods.  “Who knew what an hour’s worth of labor can produce.  You did great, baby.  All that’s missing is presents under the tree!” “Uh!  Remember, we’re not gifting big this year.  $50 max for presents.”  You turn your head back to him to share a couple sweet pecks as his hair starts to fall in the way of your lips. “Pfft!  Diego, I really can’t get used to your hair like that.”  You wipe your lips of the phantom sensation of hair before pulling some lip gloss from your pants pocket to refresh your lips. Diego whips his locs back with the grace of a cover model.  “What’s wrong with it?  I thought you like guys with the man buns and flowing hair and shit?” Adjusting your glasses, you reach for his hair, feeling the texture and moving it around back and forth.  “Sure I like that, but...baby it’s just stiff and dry looking.  I appreciate you trying something different if that makes you happy but whew, we need to come up with a routine.” He swipes your hand away gently, looking offended.  “This is my natural beauty you’re dissing, you know that?” You nod.  “Yes, true.  But even naturals have to get their product usage down for HEALTHY natural hair.  I’m sorry you feel oppressed at the moment.” Diego rolls his eyes sarcastically.  “I feel so seen.  But you can help me with that right?  What products work for me?” You shrug, walking past him to get to a box of white and red garland untangled.  “I may be able to help, but I don’t know anything about your type of hair.  Isn’t some $1 shampoo and conditioner from the grocery store all you need?” Diego takes one garland from you.  “You know I’m already using that stuff, and clearly it isn’t working for either of us.” You sigh looking at him again, feeling somewhat bad for him.  “It’s not like I don’t find you handsome as you are.  You still have that pretty sad boy face that I adore…” “Sad boy?”  he asks as you hold his face playfully in your hands. “Yesh!  My wittle sad puppy wooking for wove!  And honey, that chest, them arms, that stomach…”  you give each part mention a squeeze with a lift of his shirt for a peek of his abs.  Diego pulls his shirt down turning away from you.  “Please, control yourself...but keep going if this is turning into something...” You shrug, balling up the garland and walking up to a step ladder to start lining the decoration.  “I’m just saying, don’t think I have lost any interest.  And if all else fails, what’s a paper bag for?  How does this look over here?  Is it high enough?” As you hold a foot of garland along the wall, studying the placement you hear a tiny whistle followed by an impact.  You almost stumble backward wondering what it was until you look up and find a small shiny tack in the garland, securing it firmly in place. “Whoa!  Fuck, D!  I told you not to do that shit by me!”  you yell, jumping down the ladder, leaving the flaccid hanging garland, pushing Diego as he smiles with a handful of tacks. “I won’t get you!  It’s my thing, remember!  My accuracy is never off!” “And I will accurately beat your ass if you throw tacks or whatever metal bullshit you wanna toss around here.  Now let me place the garland with tape first!  Then you can take those spots after I am safely away.” Later that night, Diego stares at the ceiling watching the credits roll from the Christmas movie you watched together.  You come out of the bathroom feeling disappointed to have missed it. “Damn!  Did they find the daughter in that landfill ever?”  you sit on the end of the bed, reaching for the remote to rewind to the part you missed. Diego crawls out from under his blankets, coming up behind you to lightly bite and kiss your shoulder. You shudder under his touch.  “Please, D!  I wanna see this!” He groans, reaching on either side of your face for your glasses to slide them off.  “Now you can’t…” You snort as he takes the remote out of your hands, tossing it aside.  “I’m not blind now, you know that?” He reaches around your waist to pull you backward, turning you on your back as he looks down at you, looking your body over like he’s famished. “And baby I have never been blind to what you do to me.”  He gobbles up your neck, letting his hands caress parts of you that make you giggle and gasp concurrently. “Wait, wait, I wanna...oh nevermind,”  you say into his mouth as he takes your words and thoughts away in his kiss, running your fingers through his hair and giving it a rough tug.  Diego sits up, smacking your hip to flip you on your stomach when all of a sudden you hear a crunch. “What was that?”   you say, accidentally knocking your back against Diego before he was ready to move that knocks some wind out of him.  As you survey the bed you find your glasses with one arm of it sitting wayward beside the other two-thirds of the frames. “Nooo, seriously?”  you sadly utter as you pick up your broken frames. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”  Diego says pitifully, looking at the frames in your hand.   “I had these forever!  They were my favorite too,”  you sit back on the bed groaning in despair. “I can fix them I think.”  Diego takes them for a minute looking them over.  “....or buy you some new ones.  Better ones, since it’s Christmas time.” You shake your head.  “No...at least not yet.  That would be way past the budget we set this year for presents anyway.  I don’t even wanna think about a new pair.  It’s so hard for me to get a good prescription, I swear they switch some shit with my lenses every time.  What I see during the test and whatI get are always different.  These were perfect!” Diego sighs, rubbing your back.  “I f-f-feel bad.  I wasn’t th-thinking.” You look over at him with sympathy, giving his leg a squeeze.  “Don’t get upset, it’s fine.  I can still see and shit just gotta find my older frames now and oh I may have a free repair with my doctor on them.  I’ll call tomorrow.  It’s fine Diego, really.” -- When Christmas morning came, you bundled the blanket under your chin tighter for warmth as the cold winter sun peeked through the window.   “Merry Christmas, love,”  Diego hoarsely whispers in your ear as he caresses his hand up and down your hip, kissing your cheek.   Your mood is lifted with his affection.  “Mm, same to you,” you groggily reach for his head, crawling your nails over the side of his head feeling something is different.  When you look back at him, you see Diego with his short cut again. Your eyes buck as your mouth flies open with surprise.  He smiles as you notice the change. “See?  Just did it myself this morning before you woke up.”  He runs his hand over his head proudly before nuzzling into your neck like an excited pup. You try to track your thoughts.   “Wow!  I just...Wow!  It’s so different, I almost forgot how you look without your hair.”  You hold his face above yours, feeling the freshly cut hair under your palms. Diego gives you one more kiss.  “Merry Christmas!  But this isn’t your gift though, so don’t worry!  Get up so we can start gifting!” You slide out of bed and head to the bathroom to freshen up.  Having brushed your teeth, you reach for the cabinet to pull out a container of contacts, cleaning them in solution before opening your eye to place one. “Hey, did you want some pancakes or...what are you doing?”  Diego asks just as you place a contact in one eye, blinking a couple times before looking at him through the mirror.   “Yeah, I have been testing out these new contacts.  My doctor kind of convinced me to give them a shot, and so far it’s not the worst thing.” “Wh-what about your glasses?” You brush him off.  “I still have them, just not fixed.  Apparently I need a stronger prescription anyway and those were kind of out of style.  And now I have contacts, so... You ok?” Diego stares at you in the mirror a little long with an expression you don’t understand. “Oh, and pancakes are fine, by the way,”  you say as you prepare your other eye. “Ok.”  Diego heads for the kitchen, stopping at the tree to retrieve the little box with your gift, setting it on the kitchen table before getting the ingredients for breakfast together.  Not too long after he has started you come to the kitchen with your present hidden behind you. “Diego, before I give you your gift, I was planning this gift before this morning...obviously.”  You hold out the gold wrapped box to him, which he takes with a gentle smile.   “I’ll take anything you give me, baby.  I know I’ll love it.”  He kisses you quickly before pointing to the small red bowed gift on the table.  “It can’t be worse than mine.  I am willing to bet.” You pick up the box, lifting it’s lid to reveal another box monogrammed with love, your name.  You lift it out to reveal a glasses case with an exact replica of your broken frames inside. Your heart drops instantly.  “Ohh baby!!” Diego shrugs with his hands in his sweats pockets as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him generously. “But now you’re a contacts girl, so…” You shake your head, looking at him as you squeeze his face.  “Don’t!  This is amazing, you’re amazing!  And you should really open your gift now.” Diego sighs.  “Ok.  Look I’m glad you love yours but you don’t have to try to make me feel better.” You scoff.  “I promise, this will make you feel better if nothing else.” When he opens the box, he takes a beat to stare at the contents.  As he lifts a shampoo bottle out, followed by a conditioner, then a comb and brush set and gel, he looks at you with the biggest grin. “Baby…”  he says, dripping with enthusiasm. “I was -- I was gonna help to style it and-and make your hair better and healthy, then you go and CUT IT!” He puts down the bottles, running up to snatch you up in a bear hug. “I love you so much.  We are so perfect together,”  Diego says, giving you a deep kiss that would put you both on the naughty list next year.

[chaotic-super]

Alien Detected

“How does it work?” Kara asks.

“It's just a simple skin test.” Lena states proudly, smiling at the blonde reporter she has come to care  for. “Let me show you what a negative response looks like.” With that she places her thumb onto the device and waits a couple of seconds for the flashing green light to appear.

“ See?” Kara nods along to Lena's words nervously. “Great, now you try.”

The blonde stares blankly the CEO for a few seconds, her mouth moving to form words that never make it off of her tongue as she glances down at the device held out to her.

“But won't a device like this-” Kara stumbles over her words. “-doesn't it  go against everything America is supposed to stand for?”

“Such as?” Lena perches on the edge of her desk, device placed delicately on the desk so she is able to cross her arms defensively over her chest.

“Freedom against persecution, oppression. America has always been a country full of immigrants.” Kara chuckles nervously.

“It's also always been a country of humans.”

“It's just – don't you think this device will force aliens back into the very shadows the president is trying to shine a light on?”

“If aliens want to be citizens, that's now their right but if humans want to know which of their fellow citizens aren't actually one of them then that's their right too.” Lena looks into Kara's eyes defensively until Kara backs down from the mini stand-off they seem to be caught in and looks away. “I'm a businesswoman. L-Corp is in the business of making money and this device is gonna make us a fortune but unlike my brother I'm gonna do it for the good of the world.”

Lena smiles wearily at Kara as she finishes her speech, turning to sit down back behind her desk so she has a physical barrier between herself and the reporter to help regain her footing after being challenged in a way that made her feel as though her motivations could possibly ever be anything other than good and pure.  

“So?” She picks up the device and holds it out to Kara, who looks rather shaken.

“I-um. I don't know-” Kara stutters out, trying and failing to come up with a reasonable excuse to not have to touch that damn device that could give away her true heritage. A few more stutters leave her mouth as her mind goes blank of any reasonable excuse she could make so her hand slowly begins to make its way toward the small silver device.

She feels as though she is moving in slow motion as she wills someone to interrupt the moment to get her out of there. Her hand hovers over the sensor for a second and she takes a deep breath before she takes the plunge and presses her thumb gently down.

Lena watches inquisitively as the reporter before her begins to stutter and look around nervously. She understands that she may have made her slightly uncomfortable but nothing that should reduce her to the stumbling mess she has become. She is just about to ask her if she is alright when Kara's hand reaches out to the alien detection device and a thumb is pressing down onto it.

It flashes white three times as it analyses the data before turning red. Lena's eyes flick up to Kara's face as she processes the information but the blonde isn't looking back, she's staring at the device as she pulls her hand away from it slowly.

“You're an alien.” Lena states, standing up from her chair and stepping around the desk to stand before her friend.

“I- yeah.”

The CEO tries her best to catch the reporter's eyes but her gaze is fixed firmly on the ground.

“That's why you don't like my device isn't it? You don't want anyone to find out.”

Kara finally looks up and tentatively meets the emerald gaze of the woman before her. “Nobody can find out Lena, please.” She can feel her eyes well up her lips begin to purse up into a pout as she holds her tears at bay. Alex is going to kill her when she finds out that |Lena knows she isn't human.

Lena frowns as Kara's words. “Of course I'm not going to tell anyone and I'm not judging you Kara. I never would and I would have hoped that you'd know that.”

“I'm sorry Lena, It's not you. I know you wouldn't judge me but this isn't something that I tell people.”

Lena doesn't think that she has ever seen Kara look so small; her head turned down toward the floor, her arms crossed tightly across her body and her eyes flickering around the room, unwilling to hold her gaze for more than a few seconds at a time,

“I'm not mad Kara, I promise.”

“Really?”

“How about we go and sit down and talk about this?” Lena steps closer to the Kara, her heels easily making her just as tall as her. She lifts Kara's chin until their eyes meet. “I just want to understand.”

Kara finds herself nodding before she has even thought about it. She knows hat she should get out of there quick sharp but can't help but feel a weight lifted off of her chest now that Lena somewhat knows her truth. She watches as the CEO makes a quick call to Jess, requesting her to reschedule all of her meetings for the rest of the day before flashing her a small smile and gently taking her hand in her own and directing her towards the white couch on the far side of the room.

Lena doesn't let go of Kara's hand as when they sit, she holds it gently on her lap with both hands. “How about we start with the basics?” She waits for Kara to nod before she continues. “How long have you been on Earth?”

Kara clears her throat. “I've been here since I was thirteen. The Danvers adopted me right away.”

“You took their name then?”

“I did.” Lena waits for her to elaborate but she doesn't but doesn't want to push her too hard either.

“Do you like it here?”

“When I first got here I hated it, I never thought that I would be at home here and I still don't a lot of the time but I've found that it's the people that make me feel at home, not the planet.”

“Does that mean that there are more of your people here?” Lena's eyes brighten at the thought of finding out new information on an entire race.

“No.”

“No-one at all?” Lena's voice is soft, caring.

“No-one I want to talk about.” Kara states softly.

“We don't have to talk about them then. What planet are you from?”

“I-” She stammers. She can't actually tell Lena where she is from, she would know about her identity. “I can't tell you.”

“You can't? Why?” Her brows furrow in confusion.

Kara meets her eyes pleadingly. “I really can't tell you anything like that, I'm sorry.”

“You're acting weird about this, what's stopping you? Is someone threatening you?” Lena takes one of her hands away from Kara's and uses it to push some of her golden locks back behind her ear so she can look into the cerulean eyes more clearly. She can't push the worried frown from her face as she waits for the answer.

“I don't really know how to explain this without telling you a lot of things that I have been sworn to secrecy over by the government.”

“The government knows that you're an alien?” Lena leans back into the couch, still clutching at Kara's hand as she tries to make sense of what little information she I getting from Kara. She finds rest bite from her overworked brain in taking in the face of the reporter; the shape of her face, her beautiful golden hair, her beautiful blue eyes and perfect pink lips, the little scar above her brow that looks almost exactly like the one- “Supergirl?”

Kara flinches and pulls her hand away from Lena's as she stands up, ready to bolt.

“Don't leave Kara, please.” Lena follows Kara as she begins to walk to the door and grasps her arm to stop her. “It's true isn't it?”

Kara doesn't answer, just brings a hand up over her face and lets out a muffled sob.

“Oh, Kara. I'm not going to tell anyone, you're still my friend.” Lena gently turns her around to face her and captures her in a tight hug. “Thank you for all the times you've saved me.”

Kara squeezes Lena back with as much force as she dares to without hurting her. “Nobody is meant to know, it can put you in danger and I don't want you to get hurt.” Kara sobs into Lena's shoulder.

“If I'm going to be in danger then I'm glad I've got you, you've kept me safe since the moment I stepped foot in National City and don't think for a second that I'm going to let you avoid me now that I know, especially now that I'm aware of what is hiding beneath those cardigans.” Lena brings her hands up to Kara's muscles and gives them a strong squeeze making Kara let out a choked giggle and pulls back to look into Lena's eyes.

“I've only ever told one friend who I really am and now he doesn't see me as Kara the same way he used to, he looks at me and sees Supergirl. I don't want that to happen again, Supergirl is what I do but Kara is who I am.” Kara wipes away her tears and looks meaningfully into Lena's eyes.

“I think I understand.”

“Can we start over?”

“Of course.” Lena takes a step back away from Kara and pats the non-existent wrinkles out of her shirt.

Kara takes a deep breath before offering her hand to Lena. “Hi, my name is Kara Zor-El and I'm an alien from Krypton.”

“Well hello there Ms. Zor-El, I'm Lena Luthor and I'm a human from Earth.” They smile at each other broadly, giggling at themselves. “I promise I will always see you Kara, even when other people won't.”

“Thank you, Lena. Really, it means a lot.”

“No, thank you.” Kara tilts her head in confusion in similar fashion to that in which a golden retriever puppy would. “You could have lied about who you are, where you are from, but instead you trusted me with your secret even though we have only been friends for a few short weeks, it's been a long time since anyone has trusted me like this.”

“Well, your device kinda took away a lot of my choice but I do trust you Lena, I understand that you are just trying to escape your brother's legacy and make a name for yourself. I knew it from the second I came in your office with Clark Kent and I haven't stopped believing since. In fact, I probably understand better than anybody what it's like being trapped in the shadows of your family.”

“You truly are one of a kind Kara.” Kara blushes at the compliment, making Lena smile. “Now, how about we pick this conversation up again after we go try than new Italian place down the street? On me of course. I think that it will do us both some good to have a little while to think through everything. ”

“Just when I think that you can't get any more perfect Lena Luthor, you surprise me. Plus, now that you know my secret I don't have to restrain myself during our lunch dates and can eat as much as my heart desires and this one is on me because I can't expect you to pay for how much food I'm about to order, heavy conversions make me hungry.”

“When aren't you hungry darling?”

“When I'm asleep.” Lena's laugh ricochets around the office as she grabs her coat and they make their way out.

[grim-faux]

09_Snare

 First

 A long time ago, he accepted that no matter how hard he tried, how far he wandered, the man in the hat would find him. Not like he was very active in the escape; he wanted to reach the tower and get inside. It was at time convenient to travel near the tall man, the presence as unsettling to him as it was to the other adults that would normally tear after him.

 It was a problem, since he had no idea what should be done once he found Six. If When he found Six – and he would find her – they would have to get away. Again. The idea of reverting back to the running and escape heightened his unease. The man in the hat would find them, just knew where he was. Always knew.

 Six was gone, the man stole her. Why would help, or let him, steal Six back?

 Nothing added up. None of it made sense. It was a trap. But a trap, when already caught? Very confusing, and scary.

 If he knew more of the man, then a better chance for the run and the escape would be his. They could trick the man, they were good at tricks. She was good at leading and finding places, and he was good as bait. They could figure this out.

 When the Thin Man stopped following, Mono let out a little sigh. The oppressive gaze was gone and the static faded from the air. He could focus on finding his way, getting lost and less found. Sometimes, that was the way to find what was missing. Stop looking for it, stop knowing where you were, become lost with it. Find first. Run later.

 Run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run- run-run-run-run-run.

 The light within the doors crooned a strange melody, a calming and gentle sing. The tail of his coat flashed and frilled as he spun this or that way, dashing to one radiant portal to the next, trying to smell through the strange dust and mist of this place. It was a strange place. The corridors familiar somehow, but not in the way they pretended to be places he knew. It was a different kind of familiar, something he felt should be known but was not easily placed.

 These colors he knew. The walls, too. Sometimes it was hard to walk and push on – his limbs like lead and the air resisted his passage. It was a silent and invisible torrent of a storm rattling against his body, but nothing visible wailed against him. He didn’t think about trying to run away. First Her. First Six.

 A thrashed door greeted him, mocking his approach. The cracks gawked at him, and he swore it sniggered. He took an axe and tore away the illusion.

 Then he found her. And felt this whole trial had been for nothing. Nothing ever went right in the horrible place.

 It was Six, he knew it was her. But she was monstrous and twisted, a horrendous memory gone awry. How could he fix this? Was it possible? It wasn’t possible, his friend was too distorted. There was no way.

 “Sorry,” he murmured, and stroked her arm. He never gave her sorry. Never showed her how it meant.

 The lumbering behemoth didn’t seem to understand. But she did show him the music box. The thing which guided him here, and twittered its lovely sing. Calming and soothing, somehow sad. Like a place that was left behind and forgotten, but a piece of it always remained. Waiting for them.

 Mono curled up by an open suitcase, staring at her as she watched him. The music box chirping endlessly, reminding him where he first found her. What they had to do to escape the place. It was a good memory, but a hard one to return on.

 He broke his friend. He broke her so bad.

 The music box seemed to judge him. Snickered and gargled ugly noises.

 I keep. You leave. She is mine. Mine-mine-mine.

 He took up the axe and crept over to the thing. He managed to get her away from the melodic device, then, with her back turned, like a thief, like the worst kind of monster ever. He brought the axe down.

 And the laughter screeched in his mind.

 The walls distorted and lurched, with each strike of the metal cylinder. It screamed at him. She screamed at him. The walls glared and hissed, eyes glittered within the cracks.

 “I’m sorry!” he howled. The loudest that he ever screamed before, it cut something in his throat. She almost caught him when he hid under a table, snagged the blanket over his back with long disjointed arms. He didn’t stop, he would never stop. Never!

 “SORRY!” With each careening crack, everything became much worse. She became worse.

 But it was hurting this place, too. And that’s what mattered. It hurt the place that stole people. And that’s what he wanted. Hurt it, punish it. Make it regret!

 Give Six B̸̢̧̢̲͉̤̙̻̭͈̤͚͍̭̫̖͇̞̯̦̲̭̜͚̰̜͕̜̦͆̔̅̓̌̚͠͝A̷̩͇͉̿̽̀͌̒̏̌͛̐͊̏̈́̽̓͘̕C̵̡̢̟̪͈͇͎͇̟͉͔̣̖̭̠̜̩͇̬̦̝͕̦̰̓́̅́͌̄̈́̃͂̒̐̉́͋̍̐̇̀̔̀͛̽̅̽̒́̏͠͝͝K̵̡̨̛̤̲̰͉̔̃̇̈͂̊̓̀͠!̸̨̢̮͚̝̳͈͎͚͇͉̗̺͉͗̓̈́̈́͋͛̉̓͋̇͘͝

 Possessed by his rage and terror, he tore through the barrier built to hold him back from his friend. She cowered over the box, hissing, eyes flashing inside the hood of her coat. He wondered if this was right, if he was doing what was good.

 But the place would eat her. There would be nothing left. He wouldn’t let die. It couldn’t end like that.

 He tricked her away. While her back was turned, he brought the axe down.

 Everything was crumbling and warped, the ceiling buckled. Terrible eyes glared, and in there someone, something was laughing.

 She tried to steal the music box away. He brought the axe down one last time, summoning all the strength in his battered body. Everything went black.

 It couldn’t have been long. The place was still coming undone; plaster and cinderblocks erupted off the walls… something gross and oozing spilled forth. Beneath his back the floor twitched and withered. He sat up.

 Across from where he fell. Her! The Six! It was his Six. Normal, small, not horrendous Six. She was standing, all back and put together. His friend!

 He couldn’t help himself. He raised an arm and waved. “OI!”

 She twisted to him. Then, gathered in their surroundings. Eyes everywhere, gleaming, teeth gnashed. The walls would chew them, that much was a promise.

 He swung his arm and struggled to rise – nearly collapsing – the wind knocked from him in that last barrage. His feet couldn’t hold his weight. He gave a sharp whistle, cutting through the grinding bellow of everything around them. There was a path, to the side. He swept his arm out, gesturing, unsure if she saw through the distortions of light. She must’ve, because she zipped by.

 Mono was not far behind. Not too far.

 But the walls rolled and rebelled against the confines of a building, or the mask of a harmless place. Eyes tore out of notches, veiny and bulbous masses bubbled from the ground where his feet should stand. They ran like never before, and Six kept the lead. She guided the way, and if not for the yellow coat she wore, he might’ve become so lost in all the silt and shadows swirling.

 He rolled over another wave of flesh but caught his footing fast and smooth, barely missing a step. The floor around them disintegrated, and the walls crooned with snarling laughter. He nearly went down and off the side, but shoved back up onto his feet and staggered. Breathing coming in ragged spits, his sides thrummed from this abuse – stop-stop! You have to stop this!

 He would collapse in the rain or some grungy bog, but not here! This place was made of death.

 Ahead the path caved and collapsed. He thought for a moment she too, went into the chasm below – the entirety of it so deep, he felt his soul leech off into the infinite darkness. But no! She was there, turning back. Her outline clear and distinct against the sizzling glean of a screen. A television!

 Without a second thought, he leapt from the edge – not judging, not wondering if he could make the jump. His coat and the blanket flared out as he came down, fast! He shoved his arm out.

 Six lurched from the other side, throwing a hand out.

 Gotcha!

 Mono whined in his throat when his arm crashed against the toothy side of the broken platform. But hurt meant he was not dead. He reached for his shoulder and tried not to jostle, she might not have the best grip on the ledge. He looked up and blinked hard at the soot, tightened his grip on her hand to express that appreciation he couldn’t convey.

 And then waited.

 The walls thundered, the place was still collapsing. Whatever blistering radiance which followed them here, gave out and darkened. They had to go. It was time to leave. Mono didn’t respond or say a word, she knew. But maybe, maybe she was hurt too and needed a moment more. He stared up at her, and she gazed back. Or… he presumed she gazed, her hood concealed most of her face.

 Then he was falling.

 It was so effortless, without warning. She inched him up a bit, then… her hand was gone. The tight hold tore out of his grasp. His arm cut along the side of the bridge, and he was plunging unrestrained. Into the dark abyss that growled below.

 No.

 She stood there, observing. Unmoving.

 I’m….

 Was she mad? She was mad. But….

 I’m SORRY!

 Mono reached, tried to stretch his arm higher from the depths curling around his sinking form. As if that would change anything. He coiled his hand into a fist, wanting to feel that warm palm in his. Not the icy air rushing in to rob him of that contact. Stealing him away, from her, and the light. He was falling.

 But WHY?!

 He was falling.

 He was falling.

 She let him fall.

 He was going to die. He was plunging into a deep, dark grave. A living pit, of writhing walls and millions of eyes and teeth. Don’t let me GO!

 His shoulder wrenched within a vice, and he thought for certain he’d collided with the wall or some chunk of cement smashed into his bones. But his plunge ceased, the swiftness of it dragged out of his legs and through his toes. Reflexively he snapped his head up to where she was, but he was so far below, couldn’t see the surface above or if she was there still. He whipped his head around, and kind of wished he was still falling.

 A set of fingers knotted around his shoulder, extending to an arm and to a familiar hat. The shimmer of the static screen glistened across the downcast bill, he couldn’t see the face. This was possibly worst. If he was dead, he couldn’t be hurt. There was no telling what that would do with him. And no one was coming to save him. No one was left who would care.

 The fingers tightened and he cringed, but suddenly he was sailing through open air. His knees barely cleared the rocky surface of the path and he landed poorly, but light swarmed around him. His was basking in the hard silver light of the television screen. What happened? Why was he here? Where was Six?

 Mono pushed himself up off his knees and edged toward the light – a crack formed in the screen, as the wall around it disintegrated. A low, groaning croon worked its way through the surface.

 __

 Too close.

 That had been too close.

 This was all supposed to work out differently, as he recalled. It had been decades, but he knew the events too well. Replayed them near constantly, when he wasn’t wondering of the cruelty of it all. He might know something about what the child was made to endure, or had endured, but not all of it. Unlike the child, no one caught him when he fell. He fought, he retaliated. Enough was ENOUGH. The whole affair exhausted him.

 The Thin Man tried to adjust his posture and ease back. Too close. The boy nearly fell out of sight completely, and that was after he tempered time. He nearly missed, almost couldn’t draw the child back.

 The thundering walls howled at him. Shut up. You’ll have me.

 The small bridge crumbled and he lost his grip, his long legs swung down against the base. Somehow, his arms managed to loop over the surface and keep him from swinging off into the gnashing void. Despite knowing where this would all go, and how this was meant to lay out, he brought his face to the side of his shoulder and just… held on. A little longer. Debris splint and showered his hat, and the ravenous abyss clawed at his feet. It would drag him down and hold him tight. Now that it knew everything. Now that he understood. The last item he wanted to insure, was that the—

 “HEY!”

 He was in the process of turning his head, but the hoot caught him off guard and he all but lost his hold completely. What?

 Ẅ̶̧̨̻͚͇̙͎̥̝͇͈̮͖́H̵̗̟͔͓̑̏̉̈́̀̐́̇͆̀̀̇̑̈̕͘͝Ą̸̦̠̪̣͈͖͍͉̞͐͋͑͋̀̑̎̀̀̀̽̽̐͊͝T̵̨̬͕̱̞̝̰̫̞̰̉̍͆̾̏̀̍̉̀͠?̶̡̛͉̞̺̮͈̩͚̲̙̟͕̬͚͓̗̬́̃͆̆̿͛͗̍̚!̶̙͚̣̬̟̠͙̟̺̮͖̤̹͊͋̕?̵͎͗͆͐́̈͂̄͑̌̒̈́͐͘͠͝!̸̧̧̛̳͍͇̦̙̈́̽̑̂͂̈́̎̇̀̏̄͂͝͝

 Of all the— this child was still there! His escape was evaporating!

 His impulse was wave the foolish boy away, but his arms were occupied. Instead, he hissed, “Go.”

 The boy shook his head, a stalwart silhouette against the grinding screech of static. “Here! Here!”

 The Thin Man lost his hold but managed to snare the remnants of the path with his fingertips. “No! My place here.” It would be fine. He would return to his room. Leave the child to have a few more years or however long in the sun. It was a dangerous and unforgiving world, but living in a trap parading as a cage, deceiving him into believing there was sanctuary… that was more dangerous. He’d learn.

 “Stay with!” the child hailed. He ducked backwards, when a chunk of wall folded down. He glanced back to the screen, the exit, debating. “Here! With!” He tottered to the edge. “Then stay with!” The edge began decaying, and he was forced to retreat a few feet. “HAI!”

 He absolutely cannot believe this idiot, stubborn, dolt. Unbelievable. “You understand nothing!” If they’re both trapped, and… who knows what will happen. A dead end. Retaliation? He was going to ruin everything, without realizing the severity. “You will undo us.”

 Something below snared his ankle and heaved downward. The Thin Man was stretched to the extent of his arms and prepared to let go….

 When the walls ceased to thrum and coil inward. He blinked, baffled by this change. What happened? A low, hissing growl rumbled through the interior encompassing the chamber, but they moved no further. Some of the eyes shut and dissolved, the laughing for a moment ceased entirely – replaced only by that dangerous grating. A promise, that retaliation INDEED would be fast and cruel.

 Stunned, he twisted his head, nearly knocking his hat off. Ah. Ah!?

 The child was bent over the very crest of the bridge, one arm extended while the other pressed at the side of his head. It looked as though the whole event was taking its toll, he was crumpled under the exertion. He recalled one time, long-long ago, poised like that. But it certainly was not hunched over a collapsing wall.

 “Mono! Don’t!” It didn’t appear his words got through, the child warred with an entity he did not grasp. The boy might be less aware of his surroundings by now, and there would be no reasoning. No further warning. Fool!

 He tugged himself up, tearing his leg from whatever undesirable thing was latched on. Kicking his feet into the corrupt wall beneath, the Thin Man hoisted up the inverted wall and clambered awkwardly onto a more stable surface. For a moment longer it would hold. Only a bit longer, if the child could maintain this. Idiot, foolish….

 Once he collected himself and dusted off, he tempered time, stalling out the entire space. Overlapping with the tampering the child willed. When he checked the other side, he was alarmed to find the boy collapsed. Not only collapsed, but aimed to fold over and plunge into the wretched depths he had barely whisked him from.

 Teleport and time tampering was risky one after the other, but all and together? The effects on time would expire out and he wouldn’t have options to mull over. He shifted himself to the opposite side, a shriek of static and pop announced the distortion. That too, would be hard on the smaller one. At this point, it wouldn’t matter what happened if he didn’t resolve to risks. He spared a moment to coalesce himself, steady the static and fibers of the long-limbed shape. Then, whipped back and snagged the child by the coat tail, before he could topple fully over the edge.

 With the manipulator of the chamber incapacitated, the walls erupted with an aggravate shriek. The last of the cement and rebar splint free, and a hundred eyes snapped open, searching. For the first time in what seemed to be his entire existence, this ugly placed sounded… upset.

 The Thin Man cradled the child over his palm and knelt, touching at the screen blazing with white fury. With well-mannered intuition he tuned the transmission, all the while ignoring the swelling mass creeping closer and bubbling around his shoulders. Once satisfied, he forced the child and his shoulder through, then the rest of his lithe form. At his feet, the boiling flesh collided with the transmitter.

 On the other side, a television set burst.

Next

[datawyrms]

The thrilling conclusion. (may not actually be thrilling/a conclusion) Part 1 and 2 respectively. Why was she actually doing this? Standing outside of FentonWorks and it’s eye searing sign in full ghost fighting gear, preparing to knock on the door. It had to be a trap, the ghost kid must have done something to the ghost hunters to make them want to help it. ‘Wanting to talk’, as if. Yet here she was, blundering right into the obvious bear trap anyway. Danny still hadn’t returned to school, even though Sam and Tucker had been acting like they knew where he was, so they had to be in on it too. If Phantom thought he could use her friend against her, he’d have another thing coming. Several very painful things, even. She clenched her fist hard to stop the slight tremor before knocking on the door.

Jack always struck her as more of a brick wall than a man, towering and orange as the door swung open. He looked puzzled for half a second before beaming. “HA! I was right, you did show up! See Mads, she totally did!” He seemed more like an excited puppy than anything, neck craning back to talk to his wife.

“Yes Jack, I see her.” Maddie still had the hood of her suit up, adjusting the goggles as she peered out to their doorstep at the teenage ghost hunter. “You did come to talk, right?”

“Course she did! He’s gotta trust his friends more, like I do!”

Even with her face obscured, Maddie clearly wasn’t a fan of the ‘trusting friends’ line, lips pursed before patting the boisterous man on the back. “How about you go let him know sweetie, while I let her in?”

“Great idea! I’ll even get some discussion fudge!” He zipped away faster than Valerie thought he could manage, the oppressive positivity swept away with him as the blue jumpsuited hunter crossed her arms.

“You don’t have any weapons? We have more than enough ourselves if you’re worried about your safety.”

“I won’t do anything if that ghost doesn’t.” It was hard to keep the disgust out of her voice, watching them act like this. Maddie had always struck her as the more reasonable Fenton, yet she seemed far more worried about some ghost than Jack did, for all his positivity.

“That isn’t what I asked. So I’ll repeat it. Do you have any weapons on you? If you do, just hand them over and then we can talk.”

She was talking like she was more of a threat than that monster in the basement! Whatever that ghost did, it must have been powerful. Maddie Fenton, worried for a ghost she’d gladly spoken about cutting open in the name of science only a month ago. It felt like she’d walked into bizarro world. Maybe if she waited long enough a white rabbit would run by screaming about the time.

“I didn’t bring any weapons. Even though I should have.”

Maddie watched her for a long moment, as if trying to see past the mask and figure out if the red suited ghost hunter was trying to lie. With the smallest sigh, she stepped aside to allow her into the home that doubled as a laboratory. “Follow me. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

She doubted anyone could be perfectly safe in a lab with a portal to another dimension filled with ectoplasmic fiends in it, adding the most dangerous ghost that liked to play ‘innocent’ just made it worse. She wouldn’t be alone down there, judging by the snippets of conversation that were floating up the stairs.

“-not gonna eat that, just take it.”

“Aww, but it’s the good stuff!”

“You need to try-” Jazz stopped speaking at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, turning to glare at the ghost hunter.

Phantom barely even reacted, only the eerie green eyes flicking towards the entrance. Apparently he was too busy sitting comfortably in what looked like a recliner they’d brought down for the ghost to bother with more than that. It just seemed off, having a ghost looking so grounded. “Left it to the last day, huh?” The confident grin didn’t reach his eyes, and even that vanished after a few seconds, like it had been more of a habit than wanting to act like that.

“Only because I know you’re up to something.”

“Yup. That’s me, plotting evil deeds. Maybe next time I won’t get punched through a wall!” He had the energy to roll his eyes, but didn’t cross his arms like she expected him to. “You can go guys, it’s just a chat. Probably.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea-” Maddie’s concern was sickening, watching someone she could respect sometimes just fawning over a playacting ghost.

“I’ll be fine. This is between us.”

“Sure thing! Oh, if you have any symptoms just yell and I’ll be right there kiddo.” The huge man mussed the ghost’s hair, grin wide despite how wrong it looked. “I totally thought of a new approach, so just sit tight!” He was halfway up the stairs by the time he finished talking, not that the distance made him any less audible. Maddie hesitated a moment longer, but followed the loud love of her life.

The only unjumpsuited Fenton seemed to disagree. “I’m not leaving.”

“Yes you are Jazz!”

“I don’t care if she stays, ghost. You can quit stalling.” Valerie interrupted before the two of them could make her wait for ages with some pointless bickering.

Instead the redhead rounded on her. “He has a name. Use it.”

“Jazz, I really don’t care. Just go already.” He looked almost as irritated as she felt . “I just want to get this over with.”

“I don’t trust her not to do something.”

Didn’t trust her? Over the destructive white haired menace? That was just insulting. “You said you’d talk, so start explaining” she did her best to ignore Danny’s sister, it was probably just whatever the ghost was holding over their heads making her act like this.

“Won’t help if you don’t actually listen for a change.” His eyes narrowed, but more at Jazz than Valerie. “You don’t need to hear this Jazz. Okay?”

“If you think I don’t, I definitely do.” She scowled right back, acting as if they were a bratty younger kid than a ghost that could rip her face off. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Fine! Whatever, be stubborn. Can’t do anything about it.” His eyes seemed to glow more strongly before the ghost slumped back more in the chair. “So what do you think I did then? Since you keep trying to bother my friends.”

“There’s no way you got the Fentons and those two on your side without leverage. Sure, some kids actually buy that hero crap, but the Fentons don’t.” Only having a finger to point at the ghost made her feel unprepared.

The glowing teenager looked bored. “So you think I’m a kidnapper.”

“I know you did something to Danny. The timing matches up too well. So out with it.”

“Or what, you’ll kill me faster?” He seemed to freeze up after the words were out, smacking himself in the face. “Habit. I didn’t do anything, but it’s going to be hard to explain.”

This was such a waste of time. “Because it’s all made up nonsense?”

“It’ll sound like it! But it’s not. I can prove it.” the ghost stopped as if he needed to catch his breath. “At least I think I can. You left this really, really late.”

“You’re getting off track.” Jazz spoke up before Valerie could say something similar but with far less charitable phrasing.

“Right. Just trying to figure out how to say it.” A gloved hand rubbed at his forehead, brow furrowed as the ghost muttered. “You know what ghosts are made of, right?”

“Ectoplasm and bad attitudes. Duh, anyone in Amity could tell you that.” What was this, quiz time? Some sort of ‘How long can I annoy the ghost hunter before she shoots and makes me look good’ plan?

His shoulders barely move, a negative effort shrug. “Close enough.”

“It really isn’t! Ectoplasm might be what a ghost builds their body out of but-”

Phantom cut her off, leaning forward with the air of absolute exhaustion. “Jazz I do not have time to explain the specific inner workings of ghosts to someone who hates me right now!”

“It’ll help with the next bit, but fine. Go ahead and get all confused.” The redhead sat back, arms crossed.

“Thank you.” Green eyes shifted to find Valerie again before the ghost continued. “Thing is, I’m not all ectoplasm.”

“Is that why you’re extra obnoxious? Have some dirt mixed in there?”

The ghost actually laughed. “Probably!” He did hold up a hand while the laugh subsided, apparently having something more to add. “Not all dirt. But you got the important bit. I’m not a proper ghost, exactly.”

“I don’t run some endangered petting zoo, ghost. So why should I care?” Though it did explain the hunter ghost that was always after the obnoxious white haired creep.

“You should care because right now, I’m doing the whole ‘post human consciousness’ thing completely wrong.” He was watching her closely, a strange look on that dead face. Dread, anxiety? It didn’t look right on his face. “In that I’m not post human. Yet.”

Maybe the ghost was just trying to see if he could get a funny reaction. “Sorry Phantom, you look really dead to me.”

“Oh I feel real dead! But nope. Ah- I said I can prove it, don’t start yelling.” he muttered the last bit quickly, eyes flicking away from her obvious disbelieving glare. “Probably. Hurts. Gimme a sec-”

“I just wanted an answer to what you were doing, not this inane story.”

“Inane story very important answering that.” the ghost didn’t seem to even notice he was just dropping words from his sentence, more focused at staring at his own hand.

Jazz got up, hovering over the ghost as if deeply concerned for the absurdity spouting spirit. “I can back you up, you don’t need to prove it.”

“She’ll never believe it without seeing it. Which is why we’re doing this at all. Before I can’t.”

“Mom and Dad are still working on it, they’ll figure out a way to fix it.”

“No they won’t Jazz! I want them to, but they won’t! Not with how they explained it.”

“You’re just letting the worst outcome seem like the most likely one.”

“No, I’m actually understanding what they mean and being realistic!”

Honestly, this entire little exchange felt like something private she’d barged in on. She gave a loud cough, which seemed to startle both of them, heads jerking to look in her direction. They almost looked related, being that in sync.

The psychology lover recovered first. “Urgh. Just say it out loud, you’re obviously struggling.”

Which snapped the ghost boy out of it. “And you’re obviously not helping!”

“So what, you threatened the Fentons with a really bad comedy act?” The ghost winced at the angry rebuke, but she wasn’t done. “I get you being obnoxious, but dragging Jazz into it? You’re pretty sick.”

“He’s Danny.” There was no amusement in her voice, no hint of the concerned smile she kept giving the ectoplasmic pest.

“Jazz!” There was a genuine note of anger, and the temperature seemed to dip as the ghost glared at the one that didn’t want him blasted out of existence.

“I don’t really care what you call him, that doesn’t answer-”

Jazz cut her off, ignoring the cold glare being thrown at her. “It does. Danny isn’t missing, he’s right here.”

“You managed to trick the Fentons into thinking you’re their kid? What did you do to Danny?” Valarie rounded on the ghost, hand reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there.

“Nothing!” His hands were up even as his eyes stayed fixed on the elder Fenton child. “I told you she won’t believe it!”

“Nothing’s happened to Danny. This is him. Only grumpier.”

“You can’t honestly think that thing is your brother!”

“Wow Jazz, you managed to get me called a thing. Great assist, keep it up.” Phantom was muttering, settling back as if he planned to just take a nap. “If you keep this up, maybe she’ll shoot me!”

“You could try standing up for yourself, Danny.”

“Oh no, you dug this hole. You lie in it. I’d say your grave, but I have dibs in that department. Twiceover!”

She was going to punch this ghost. Even if the creature could just phase through it. She wanted to clobber it for whatever THIS was. “So you killed Danny, and took his place. That’s what you’re saying?” At least she had the satisfaction of the ghost looking like it wanted to vanish as she stepped forward.

“Hey, I didn’t say anything. That was Jazz.”

“No! Danny’s always been both. I’ve known for a while, but he had to tell Mom and Dad. That’s why they’re suddenly fine with Phantom.” Jazz insisted, trying to look Valerie in the eye. “He isn’t missing, and hasn’t done anything to us.”

“Danny is not a life ruining monster. I don’t care how convincing that thing seems to you, that ghost is NOT my friend.” Danny was sweet, big hearted and a bit of a shy little dork. Phantom was nothing but a snide, cocky creep that insisted you should just forget anything that made him look like the scummy ghost he was. They were nothing alike.

“And this is why I just wanted to make things quick.” The ghost seemed to fold in on himself, not looking at either of the humans in the room. “You can hate me all you want, just let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain! You aren’t Danny.”

“He is. It explains everything. Think about it logically. Danny goes ‘missing’. He tries to fix the problem himself, but he can’t. We convince him he has to tell our parents. He finally does, and even though Danny is still ‘missing’ they stop saying things like a ghost kidnapped him. Because we know where he is.”

“Or he’s still missing and you’ve bought some nonsense story to feel better about it when this ghost probably just tortured him for information.” Jazz didn’t back down from her snappy response, but did seem to be at a loss.

“Hey! I do not do torture. That’s literally everyone who isn’t me.” the ghost sounded offended, shaking his hand as if trying to get it to do something. “Anyway, this is going to suck. I blame you Jazz.”

“Excuse me for thinking friends of yours can be logical with the truth in their faces!”

“Nah. I get to say I told you so for a change.”

Valrie planned to make the two quit their pointless bickering, but words died in her throat as a set of rings appeared near the ghost’s wrist. It wasn’t an attack she’d seen the menace use before and she was already settling into a fighting stance to combat it. Yet it stayed around the ghost, slowly down his arm. It seemed a bit much as a way to take off a ghostly jumpsuit, but she preferred that first thought to how the ghost changed as it swept over his face.

Black hair, blue eyes. Her friend’s face, Danny’s face set in a grimace of pain as the rings snuffed out, a boy that looked pale and sickly while struggling to breathe where the blight of a ghost had been.

“Yup. Sucks. Ow.” Danny wheezed, eyes unfocused even though he knew the two of them were still there.

Jazz was there in seconds. “You need to switch back. Mom said-”

“S-she’s gotta know it isn’t a trick first.” the boy insisted, and his voice was right. It was Danny’s, without the horrid echo or slimy snaps the ghost made.

Yet it had to be a trick. There was no way her friend had been a lie. Just some rotten ghost who’d gotten close to her as some sort of joke. A ghost that had tricked her after making sure she knew he was nothing but a monster in one disguise. “Who are you.” The question was weak.

“Just Danny. Been this way since the accident.” He looked like he was going to say more but was cut off by a coughing fit, flecks of ectoplasm making his pale skin look even closer to dead as it splattered on his hastily raised hand. “That’s new.” His laugh set her teeth on edge.

Her brain wouldn’t work. It was impossible, it couldn’t be true. She didn’t want it to be true. She’d liked him well enough before. This-she wasn’t sure how else she could take this. “So why are you telling me now.”

“I wanted you to know while I could still prove it.”

“Why? Did you think this would help you? Think I might pity you if you look sick?”

“No.” Blue eyes looked away as the rings returned the ghost to the chair. “I told you so you’d leave my friends alone. Since I don’t think I’m going to stop being missing.”

He’d revealed his nasty trick, but wasn’t mocking her about it, or lording over her with it. It didn’t fit. They couldn’t be the same person. You couldn’t be alive and dead at the same time! She wanted to choke him, but also wanted to help. She hated this, she hated him for making this complicated. “Stay missing?” The sickness had to be an act, right? Like how he pretended he was a friend.

“Yeah. I got lucky in the accident. I wasn’t quite a ghost, and not exactly a human.” Phantom wasn’t looking at her as he spoke, apparently preferring to stare at the wall. “It was a balance thing, I guess. I didn’t really notice at first. Like the obvious I did, the whole having ghost powers thing, being able to switch back and forth.” The rambling didn’t stop even as he started scratching at the back of his neck. “I didn’t notice even as a human I needed ectoplasm to keep my heart going, or as a ghost I could use more than just ectoplasm to keep my energy up. I need both halves, I can’t survive without both.” He hesitated again, getting a reassuring hand on the shoulder from Jazz. “Problem is I managed to get that balance screwed up. Ran myself ragged fighting ghosts, didn’t get enough sleep, basically coasted on my ghost half to keep functioning. And I’m a strong ghost now, I guess. Too strong for my weak human body to manage anymore. So I’m basically eating myself alive and falling apart. It’s great. This is when I have a quip about work life balance or something, but I’m too tired to think of one.”

“He wasn’t hiding this out of maliciousness you know. He was afraid.” Jazz was frowning as she watched how the ghost hunter hadn’t really relaxed, still stiff and angry looking. “He couldn’t even make himself tell Mom and Dad until we basically forced him to.”

“She doesn’t care, Jazz.” he grunted, still not looking, “But you know now. So you don’t need to go after anyone to find out what happened. It’s self inflicted.”

It was too much. The whole thing was absurd. What could she even say to something like this? To have the world invert to show ugly stains you didn’t see before? They would need to talk again. About this. About what he actually was, or wasn’t. Now though?

She could only leave without a word.

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

Being Human - Chapter 13

<= Chapter 12

Summary : Snatcher makes up with the kids Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/24826561/chapters/65582983

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Another chapter, yohoo ! I hope you'll like it ! Thank you for all your lovely comments, you're all so nice !!

The “Oh The Humanity” AU belongs to @doodledrawsthings​ !

Happy reading !

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Chapter 13 - “What’s ‘Corgi Quest’?”

With Cooking Cat to help him to stay stable in the hallway, going back to the spaceship hub was easier. Snatcher didn’t like being reminded of how weak he looked at the moment, but he had managed to push his pride aside, if only for a brief moment. The cat was nice and considerate enough to make no comments about it, which was more than welcome for the former spirit.

It didn’t take them long to leave the first hallway and to cross the machine room. When they reached the second and last hallway before reaching the hub, voices could be heard from the other side of the door, informing them that the little girls were there. Suddenly, Snatcher felt his heart sunk in his chest. God, why was he reacting this way! There was literally nothing to be afraid of! It wasn’t the first time he had angered the brats and it certainly wouldn’t be the la-

Wait. Why was he even worried about that anyway? He was the powerful ghost of Subcon Forest! He had killed so many people and now he was worried about little children being mad at him? Oh please, what a joke. He rolled his eyes at himself, Gods, he was so stupid.

A little pat on his hand cut his thoughts short, catching his attention. Just like before, Cooking Cat was patting him, trying to reassure him, to comfort him. Ugh.

-“It’ll be okay,” she assured with a smile: “I’m sure they forgave you already.”

The former spirit glanced away, both irritated and embarrassed, because heck, he hated being this easy to read. How was she even able to do that? Well, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was annoying and that it made Snatcher think about things he’d rather ignore. He let out a long and exhausted sigh, turning to the cat with a scowl on his face:

-“Oh please, I don’t care what they think. They might as well be sulking, it changes absolutely nothing for me,” he groaned, more than exasperated: “All I care about is to be dead again. That’s all.”

The other only nodded her head as an answer. She probably knew it was best not to argue with him on that topic, considering how sensitive it was for the moment. Whatever wanted to say at his words, she kept it for herself, staying silent and motionless instead. She was waiting for him to approach the door for it to open, not rushing him.

Gods. He was so ridiculous.

The former ghost took a deep breath and, ignoring how much his legs felt like cotton, took a few steps towards the door. As soon as it opened, the mechanical sound echoing all around, it was like a weight settled on his stomach, twisting his guts as soon as his eyes spotted the two little girls. They had changed and were now wearing coloured pyjamas, still wearing their signature headgear, weirdly enough. They were sitting in front of the television, watching, no, doing something with it? He wasn’t sure what, he was not very informed regarding new technologies, considering he lived in the same forest for centuries. They were holding weird things in their hands, black devices with coloured buttons on it. Whatever they were doing, they were also bumping each other with their shoulders, loud high-pitched giggles resonating in the room. However, when they heard the door, they both turned around in his direction.

-“Oh, you’re back,” started the hatted brat, her voice almost passive aggressive. Yep, she was mad, just like he had thought. She seemed to make an effort as her younger friend “discretly” nudged her in the back, instructing her to be nice: “You feeling better?” she asked with a more neutral tone.

Did he feel better? He supposed he did, though it was hard to say. His mind was like a cacophony of thoughts, all very, very different from one another. Some part of him did feel better, it was true, while his pride was screaming at how sappy and mushy the whole situation was. It was most likely this part of himself that snapped earlier, or had at least contributed to his meltdown. It really was strange and uncomfortable to say the least.

-“Yeah,” he replied, still with a grumpy expression on his face: “guess so.”

He had been tempted to go with his usual approach, putting a show with the loud persona he had fabricated through the centuries. After all, it had almost completely fused with his, well, original personality, having been kept in a cold cellar for days changing him greatly, just like the after-life did. He was not the nice and compassionate Prince anymore. He was The Snatcher, a powerful soul-stealing ghost that had no remorse over killing people for his own survival and, by now, even for fun. And yet… And yet, sometimes, putting on the mask that had become such a second nature to him became… Difficult. Unnatural.

Right now was one of those times.

For a brief instant, he thought he saw a remorseful look on the hat-wearing child’s expression, though it quickly died down as he glanced away. She looked like she wanted to forgive him, but it was a bit too early for her to completely do so. At least, that’s what Snatcher thought it meant, it wasn’t like he was some kind of social behaviour specialist. If anything, law was his forte, but this? He was just guessing at this point.

His thoughts were cut short as the bow-wearing kid joined the conversation, lifting a plate of grilled cheese sandwich that had been on the ground until now. She was smiling at him, yet it was easy to see she was somewhat trying to hide her unease behind a warm expression:

-“We saved some for you,” she informed him with a gentle voice before cringing a bit as she glanced down at the food: “… Well, it’s cold now, but we can always reheat it later when you want!”

Snatcher frowned, feeling something akin to guilt rise in his chest. It felt wrong, so, so wrong, and he couldn’t help but grit his teeth. He normally didn’t care about being the bad guy, about being unfair or mean, or, well, murderous. Yet, there was something in this very specific situation that gave him an awful feeling of shame, one he really wished he could ignore.

What was happening to him?

-“Yeah, fine,” he simply replied, embarrassment unfortunately clearly audible in his voice as he walked closer, not comfortable enough to say the magic word just yet. It just got stuck in his throat. Thankfully, the kids didn’t mention it. Just as he was about to ask what they were doing with the television and what they were holding in their hands, Cooking Cat’s voiced echoed just behind them:

-“Well,” she started, straightening her chef’s hat with her usual smile: “it’s getting late, I think it’s time for me to go home. I had a lot of fun today, thank you for inviting me!” she said to the kids before turning to him: “I hope you’ll teach me how to tell scary stories soon! But, on a more serious note, I really hope your wish to be a ghost again will come true. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to experience being alive after so much time as a spirit.”

Snatcher glanced away:

-“It’s… Not so great, yeah,” he confirmed with a frown.

Her smile disappeared for a bit, quickly replaced by a serious and compassionate expression:

-“Don’t push yourself too hard,” she advised with a caring tone: “Do what you can and if that doesn’t work out, it’s okay. You’ve been human for a day or two, barely, and I can only guess how much it is to take in. Try being nicer to yourself, it’s fine to fail sometimes.”

The former ghost scoffed at how corny this all was. Oh sure, what a great idea to rest and relax while his crazy ex could wreck havoc in his forest, freezing everything and everyone again! Of course, he’d have the right to, since he could “be nicer to himself” and that it was “fine to fail sometimes”! And if he came back to see the whole forest being covered in ice again, well, “whoopsie daisy!”, right?!

What a joke.

Cooking Cat could obviously tell that Snatcher wasn’t taking her words well, but knew better than to insist. She looked away, a bit embarrassed, though she tried to smile again. She turned to the children, who had watched the scene, silently:

-“Can you teleport me down there?” she gestured to the floor, or what was under it. The planet.

-“Yeah, of course,” replied the hatted girl, moving to the control panel, before waving at her: “See you soon, Cookie!”

The younger kid soon imitated her:

-“See you, take care!”

The cat looked happier from the kids’ kind words and waved back at them. Her eyes then glanced to the former spirit, smiling back at him:

-“Goodbye, Snatcher. I hope I’ll see you soon as well, in your true form this time,”

Snatcher only nodded in response, feeling all the stares being fixed on him once more. He liked attention, sure… But not like this. This one was oppressive, stressful and… In this meat sack of a body, he didn’t feel completely safe. However, Cooking Cat seemed satisfied with his answer, and nodded to the hat-wearing little girl, telling her she was ready for teleportation. Honestly, the man couldn’t help but be impressed at her calm face: his own experience through scientific teleportation was… Not a good one. He had always been fine teleporting magically, but this? This could be labelled as a vomit-inducing machine and he wouldn’t even be surprised.

The cat disappeared in a blink, a blue light quickly engulfing her for a second before it was gone, leaving no trace from her, as if she had never come onto the ship.

Silence fell in the room as the trio was left alone once more. The atmosphere was tense, almost palpable, no one knowing what to say after everything that had happened in only one single day. After all, it was a lot, it made sense that tensions started to appear after a while. Well, perhaps they mostly appeared because of him, but it didn’t matter.

Eventually, after a while, the bow-wearing kid gestured to the television with an awkward smile:

-“Wanna keep on playing Corgi Quest?” she offered, winking at the hatted brat, once more very “discreetly”. But it seemed to work as the other sighed yet shrugged nonetheless, visibly exhausted from the events of the day:

-“Yeah, fine, sounds good to me.”

Snatcher watched them walk to the television and sit on the nearby coloured pillows. Confusion was plastered on his face as he wondered what they could be talking about. ‘Corgi Quest’? What was that? Was it what they were doing before he and Cooking Cat entered the room? Was this a “TV thing” he wasn’t aware about? That could very well be the case, seeing as he only knew what a television was from what he learnt with his ex-contractors.

So, not a lot, considering they didn’t live long enough to explain what it was in further details. Not like he had thought he would need it someday, though…

-“What’s ‘Corgi Quest’?” he questioned, voicing his confusion, glancing at the kids then the television repeatedly, trying to understand.

-“Our favourite video game,” answered the hatted child, picking up one of the device from earlier -what was it?-, pushing some of the buttons and… Controlling what was happening on the screen? What? His brow furrowed even more: how did that work?

-“It sounds pretty simple, but Corgi Quest actually has a deep storyline!” added the younger child, her eyes full of stars: “It’s also very cute, and there’s even a multiplayer mode! Much better than in the last game, Corgi Quest 6. Oh yeah, we’re playing the 7th one, but you don’t need to have played the oth-”

-“Woah, woah, kiddo, stop,” interrupted Snatcher by lifting his hands in the air, already feeling a headache coming up just from hearing about all this stuff he couldn’t understand. What were they even talking about? He took a deep breath and pinched his nose, stopping soon afterwards. Wait, he never did that before, was it because he had a nose now?

-“First, I don’t care about all of that,” he established, though it was a lie: he was curious, at least on the way this was working: “Second, what the heck is a video game?”

This was a simple question, really, one he thought was basic and pretty common… And yet, as soon as the words left his mouth, the two children gasped as if he had insulted their parents in the worst possible ways. Wait, did he ever do that? He didn’t remember. Still, they were staring at him with wide eyes, clearly not believing a single word he had just said. Was it that obvious? If it was, why didn’t he hear about that from his victi- oh wait, right, he usually killed them before they got the chance to talk. Not that he wanted to, life outside of his forest didn’t interest him usually. And it wasn’t like talking with his “brain-dead servants” were entertaining, hearing them scream in pain was though.

His thoughts were cut short as the little girls exclaimed at the same time:

-“You don’t know what a video game is?!”

Snatcher shook his head, warier and warier as seconds passed. This was getting extremely suspicious and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know anymore, given the reactions he got just from not knowing whatever that thing was. In any case, apparently, said thing was pretty famous or at least common now.

The two kids shared a knowing and decided look, as if they telepathically agreed on something.

All of a sudden, Snatcher felt like he should have kept his mouth shut. But he didn’t have the time to think more, as the bow-wearing little girl moved behind him and pushed him more towards the television, while the older kid placed more pillows on the floor for him to sit on.

-“Wait, wait, what-” The former ghost tried to protest, but was interrupted as the brats forced him to sit down, his opinion clearly ignored from now on. Soon, one of the strange-looking device was placed in his hands, and he turned his head to the kids, even more perplexed than before.

-“Okay, so you definitely failed in life just not knowing what a video game was,” informed the hat-wearing child, an exaggerated look of disappointment in her eyes: “Allow us to educate you on that topic.”

-“Trust us,” added the younger one, placing her hand on her chest as if what she was saying was extremely important -when it wasn’t-: “We’re specialists.”

Snatcher’s confusion was now reaching new heights. He had no idea what they were talking about, and he was so bewildered by what was happening that, despite his wish to protest, his voice got stuck in his throat. His brain was trying so very hard to understand what was happening, but soon, the brats sat next to him… And started to explain things and concepts he had no idea existed before.

How did this even happen…? Whatever the answer was… Snatcher knew he was stuck with them until he learnt what those ‘video game’ things were.

This was it. Snatcher was cursed, and he had the feeling this was not going to end soon.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Well, everything goes well ! Isn't that wonderful ? Truly, it would be such a SHAME if SOMEONE were to ruin that................. Not that it's going to happen or anything !! ... Unless...?

:)c

Anyway, thank you all for your comments, they mean so much to me !

=> Chapter 14

[nicka-nell]

Friend with the enemy - Chapter 2: Smile for me

Chapter 1 - the pretty boy  |     Masterlist     | Chapter 3 - An unfortunate reunion

Chapter: 2/4 | Oikawa x reader Words: 2.563 Warning: fluff, angst

(y/n) = your name | (l/n) = last name | (e/c) = eye colour | (h/c) = hair colour

The next few days are flying by and before you know it’s Monday afternoon. You tell Ushijima that you’re meeting a friend and that he should eat without you tonight. He just crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. “Just a friend. Sure. Have fun, but don’t be late. After all, tomorrow is a school day, and we have to get up early." he says seriously before he says goodbye to you. Arrived at Aobajohsai, Oikawa is already waiting for you with his hands in his pockets. When he sees you, he waves to you and comes to meet you. “Hello (y/n)-chan, I’m really looking forward to seeing you again." He laughs friendly and scratches his neck. “Hello Tooru, nice to meet you." You answer him briefly but kindly. For a short moment, you both look deep into each other’s eyes and remain silent. You don’t know why, but you’re so nervous all of a sudden, and you feel your heart beating out loud. Oikawas smile is simply seductive. Hold on... (y/n) what do you think right now? You ask yourself and shake your head. “Shall we go?” you ask with a high voice and are surprised by your voice. Nodding, he moves and you follow him. Once at the fair, you’ll see lots of stalls, colorful lights, a lot of people and an incredible amount of smells that drive your hunger. “Mmmh here it smells really good like fresh milk bun." You mumble to yourself. “Huh? Are you hungry? Do you want a milk bun?" He’s looking at you. Hardly noticeable you nod embarrassed and look to the ground. “Come on." now you hear his voice and feel his grip on your arm. He pulls you behind him towards the bun stand and greets the seller, who smiles at you with a strange look. Is that supposed to be seductive or something? It’s disgusting, you think. In Oikawas corner of the eye, he recognizes your slightly disgusted look at the man and the man’s eyes on you don’t escape Oikawa either. “I’d like two milk bins. One with chocolate and the other..." Oikawa pulls you to your waist and makes you look into his eyes. “What do you want, my love?" he asks you with a narrow grin. “A- Also with chocolate." You answer quietly. What in the world has gotten into him? You ask yourself before he lets you go again. “You heard my love. Then two milk buns with chocolate." Demanding he looks at the seller who now fiercely reaches for the chocolate-filled milk buns and holds them against you. Oikawa puts the money on the counter and hands you one of the buns. "Fits like that." he says arrogantly and turns around with you in his arm. “Tooru, what was that all about?" you’re asking all confused as he pretends like nothing happened. “What do you mean? The guy tried to eat you from top to bottom with his eyes. I just wanted to make it clear to him not to look at you. Because you do not belong to him." Now with a serious voice he bites into his bun and looks at you from the corner of his eye. “I don’t belong to you either!" you yell at him. But somehow you thought it was sweet of him. “Yeah, but that’s not what I was saying... I... I'm sorry (y/n). I’ll make it up to you. Come on!” Weeping, he grabs your hand again and pulls you behind him. What’s he up to now? He stops in front of a score and looks around. “What is the best prize you can win here?" Almost energetically he asks the man who works at this stand. “Eh... So the teddy bear here is our biggest and most expensive prize. But for him, you'd have to knock down five times, all ten cans. But you only have two attempts per pyramid." He stutters uncertainly before himself. “Give me the balls!" he calls now still more resolutely and you consider briefly whether you should stop him from his plan, however, notice fast that it would not accomplish anything. With the ball in his hand, he breathes in and out completely concentrated. He’s completely changed from now on. And even before you can pronounce 'Teddy Bear', he has already brought down all five pyramids with only one stroke per pyramid. With big eyes and open mouths, the staff and you stand in front of Oikawa and look at him speechless. “The teddy bear I would like to have." he says surprisingly calmly and the employee hands it over to him without comment. “Do you forgive me, (y/n)?" He looks at you with puppy eyes. How could you say no here? Especially since you weren’t mad at him. Smiling, you take the bear and thank him. You guys keep moving. You with your big bear in your hands and Oikawa with two more milk buns he took. It’s dark by now, but you still have your fun. In front of a Ferris wheel you stop and look at the top cabin. “Do you want to ride the Ferris wheel?" Oikawa looks over to you. Now that you think about it, you’ve never been on a Ferris wheel. “Mhm..." you nod embarrassed and go to the Ferris wheel. Just before you want to climb into an open cabin, the man on the Ferris wheel tells you that you can’t take the bear with you, but he keeps it for you in the small ticket office until you come out. You are now sitting next to each other in a cabin and the rails that are in front of you are automatically folded down. Briefly you twitch together, but are calmed by a warm hand on your shoulder and a quiet smile from Oikawa. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I'm right here.” He whispers quietly to you and the Ferris wheel moves. Having arrived at the highest point of the Ferris wheel, the Ferris wheel suddenly stops. “T... Tooru?” Panic you look in his direction and grip the rail that is close to your bodies. ’Please remain calm. We’ve got a power outage on the Ferris wheel. Our security staff are on their way to fix the problem. Nothing can happen to you. We apologize for the inconvenience.’ You hear a man talking in a megaphone. “Damn..." Oikawa sighs. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll be all right. Let’s do something nice. Look, there’s a bright star over there. Doesn’t he look beautiful?" he’s trying to calm you down. Still a little anxious you look forward and see a very bright star in the starry sky. “Yes... really nice...” you stutter quietly and try to move as little as possible. Oikawa realizes that you are still afraid and thinks about how he can change that. “Did you know... When I was little, I was very afraid of injections. I started crying three days before. But don’t tell anyone." Embarrassed he looks at you and notices how your facial features relax. Oikawa is really afraid of injections? Such a tall man? You don’t know why, but it makes you feel better that even Tooru Oikawa, who seems perfect in everything, is afraid of something. Without wanting it, you start laughing. You don’t laugh at him. No, it’s a happy laugh, and now Oikawa is looking at you with his eyes wide open. His amazement makes you look at him too. “You... You are really beautiful when you laugh (y/n)” still astonished but also serious he speaks softly and you fall silent. You notice how your cheeks turn red and your heart starts beating wildly. Oikawa doesn’t say anything anymore but just looks at you. With his left hand he approaches your face and caresses your cheeks, then pulls your face a bit up by putting his hand, which was still on your cheek earlier, under your chin and pushing it up. He looks deep into your (e/c) eyes. “I'm sorry. You're also beautiful without a smile on your face (y/n)." He whispers softly and his face comes dangerously close to yours. You can already feel his warm breath on your skin when suddenly the Ferris wheel shakes. You both twitch together and the Ferris wheel starts to move again. Did Oikawa... just wanted to kiss you? You keep quiet until you get down there and the co-worker puts your big teddy bear in your hands again. “It is already late. Should I take you home now?" Oikawa asks you smiling and calm as if nothing had happened. A little confused, you just nod when you two head home. All the way you talk like two old friends, however, you both behave differently than before. Somehow the mood is tense. When you get home, you stand in front of your front door and get your key out. “Thanks for the nice evening Tooru." With a smile you look up to him. “I have to thank you... I had a really nice time with you. I hope we can repeat that soon?" his voice is so soft and calm. Not like your heart. “Yes! Gladly!" You respond too enthusiastically and put your hands in front of your mouth. Giggling, he leans over to you. "Good night (y/n). Sleep well.” he whispers softly and gives you a kiss on the cheek. Without looking at you again, he turns and leaves. Your body feels weird. You feel so weird. You can’t get a clear thought when the door opens behind you. “You’re a little late." You hear Ushijimas voice behind you. You look at your watch to make sure what time it is, when you find out that it’s already past midnight. “I'm so sorry Toshi. I forgot all about the time." You apologize and want to go in with the bear in your hands just as Ushijima takes it away from you. “Take a shower and get ready for your bed. I’ll take the teddy bear to your room." A friendly smile draws his face. “You certainly didn’t get it from your friend?" he says ironically. “Eh... Anyway, I’ll take a shower... See you tomorrow then." you answer embarrassed and disappear quickly in the bathroom. - You spend a lot of time with Oikawa over the next few weeks. You always come very close to each other but you are interrupted again and again by others and again there is a oppressive silence afterwards. Since this constant back and forth becomes too stupid for you, you decide to ask Oikawa if he sees more than just a friend in you. He is somewhat perplexed in front of you and does not know exactly what to say when his cell phone rings. It is his coach who asks him for extra training. He says goodbye to you quickly and tells you that he will call you later and then you can talk.

However, this does not happen. “Pf... what's going on Oikawa... I’m going to knock on your stupid door until you finally open it, you idiot." You murmur grimly to yourself. With rage, you stomp to Oikawas apartment and want to ask him why he’s been ignoring you for two days. But when you arrive in front of his apartment, your anger turns into sadness and disappointment. “Tooru?” you ask unsettled, with a shaky voice as your wide open eyes look at him. You see Oikawa standing before you. However, he is not alone. He’s with a young woman and not just that. They just kissed each other. Frightened to hear your voice, Oikawa turns away from the woman and looks with big eyes in your direction. “(y/n)!” He still calls, but your eyes already begin to become glassy and you start to cry. How could you think Tooru Oikawa had feelings for you? He’s been ignoring you for the last two days. It was a mistake coming here. Did he really just see you as a friend? A buddy? Your legs start to shake and you automatically take a few steps back. Just as you want to turn around to disappear from this place, Oikawa reaches for your wrist. “(y/n) wait!” he calls to you. But you tear yourself away from him and stand with your back turned to him. “Oikawa... You could have just told me you had a girlfriend and you had no feelings for me. But playing with my feelings... is really the last. But maybe it was my own stupidity. After all, you of all people are known as a flirtatious charmer and womanizer. I know we’ll have a few more games against you... But do me a favor, Tooru Oikawa... Leave me alone and don’t say another word. Don't look at me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t write to me and don’t even try to call me or come home to me. And one more thing... I know you wouldn’t do it anyway, but don’t follow me at all." You say quietly but your sad voice is still clear to hear. Yet you move and don’t look backwards anymore. When you get home, you go straight to your room and slam the door behind you. Crying, you sink to the ground and look briefly at the teddy bear that Oikawa gave you. Even faster your tears flow and you pull your legs to your upper body to bury your face in them. **Knock-Knock** you hear someone knocking on your room door, but you ignore the knock. “(y/n)? Are you here? Is everything okay?" you hear Ushijimas worried voice. You don’t answer him. “(y/n)! Is everything all right? If you don’t answer me... then I come in." even more concerned he continues. Again, you don’t answer and soon you notice how your body and door are pushed forward and Ushijima steps into your room. When he sees you sitting on the floor sad, he says nothing. You get up and walk over to your bed, sit down so that Ushijima can’t see your face anymore. But after just a few seconds you feel how two strong arms pulling you towards him, and he holds you tight in his arms. He still says nothing. You notice how you start crying hard again and turn to him to put your head to his chest. Sighing, he squeezes you and begins to make gentle circular movements with his hand on your back. He just lets you cry because he knows exactly what you need right now. You remain in this position for over an hour until you eventually fall asleep so that Ushijima puts you in your bed and covers you. He gives you a kiss on the forehead and looks at you for a moment. “(y/n)... I won’t let that guy who makes you so sad hurt you again.” He whispers softly and carefully closes the door behind him.

[lligkv]

hard to be a person in history

I’ve tried to get into Thomas Mann before. I started The Magic Mountain a couple years ago and found it never really caught my interest. It was fine reading about Hans Castorp and his days in the sanatorium, but about two hundred pages in, I put the book down in favor of another and I never felt compelled to pick it up again. Doctor Faustus also sat around my shelves for a while after I bought my copy at my local Half-Price Books. But now that we’re all in limbo, I decided to give it a try, and to persist.

I got through it slowly. Mann’s signature seems to be these large, dense blocks of text, and these recondite sentence structures—which translator John Woods seems to have replicated nicely. (A representative example: “It is simply that, even from a distance I fix my eye with fear and uneasiness, indeed dread, on certain matters about which I must report from time to time and that I find oppressive long beforehand, but whose weight I seek to distribute by alluding in advance to them in words that, admittedly, only I understand.”) As a reader, I’m not intimidated by either of these things—I typically find them delightful—but they take some care to get through when your mind is brittle as mine is now.

But Faustus is a good book for this historical moment: this coronavirus time, this time when people come armed into government buildings and hoist signs at protests that read “Arbeit Macht Frei”; this time when it feels like everything’s collapsing and you don’t know how to put any of it together again; when you can’t escape the sense you and everyone around you who’s middle-class and quarantined, all milling about in unease, are being tested by history and found wanting. You know it from the way the protagonist, Zeitblom, speaks of the end of “the epoch of bourgeois humanism—the feeling, I say, that its last hour had come, that a mutation of life was about to happen, that the world was trying to enter into a new, still unnamed sign of the zodiac.”

Which is the moment we’re in, of course. The things we know are degenerating. What comes next, it’s too early to say. We might have no choice but to weather the madness we’re in as it comes over us, implacable as a wave. At least Zeitblom, writing after Leverkuhn has died and long enough into World War II that it’s clear Germany is doomed, has the benefit of some hindsight. There’s no way of knowing how long our interregnum will last.

Doctor Faustus is about a composer, Adrian Leverkuhn, who—perhaps under the sway of the devil, perhaps increasingly ill with syphilis; ultimately, probably both—reaches his creative peak and then degenerates. His friend Serenus Zeitblom has resolved, after his death, to write the story of his life. Zeitblom’s love for Leverkuhn is tangled with his love for Germany. And ultimately, the novel is more about Zeitblom’s experience of being German, or Zeitblom’s experience itself, than it is about Leverkuhn’s life. Leverkuhn is hard to get to know, and what you do know of him—his aloofness, his distaste for human contact, his single-minded focus on music to the exclusion of all political or historical consciousness—makes him the proverbial blank screen for the projection of the humanist Zeitblom’s anxieties.

Zeitblom sees in Leverkuhn’s condition a parallel with Germany’s. Both reflect “the influence of the demonic on human life”—for Leverkuhn, the sacrifice of human emotions and intimacy for isolation and eccentric genius, and for Germany a fascism that “enlisted and commanded troops prepared to die in the cause of subjugating the globe.” And so they give the lie to bourgeois humanism, to “values like culture, enlightenment, humanity, and dreams like the improvement of nations through scientific civilization.” In its stead is entrenched “a general indifference to each man’s suffering and perishing that had found its way into people’s hearts.”

It’s a period with clear parallels to ours. Right now, a certain model of liberal individualism is being rejected, or has reached the end of its life. It no longer has the support from society—affordable housing, affordable healthcare, high-enough wages, a welfare system—that it needs to be tenable. And a weird combination of aggressive individualism and collective hysteria takes its place.

Bourgeois humanism isn’t perfect. Its adherent Zeitblom has clear weaknesses: a propensity to lecture; a timidity in the face of his country’s fascism, which he greets with handwringing and paralysis. But I can relate to his sense that individuals in the nations defeated in World War I experienced a “monstrous loss of self-worth.” The same sense of self-worth is lost when you live in a late capitalist time of incredible inequality, atomized hyperindividuality, and real, or even just perceived, scarcity. In such a time, everything costs so much. And you are utterly responsible for all your life’s outcomes, which are so precarious, such that just one misfortune—like the outbreak of a pandemic that costs you your job—could break you. These conditions are acutely corrosive to any sense of yourself as having worth or efficacy.

And I can relate to Zeitblom’s timidity. There’s one moment, in one of the salons he’s frequently part of, when Zeitblom actually manages to express how uncomfortable the growing conservatism and fascism he hears makes him. Perhaps, he tells the other men who’ve been discussing their theories of Christus Imperator Maximus—the energetic being they argue will give German soldiers the strength they need to die in their quest to overtake the world—a contemporary thinker “would not perhaps do better to set truth rather than community as his goal, since indirectly and over time community is better served by truth, even by bitter truth, than by a mode of thinking that claims to serve it at the expense of truth, but in reality…works from within in a most sinister fashion for its destruction.”

It's an argument for truth over comforting, seductive illusion. The others in the salon let his remark hang there. It’s so at odds with the excitement they feel at their consensus that reason is useless in the face of, made utterly outmoded by, “invulnerable belief that [it] could not even touch.” It’s a sign of Zeitblom’s bad taste. (Which also explains why these theories of Christus that Zeitblom hates are allowed to fester, and war allowed to break out--the ideas are only ever a matter of taste for anyone who talks about them in a salon. Or writes about them on a blog.) And immediately Zeitblom understands it would be better for him “to shape my own ideas to confirm to the flow of the discussion and use its framework to envision for myself the world that was coming, that was already covertly in the making—whatever the state of affairs in the pit of my stomach.”

Zeitblom’s consciousness of how Germany will be remembered for its role in World War I and II is striking. He has a sense of himself and his nation as being in a story that’s still unfolding, one German people try to shape—even if the turns it takes are sometimes so powerful that individual authors become unable to exert any influence over them at all. As I was reading Doctor Faustus, I read another piece by Kim Stanley Robinson in the New Yorker in which he describes America’s adherence to the “end of history” narrative—which I define as the belief, obtaining from about the 1990s onward, that American capitalism (based in large part on the operation of the finance industry, the consumer and service economies, and later tech, right-wing in many of its core premises as a result, and devoted to the generation of profit above all) would survive just as it was until the end of time—and the way this narrative keeps us from being conscious of how we, as a collective, will be understood and remembered.

Or maybe this is just how I feel, because I find it so hard to understand who Robinson means by “we” when he writes lines like, “We know we’re entering a new world, a new era. We seem to be learning our way into a new structure of feeling.” I don’t see much of a “we” right now. I don’t think of right-wing protestors massing, armed, on the steps of government buildings or on the railings of legislative buildings as part of any “we” I’m part of. They don’t seem to recognize their duties to others in any way that would make them a true part of a collective. And I don’t think they feel they’re entering a new world or a new structure of feeling; they’re abiding in a version of the old that’s splintering and breaking in ways they can’t see.

America with its confederation of states and its rule by billionaires is too fractious to be a “we.” This country doesn’t have any model of citizenship that could unite us so perfectly that “instantly,” as Robinson puts it, “we’ve changed” with the coming of coronavirus. The input the average person has in America’s political system is just too divorced from the operation of that system. Our leaders make whatever decisions they want to make based on whatever special interests and abstract or minoritarian principles they wish to serve, and the rest of us learn whatever new horror this means for us and accept it.

“The neoliberal structure of feeling totters,” Robinson writes.

What might a post-capitalist response to this crisis include? Maybe rent and debt relief; unemployment aid for all those laid off; government hiring for contact tracing and the manufacture of necessary health equipment; the world’s militaries used to support health care; the rapid construction of hospitals.

But I don’t see much political will for any of that right now. All in all, Robinson’s piece feels less like description than incantation. Robinson is trying as hard to shape the mess that’s happening now into decisions made by a “we” as Zeitblom tries to make Leverkuhn’s life mean something more than what it is--which is a journey from great heights to depths that give the lie to those heights. But there are no clean breaks between capitalism and neoliberalism and what comes next, if anything does. We won’t all stand up and agree things must change and then make them change according to some program we can determine. What will come will come messily, if it comes at all. That’s another lesson of history I’m learning in a new way now.

And all I can think is, it’s hard to be a person in history.

[tongue-tied-ties]

I finally got through all 200,000 words of that freaking epilogue and GOD HAVE MERCY I SHOULD HAVE WENT CANDY AND THEN MEAT.

Overall though, I like it. I like it alot! I mean there are some things I feel weird about which like.......aren’t the things everyone else feels weird about apparently.

SPOILERS BELOWWWWW~!!!!

So it’s alot easier to get out of the way what I am weirded out about than to explain the many things I did like. 

- I feel weird about the xenophobia thing and how it’s being treated. Like it’s being treated like a huge issue but like non-issue all at once?? I guess that’s because from John’s perspective he’s just too busy being weirded out or suffering to truly get involved. Like I sincerely hope nobody on the team thinks standing by in a situation like this is a valid stance in any way. But it also happens in real life so like, I get it. I think this bothers me because these kids were heroes. But also they were heroes out of necessity and because they were main characters. Like that’s honestly it. They had a mission and fulfilled it and they were hailed as heroes.

- Hussie presenting xenophobia as both a joke and a serious issue and sometimes it’s hard to tell what position the comic is trying to take which makes me uncomfortable. 

- I think it’s in character, but I hate that Karkat alone had to defend himself every time Jane was being the #worstTM. I hate that Roxy just standing by knowing good and well these are the stakes every single time was never fully addressed. I wish somebody sat our beautiful bae Roxy to let them know that like this is shitty too?? Like you saying this is simply politics when a literal extinction is happening is shitty why didn’t anyone tell them that in stone cold, super serious terms for the love of GOD it bothered me so much. 

- Alright anytime Dirk used any sort of like reddit NiceGuy Are you triggeredTM 4-chan bullshit language it turned me all the way off. Like incel, beta, cuck?? Misgendering our void icon?? Yea. Cancelled but also not cancelled because I haven’t been this shook or excited over a villain in so long.

- Gamzee. Just...yikes all around. I’m not sure how I feel.

- JAKE DESERVED BETTER. HE REALLY FREAKING DID JUST SAYING. JAKE DIDNT DESERVE THIS MADNESS. Omfg i never hated anyone as much as I did Dirk when he snapped Jake’s psyche in half forcing him to love Dirk. It was so fucking iconic though and I’m still mad y’all. So many feelings. Oh god and when Jane like........did him wrong?? What le fuck? Jake i’ll be your friend, come here mate. Please let me hug my boi who I didn’t stan before but i stan now.

- Those kids.....I love those kids give them a good future, please. I’m begging hussie let John be a good father.

- I think the kids grew because they were with each other, and they fact they didn’t stay together and let each other be isolated kinda makes this make sense to me but it does feel like with some characters the growth went out the window. But also....people can regress especially if they stop after like one epiphany or whatever, so I see how this happened.

- Dave redirecting what should have been the core political issue (freaking extinction/controlled population of exclusively the trolls) to the economy every single time. Like Dave baby you were never the most racially sensitive dude (coming from a black girl who watched you say negrocity, call black people not shining shoes revolutionary (which could be read as irony in context but still) in the same rap, which, YIKES!) but like try please?? Hussie freaking fix this.

- I oddly feel weird about them getting rid of their flesh bodies for their ultimate forms and I’m not sure why but I honestly don’t want all bots. I can’t even explain that in a way that makes sense.

- Jade. Like....everything she did was a big yikes and honestly I’m reading the main story again to see if there was a character trait that led to her behavior. Cuz Dirk literally always had an overbearing personality and it was never truly addressed leading to what happened. Jane never really stopped with the whole business and control thing and she never really seemed to care for the trolls one way or another so I can kinda see it.

- Honestly?? I’m happy for the form of happiness that some characters had but MAN was it just the slowest most excruciating march towards that end. In candy, it felt like I was literally feeling John’s twilight-zone stir-crazy rise up in me as I read through. I think a “benefit” from reading Meat first is that like.....damn I ended up agreeing with Dirk. Like all of this shit was largely avoided and addressed sooner when Dirk was in charge and I hate/love that I’m saying this! Like what the hell y’all that's so brilliant to me. In Meat, I just.....wanted them to be free to make their own choices and when I was nearing the end in Candy, I realized they weren’t so damn isolated and I was happy that some of them finally got to heal.

To segue into I liked it starts on the same point my dislikes end.

 - I felt so frustrated by everything that was happening which.....dear God is great writing because if I was John feeling this for years instead of the solid day it took me to get through Candy I’d be handling it way worse than John. I almost wished that Dirk would come in and take charge because they were just.....fucking up on every level. With Meat, I wanted what was in Candy and I wanted them to have their fucking free will to choose instead of these awful circumstances Dirk forced them to be in.

- DAVE. DAVE. DAVE. Fuck I love dave just so much, he felt the most home to me the entire time. When he fought back in Meat to make his own choices I was so proud of him. When he decided to join the revolution I was proud of him, when he finally admitted he was gay I was proud of him. When he just existed and seriously thought about what he wanted and needed to work through he felt like he authentically was trying to figure himself out the entire time in both Meat and Candy and I was so proud of him. Honestly will always have my heart.

- NUBS MCSHOUTY. From awkward bottom to rebel leader he is just a breath of fresh air every time he speaks because it is always a freaking mood. LIke yes, the extinction of your people is awful and you should say it. Yes, people who stand by and just sidetrack the conversation into semantics is awful and you should freaking say it. Yes! Yes! Yes! omfg. YOU ABSOLUTE FREAKING ICON

- Dirk. I.....ugh I know this is controversial but I love everything that happened. Our Dear walking God complex becomes literal God and it all goes to hell. Our friend the control freak, controlling the narrative when he reaches his ultimate form. Ou dear Dirk who always needs something to fix horribly fixes the narrative. When he revealed himself and said “but you already know that don’t you” in his iconic yellow text color me FREAKIN SHOOK. Like literary reveal of the gods (specifically this god ha). Nothing will shake me the same holy shit I was horrified and the horror never stopped. Omfg shook Dirk just freaking shook. So since I read meat first I was like “holy cow was he always like this?” But like, the one dirk that was decent freaking killed himself with his last wish being for relevance and like.....of course he’s like this?? It’s Hal, Caliborn, ARDirk, Brain Ghost Dirk and Dirk One who honestly was only half decent most of the time. All of these pretentious beings in one? Oh yea edge lord self masturbatory train dead ahead. AND I LOVED IT, the absolute fear and horror as he took the narrative back from Calliope was horrifying, his increasing disdain after the reveal, the moment he forced Jake to fuck everything up for the resistance was ICONIC oh my god I was so here. I was loving it so much I was scared I was being controlled by Dirk.

- Jake was always passive and like.....it manifested so bad. I mean I thought he stepped up when he finally, defeated the felt crew but like....of course, one battle isn’t going to solve a lifetime of posing and passivity. I don’t know why I never considered the horrible implications. I do wish he grew a full spine in one of the epilogues.

- Regardless of how I perceived her in canon, Epilogue!Jane was never painted as a hero ever. THANK GOD cuz Epilogue Jane is doing some really bad stuff.

- Roxy - our voidey babe exploring their gender identity and deciding in both that they don’t care for their assignment in some way, valid. Having all stages of their identity and the stages respected (in what I viewed as a great and fully addressed way as a cis black girl) is surprisingly refreshing when I look at Roxy alone and not the transphobic stuff Dirk was doing which was icky and Caliborn-ish.

- Rose and Kanaya being happy in Candy. Like it seemed so OOC but Rose also was literally dealing with something that ENTIRE TIME. When she was little it was the alcoholism of her mother, when she was in paradox space it was from horror demons to literal death, to life-threatening situations to being the seer she needed, to her own substance problem etc etc. Being non-essential freed her from that and we got to witness her still be the badass, freedom fighter she became. And I just love the thing she chose without needing to, without absolute necessity, was to raise their daughter AND fully immerse themselves in troll revolution against an oppressive regime. Fuck yes Rose, you deserve some fucking peace without debilitation or circumstance. Rose in Meat shall never be spoken of because that is so so so sad honestly. She was dying and like...Dirk took advantage of that which is tactically freaking genius considering Rose is usually who can pull these dorks together into action but damn Dirk.

- Fuck you know what I’m gonna say it. Dirk is the best villain holy shit he is honestly, truly smart and manipulative and somehow charming in this sick sick way God I hate/love him right now. I’m.....omfg still shook.

- I honestly just loved how intertwined it is, how twilight-zone/gritty it felt. Every literary craving I didn’t know I was having was fed and in the best/worst way. I’m hooked and here for wherever this is going. Also, I typed it above and I’ll type it again. I didn’t realize it but these kids, while they ascended as Gods were not heroes. I don’t think the kids really cared about their denizens much ever in canon. They fulfilled their mission and we handed them the hero stamp because we’ve followed their story. They are simply people who had a mission to fulfill and did that mission in whatever capacity you choose. They are ultimately really flawed human beings who were traumatized to hell and back with no real devices on how to deal with it properly. Of course, when you give flawed humans God powers, a world to rule over and nobody really holding anyone accountable bad things are bound to happen. They grew because they were in a situation where they had to and they were removed too soon for them to keep that growth. Fanfic or not, canon or not, essential or not, I think these are valid outcomes, within the context of who they are.

[storyunrelated]

Candidate for Completion - Theodicy

Theodicy

People like to think - in the way that people like to avoid uncomfortable notions - that this is just the way things are now, that this is the way things will stay. Sure it’s bad but now it’s normal and normal is livable. Normal doesn’t need you to get up and get out of the house to take a chance on trying to fix it and maybe failing. Normal means that your peaceful life can continue. Normal is comfortable.

WHAT

Diag Fol, you see, was progress given form in this backwards world. A shining beacon of what was possible with just a little bit of human effort and a pinch of ruthless, merciless liberation. Diag Fol was proof that another way was possible, nay, preferable!  Superior!

Knowing this, how could the fine, bold, inspiring leaders of Diag Fol ever stop at just one?

That the Diags are full of small gods is just a fact - they’re everywhere! They are part of the fabric of life. They’re vital! They look after every aspect of everything, and all it takes is a little acknowledgement of this. Is that so hard?

No, no it is not, and life has continued in this way for generations. The Diags fight, they stop fighting, they trade, one of them is invaded by Those From Across The Sea again, the land between the Diags remains small godless and wild and dangerous, life trundles forward, all is well.

Or rather all was well. One day, out of nowhere, Diag Fol is overthrown! And not in the normal way where one group of small god-fearing people swap out one set of leadership for another. That’s normal.

No this time they killed the small gods. All of them. Every last one in the Diag, every single one. This should be impossible. It has to be impossible! But they did it. And they didn’t stop there - all priests killed, all icons smashed, all signs of piety purged.

A free Diag now, they claim. And they have devices now. Amazing devices! Devices against which no one Diag can stand. And can the Diags unite to fight back? Like fuck they can.

And just as things reach a boiling point - just when Diag Fol prepares to roll out the liberation of humanity from the yoke of oppression - a priest of an obscure, forgotten small god who survived the last eighty years by being dead wakes up in a box in a cupboard, and finds himself charged with a mission to, well...

Not fix things, it’s too late for that.

But they can be...

Manipulated.

WHO

Amphibalus had  never met anyone From Across The Sea, of course. Very few people had. But he’d heard enough about them to know he wouldn’t ever want to. Strange people. Long fingers, big boats, deep eyes. Questionable theology.

There is a handful of characters in this one...

There’s the main chap, the priest. He’s killed before the story really starts and first shows up as a corpse. His name is Amphibalus. Prior to being killed, he was an old man. Strange events lead to his corpse getting stuffed into a chest in an abandonned house and forgotten about for, ooh, about eighty years.

He later wakes up in a healthy, young man’s body. Also naked. Also very confused. He’s nudged in directions without a clear idea of what he’s actually meant to do. There’s an idea, but he can’t grasp it. And he’s in probably the most unfriendly place possible for a man of a small god.

Then there’s some others. There’s the leader of the god-killing revolutionaries who overtook Diag Fol and who is kind of an unhinged lunatic with some very high-scale ideas for what should happen to the world. There’s a lady weapons developer who works under him who will do...something.

There’s a spy in Diag Fol who’ll meet up with Amphibalus. She has a pidgeon.

And there’s some other guy who wanders around killing people in the name of his small god, who lives in his sword. Think he’s called Ronan. He ends up getting into Diag Fol somehow, I think.

Eh, stuff.

Oh yeah, now I’m remembering that the small god who lives in the sword is probably one of only two small gods who actually get lines in the story and I forgot how much of a bloodthirsty mad bastard I made them.

But who else would live in a sword but a bloodthirsty mad bastard?

WHERE

“I’m hiDing IN youR SKin, ronan.”

“I know.”

“i aM swiMMIng iN yOUR BLOOD. I fEEl safE.”

Ronan shook his head.

What I need is a very definite idea of the structure. There’s a lot of rambling that kind of hints at the nature of the world - and a whole chunk which just out-and-out explains the whole structure of the UNIVERSE and HOW THE SMALL GODS ACTUALLY FIT INTO IT - which might be a little on the nose.

But what really needs nailing down is just the through line.

Amphibalus wakes up. He wanders around. He bumps into some IMPORTANT PEOPLE. He runs. He obliquely speaks to the lunatic leader guy. He rusn some more. He meets the spy. He finally learns something about the world he’s woken up in. He sees a sign. Bish bash bosh, some hints at the lunatic leader’s plan, some way of stopping it, blah blah whatever.

Oh and I need a new title because, as I remembered too late, Small Gods is a Discworld book - whoops!

WHY

There’s very little as terrifying as being in a place where every single other person present believes the exact opposite about everything that you do and them all realising this all at the same time.

Many, many pairs of suddenly unhappy eyes all turning in the same direction. Fists clenching. Bile rising in the back of throats. Righteous indignation building in the bosoms of people who heavily outnumber you.

Nothing good can come of this.

The basic idea of “There are gods and they are known to exist but one day they are all murdered by humans and one priest survives and comes back later in a godless world to do a thing” is an idea I’ve had for a while and never really been able to do anything useful with.

Originally the idea involved humans cannibalising the dead ‘bodies’ of gods for power purposes or something suitably grim. This time it’s...not quite that...but still something.

This isn’t a commentary on religion or anything like that. It’s just a lark. There’s no points being made. Or if there are, I ain’t the one makin’ ‘em!

WELL

“For I am a godly woman, and my god travels with me. They’re strange like that. Pigeon is the name they go by. I serve them well and in turn I am provided for.”

“Pigeon?” Amphibalus asked. He couldn’t help himself. The woman looked a touch sheepish for a moment but then straightened up.

“Unusual, yes. Perhaps even humble. But who are we to question? Certainly it is appropriate. My small god’s domain lies with pigeons, you see. An animal with which they have a certain natural rapport and an uncanny ability to manipulate. Very useful for someone in my line of work.”

“I can imagine,” Amphibalus said.

He was lying. He could not.

To do this one I’d need to CARE, and the circumstances needed for me to CARE are very specific and esoteric. It usually only happens at night, and I have to be sitting in a chair at a table or a desk. And I have to be on my own and in a fairly cheerful state of mind.

You think I’m joking but I’m not.

Theoretically I don’t mind this story much, but nothing in it has GRABBED ME and the characters are just kind of bleh to me right now. None have formed yet because I haven’t done enough of it, and I haven’t done enough of it because the characters aren’t formed enough to grab me.

Irony!

[crystallized-shadow]

Chapter: 2/? Rating: M Pairing: Madara/Tobirama Word Count: 1712 Warnings: Canon-typical violence  

Summary: Forced to become a jinchuriki against his will, Madara is the only one keeping Konoha safe from certain destruction. But can anyone save him?

Follow the link or read it under the cut

Hashirama nearly misses the branch he’s leaping for when Tobirama’s scream echoes through the forest; he couldn’t think of a time he’d ever heard that sound from his younger brother. The Hokage didn’t even know what was going on, he’d gotten only a vague direction to head in before Tobirama had bolted to save Madara, leaving him behind like an idiot. The only thing Hashirama knew was Tobirama had sensed pain in Madara’s chakra but he was running away from the village, which didn’t make sense; if the Uchiha was hurt he shouldn’t be avoiding the one place he could get treatment. Hashirama prayed he would make it in time to save his last brother and his best friend, because he knew someone must have ambushed them, someone ungodly strong to overpower them both.

Nothing in his life could have prepared Hashirama for the horror of finding his best friend crouched over Tobirama’s still body, unhealthy amounts of blood staining the ground redder than the cruel eyes Madara fixes on him. “Get away from him!!” Hashirama roars, the trees springing to life around him and ripping the Uchiha away from Tobirama. “Tobi!!” He is by his brother’s side in an instant, eyes drawn to the two bloody holes through Tobirama’s back, one through his right lung and the other partially puncturing his stomach.

“Didn’t want him to die too quickly,” Madara chuckles, but Hashirama doesn’t even spare him a second glance as he focuses on healing the gaping holes in Tobirama. Hashirama barely notices when the Uchiha tears free of the tree roots holding him. “Forget about him, he’s as good as dead; come dance with me.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Hashirama mutters, his tone dark even as he forces his chakra to remain calm so he doesn’t worsen Tobirama’s condition. “How could you do this Madara!? Tobirama loves you!!”

“He’s a fool.” Madara lunges at Hashirama, claws aimed at his back, only to collide with a wooden dome. “Stop hiding!”

Hashirama ignores his former best friend as he focuses solely on healing Tobirama. He knew he needed to push past the betrayal he was feeling, Tobirama needed his attention right now, not Madara. Thankfully the wounds, while fatal, aren’t as difficult to heal as he feared they’d be. Despite everything, Hashirama doesn’t want to kill Madara if he can help it, but he couldn’t see any other choice, not when the Uchiha had done the unforgivable and tried to murder his last brother.

The banging and angry snarls finally reach Hashirama’s ears, but he tunes them out; Madara could wait.  “Get out here you fucking coward before I go after your precious village!!” That makes the Hokage stiffen in anger, how dare Madara threaten everything they had worked for! He ignores the trees whispered warnings as he parts his jutsu just enough to step out. Sealing the dome behind him, Hashirama faces Madara with a heavy heart. He may not want to hurt the Uchiha, but Tobirama badly needed a hospital and he came first.

“Finally decided to fight?” Madara growls, three tails lashing behind him.

“This isn’t a fight,” Hashirama states, his eyes colder than his words, “this is an execution.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Madara chuckles, claws swiping at Hashirama’s face an instant later.

The Hokage seems startled by the drastic change in Madara’s fighting style, but barely a thought has tree roots swatting the Uchiha across the clearing. “What’s gotten into you Madara?” Hashirama demands as he advances toward his old friend, “you’re not usually this uncontrolled.” His words are met with another a snarl and he jumps back to avoid another swing.

“Fight dammit!” Madara all but roars, his tail catching Hashirama around the ankle and flinging him through a few trees.

Hashirama slowly stands up, wincing at the burn where the chakra had touched him. Madara’s chakra had never had that effect on him before. That thought makes Hashirama pause and really look at the Uchiha. He takes in the volatile chakra surging around Madara, the slitted pupil where tomoe should be, the slashes that almost resemble whisker marks, and the fangs the force Madara’s mouth into a permanent snarl. Suddenly all the whispers of demon and evil from the trees make sense. “You’re not Madara,” the Senju states, his tone accusatory as his eyes drop to the glowing seal on Madara’s stomach. He might not be a seal master like his brother or his wife, but even Hashirama knew that seal work was barely passable at best. “Who are you?”

“How clever,” the demon chuckles, his smirk a darker, more feral, version of Madara’s own, “and I thought the rabbit was the smart one.”

“Who are you?” Hashirama repeats, calmly making a hand sign that sends wooden columns twining around all the demon’s limbs.

“Madara Uchiha.”

“Wrong,” Hashirama mutters with a smile, another hand sign driving a branch into the demon’s side. “Who are you?” When the demon fails to respond, the Senju wills the branch to burrow deeper until it coils loosely around the demon’s spine. “Last chance before I rip your spine out.”

“You wouldn’t dare hurt Madara.” The sudden tightening around his spine has the demon reconsidering.

“You hurt my brother, there isn’t much I wouldn’t do to you.”

“I am the great Kyuubi no Kitsune.”

Hashirama wants to be impressed, really, he does, but he’d heard tales of Kyuubi’s monstrous strength; this short battle did not live up to it. “I expected more,” Hashirama admits as he releases the demon’s spine. Now that he knew it wasn’t Madara that had hurt his little brother he hardly wanted to rip the Uchiha’s spine out.

“You dare mock me?!” Kyuubi roars, a sudden wave of hatred nearly overwhelming Hashirama as a fourth tail appears and blasts away the restraining wood.

“That’s new,” Hashirama can’t help but chuckle as he hastily avoids the ball of pure demonic chakra. So maybe antagonizing the demon wasn’t his best idea, but he got the information he would need if saving Madara was possible once this was over. A quick wood dome protects him from the next chakra blast, but it cracks ever so slightly. Hashirama knew he needed to end this fight quickly if he wanted to save Tobirama and have any chance of helping Madara. As he drops the dome, Hashirama sends a wood clone one way while he darts the other way.

“That trick won’t work,” Kyuubi states, sending two tails at each Hashirama’s heart. The trees instantly protect the real Hashirama while the clone dissolves away. Kyuubi is on the real one instantly, tearing through branches and aiming for Hashirama’s jugular.

Hashirama ducks under the slash and thrusts a kunai into Kyuubi’s stomach, smirking a little when the demon jumps back with a short bark of pain. The smirk quickly morphs to a frown when the wound instantly heals. Despite all the blood on Madara’s body, the demon remains wound free.

“I really am going to have to kill you.” Hashirama states sadly; as mad as he was about Tobirama’s condition, Madara was still one of his precious people. The thought of putting him down like a rabid animal turned Hashirama’s stomach, but he would do it if that’s what it took to keep his last brother safe.

“You’re the one that’s going to die,” Kyuubi chuckles darkly as a fifth tail bursts into existence; the sudden, oppressive hatred making Hashirama stagger as it’s all focused on him. With surprising speed, Kyuubi lunges at the Senju, smirking when the other just barely dodges.

Hashirama barely has time to question the smirk before two chakra tails immobilize him. He’s not sure what hurts more, the burning pain when Kyuubi tightens his grip and breaks a rib, or the cruel glee reflected on the face of his best friend. Hashirama knew it wasn’t Madara in control, but to see such dark enjoyment on Madara’s face hurt his heart.

“After you Senju are dead, I’m going to level your pathetic village.” Kyuubi taunts as he sends the other three tails crashing through the dome protecting Tobirama.

“Leave my brother alone you monster!!” Hashirama snarls, struggling to get free so he could protect the only family he has left.

Kyuubi’s laughter is a terrifying thing, but all Hashirama can focus on is the sight of Tobirama hanging limply from the tail coiled around his neck, his pale skin made paler by blood loss. “Where should I stab him first?” Kyuubi murmurs, his two free tails caressing Tobirama’s body in a deceitfully gentle manner.

“Madara if you’re in there you need to fight!!” Hashirama yells, desperate to save his brother, “or I WILL kill you!!” The chakra binding him falters just enough that Hashirama can move his hands into a better position before Kyuubi regains total control and turns away from Tobirama to face Hashirama.

“You don’t have it in you human,” the demon declares with a smirk, “you’d never hurt one of your precious people.”

“You’re not one of my precious people.” Hashirama makes a single hand sign a split second before a root bursts through Kyuubi’s chest. Blood spews from the demon’s mouth as he just hangs there, demonic chakra slowly seeping away. Hashirama manages to break free and catch Tobirama, seconds before the younger Senju would have hit the ground.

“Hashi…” Madara mutters, struggling to speak as he chokes on his own blood, “...sorry…” When Hashirama turns to face him, Madara manages a small, bloody smile that will forever haunt the Senju.

“Oh Madara…” Tears fall from Hashirama’s eyes at the sound of Madara’s voice, torn between the joy he feels of having his friend back and the heartbreak of knowing he’d just killed him with the demon. “I hope you’ll be able to forgive me one day.” Knowing that the demon can heal, Hashirama steels his heart once more as the Uchiha slides off the root and drops face first to the ground. He binds the demon in the thickest, most chakra absorbing roots he can make and seals him in a dome of sturdy beams. “Sleep for now demon, I’ll deal with you later.” Leaving Madara’s body safely entombed in his Mokuton, Hashirama returns to Konoha, praying Tobirama will make it.

[bananonymity]

Based on this au

-

“So,” said Ludwig, “you’d like to drop Music Theory.”

Student Advisor Ludwig Beilschmidt’s office was orderly, clean, and devoid of distraction. It was a wonder how it hadn’t driven anyone mad yet. Emil found it calming to a point; it made him somewhat nostalgic for his comfort zone of Icelandic minimalism, except for the lack of spacious windows.

Emil nodded.

“Not your liking?” said Ludwig.

“It wasn’t bad,” Emil said. He had no real complaint against the course. The first day of class, Professor Edelstein spent the entire hour and fifteen minutes teaching the students how to find the cheapest textbooks on Amazon. “But I already know music theory.”

“So you’d like to challenge yourself,” Ludwig said.

“I guess,” Emil said.

Ludwig nodded with approval, missing or ignoring the glum note to Emil’s tone. The real reason that he wanted to drop out was in fact the very opposite; the moment he stepped into the music building, he felt such oppressive intimidation that he actually texted his older brother for comfort, which went something like this:

LUKAS: How are you liking your classes?

EMIL: [thumbs down emoji]

It was a risky move, because goodness knew if this amount of unprecedented emotional vulnerability would worry Lukas. Emil regretted the raw honesty immediately afterward, but by then it was too late.

“That’s one of the great things about university,” said Ludwig. “It gives you avenues to study subjects you wouldn’t have thought of before. Now, dropping this course would mean you need to take up another course to fulfill the minimum amount of credits to be a full time student in this semester. Have you thought of what you would like to add?”

“Not exactly,” Emil said, staring at the corner of Ludwig’s screen where about seven new email notifications from frantic students at the edge of add-drop period scrambled to change their majors.

“Well, I can tell you that you still have some gen eds that you would have to fulfill,” said Ludwig. “One social studies and one art course. That would be good to take care of while you are still a first year.”

“Mm,” Emil said.

“And if you’re up for a challenge, or have interest in specific topics, there are certainly some classes in the one thousand level that have extra space.”

“Mm.”

“Or since you’re already quite ahead in your credits, you can explore a topic for your own enrichment.”

“Mm.”

Ludwig gave Emil a look of pleading exasperation. Emil fixed his gaze stubbornly on the window.

“What is your preference?” Ludwig said.

Emil pursed his lips. He knew that it was harder on Ludwig than on him to deal with his unhelpful indecision, but it did not give him any clearer opinion on what he ought to do. Maybe he should have bitten the bullet and stayed in Professor Roderich’s class. Maybe he should have thought of this before the semester started. Maybe he should have never applied to a university so far from home. Maybe he should have never graduated high school, in general.

“I guess finish my gen ed courses,” Emil said.

Ludwig nodded with enthusiasm for the both of them.

“So, an art course and a social studies course,” said Ludwig. “We have several art courses that are available for you here. Let’s see…”

Ludwig pulled up all the available courses for the semester that would fulfill an art credit. The array of choices made Emil’s eyes blur.

“How about Intro to Film?” said Ludwig. “That would cover your art credit, and also give you an extra English credit if you’re looking into pursuing a certificate.”

“A certificate?” Emil said. “What for?”

“Certification for Digital Media, if that interests you,” Ludwig said.

Emil sputtered.

“I don’t even know what my major is!” he said. “What’s a certificate going to do for me?”

“You don’t have to take it for a certificate,” Ludwig said quickly as Emil buried his face in his hands. “I just meant that it was a nice way to kill two birds with one stone if--”

“But I don’t want to kill birds,” Emil said. “I don’t even know what birds to kill. What kind of person am I if I went around killing random birds just because society tells me that’s how to get a job?”

He slumped back into his seat, letting out a huff of distress. He supposed that he needn’t yell about it, but he had to affirm himself that he made a solid point. Ludwig, in the meantime, only rubbed his brow wearily.

“No certification then,” said Ludwig. “But if we just look at art credits, would that interest you?”

“What is the class like?” Emil said.

“Well...”

“Class, I want you to write this down. Soviet cinema banks on violently killing off every character that has a face on screen. You can quote me on that, I have a doctorate.”

Leon Wang, Emil’s roommate, scribbled this down on his notebook, if only because he knew it would make a solid tweet later on. Professor Alfred F. Jones paced about the front of the room, whizzing through his PowerPoint presentation faster than any of the students could actually take notes.

“Battleship Potemkin? Dead,” said Alfred. “Strike? Dead. A five-second example of the Kuleshov effect? Dead baby. Basically, if you want to make a Soviet montage, kill a bunch of farmers from different camera angles.”

“Professor Jones?” One student raised their hand in the back.

“Call me Alfred,” Alfred said, flashing a dazzling grin. “What’s up?”

“Can you go back to the last slide with all the notes?” they said.

“Fine, but you all gotta catch up faster than that,” Alfred said.

He backspaced on the PowerPoint, skipping through the past fifteen or so slides that he had flew through in half a minute until he reached the slide of haphazard bullet points.

“So, to recap,” said Alfred. “Soviet montage wasn’t necessarily trying to break the rules of cinema. Leave that to the French in the sixties, God help them. But Eisenstein and Kuleshov in particular wanted to use editing differently, to create a synergetic meaning through editing shots together that, by itself, wouldn’t communicate that. Sort of like how on Instagram, you can either build a collage or just have multiple photos in a post, and the effect of it is different depending on how you arrange it, right?”

“What?” said Leon.

“So there you go,” Alfred said. Leon sighed and wrote Instagram = Soviet montage (?) in his notebooks, and hoped that Alfred upload the slides onto Blackboard later today.

“But here’s the wild thing,” said Alfred. “Soviet montage outlived the USSR. Stalin is dead! But even in the play-it-safe boon of Hollywood, we still use those seemingly weird and non-linear montage editing for our movies. Take Arrival. Has anyone here not seen Arrival?”

Several hands went up in the air. Alfred threw a dry erase board marker on the floor.

“Too bad! Spoilers alert,” he said. “The reason why you go into the movie thinking that it is being told in a linear manner, and that Amy Adams’ daughter dies in the beginning of the story, is through the Kuleshov effect. You see her in the beginning of the movie watching her daughter die, and then the scene cuts to her going to work. And you--the audience, you think she looks so sad and distant and uninterested in the news about these octopus aliens because of the recent death of her daughter. But actually you only think that because the two scenes are put back to back. Her face was really just neutral, but because of editing you think they are related, when it is actually a flash forward--or flashback. Dead baby!”

Leon nodded fervently, writing with a little more vigor in his notebook. Maybe Alfred actually did know what he was talking about. He made sense, which was more than he could ask for in a college course. This course made him feel excitable, to relish the honor and merit of his favorite medium, handing back to it the dignity it deserved.

“Or like in this one episode of Lizzie McGuire,” said Alfred.

Leon blanked immediately.

“There is this one scene I remember,” Alfred said, his eyes widening with nostalgia. “I don’t remember the characters’ names at all, or the plot, or if this was even an episode of Lizzie McGuire, but I’m kind of certain that it was on the TV when I was about ten years old. Anyway, there was a scene where this boy, no idea who he was, maybe he was like, Hilary Duff’s little brother or something? Anyway, he had a dirty nose and his mom was like, you got a dirty nose and when and licked a napkin or something to clean it off, and then it would suddenly cut to an unrelated, non-narrative shot of a lion licking her cub’s face, and then cut back to the mom wiping the dirt off her kid’s face. The lion has nothing to do with the story, but it was edited in there to make a more symbolic comparison, to emphasize the overbearing nature of the mother. Disney Channel was flexing its Soviet montage, baby!”

Alfred sped through several tens other PowerPoint slides that looked like they held vital information. Leon leaned over to the student sitting next to him.

“What the hell is Lizzie McGuire?” he whispered.

“All right, fifteen minute break commences now,” Alfred said, closing his laptop while students desperately scribbled the last of the bullet points with their aching hands. “Second half of class, we’ll get right into the film. Unfortunately, if you graduate from this school with a film degree and not know what the Odessa steps are, you aren’t going to make it out alive in Hollywood or wherever the hell you guys want to go. So we’re going to have to watch some Eisenstein. I’m so sorry, everyone.”

While other students went to use the restroom, or checked their text messages on their phones, Leon flipped through the syllabus for this course once more. He was hopeful that they would watch a John Woo film in this course, which did not seem like a far cry from what Alfred would assign. Apparently, one of their midterms would include writing a paper applying an advanced film theory to Die Hard.

“Come on, kids!” Alfred said. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to stretch your legs. This is a four-hour course, you’ve got all the time to sit around. Don’t you know that sitting is the new smoking?”

He promptly took a bite from a box of Chick-Fil-A strips waiting for him on the podium.

(tbc?)