#it’s just that like. that kind of mass hysteria has to be organic I think. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shatter-song · 1 year ago

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I think I'll just post just the 1st chs of my ongoing stories and that's it. like I'll post updates when I finish them but these will be my main examples for people at how I'm doing writing wise

so this ch 1 of my melodybeast centered fic!

Oh. This is bad.

Viney doesn't know why it took her this long to realize that but it did.

Ever since Hunter's second arrival to Hexside and telling everyone the truth about the Day of Unity, all the kids were thrown into hysteria.

And who could blame them? The former Golden Guard comes to their school, tells them that the Day of Unity is actually a planned out mass genocide of all living things on the Isles and only the mass believers of Belos would laugh in their face.

Thankfully, Viney has always been a nonbeliever.

She mentally thanks her parent for instilling that in her.

But then it was the Day of Unity. Those with sigils nearly died, her friends go missing (whenever someone is saying that they could be dead, she asks Skara to cast a silencing spell because she might end up fistfighting someone), her Nobi goes missing, and all the kids are left alone.

She recalls Matt saying he doesn't know whether or not Glandus is okay which led her to wonder if the kids from other schools got branded or not.

(Are they alone, too?)

Regardless, none of them are showing up.

A week into the apocalypse, with every adult at Hexside turned into a puppet (because of Boscha, the darker parts of her mind provides) and many more missing, the realization what's happened sets in for every kid.

Then came the tears.

Everyone not in kindergarten was in charge now for the kindergarten kids. Their parents were either missing or puppets. No one was coming to help them.

They're on their own.

Yeah. This is totally not good.

This year is going in the therapy books. If those will even continue to exist anymore.

They have to get supplies. The kids – Oh yeah, she's one, too – were in this for the long haul, Titan forbid anyone think otherwise.

Which leads to now.

Ordinarily, Viney would be one of the witches to stay because of her capability in healing. Kat is... not here, Emira is inexperienced with major injuries that are more common than ever and is also taking care of Edric, and Bo is good but far too tired from the past few days alone.

And that's just naming a few. Viney is sure she could make a whole book listing the problems healers alone have right now.

However, with Matt busy in staging a coup, and the healing homeroom not actually packed for once, Viney volunteered to look for supplies.

Like hell she would live on school lunch for the rest of her life.

"If I knew that the apocalypse would come last week, I would've dressed more comfortably." Skara says irritably.

"Yeah, scavenging around in school uniform does not bode well for days in a row." Jerbo replies with a low note of humor.

Herself, Barcus, Jerbo, and Skara are scavenging the hollowed out town that was Bonesborough.

Apparently, there's some kind of schedule with how the Collector acts – at least, that's the best way to put it.

The morning to the afternoon was "playtime". The night until morning was "bedtime". It's coming into conflict to what she thought the Collector to be. Regardless of those thoughts, one thing is for certain.

The Collector is dangerous. And very powerful but that goes without saying.

"What should we look for first?" Barcus woofs from the front of the group.

"Hang on," Skara halts. "I made a list." The bard takes out a folded sheet of paper. She unfolds it then reads outloud.

"Okay so, we need some clothes for the kindergarten kids after they tore theirs while hunting down lockers."

Jerbo groans while Viney pats his back in sympathy. "That's gonna be a common occurrence, isn't it?"

"Yeah... We also need food, seeds for the plant track students – any will do, and some extra sleeping bags."

"Okay," Viney starts, "Let's head for the marketplace then. We'll find what we need there."

The trek wasn't hard. They ran into little to no trouble because... well, there wasn't anything. The streets were empty and quiet. It was wrong. Everything about this was wrong but now isn't the time to have a crisis.

She can save that for later.

"We should split up." Skara suggests, "We shouldn't run into much trouble but I'd rather not risk anything. You guys got invisibility glyphs?"

The trio nods then Skara continues, "Alright. Viney, you're with me. We'll scour the Ceilingmart. Barcus, you and Jerbo check the stands."

Ah. Hm.

Viney doesn't mind at all going with Skara but that doesn't stop this bubbling feeling in her from rising.

It's not the first time either.

"I think Skara is poisoning me." Viney says, one day. The two of them are inside the room of shortcuts except for Barcus.

Jerbo looks away from the potted abomination he was crafting. "What?"

"I think Skara is poisoning me."

"Why do you think that?"

"So, you know how when you're slowly poisoned overtime, you would feel weird in your stomach?" Viney gestures to him like this is completely normal.

...

"No, Viney. I wouldn't know." Jerbo says with a completely blank face and straight lined mouth.

"Okay, good."

"Oh my Titan, Viney."

"Anyways, that's what happening to me for like... a week now. I would just feel sweaty and like, I would feel my heart pounding so much faster than it should." Viney said.

"And you're sure this is her poisoning you? " Jerbo questions. At this point, neither of them are paying attention to whatever task they're supposed to complete. This is clearly more important.

"Well... no. But those are the symptoms of being poisoned, so..."

"Alright, there has to be more to this."

There is. Thank Titan that Jerbo is a good listener.

Viney would sometimes stare for a little too long. Think about her at nearly anytime of the day. Remember the littlest of things that just seem important to her. All that.

Then, Jerbo manages to develop the answer. He narrows his eyes. "That's not her poisoning you, Viney. That means you have a crush on her."

Oh.

Yeah. Oh. In hindsight, it was probably stupid to think she was poisoning her.

Whatever, this is where the problem comes in. What does she do about this?

She's never had a crush before. On anyone. What if she ruins their friendship? What if Skara hated her for it?

What if this wasn't a crush and she's just panicing over nothing? What if Skara actually reciprocates her "feelings" only to break up later?

Viney doesn't want to hurt her. She's been through enough hurt by her own friends as it is.

"Viney?"

The beastkeeper blinks, her intrusive thoughts disappearing as she takes in the present. She sees Skara looking at her in concern. Her cricket palisman is on her shoulder mirroring her witch's look.

"Yeah, what's up?"

Skara points to where Viney was originally looking. "You were just, uh, staring down those pots like it had done something to you."

Viney looks to where the bard is pointing. Ah, right. Since they can't go outdoors, they'll have to grow crops from pots.

"Sorry, just thinking about which pots to get. I'm not in the plant track so I don't know which one to get."

Ugh. Thinking about school romance of all things when you're supposed to be getting supplies for an entire school body? Seriously?

Get it together, Vernal.

"I guess that makes sense." The bard purses her lips in consideration. "Maybe I should've sent Jerbo here instead."

Viney shrugs, "Eh, it's fine. We could just come back if we need to. Not like they're going anywhere. I think." She turns to Skara, "Are pots sentient?"

That earns her a chuckle which in turn makes the healer smile.

For a moment, everything's right. This one moment they can ignore the apocalyptic setting around them and just be kids.

So it's only a matter of time before something goes wrong.

They weren't supposed to be here.

It was nighttime. Isn't that the Collector's bedtime? Do these things just have minds of their own?

Skara quickly plays a few notes on her lyre and the star is shoved into a nearby building by bard magic.

Jerbo uses a vine as some kind of lasso and drags another star down so Barcus could destroy it with a bite infused with oracle magic.

And Viney? Well, she's good at defense so defend is what she'll do. Puddles is... also not here so the best she could do is conjure shields whenever the time arises.

The shields are hands at least so she could swat them away like vampflies.

But this is getting too much.

"Barcus, look out!" Viney shouts.

Barcus yips and jumps up to dodge a spy's puppet-transforming magic before Jerbo catches him in his arms.

"We gotta fall back!" Jerbo yells and Barcus barks in agreement.

Viney makes a wide spell circle and the four are surrounded by a giant dark blue dome. It immediately cracks under the attacks recieved by their enemies.

Thankfully, quick thinking and improvisation are skills that you need if you were to be a delinquent a few months ago. And also a survivor in the apocalypse now.

"Grab hands and use an invisibility glyph then run like hell into the alleyways!" Viney commands.

Skara grabs Viney's hand – Oh Titan, calm down, it's literally just handholding for dear life – then she grabs Jerbo's. Barcus, who is still in the grip of his fellow delinquent, pulls out a glyph from his pouch.

"On three, hold your breaths!"

The group nods. Viney's shields are about to go down due to the force of the star spies.

Honestly, she's actually pretty surprised it lasted this long.

"Two!"

"Wh-?! What happened to one?!" Jerbo sputters.

"No time for one!"

The shields shatter into glistening light particles and spread across the baren street. Viney's proud of how long those lasted.

"Three!"

The group breathe in their share of air, hold it in, and run. They rush down the alleyways and out, dragging each other into a new street.

Pieces of Bonesborough watch as the spies fly past broken down husks of buildings of the place they called their town. The confusion is oddly clear on their faces.

The spies aren't giving up so neither are they. Well, in a sense they are, but this battle doesn't need to won in this war.

Jerbo drags them into a open building before shutting the door behind them. At that point, they all take in a large gulp of air, the invisibility taken off of them.

Skara, not stopping for a moment, covers the window with its blinds. Viney slumps against a wall while Jerbo puts down Barcus back on the floor.

"That..." Jerbo panted, "was close."

"Too close." Barcus huffs. "It's the middle of the night. I thought the Collector was asleep?"

"I guess those things must be capable of acting on their own." Viney said. "When we were running, I noticed how the spies looked confused. Like, really confused. That may not sound like much but you'd be surprised at how a lot of beasts are not capable of facial expressions."

It'd be fascinating if it weren't for the fact those things turn people into wooden puppets.

"They're quite the unique beast, no?"

"Regardless," Skara says, gathering the attention of everyone, "it's probably best if we hide for the meantime. Let's scour the building for any supplies."

"Aye aye, captain." Jerbo salutes. He leaves up a stairwell with Barcus in tow. The demon sends a side eye to Viney and before she could react, he's already gone.

Weird.

"Well," Skara begins and Viney turns to her. "where we should we start?"

Ah. Right. Barcus knows because of couse he does.

Gay. Gay. Homosexual. Gay.

Shut up, Barcus.

She feels a chortle in her mind before it fades away. What was she doing again?

Oh! Right, a place to start.

"How about a kitchen?" Viney suggests. "I know I'm hungry after that ordeal."

"No kidding." Skara giggles. "I hope they have some cake in here."

Viney laughs. "Here's hoping."

Skara draws a circle and a ball of light is brought to life in the palm of her hand. She smiles at her which has the troublemaker darting her eyes, uncharacteristically shy-like.

Okay, Vernal. Just you and who is probably the prettiest girl you've ever met scouting a random building for supplies. You got this.

She doesn't expect the bard to hook her right arm with her left but hey, she doesn't mind.

Just don't look into her beautiful silver eyes and say something embarrassing. Easy.

She's so got this.

(No, she does not.)

#the owl house #toh #melodybeast #skara x viney #skara #viney #toh fanfic #fanfic #barcus #Jerbo #viney x skara #for the future #song's written works

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thirdworldnoize · 2 years ago

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About mass hysteria and living in a religious/superstitious society

Latin America is the ideal place where a lot of legends would be invented. Of course it would. Latin America is a melting pot that was forced into Catholicism/Christianism and it permeated in so many aspects of our culture. I will only talk about my recollection of experiences of my province in my country, some I still can't make sense of.

Half the legends from Latin America, or at least the ones I know of my country have something to do with the devil. And they are cautionary tales to promote good Christian behaviour, as you would expect. They're also quite punitive of women *pretends to be shocked*. I am an agnostic leaning to atheist at this point, and people who know me also know I spent quite my teenage years in what I wish I knew earlier was a cult. It's odd, because to this day I can have respect for Jesus, but not his father or most of his followers, and in my experience of Abrahamic organized religions, I have made my mind that they are simply not for me and are incompatible with a lot of forms of progress, don't quote me on this, and don't come at me, I really don't care for any debate.

There are experiences, though, that I'm still trying to make sense of. Some are easier to grasp than others.

For example: in my province they do believe in some form of the evil eye. For this reason, most newborns get a red bracelet with a red fang on it. I had one when I was baby, my baby nephew has one too. People believe that if you look at children and pets in a very attentive way, or laugh at the adorable things they do, they can get sick for it. Common symptoms are fever, vomit, headaches, for a few days. They would advice people not to "observe them too much or you will "eye" them", idek if there's a translation for the expression. In order to diagnose if you have been evil-eyed, they would rub on egg your skin, on parts like your head, arms, etc, then separate the egg in a glass of water and read the threads that come out of it. El curandero (lit. the healer) would use plants and a sort of liquor also made from plants to purify you. As a kid, my aunties and grandmothers took me to a curandero once or twice (I still remember the smell of his liquor), and rubbed the egg on me a few times. These believes have a native origin that has been assimilated into the culture contemporary to my elders. TLDR: Red bracelet, red fang, evil eye, don't look at small children for too long, rubbing and reading an egg, healers that use plants. Harmless believe, in my experience, sooner than later in my life, I realized it didn't make sense to me or explained anything real, and the lived experience is kind of hard to reconcile with who I am today, but harmless in the end, is all.

Rather, there's an experience that is hard for me to wrap around or find an explanation other than mass hysteria: demonic possessions, which also, apparently, happened around me when I was a child.

One of my aunts was allegedly possessed. How do I know? Because it apparently happened very near me when I was younger than 6, and she "had a sort of aura to know the demons were coming where she warned my grandmother to take me away as far as possible". The way my grandmother later described this to me was that when "the demons would come out from her (my aunt)" she would insult and curse very gravely people around, she would vomit and speak in a voice that sounded like it came from the bottom of a tin, and that she spoke as if she had two voices." I know now the "two voices" thing is humanly possible. There are people who train themselves to do it, although they do it for singing purposes. Artist Anna-Maria Hefele explains how she does it in different scales. But back to my aunt. She didn't have these "crises" just once. And when she would, she would do wild things like the things you would see in movies about exorcisms: go days without eating or drinking, walk over broken glass, things like that. So if you would ask me today what I think this was, I would say psychosis. The thing is my grandmother claims she helped during this particular exorcism. They indeed took me away and I didn't witness it, but my grandmother would later tell me about how they performed exorcisms on her but that one time, "one of the demons told her (my grandma) that the previous exorcisms hadn't worked because there were still three more in her (my aunt's) stomach". At some point it came to an end. My aunt later became a Christian, I guess to try to prevent this from happening again, and she was comparably the Jesus freak I was taught to be at some point of both our lives. So I can explain to myself that my aunt went through crises of psychosis. From what I've heard of other parts of her life, due to trauma. But how do I explain others, including my grandma, would witness to it? I can only say mass hysteria fed upon religious beliefs most of our population believe anyway. Demonic possession is not unknown to pop culture and horror movies. It's just that there was a point of my life where I feared it more than others because the multifactorial experiences of being indoctrinated in my teens and from my aunt going through whatever that was. I remember ever since I understand and speak English, I couldn't sing out loud the line "There's demons closing in on every side They will possess you Unless you change that number on your dial" in Thriller (which is perhaps my favorite childhood song). It's not even that I couldn't sing it, I muted the song, or fast-forward it to not even hear it.

Now I can happily watch tiktoks of people who post their cats causing havoc to that song that goes "Belial. Behemoth. Beelzebub. Asmodeus. Satanas. Lucifer" and enjoy them. I feel proud of myself for that.

How did I remember this childhood episode of my life? Spotify recommended the song "Asilos Magdalena" by The Mars Volta, which is a band I appreciate when I'm the mood for the music they make. I like their work of influences they infuse their music with. It's some form of metal mixed with latin genres such as boleros. And I love boleros. I was simply listening to the song, I wasn't paying attention to the lyrics. And then, the lyrics repeat like a chant "Estrella de la mañana. Samael, te persigo a ti", and I catch up on the fact that the Morning Star is not a random poetic resource. It's something I learnt during my Bible study years. There are two interpretations: according to the New Testament, the Morning Star is Jesus. According to the book of Isaiah in the Old Testament, it's Lucifer. Then I pay attention to the fact that "Samael" doesn't sound like the name of any angel I'd heard about, but a demon. I replay the song, and pay attention to the lyrics. I realize the lyrics are heavily satanic. I look up the lyrics and realize that Asilos Magdalena was a place in ancient history where possessed women were retrieved. And I feel this sensation of dread in my stomach I felt when I didn't know what was happening and I was removed from the room where my aunt warned my grandma. Again, like I said, I'm an agnostic leaning to atheist. I know there are people who subscribe to some type satanism where what they believe revolves around respect for nature and others, consent, etc. I don't feel any particular way about them other than good for them for preaching about consent. I have no interest in religion as something that is made for me to practice. The music in that Mars Volta song is a banger. But sadly, I can't really listen to it often, almost at all. I still feel some form of dread. As if some form of evil that resided in my aunt, who I've met now that I'm adult again and is an intelligent and independent person, could live inside of me too. I rationalize and remember this is not the case. I rationalize and remember these beliefs happen because our society and culture allow it to happen. But the body remembers the fear of being taught of evil forces not to be messed with. And so I can't really enjoy that one song just yet.

#my personal essays

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asimovsideburns · 3 years ago

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the glory days are dead

[image ID: the “stop trying to make fetch happen. it’s not going to happen.” meme, edited to say “stop trying to recapture 11/5/2020. it’s not going to happen.” End ID.]

#this is mostly a joke #it’s just that like. that kind of mass hysteria has to be organic I think.#a lot of the posts are just reblogs of posts from that day but without context #feels weird feels like mr incredible sitting in a car with frozone listening to a police scanner as hard as he can #anyway I hope today proves me wrong but the energy in the room right now is like. how do I put this.#like someone nostalgically quoting their greatest hits out of context instead of coming up with new material?#that sounds too judgy though #like we’re trying to go back to that time instead of just fondly remembering it and reminiscing #tbr though we just do not have the right ingredients for a new november 5th this year I don’t think #11/5/20 #11-5-20 #11/5/21 #11-5-21 #november 5th #november 5 2020

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avaritia-apotheosis · 3 years ago

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Phantom Children Ch.4

In Which: exposition for exposition's sake exists, and Vlad looks way more suspcious than he ought

| AO3 | Prologue | 3 | [4] | 5

VLADIMIR MASTERS. Human male in his mid-forties, and most notably the founder and CEO of VladCo, a billion-dollar industry that mostly specializes in manufacturing weapons and technology. Graduated summa cum laude from the University of Wisconsin despite having to drop out due to a lab accident in his second year, landing him in the hospital. Despite being based primarily in Wisconsin, he made an unexpected move to Amity Park Illinois shortly after reuniting with his college friends Drs. Madeline and Jack Fenton.

Not even a year later, Masters ran for mayor of Amity Park and won the election by a landslide. Suspicious, considering Masters being an unknown and the former mayor Montez being quite popular. It’s during Masters’ tenure in office that reports of ghost attacks to the Justice League steadily died down.

“Why?” Damian asked.

Barbara shrugged, pulling up a few files on the screen. “I originally had a theory that related to VladCo’s buyout of Axion Labs—a technological research and manufacturing company that’s mostly local to Amity—being a factor. Within the last couple of years, they had been experimenting with highly volatile chemicals with hallucinogenic properties. Amity had always been known for being extremely superstitious with its ghosts, and if Axion Labs had somehow accidentally released that chemical into the city, well…” She leaned back into her chair, hand twisting in the air. “You could bet how that ended up. The hysteria around ghosts only grew worse in the last two years, with suspected sightings from once every few weeks to multiple in a single day. Early attempts to capture sightings were unsuccessful, and soon enough Amity Park was just written off.”

Much like the mass hysteria surrounding the urban legend of the kuchisake-onna in Japan in the late 1970s, Bruce thought. He pulled up some news footage from Amity Park dated a few years back of citizens being interviewed about their ghostly encounters. Beside these videos were a few photos taken by a shaky camera, showing bright blurs of light streaking across the sky or vaguely humanoid shapes rising from the ground.

“So VladCo., bought out Axion Labs, improved its security, and slowly helped detoxify the town?” Damian shifted his weight onto his other leg and crossed his arms.

“That’s what I thought, but—”

“But the ghosts ended up being real.” Bruce pulled up a video of a field reporter-slash-weatherman taking cover as a figure dropped from the sky, breaking through the walls of a building. The figure—features distorted by an eerie glow—shot out of the rubble just in time before a green blast hit it.

Oracle enlarged other news footage with a few taps on her keyboard. Beings zooming through the air. Massive plants erupting from the ground. Technology coming to life. Each video more worrying than the last, and most showing some footage of a figure bathed in a white glow. “I’d be hard pressed to call any of these faked.”

It begged the question as to how Amity Park survived this long unscathed. Since, if he remembered correctly, even the Dark Leaguers tended to avoid Amity Park like the plague. “They have their own heroes, then?”

“Think along the lines of vigilantes with unofficial support.” A few more files popped up on screen. One showcased a female in a full-length black and red body suit on top of a hover board. The other was a male; young, perhaps a teenager, with white hair and a black and white suit. Hazmat? “The Red Huntress and the Phantom of Amity Park.”

“Partners?”

“More like enemies working on the same turf. Sources place Phantom as appearing first, though it seems Red Huntress has more government support in the end despite there being no official statement. They seem to be the most effective ghost hunters in town, though far from the only ones. The Fentons of Fenton Works are also acting as ghost hunters, though their track record of success leans more towards their anti-ghost tech than any hunting. The town’s even attracted visitors from the Ghost Investigation Ward; a side branch of Cadmus though a now defunct organization.”

“This doesn’t make sense,” Damian said. “If anything, this should be more than enough reason for a League intervention. Why the Justice League didn’t come sooner is the real question here.”

Bruce’s lips thinned. “That’s because we were warned off it.”

“What?”

While there was no rule against heroes entering another hero’s city, there were certain unspoken rules that demanded that JL members avoid claimed cities or stay just outside of city lines until given permission to enter. Some were especially strict about it such as Batman’s ‘no metas or outsiders’ rule. Others were more lenient, simply requesting a warning before entering.

Amity Park, despite having no listed heroes in the database, was marked with heavy ‘Do Not Interact’ warnings for humans and metas alike.

“Justice League Dark said that under no circumstances should the League interfere in Amity. The situation was never explicitly laid out for us except to say that everything was being handled.”

“Oh yeah,” Oracle chimed. “Constantine even had it bolded, underlined, italicized, and in all caps. The occult community was very clear about everyone staying away—and apparently this decision had support from Amity Park too.” She pulled up another document. “That’s probably what led to the decline in their ghost reports, actually. Amity’s claims were considered bogus and brushed aside. No one outside their town—not even their sister town of Elmerton—believed them, so they simply stopped asking for help.”

Strangely, it reminded Bruce of Gotham. Both cities existed in its own isolated sphere, unwilling to let any outsiders interfere in its business.

“It’s safe to assume, then, that whatever Ra’s al Ghul wants with Amity, it has to do with these ghosts. Do we have anyway to contact the town’s vigilantes?”

Oracle shook her head. “Ghost attacks within the past few months have slowly died down along with sightings of Phantom and Red Huntress. Your best bet is asking Masters directly.”

Damian glowered. “Masters blatantly sent out an invitation for Batman to my father. How do we know that Masters hasn’t somehow found our secret identities?”

“Unlikely,” Bruce said. “Vlad Masters, despite his wealth, has done well to keep a low profile. He’s met Bruce Wayne a total of three times within the last decade and Batman not at all.” That, and with the kind of spyware Batman has, he’d be able to tell when, where, and who was trying to dig deep into Batman’s past. Masters hadn’t even registered as a ping.

“Besides, there’s always a few rumors of Wayne Enterprise’s involvement with Batman. All this tech has to come from somewhere, no?”

“How long is Masters staying in Gotham?”

“Umm…” Oracle leaned forward in her chain and flipped through a half-dozen windows. “Going by his reservations at the Gotham Royal Hotel, he’s leaving tomorrow.”

Bruce pivoted on his heel, heading deeper into the Cave. “We better make this count, then.”

------

According to Oracle’s intel, Vlad Masters was staying at one of the executive suites in the Gotham Royal Hotel. A titanic structure with forty-eight floors, two towers, and the gothic aesthetic that never seemed to leave Gotham’s architecture.

Scaling the building as well as entering the suite proved no challenge for Batman and Robin. But upon entrance, it was abundantly clear that the room was vacant.

“Are you sure you guys are in the right room?” Bruce could hear the clicking of Oracle’s keys through their comms. “Masters had reserved the suite on the west tower.”

“Yes we’re in the correct room, Gordon,” Robin hissed.

“Codenames only, Robin.”

Robin clicked his tongue, sweeping the common room for any hidden bugs or cameras as Batman scouted out the rest of the room. The bed was made to hotel standard and the bathroom towels all completely replaced. There were no clothes in the hotel closet or dresser.

The only thing left that indicated occupancy of the room was an unmarked manila envelope unsubtly tucked within a pillowcase.

Robin tensed at the sight of it. “A detonator of some sort?”

Batman rotated the package, holding it up to his scanner. “Doesn’t seem to be. Regardless, it might be better to take it back to the Batcave and locate Masters ag—” The envelope started ringing. A standard ringtone found in most phones. Quickly, but carefully, Batman opened the manila envelope and dumped its contents onto the bed. A ringing burner phone and a flash drive came tumbling out.

Batman threw the flash drive at Robin before answering the phone, holding it up against his ear but saying nothing.

Silence. Then, Masters’ voice filtered in through the phone with a strange echo-like quality. “Good evening, Batman! I’m so glad my invitation managed to get passed along.”

Batman growled into the speaker, “What do you want, Masters?” He signaled Robin to do another sweep of the room for any signs of Masters they might have missed.

“I sincerely apologize for not being there to meet you myself; incredibly rude of me, I know. But it cannot be helped, the shadows are growing ever bolder.”

“So, you are aware then, of the League of Assassins’ presence in Amity Park?”

“A league of assassins? What a terrifying notion that is.” Batman frowned. It was unlikely that they had misread his words at the gala, so why was he acting unaware now? Could he be watched? “Why such a group would appear in my little town, I wouldn’t even dare to guess.”

Robin came back into the room and signaled back ‘negative.’

“Why did you call for us, Mayor Masters?”

“Do you know what is so very tragic, Batman?”

“This is strange,” Oracle said. “I can’t pick up his signal. He’s not appearing on any of my cameras, either.”

“When someone so young dies much to soon.” A pause. “Could you even imagine such a thing? A parent burying their own child.”

Batman could. He had no need to even imagine it because he lived it.

“Some very close friends of mine have been weighed down by the shadows of death and I require help in providing them the closure they need.”

“Are the Fentons the targets, then?”

Masters paused. Then let out a breathy laugh over the phone. “Oh, if only it were that simple.”

“So a different target.”

“Everything you need to know is in the flash drive I’ve enclosed in that envelope Whether you take up the case is entirely up to you—though I do hope you take it. Regardless, if he is not returned soon then I assure you that a disaster unlike any you have seen before will arrive.”

Batman narrowed his eyes. “Is that a threat, Masters?”

“No,” He laughed. “That was no threat. That was promise.”

The phone line disconnected just as Oracle exclaimed that she finally found Masters boarding his flight back to Amity Pak.

#danny phantom #batman #danny phantom x batman crossover #dp fic #phantom children.txt

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sysba · 4 years ago

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ᴅᴇᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴇᴅɪᴛʜ ʙʟᴀᴋᴇ • 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒔

art by @somewillwin

some info (which i will gradually update) on Edith under the cut ❤

general

faceclaim: Laura James (jameslaura on ig)

name origin: ‘prosperous in war’; from the Old English name Eadgyð, derived from the elements ead “wealth, fortune” and gyð “war”

pronouns: she/her

sexuality: bisexual

affiliations: Wayhaven PD; Agency (Unit Bravo)

date of birth: November 13th

zodiac: Scorpio sun, Capricorn moon, Aries rising

alignment: chaotic neutral; leaning towards chaotic good

MBTI: ISTJ-A

temperament: choleric-melancholic

enneagram: type 5 - ‘the investigator’

appearance

height: 5ft11 / 1.80m

hair: dark brown; wavy; shoulder length

eyes: dark green/hazel

frame: lean but muscular; not curvy nor soft

style: practical/casual; lots of t-shirts, lots of leather jackets; dark cargo pants or jeans; grunge & biker vibes; no makeup except a bit of kajal to look more intimidating; short nails; practical shoes, often combat boots; nose ring (right side) and earrings (from lobe to upper shell); she has a ring that she wears on a necklace chain together with a cross pendant, she never takes it off.

visible marks: sleeve tattoo on her left arm of a Medusa surrounded by peonies; eventually she’ll get more tattoos (in particular a murder of crows in honour of UB); several scars, the biggest ones being on her stomach and back.

voice: deep; not high-pitched; usually quiet and purposefully flat, unless she gets mad; very lightly hoarse, almost smoky when it drops.

stats

traits: sarcastic; stoic; stubborn; logical; pessimist; impulsive; independent; intimidating

skills: deduction; combat; great language knowledge

weaknesses: people; science

authority: instinctive aversion to any kind of authority (especially when she considers such authority not to be deserved, which is why there’s mutual dislike between her and the Mayor); joined the force to avoid jail time; her skills earned her Captain Sung’s respect and her promotion to detective, but her aversion to following rules made him distrust her- they have a tense professional relationship and he suspects she is more loyal to the Agency; given that the Agency is a governative organization, Edith is naturally suspicious of them; part of the reason is her strained relationship with Agent Blake, although she would never admit to letting her feelings sway her opinions; until now, the Agency’s course of action has positively surprised her, but their tendency to keep secrets even from their own agents keeps her guarded. She agrees on lying to civilians, though, because she knows people couldn’t handle it and mass hysteria sounds annoying to deal with.

personality/behaviour: antisocial jerk, there’s no way around it; not a team player; loathes herself but still thinks she’s always the smartest/more capable in the room, giving Adam a run for his money; queen of trust issues, but once you earn her loyalty she’s ride or die; even her sarcasm has sarcasm; don’t need no man one; telling her what to do is a good way to get murdered; scared of feelings but a master in ignoring them so it’s fine; stoic and unwavering, on the job and in life- she rarely loses control, and when it happens it’s worrying and heartbreaking; people crying or showing emotions in general make her uncomfortable, as does physical affection from anyone she’s not closed to; a very logical person, but she thinks she way colder than she actually is- deep down she cares for people and wants to help to keep them safe, but it’s easier to just do her job without emotions involved. Everything goes out the window when Adam or UB are involved, of course. She could never bear to lose one of them. A pessimist who thinks she’s a realist. Doesn’t care about what people think unless she actually likes those people.

supernatural: she was accepting of the revelation; despite her logical and sceptical nature, she likes to keep an open mind, and what was going on with the murders and UB didn’t make sense unless she considered more ‘unorthodox’ solutions; she feels curiosity towards the supernatural world, and anger towards those who would harm innocents only because they’re not human; safe to say she likes supernatural beings more than humans, mostly because in this world the majority of them are the underdogs, the hunted.

body language/habits

right-handed but ambidextrous to a certain degree

fighting style: fights dirty; prefer close-quarters; chats during (sarcasm, teasing and trash-talking); high pain tolerance; attacks steadily; bait an opponent’s first strike; provokes her opponent; uses strategy; focuses on their battle; tries to read their opponent before/during the fight; fights with anger; fights with excitement (if sparring); fights without regard to wounds; hides wounds; takes a blow to protect another; prefers brawling; her greatest weakness is emotional; uses everything she has; hides her full potential; high stamina; avoids civilians; damages surroundings; refuses defeat; compliments their opponent (not always genuinely); moves efficiently; prefers to block (dodging is good but blocking can lead to immediate counter attack); defends her blindside; uses all available advantages; plays around; shows mercy; strikes when opponent isn’t ready; has PTSD; has lost a fight; has won a fight; wants to die standing

sitting: the very definition of ‘gays can’t sit straight’; never sits properly, not even at work; leans back in the chair as if she’s lying down, with her legs wide or crossed; often puts feet on tables/desks (it drives Adam crazy and unsettles Nate); legs draped over armchairs; rocking on a chair

sleeping: face down, freefaller style with one arm under the pillow; keeps a weapon hidden nearby (after being kidnapped she became a bit paranoid, she doesn’t like feeling helpless); light sleeper; no more than 5 hours of sleep; rarely dreams; finds it hard to fall asleep.

relaxed/happy: not sure she has body language for that; she’s almost always tense and guarded, careful not to let people in; often keeps arms crossed or hands in her pockets; but she does control her facial expressions less when she’s at ease; a lot of smirks and feral grins; rare genuine smiles that makes her look softer and gentler.

worried/nervous: pacing nonstop; leg bouncing; chewing the inside of her cheek a lot; pursed lips; mentally counting breaths to calm herself; scratching arms or the back of her neck; runs a hand through hair when uncomfortable or tired.

sad/hurt: arms wrapped around herself; nails digging in flesh; tense body; frown and narrowed eyes, but otherwise keeps a blank face; won’t break down until she’s alone.

angry: power-posing; narrowed eyes; clenched jaw; the very definition of seething until she explodes; literally hisses like a snake and bares her teeth; Farah says Edith is one of the scariest humans she’s ever met; almost never the first to storm away; doesn’t avoid confrontation, although she’s trying to become more diplomatic (it’s a work in progress); slamming doors and kicking stuff. If she’s angry at herself or she feels guilty, she avoids others and usually tries to channel her destructive tendencies into something productive, like training; throwing punches until she’s at her limit.

annoyed: arms crossed; raised brows; huffs; rolls eyes a lot; make a show of her disgusted expression.

flustered: glower as soon as she feels her cheeks burning; avoids eye contact (and physical closeness); deep calming breath to steady herself.

affection: doesn’t show affection openly, but one can see it in small gestures; very protective of her loved ones; UB members are all supernatural and yet she finds herself standing in front of them during a fight as if to shield them; she also occasionally ignores her pride and apologises- if she does, it means she definitely cares for the person; the closest it gets to showing physical affection is a friendly punch in the shoulder, or a slap on the back, or a hesitant arm squeeze for when she’s feeling soft.

PDA/contact: nope, no, stay back; she has to be truly vulnerable before she lets herself seek physical comfort; if someone else initiates, it can go two ways depending on how close she is to the person (for example, anyone in UB could hug her after knowing her for a few months and she wouldn’t pull away- she would still be awkward most of the time, but would hesitantly reciprocate); doesn’t even shake hands if she can avoid it (not for germs reasons, she just hates strangers touching her); unexpected physical contact makes her wince; her aversion to physical contact is more than a simple ‘I don’t like hugs if she’s pushed to the limit and she’s absolutely devastated, she holds on to someone dear to her as if her life depends on it. Being close to someone during fighting/training doesn’t bother her because she’s focused and it’s a different situation. Adam is the exception to all this: without realizing, she seeks his proximity and wants to be close; she will gradually begin to appreciate physical affection more (but not blatant and in public)

love language: acts of service + physical touch (later in the relationship)

taste/style

decor: dark walls and heavy wood furniture; a lot of black, purple and burgundy; not too stuffed but not bare; metallic decorations; there’s a sleek elegance of sort despite the simplicity.

music: classic rock and rap; no pop, no country; tolerates metal if it’s not too ‘noisy’; yes to classical music but not slow and romantic stuff, more epic and imposing melodies (a lot of Wagner and Beethoven); hums and dance when she’s alone but refuses otherwise unless she’s drunk.

food: eats a lot and at the weirdest times; sometimes she forgets to eat dinner or lunch but she eats a lot of snacks; the spicier, the better; favours North-Indian dishes; still appreciates a good burger; not a fan of pasta or rice as a main dish, prefers meat; yes to raw fish; secretly has a sweet tooth and is weak when it comes to fresh pastries (croissants and pain au chocolat are the way to her heart); is a decent cook but rarely does it because she’s always busy or tired, lots of takeaway meals.

drinks: addicted to energy drinks; unsweetened black coffee kind of person; green tea is fine too, as long as there’s no sugar in it; no to sparkling water if she can choose but doesn’t really mind; no champagne, no wine; beer is fine, but liquors are preferred (on the rocks, no fruity/sweet cocktails); although she does like the taste of alcohol, she rarely drinks in public because she likes to stay in control; if she drinks it means she’s very comfortable with the people around her.

hobbies: despite her not being book-smart and disliking studying in school, she occasionally enjoys reading and is naturally curious (especially about the supernatural, now that she knows it’s real); genuinely enjoys a good sparring match and has practised martial arts and different kinds of combat growing up (but is always eager to learn more); likes fixing stuff, cars in particular.

relationships: family

Rebecca Blake: quite a bad relationship; Edith calls her Rebecca or Agent Blake and acts cold and detached in her presence; while Rebecca hoped that knowing about the supernatural would help mend the rift between her and her daughter, that wasn’t necessarily true; Edith respects her mother from a professional point of view, and the rational part of her understands the need of secrecy; but all the same, she remembers how absent Rebecca was during her childhood, and she’s grown into considering her more like an acquaintance rather than her mother. Rebecca’s absence during Edith youth was the reason why Edith became rebellious in the first place, to the point of breaking the law. She only avoided jail time because of Rebecca’s intervention, although they both pretend not to know. Although Edith isn’t purposedly cruel to Rebecca, and whenever it happens it’s more because of her abrasive personality rather than an actual desire to hurt anyone, everything she does and says is aimed to remind Rebecca that she has no part in Edith’s personal life, that her help and affection are not needed. Her feelings towards her mother, however, will begin to grow more confused and conflicting as they work together (although Edith’s tendency to push those feelings deeper instead of acknowledging them won’t make it easy for them to get closer)

‘Rook’: unlike with Rebecca, Edith’s feelings towards her father are of complete and utter indifference. The curiosity she might show in his regards is mostly due to her inquisitive nature, rather than a heartfelt interest in knowing about him. She wants to know what happened to him because she’s curious about the Agency and is naturally suspicious, but she won’t go out of her way to find out about her father’s personality and history. It may seem cold, but he wasn’t in her life so she has no reason to wanting to know him. When Adam and UB asked about him and she shrugged before giving very practical answers, she wasn’t playing tough; she’s not happy about his death, of course, but she doesn’t feel grief for someone she considers a stranger. At least, that’s how she’d describe it. Deep down, part of her is curious about what kind of person he is, but since she’s unable to identify those feelings she rationalizes them with logic.

relationships: Unit Bravo

Adam du Mortain: a pain in her ass, and most likely the first person she’s ever truly loved. Their relationship was difficult at first since neither of them is a people person and they’re both stubborn pricks. It took them a while to reach a place of trust, and when that happened it was too late, they were already in love. The intensity of what she feels for Adam scares Edith almost as much as it does him. Feelings, positive feelings in particular, don’t come easy to her (and she can’t deal with them anyway), and she’s so used to rationalize everything without getting distracted that whatever she has with him throws her off balance, so to speak. Of course, being in love with Adam doesn’t mean she’ll make his life ‘easier’ by following his every order... on the contrary, Edith challenges him constantly, makes him question things, and he’s grown so used to her stubbornness and sarcastic remarks that they don’t bother him anymore (well, most of the time). They’re always looking at each other as if they wanna fight and kiss at the same time. Grumpy, married energy. If they agree with each other everyone loses their shit.

Morgan: the member of UB Edith shares the strongest affinity with. Morgan gets her quite well, given that they are pretty similar in some regards. They don’t need (or like) many words, but they’re developing this sort of silent communication that’s enough for them to know when one of them is upset or worried. With time they’ll develop a very strong kinship, a friendship that’s both deep and unbreakable. Given that Edith is attractive Morgan has fun playfully flirting with her and making lewd jokes; Edith just snorts most of the time or retorts, all in good fun.

Nate Sewell: it took the longest for Edith and Nate to bond. He’s always so nice and caring, so genuine, at first she thought he was condescending, or that his friendliness was an act to obtain something (because in Edith’s experience, that’s the most likely scenario). She was a bit nasty to him in some occasion, mostly when he tried to advise her about Rebecca (which Edith didn’t take kindly- family is a personal business and Nate was just a coworker at the time) but she regrets it, now. She even tried to apologize once, which she struggled with a lot and made Nate laugh. Now they’re good friends, she trusts him and has his back just as much as he has hers. He also knows Adam the best, which makes him the perfect confidante- not that Edith would ever willingly talk about her feelings, but Nate’s offer still stands and he often offers unsolicited advice to her and Adam because he desperately wants them to be happy. Edith often calls him ‘mom’.

Farah Hauville: it would be impossible not to like Farah. Despite trying to uphold her hostile reputation, the detective soon realized that there’s something delightfully irresistible in Farah’s energy. And once Farah’s found out that behind the detective’s stoic exterior there was someone who actually liked to have fun, it was done: they soon became mates. Farah’s occasional naivety and her lack of knowledge about this world made Edith instinctively fall into the role of a protector of a sort. She sees Farah as a little sister she has to protect, and it’s something that surprises her since she’s never wanted to look out for anyone but herself.

in general: while she might not be loyal to the Agency (yet or ever), Edith soon realized she is loyal to Unit Bravo. Professionally and personally. She’s risked her life for them and she was happy to fight by their side. In such a short time, they did the impossible and earned her absolute trust. The feelings of camaraderie and family she’s never had, she first experienced within UB. Once she realizes she considers them family, she will be willing to die for them. They also bring out an unexpected softness in her.

relationships: others

Solomon Verda: lowkey work dad; well, maybe more of an uncle? they get along well, he doesn’t mind her sarcasm and definitely respects her and sees her as a skilled detective. He wishes she’d open up more and show more sympathy, at times, instead of hiding behind logic and sterile detachment, but he also feels protective of her and sometimes looks at her like she’s a scared baby deer lost in the forest (she does not like it, of course).

Bobby Marks: don’t know, don’t care; he’s a mild annoyance, but it’s fun to irk him. Edith thinks he has a punchable face.

Douglas Friedman: he’s a bit pathetic and Edith wants to strangle him at times, but his puppy eyes, combined with his family problems, are weirdly effective. She wants him to be safe, even though she acts grumpy. His crush on her was met with indifference at first, then it became exasperated amusement.

Tina Poname: a friendly acquaintance/work friend. Edith likes her enough to go out with her for drinks. She’s not bothered by the detective’s bad attitude and seems to like and respect her. It’s not a close or deep relationship, but a decent one.

Elidor: like Farah, he’s impossible to dislike. Not a close friend but a good mate.

past choices (WIP)

joined the force to avoid jail time - it wasn’t her choice but Rebecca insisted; Edith would’ve chosen jail just to spite her mother, not to mention it’s important for her to face the consequences of her actions.

Captain Sung forced the promotion on her - although she deems herself capable and knows she deserves to be a detective, she didn’t want to be responsible for others (not to mention she’s always oppositional, especially when facing authority figures); but being a detective gave her more freedom so she’s happy with the position, now.

trusted instincts over rules while searching out the warehouse

shot Adam - Edith first instinct is always to attack and fight, but normally she wouldn't shoot someone (nor pepper them) blindly; she kind of lost her nerve that night, mostly due to the fact that someone said she wasn’t gonna shoot and she’s not keen on letting others dictate her actions.

didn’t stay at the scene

talked to the witness and learned about the chanting

took Adam to see Kate Hayes

went to the bar with Tina - Edith isn’t the ‘going out’ kind of woman, but she wanted to get a sense of the general mood in town and was tired of being in the office (plus the mayor can shove it)

chose not to do the tests - it’ll take her longer to trust the Agency

escaped from Murphy

took him down by joining the fight

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc art #twc detective #commissioned #myposts #edith blake

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edelwoodsouls · 4 years ago

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it’s hard to get to heaven (with my head in my hands) - ch. 1

"Come on, Mark," Damien insists. "Not yet- there's someone we can't leave without." [or: Caleb is fifteen years old when he finds himself in Tier 5]

dedicated to @exhaustedwerewolf for putting up with my endless babble, especially the past few months <3

Word Count: 2,431 | Also on Ao3 | Other Chapters: N/A [currently]

Chapter 1 - Now I

Damien

"We can't leave yet."

Dr B's brother can barely stand, barely keep his eyes open - his face is thin and drawn with sweat, sunken and waxy in all the worst places, like a skeleton with skin stretched across its bones - and still he shoves Damien with considerable force as he begins to head for the exit.

"What?" Damien can't help the irritation itching in his voice. He can hear Dr B buzzing in his ear with increasing panic - it's starting to grate on his nerves, and he wants to be far away from here before she decides to grow a brain and call the AM on him.

He's not sure how many people he could manipulate at once, and certainly doesn't want to try to find out fighting his way out of this place.

"Come on, Mark," he continues, trying to lift the guy up - he's like a sack of rocks, suddenly rooted to the spot. "We don't have time for this - we have to go."

"No," Mark grits his teeth. He's clearly in pain, a breath away from falling, struggling against Damien’s desires though he doesn’t yet know it. "There's someone we can't leave without."

"As flattering as it is that you think so highly of my abilities already, even I can't face off this entire building. I can't organise a whole fucking prison break."

"I know." His eyes are wide and Damien can feel himself melting already. "But just one. Please."

Damn the Bright siblings.

"Fine. Show me."

Now that he's promised, Mark becomes a lot easier to move - but not much. He's barely holding his own weight as it is.

Whoever this other person is better not be in a coma, too, or Damien might just call it a day and leave them both to rot.

Okay, that's a lie. But what the hell can possibly be so special about one of the other prisoners here to warrant priority? Mark is leading him down a corridor lined with cell after cell, and Damien can sense countless minds - tangles of messed up wants and fears and needs - on the other side of the doors.

It makes him feel sick. It makes him feel as if that despair - their despair - is collecting like rainwater in the pit of his stomach, filling him steadily up. He wants to escape - they want to escape, and the want ricochets back and forth until it's a hammering against his skull.

He's about to give up when Mark stops. "Here," he says, nodding at a door that is no different to any of the others.

Damien leans Mark against the wall, grabs the keys he stole from the previous guard. As he reaches out for the door, he finds that awful need to flee vanish, replaced with a calm certainty. This is the right thing to do, he thinks, but the thought sits awkwardly inside him, rubbing rough edges against the rest of him.

He pushes the discomfort away. Just because you had an unselfish thought for once doesn't mean you need to have a breakdown, he tells himself, and the voice in his head sounds an awful lot like Dr Bright.

He isn't sure what he's expecting when he opens the cell door. A cute girl, perhaps. A guy Mark has made friends with - Dr B always said Mark imprinted on people like a lost puppy.

But of everything, he definitely isn't expecting the child hunched on the concrete floor. The strip lighting in the cell flickers on, illuminating the figure. He's dressed in the same drab uniform as everyone else, but it's loose, hanging awkwardly off his frame. His skin is a similar sickly pallor as Mark, shadows dragging at his eyes. The only individual flare is a spray of golden curls springing unruly from his head, falling over his face in an oddly shy, high school kind of way.

He's already staring at the door when Damien pushes it open, eyes narrowed and unsurprised.

Hm.

"Uh," Damien reaches unsuccessfully for words, "hey, kid."

Said kid ignores him entirely, eyes shifting to stare at - no, through - the wall beside him, where Mark is slumped. Can he see through walls? Detect heartbeats?

"This is a jailbreak," Damien continues, doing unenthusiastic jazz hands. "Let's go?"

"What did you do to Mark?" the boy asks - and he is a boy, seventeen at the most. Damien feels an uncomfortably sick feeling at the pit of his stomach.

"I'm breaking him out. Hang on, how did you-"

But the kid is already pushing up from the floor, rocketing past Damien without a word.

Damien stares into the room. It's small, just as sparse as Mark's room even though the kid definitely hasn't been in a coma for two years. There's a desk with nothing on it except an ipod without headphones - the wires a suicide risk, he guesses.

The bed is perfectly made - aren't teenagers supposed to be messy? Though he supposes the lack of anything else to do might make one tidy out of boredom.

He ducks into the room to grab the ipod - just in case.

When he emerges, the kid is checking Mark over with surprisingly gentle fingers, a look of utter concentration on his face.

There's something dark and brewing behind it that sets Damien on edge.

"Mark?" the kid's voice is surprisingly soft. Damien can't get a read on this kid, a bundle of contradictions swinging back and forth between two extremes. When he reaches out to feel the kid's mind, he finds a swirling hurricane of colour. Taking a single step feels like the winds will tear away his skin, his very being.

"Hey, Caleb," Mark murmurs, a laugh bordering on hysteria. "Long time, huh?"

"Yeah, come on. Let's get you out of here."

And just like that the kid - Caleb? - heaves Mark off the floor like he weighs less than a bag of feathers, holding him up effortlessly.

Damien tries not to feel self-conscious about how hard he was struggling only moments ago.

"Are we going?" Caleb stares fiercely at Damien, making eye contact for the first time, and suddenly the hallway feels too small. He can feel the fear of being trapped down here climbing his throat and strangling him. It makes the world slant in a blur of dizzying colour, the sudden onslaught rushing through his veins.

"Yeah," he chokes, all but stumbling in the direction of the exit. He wants to get out. "This way.”

~/~/~/~

Caleb

He emerges into sunlight for the first time in two years.

Isn’t it strange how you can forget things so vitally important? Things that kept you alive for sixteen years, kept you together and breathing?

Well, it isn’t so strange; he can’t remember the curve of his mother’s smile, the colour of his sister’s hair, the image of ink staining his father’s fingers. They are cartoon sketches in his head, placeholders where he knows real images should be.

Like the sun. The pain of it bright against his eyes feels like breathing for the first time in years. Stepping out of a grave back into his own skin.

Adam would say something about Persephone, or Orpheus. Caleb just grits his teeth and shoves the memory down.

He’d forgotten what it was to have that natural warmth against his skin, warmth not stolen from radiators or lukewarm cups of tea (they wouldn’t let him have hot drinks, just in case). He’d forgotten the soft yellow that wasn’t harsh halogen strip lights or flashing red alarms.

He’d forgotten the world had light and warmth at all.

Mark weighs almost nothing, as they hurry away from the building with surprisingly little fuss, even with all the muscle mass Caleb’s lost from loitering in a cell for two years. He feels the amber sparks of concern churning in his gut - and it’s almost nice.

He’d forgotten what his own emotions felt like, too, sitting inside of his chest. The last year has been a haze of grey populated with other people’s noise.

After a few seconds the emotions start to scratch against his skin. They don’t fit anymore, so unfamiliar with their home - so used to living in other people’s chests.

He reaches out blindly for someone else to latch onto. Mark - bright, familiar Mark, whose relief and bewilderment spill into Caleb instantly, like a dam being let loose.

Just for a moment, he’s adrift in a sea of green.

All too soon, that bliss is snatched away with the arrival of this new guy. He’s unfamiliar and conspicuously shady, wearing a black hoodie, his long dark hair pulled up in a loose bun. Yellow sparks across his skin like electricity, an acidic emotion somewhere between concern and suspicion.

Caleb doesn’t like how strong this guy’s emotions are, how they jump across the space between them without Caleb even reaching out, digging into his skin. How they tower over him like a skyscraper, a wave threatening to crash into him, wash away any sense of self he has fought tooth and nail to cling to these past few years.

Definitely a Class E. Some kind of manipulator.

Maybe someone like him.

“I’m Damien,” the guy says, brushing past him to open up the doors. “Let’s get going.”

And all of a sudden Caleb feels the urge, the need, to get going sink into his bones before he has time to think. He pulls Mark into the car, setting him down carefully into a seat as the other guy climbs into the front.

As soon as the wheels begin to turn, the tug in his gut vanishes, leaving behind only the ghost of a raw, exposed nerve. Like someone has cracked open his chest and scooped his organs out.

“Don’t do that again,” he hisses, surprised and pleased at how the threat sounds in his voice. He isn’t the child he was when he first came here; he’s learned from the best how to be dangerous.

He can’t help the sharp flash of power in his chest as he feels the flicker of shock roll off the other guy - Damien, what kind of name is that? - as their eyes meet in the rearview mirror.

“Most people take minutes - hours - to wear off the first time.”

Caleb says nothing, just glaring.

“No, seriously.” The car comes to a stop and Damien twists in his seat, reaches out and grabs Caleb’s wrist tight. The skin on skin contact burns like someone is scraping away the top layer to expose the flesh beneath. When was the last time someone - not a doctor taking his vitals but a real , human person - touched him? “What are you?”

“Angry,” Caleb snaps back. “So don’t fucking do that to me again.”

“Or what? What can you do?”

He isn’t going to rise to this guy’s goading, no matter how tempting it is. Not yet. As much as he wants to wipe the curious, hungry pool of red lapping at his heels away. As much as he wants to reach out and twist it into the bottomless silver of fear, the only colour he truly recognises as familiar anymore.

But he doesn’t have enough of the facts. Doesn’t know who this guy is, or why he broke Mark - and him - out. Doesn’t know what this world looks like, what he looks like, compared to before. He needs to bide his time.

Adam would be so proud of his restraint.

“Look,” he says through gritted teeth. “I appreciate the break out. But I don’t owe you shit.”

Damien’s hunger tints with anger - this is a guy who isn’t used to being told no.

Caleb feels that anger, that desire curl through the car, twist itself around his tongue. “I’m an empath,” he says, the words spilling out like they can’t wait to be free.

Damien’s emotions dull instantly with disinterest and disappointment. “Oh. Like you can feel other people’s emotions and shit?”

“And shit,” Caleb agrees, using what little is left of his own will to skirt around the truth.

“Disappointing.”

“I know.”

Damien’s desires evaporate slowly from the air, and Caleb breathes a deep sigh of relief, a weight lifting from his chest.

“What’s so important about you?”

Caleb blinks. “What?”

Damien’s eyes search his face, not pushing at him like before, just genuine curiosity. “I only came for Mark. But he wouldn’t let me leave without you.”

Something goes soft and warm inside Caleb - a deeply buried part of himself he tries to ignore. “We got stuck together a lot in there, before…”

The warm glow turns sour. Once Mark had vanished without trace and Wadsworth had lost her favourite toy, she’d needed a new plaything.

And after all, as she always told him, he was so special. Powerful. She’d taken a particular interest in his budding ability to affect others.

“Mark’s kinda like the older brother I never had,” Caleb shrugs, shoving away the dangerous rabbit hole his thoughts are spiralling into. Damien isn’t pushing his will onto him, but he still feels the truth rolling off his tongue unbidden.

“Hm.”

“What’s he to you, then?” Caleb reaches out, trying to tease apart the tangle of emotions Damien is giving off. “Why risk getting on the AM’s radar for one guy?”

He laughs bitterly. “I’m already on their radar, thanks to his fucking sister of all people-”

“His sister?”

“Yeah. Dr Bright.”

Caleb’s brain grinds to a halt. “Dr Bright?”

“You know her?”

“Dr Bright is Mark’s sister?”

“Uh, yeah. How do you not know that?” Confusion spills into the car, ricocheting back and forth between them.

“Mark’s last name is Bryant- fuck, of course it’s a fucking code name.”

He turns to look at Mark’s sleeping form with new eyes. It’s there, underneath the layers of trauma Tier 5 piled on top of him - in the curve of his jaw, the crook of his nose.

His former therapist is still ruining his life years after he last saw her.

“Can you just drive?” he asks suddenly. The need to flee sits between them like a bomb about to go off, a timer counting down, panic climbing his throat. He can’t think straight with those lifeless grey buildings still looming on the horizon.

“We’ll come back to this,” Damien says with a pointed look. “But sure, kid. I hate this place as much as you.”

“I very much doubt that,” Caleb laughs darkly.

He’ll be back soon, he promises himself, as that hell begins to vanish behind the trees lining the curving road.

He’ll burn the whole fucking place to the ground.

#the bright sessions #caleb michaels #mark bryant #damien the bright sessions #fanfiction #own work #morgan writes

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lunanightingaleart · 4 years ago

Text

Quite The Unexpected Outcome

Synopsis: As arguments arise the fate of Loki sits in the hands of the Avengers, and Agent Abigail Lynn. While discussions are made the air is tense, and a final decision must be made today. Can Abigail convince the others of her plan?

Chapter 3: A Tense Decision

Start at Chapter 1

“And just where were you last night young lady?” Abigail snapped up from her momentary nap, her heart pounding out of her chest as she looked for the source of the voice. Relief hit her like a ton of bricks when she realized it was just Natasha joking with her.

“Whoa, easy there~ I was just kidding, you okay?” Abigail could feel her heart in her throat as she collected herself, nodding silently.

“Yeah, yeah sorry I was...having a nightmare.” She rubbed her temples as she attempted to calm her heart.

“What time is it?”

“Sometime around noon, we left you for a while but the meeting is starting so we thought we should wake you.” Abigail nodded and pulled herself up, looking around to see the other Avengers just casually standing outside of the break room.

“...I’m not carrying anything contagious.”

“No, but you could be a sleep puncher.”

“That’s fair, never suspect someone isn’t a sleep puncher.” Abigail smiled towards Tony before following them all towards the conference room.

“You mentioned you were having a nightmare?” She glanced up to Thor.

“Yeah, but it’s fine. There’s nothing I can really do about it anyway.”

“Well, what if there was a way to stop them?” A curious glance was sent towards him.

“I would honestly doubt it, but if you have a method I haven’t already heard of, I’m all ears.” Thor seemed to brighten up at the idea of showing off whatever this method was. Following him inside she listened as he explained himself.

“This is a spell of some sort from my mother. Whenever I or my brother had nightmares when we were young, she would gently set two fingers on our forehead, like this.” She watched him mirror the actions he instructed.

“And chant this little saying to us. Embrace your dreams through the night, Tomorrow comes with a whole new light.” She flinched for a moment when she felt a sudden zap at her forehead, like static shock hitting her skin. Pulling away she subconsciously rubbed her head, only to realize her head seemed...relaxed. As if the tense scenario had become less tense.

“Huh...that’s actually kind of cool.” She smiled, the others finding their seats and watching the scene.

“Alright kids, it’s adult conversation time. We can talk about nursery rhymes later.” Tony sat at the front of the table, opening up his computer and swiping through files.

“Alright so, the fate of Loki.” Abigail nervously began to fiddle with her thumbs underneath the table, listening to the group’s discussions of whether or not Loki should be sent back to Asgard, or kept here on earth.

“We managed to fiddle with the cuffs enough to make them much smaller in design, but also still do what they were meant to do. Along with some other fun features.”

“Well, sounds like someone had fun.” Natasha teased towards the two.

“I still don’t know how we managed but we were able to keep the integrity of the tech while separating the cuffs into practically security bracelets. If we do choose to keep Loki here, these cuffs will stay on him no matter what form he chooses to take.” Tony seemed to remind himself of something while Bruce continued to speak. Pulling out his phone he tapped the screen, and all the avengers gained a notification. Abigail noticed her own phone buzz and glanced at Tony.

“I don’t remember handing out my number.”

‘You didn’t have to, it doesn’t take much to find out.” She narrowed her eyes towards him as he playfully winked and went back to his presentation with Bruce.

“These babies are attached to all of our phones, the moment that Loki attempts to break the cuffs, leave the building, use his magic, or so much as attempt to use the internet without our permission, a notification goes to our phones. It keeps an eye on his pulse, his location at all times, and my favorite part for sure.” He holds up the cuffs towards Thor, who curiously takes them.

“Go ahead, try to crush them.” Thor did as instructed and began to squeeze them between his hands, a sudden jolt of electricity shot out and startled the God of Thunder.

“High voltage electric shock, stronger than any government made tasers, electric fences, even an actual lightning strike has some competition there. First it’ll give a warning, much like a dog’s shock collar. If he doesn’t listen well...we’ll be finding an unconscious god laying on the floor.” Tony and Bruce seemed pretty proud of themselves, setting the cuffs down on the table.

“While this is really cool and all guys, what happens if no one is near him? He could get shocked, get back up, and then go escape anyway. This doesn’t stop him completely if no one is home.”

“Well that’s why you would need someone to be there 24/7.” Abigail chimed in, crossing her arms.

“Like a caretaker?”

“Sort of like how we have guards now taking shifts watching him, I’d say an Avenger should take a shift to stay home.

“And if no one can stay home?”

“Well….an Agent should possibly become a regular watcher. Then when everyone leaves there’s still someone there.”

“And where do you think we would be holding him, Miss Abigail?” Hawkeye finally spoke up. Abigail leaned back and thought for a moment, looking around to everyone in the room.

“...Stark HQ.” Tony who had taken a moment to drink, spit it out immediately.

“Excuse me???”

“If Loki were to be kept in SHIELD, everyone would know where he is. No one in their right mind would believe that Fury would send a God that caused mass hysteria a few days ago to, no offense, a loose cannon drunkard that feeds his ego more than he strokes it.” She looked to Tony and nodded her head.

“Again no offence. If the World Organization was after the tesseract for its power, imagine why they’d want Loki. I would say safest option...Thor.” She looked towards him.

“Bring the tesseract back to Asgard, Earth shouldn’t have that power anyway. We keep Loki here, you come back and keep an eye on him. You get to spend time with that girl you like, it's a win win.”

“And pray tell what do you expect me to tell my father about Loki?”

“Tell him he’s currently been locked up, gaining punishment from...what do you call us? Midguardians? Well he’s gaining punishment from us and you’re going to stay on earth as a way to make sure he behaves himself. If he causes too much trouble and breaks out of his house arrest, then you can take him back to Asgard.”

“How long do you expect to keep a god??”

“Long enough to figure out everything.” The others began to stare towards Abigail.

“What is there to figure out?”

“A lot actually. The actual leader who sent Loki, whatever the hell that weird staff is. Does it only affect those who are touched by the staff or is it whoever wields it? Thor you mentioned prior that your brother was missing for an entire earth year before he appeared on earth from the tesseract. Where did he go for an entire year, somebody else must be a part of all this. The action of just, Thor taking Loki back to Asgard and none of us gaining any possible information on the creatures that sent him and that army...it just seems ridiculous. I can’t wrap my mind around it, and there’s a small possibility that he just doesn’t want to tell us.”

“That doesn’t mean he will tell us eventually.”

“Yes and no, I have a feeling he’s not going to speak to us if we interrogate him. The man only ever said a word to Natasha when he thought he had the upper hand, when Fury threatened him he said Nothing. I don’t think we’ll get anything from just keeping him in a cage. I think for once we have to take the softer option.” The room fell silent once more, eyes glancing in every direction and then back towards Abigail, who kept her gaze towards the table.

“....This doesn’t have to do with last night does it?”

“What?” Tony pointed at his screen that showed a paused shot of her and Loki taking and laughing. Everyone stared at it in surprise.

“Seems to me the agent has gotten pretty buddy buddy with the criminal.”

“I was having a conversation, is there something wrong with that?”

“There is when the other side of the conversation killed 80 in two days, took over Barton’s mind, caused the Hulk to come out and attack Romanoff, almost had an entire airship fall with all of us inside, and not only all of that, but threw me out of my own window expecting me to die! And you want me to keep this lunatic in My headquarters and be buddy buddy with him!?” Thor slams his hands on the table, startling Abigail at the sudden loud noise directly next to her.

“My brother is not a lunatic! Problematic yes, mischievous without a doubt, but a lunatic he is not.” The two began to argue on each side of Abigail, and the yelling slowly began to eat at her psyche. Without much control she placed both of her hands on each side of her head, fingers curling into her hair and gripping it tightly as a way to keep herself from crying. Keep it together Abigail keep it together. You are an agent don’t you DARE cry in front of them. Her heart was pounding in her head as she felt herself start to panic, her breath catching in her throat as everything felt like it was going faster and faster around her. Suddenly a loud whistle gained everyone’s attention, stopping the yelling and returning the room back to silence.

“Hey hey, stay with us Abigail.” She flinched as she felt a hand touch her shoulder, breath finally escaping as she glanced to see Natasha looking at her. She gave her a soft smile before turning towards the guys.

“Look, I get you guys are aggravated, but maybe don’t give her a mental breakdown alright?” She felt embarrassed as she was now the center of attention, shaking her head and rubbing her eyes quickly.

“No no I’m fine! Really, I’m an agent. I can take a little yelling.” She noticed her hair a mess now due to her pulling from the ponytail, and proceeded to pull it out and fix it.

“Look, I’m not conspiring to let Loki out or anything. I’m just not fond of constantly attacking people after they’ve already been defeated. I was meant to watch him and nothing else. Not to mention, the entire three or so days we had Loki in custody, today being the fourth, he wasn’t offered food or water, was he?” She looked around to everyone else who just glanced at each other.

“I gave him some water and half a sandwich, it was no big deal. Oh by the way Steve thanks for lunch yesterday. It was really good.” She looked to Tony and straightened up.

“Criminal or not meals are required by law even to those who break them. You can get mad at him and hold a grudge all you want, but they are still a person. A living breathing person. Starving and dehydrating him just because you’re mad makes you just as bad as him. So I gave him some food and we spoke. A little banter about his magic, about his injuries, nothing much. So maybe next time don’t jump on my back the first chance you get?” He grew silent, sighing and glancing down.

“...Let’s talk a little more about this. Abigail, can I get you to wait outside? It won’t take long.” Abigail nodded and got up, walking out of the room and sitting back down at the table where she had taken a nap. She sighed and looked at her hand, staring in thought. So much for no stress, maybe she should try that charm Thor just taught her? Would that even work if she did it? With hesitation, she slowly pressed her hand to her forehead, closing her eyes and taking in a slow deep breath.

“Embrace your dreams through the night, Tomorrow comes with a whole new light..” She felt a warmth slowly engulf her forehead, relaxation filling her subconscious as the phantom screams faded from her thoughts. She sighed relaxing in her seat. Huh, so that really did work. Even for her, even though she didn’t have any magic? The idea of having her own little charm that worked sent a jolt in her chest. It was almost like she could do magic herself. A small smile grew on her lips at the thought. She wondered if she showed Loki. Her mind suddenly froze as she realized what she thought. Nope, this is not happening. She sighed and rubbed her temples. She was not allowed to think like that. If her parents so much as imagined that she gave any care to him, she would be dead. She already had to hope that Fury didn’t update her parents on the situation. That fear in itself caused her mind to be nothing but worries for the next few minutes. Eventually, the doors opened and the Avengers exited. Standing, Abigail met them at the door and followed them out.

“Miss Abigail.” She slowed down when Thor called for her. They slowed down as the rest of the team walked off without another word.

“I’d like to thank you for showing compassion for my brother. The others are angry and rightfully so, but as you said before, my brother is still a person. He doesn’t deserve to rot away in a cell without food or water until he dies.” His face became somber.

“I already thought my brother dead once before, I couldn’t possibly watch him truly die in front of me.” She reached up and patted his shoulder.

“It’s no problem really. So, what did everyone decide?” His eyes began to light up.

“They actually have decided to try your plan, it seems! We’re going to Fury now to tell him the plan.”

“Oh that’s cool. I wonder which agent Fury will send to watch over Loki.” Abigail followed behind the group with Thor, listening to him speak of his girlfriend who lives in New York.

“It’s been a year since you left right? Have you gotten into contact with her?”

“Not quite yet, I’m not entirely sure how.”

“Well Selvig should be a pretty easy answer. You ask him for her number, you have a cell phone right?” He blinked at the term, and Abigail understood pretty quickly.

“That’s a no, okay. Well maybe just ask Selvig where she is. Then you can go and see her yourself.” They all entered Fury’s office and updated him on the plan.

“Well, so Agent Lynn’s plan is the way to go?”

“For now..” Tony grumbled with crossed arms.

“Alright...so who’s going to be the babysitter?”

“Any agents we can trust?” Abigail asked, but noticed everyone looking at her.

“...Wait, me??”

“Agent Lynn, you are the only one who has not only had multiple encounters with Loki, but you’re also the only one who has shown compassion, but also patience. From what we’ve seen in the footage of all your conversations you’ve never allowed yourself to become manipulated by him. If anything we’ve noticed signs of him showing comfort near you. Perhaps we can get information from him if its you taking care of him.”

“Sir I’m...I’m mostly a desk agent.”

“With experience in both martial arts and an extensive background of training since you were six. Not to mention, you’ll be living with the Avengers.” The words stuck with her more than they should have. Living with the Avengers. She wouldn’t have to live with her parents anymore?

“And if it makes you feel any better, you aren’t going to be on vacation during this. You’re just going to be on babysitting duty.”

“About that, considering it’ll be in my headquarters, I’m going to assume she’s going to get put on my business’s salary. You can put her on paid vacation or something, just email me her normal salary so I can pay the due amount for her job. It is going to take all of her time after all.”

“So do I get a say in this or…?”

“Look, this was your plan, so no not really. Besides, any other agent we send will most likely get killed rather instantly.”

“So you think we won’t kill me?”

“There’s a small chance he won’t. Don’t worry you won’t be unarmed.” Tony handed her a watch that seemed to be made of the same material of his suit, seemingly sturdy as she tapped it.

“A little project I’ve been working on with the big guy.” Tony patted Bruce on the back.

“It’s supposed to be powerful enough to take...well...the big guy down. Instead of bullets it’s plasma, more condensed and can shoot through tanks. Though just in case, it needs to be recharged after a few shots.”

“That and I have a kill switch backed up on my computer. So in case any of my stuff gets shot at I can take away your cool gun privileges.” Abigail looked down at the device with a hum.

“So, now all we have to do is get you your clothes. You can go home and-”

“No! No no, that’s fine. I’ll just...go later. I’m pretty tired honestly, so I’ll just um...wait.” They gave her a strange look, nodding and continuing to talk about the plan. She wasn’t going to take the chance of her parents being home. She couldn’t. She wondered just when they would find out about her new job. She hadn’t realized they were bringing her to Stark HQ until there was a car in front of her with the door held open for her.

“Oh we’re going now?”

“Well yeah, we’ll get you settled in your room and bring Loki in later. You sure you don’t need your clothes?”

“Well I...um…” She tried to think of a reason why she couldn’t go into her own house, but found herself blank for ideas. She began to chew her own lip, when a hand landed on her shoulder.

“How about we send a couple agents to get your stuff. Your current assignment is classified anyway, so you won’t have to worry about anyone finding out about it.” She turned and looked towards Clint with wide eyes.

“Oh uh...yeah, that...that works.” He nodded and patted her shoulder before glancing towards Natasha and heading back inside. Getting in the car she glanced towards the building out the window, watching it get further and further away as they drove towards Stark Tower.

“So, strict parents or something?” Natasha asked quietly, the question made Abigail flinch.

“Oh yeah, you know. When your entire family has been Agents since the beginning of SHIELD’s existence there’s...really no room for error.” She rubbed the back of her neck, looking at Natasha as she seemed to analyze her.

“Well don’t worry, a lot less expectations at Stark’s place. Just make sure Loki doesn’t go on another rampage.” She cracked a smile.

“You say it like he’s some sort of beast or something~”

“All men are~” She rolled her eyes and laughed a bit, looking out the window and watching the scenery roll by. Taking the opportunity to catch a few z’s, Abigail took a nap in the car ride there. Usually she wouldn’t let her guard down in such a situation, the entire situation was new to her and even she couldn’t quite explain what was happening. The one thing that she kept rethinking was She was away from her parents, and living away from them. That thought in itself gave her enough serenity to completely pass out, no dreams whatsoever for once.

“Hey Abi, wake up.”

“Mmhm..”

“We’re here, come on.” With a grumble the young agent pulled herself awake, glancing around and noticing they were in fact parked in a parking lot outside of the building.

“How long was I out?”

“Oh you know, just the entire ride. Come on.” She pulled herself out of the car and followed Natasha and Tony into the main entrance. She had to admit the place was impressive. She knew that from the outside, but even the inside it was quite impressive. She hummed in thought as they entered the elevator.

“So, big place…”

“Yup, mine and Pepper’s baby. Now granted there are a few...rooms currently under construction due to the Hulk’s playtime with Loki.”

“I think only you would call that playtime~” He smirked in response.

“Jarvis, what’s the current status of construction?”

“Reconstruction of the damaged rooms are 63% complete.”

“And the agents going to Abigail’s place?”

“Currently picking up all belongings and packing it into the vehicle, sir.”

“Wow, you guys weren’t kidding.”

“Well of course, you will be living here from now on. Can’t really have you running back and forth with your assignment.” She looked ahead, finding herself fiddling with her coat sleeve. She was really doing this? She was….out? The elevator opened, and the group entered the top floor where it seems they already fixed this top layer of damage.

“Your room is back down that hallway, second one on the right. Loki’s room is probably going to be just across from yours so you’ll have eyes on him at all times.” Abigail curiously went to the room he said was hers, and when opening the door her eyes widened. It was a fairly large room with a king sized bed and a closet large enough that she could walk into it.

“Whoa…” She touched the bed and her hand trembled.

“Yup, and wait til you see this.” He pulled out a remote and pressed a button, only for a television to come out of the dresser placed in front of the bed. She looked to Tony as he tossed her the remote. Catching it she looked between the two.

“...Okay this is awesome.” Tony smirked and shot a finger gun towards her.

“Welp, we need to go check on the prisoner of honor. You take the chance to familiarize yourself with the place. Bathroom is three doors down from your room, you saw the bar on your way in, and the kitchen is further down the hall into the main room. Get your rest while you can, I can imagine you won’t get much once he’s here.” The two left Abigail alone in her room, still finding herself speechless from everything. It was happening so fast, that she really didn’t realize it was real. Slowly sitting down on the bed, she set the remote down and looked at herself in the mirror.

“....I’m free…” Those words sent tears down her face, the realization hitting her like a ton of bricks. She curled in on herself, smiling behind her hand as she began to sob uncontrollably.

Finally, she was free.

#loki x y/n #mcu loki #loki of asgard #loki fanfic #loki x oc #chapter 3

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usurpyr-a · 4 years ago

Note

[ entwine ] for your muse to hold mine’s hand.

THE CROWD moves en masse, a living organism in its own right: shifting with the tide, flowing seamlessly into itself / a vein pumping blood through a larger circuit, a greater Humanity. Eren feels most out of his element being corralled into busy streets like this one; it’s different, marching the cobbled pathways as a hardened soldier, a veteran - which is to say, significantly more dramatic than what is due whenever he must adopt the persona of a civilian buying bread from the market. Assuming, of course, he can successfully pass any stall without being recognized as some savior or another, perpetuating a strange paradox of the famous anonymous / the faceless celebrity. The few times he has been driven away by some conservative jackass seething accusations of ‘monster’ and ‘deceiver’ have almost come as a relief, despite how it lingers always in the hushed quiet of nosy onlookers ( how their eyes remain, fixed and unseeing, at the nape of his neck / how fragile their polite reminders are of that inescapable deadline; HIS OWN PEOPLE PINNED BENEATH THE RUBBLE / THEIR EYES FIXED AND UNSEEING- ).

However the hell he managed to get lost, he can’t remember ... Or rather, he forgets - purposefully - to spare himself the anxiety of their initial separation: Sasha and Connie goofing off, lured away by the scent of fresh desserts sitting neglected in a nearby bakery / Jean reluctantly following if only for the promise of booze being rewarded for his babysitting / Armin scurrying to some far-off corner and actually committing to his goddamn errands like they were supposed to be doing- and Mikasa ... Ah. That might explain it - ‘that’ being his sudden fixation on avoiding her wherever they go ( frustratingly inseparable / always the two of them, alone together ). He and his pitiful half-stale loaf of rye, his too-full pockets lined with too-much money for this simple excursion / this is why I fuckin’ hate shopping. The headache pulsing behind his eyes grows louder by the minute, and so-too does the din of the herd as they clamor over each other / shouting such insignificant nonsense ( THE EDGE OF THE WORLD / THE DROP DOWN INTO OBLIVION / PRAYERS LEFT UNANSWERED AT HIS APPROACH- ). Somewhere, uncomfortably closeby, he hears a baby start crying.

So he begins walking, no destination to his mind except out, except away- Fuck his errands, he doesn’t even know what they were to begin with. Everyone will just have to pick up his slack ( like they always do, because he can’t do anything for himself / can’t even be bothered to save his own skin / can’t think can’t feel can’t breathe- ). He can already imagine their disappointed expressions, how they’d shuffle awkwardly around the issue at large, the how are you feeling, really ? that he knows hangs between them, one outburst away from slipping off the tips of their tongues. Are you alright, Eren ? Do you need to take a break, Eren ? What are you thinking about, Eren ? Do you want to talk, Eren ? Why have you been so distant lately, Eren ? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, EREN ?! WHY WON’T YOU JUST CALM DOWN ALREADY, EREN ?! WHY WON’T YOU LISTEN TO US, EREN ?! WHY ARE YOU CRYING, EREN ?! ( He doesn’t need their patronizing pity. He doesn’t. He just needs to clear his head, get some fresh air because his chest is too tight, because the crowd is too loud, because they were taking up all the oxygen and it’s gotten too hard to breathe- )

So. He finds himself in a dingy alleyway, tucked out of sight of the main street / an illusion of safety just convincing enough that his spiraling thoughts eventually rejoin his body, a cutting swathe of rationality paving the way towards composure. He gathers what little shards of dignity he can find that remain within the scattered ruins of his mindscape / all the carefully-maintained ‘I’m fine’s and ‘worry about someone else’s scavenged into a passible resemblance of a passably-functioning human being. He clenches his fists until the tremors in his arms stop. He slowly slackens his jaw, un-grits his teeth. With practiced detachment he levels out all the tense wrinkles in his countenance ( the furrow of his brow, the half-sneer curling his upper lip, the severe dip of his collarbones pulling out the strained muscles in his neck, one two three four ). His ribs swell almost painfully with stale, cigar-smoke-laced air, but he forces down more lungfuls until it evens out and he can taste the piss of the alley-cats at the back of his throat again. Though with this newfound balance comes the vertigo that nearly has him buckling into the dirty puddle at his feet all over again. ( HOW SMALL THE WORLD LOOKS FROM UP HERE / ANTS PANICKING IN THEIR HILLS AND I THE CARELESS CHILD COME BEARING THE FLOOD THAT WILL WASH THEM ALL AWAY- )

His saving grace - or perhaps his final omen - is a glimpse out of the corner of his eye: something instantly familiar / a soothing balm to his frayed nerves / the casual confidence with which a certain person walks that he has never known anyone else to be capable of replicating ... Mikasa. Of course. And just his rotten luck, too, while he’s already feeling so miserable. It feels like a cruel joke - and one the universe has played on him countless enough times already - though this might be one of the few occasions she hasn’t actually spotted him ( yet ) and doubtless didn’t seek him out intentionally. SUCH ARE THE TIES THAT BIND. He watches her in a dazed stupor, suddenly envious of her calm expression, her guarded eyes keeping perfect pace with the torrent of human bodies crashing over each other / alert in a way that works with the flow, and doesn’t struggle hopelessly against it. He has the image of a lighthouse in mind, jutting out from a cliff, and he is but some hopeless castaway writhing under the waves / drowning in the wrong direction. All while her dazzling eye skips over the water’s surface, casting her gaze towards the distant horizon / while he remains trapped in the slim gap of shadow that is her blind spot.

Perhaps that thought is what compels him to come lurching out of the mouth of the alley, desperate to catch a lifeline and haul himself ashore. ( Though more likely it is spite, it is anger, it is a teenage boy’s wild disregard for anyone standing in his way / his stupid sister included for the fact that she doesn’t realize how goddamn worthless she makes him feel, sometimes, how childish- ) He will not confront her for the comfort she would all-too willingly provide, no matter the inconvenience. He won’t spill tears, he won’t lose sleep - fucking pull yourself together, you shitty brat. He notes, with a twinge of lingering hysteria, that he had dropped that loaf of bread he’d been carrying somewhere between browsing the produce market and hyperventilating in a random pocket of the Orvüd District. Maybe he’d entrusted it to a poor beggar man, or a wide-eyed child that’d been asking for free handouts - but he doesn’t think he’d be that kind even if he had been aware of what he was doing. ( CAN’T EVEN DO THAT RIGHT. CAN’T THINK ABOUT ANYONE ELSE, NOT EVEN FOR A SECOND- ) Sure, there are plenty more places to buy bread, but all-the-same he can’t help the spasm of a phantom hunger-pang that jerks into his diaphragm / dislodging that hard-won memory of those long weeks spent as a refugee, the lesson-learned of never letting your food go to waste, idiot. How could he have been so careless ?

Mikasa sweeps through the circulating pulse of the bustling streets, as quick and efficient as he’s always known her to be, while he stumbles after her like a drunk would his next shot of rum despite having been barred from the pub he would rather have been frequenting. He feels disgusting. Even that crude comparison has him pressing the heel of one palm to his eye, squeezing against the socket until his vision skewers into fractured shards of color and light. Ha. Ha-ha. Might as well act the part. Another act. Once again he’s lagging behind. He only catches up to her thanks in part to a clot that’s been swelling in an intersection, all angry yelling and jostling elbows and there’s that baby crying, again- except. Mikasa doesn’t seem to notice that one guy’s arm flying out in her path, just forceful enough to send her tumbling into the oncoming traction of a carriage if she’s not paying attention, though he knows from experience just how hard it is to bowl her over on a bad day-

Eren reaches for her hand before the worst hypothetical could come to pass. He pulls her towards him, feels her rock back on her heels with a startled exclamation, so out-of-character for her. A tendon in her wrist flexes and Eren forces himself to look / forces himself to loosen his vice-like grip. It’s the wrong hand, he realizes - she always had a thing about people touching her right, the one with the bandages on it. Immediately, he tries dropping her arm, though not before seeing that the gauze has started to unravel thanks to all of his manhandling. Dammit, he hisses, the curse resounding within the whirling vacuum of his thoughts ( can’t do anything right can’t do anything right she’ll be face-up in the aftermath, her eyes fixed and unseeing- ). He pinches the tail-end of it at the last second, and now he’s still holding her arm / her wrist suspended limply from the bandages now rapidly-unfurling from where they’re supposed to be - why won’t she pull away ? He’s just fucking everything up. She has to be mad at him, or worse yet worried, so he clings to the hope that she’ll snap at him instead of asking WHAT’S WRONG, EREN ? ARE YOU FEELING UNWELL, EREN ? DO YOU WANT TO GO HOME, EREN ? DO YOU NEED HELP, EREN ? ARE YOU TIRED, EREN ? WHY DO YOU KEEP CRYING ALL THE TIME, EREN ?

He blinks once, twice, probably three times before he comprehends he’s somehow entwined their fingers together, into a complicated knot of his white-knuckled digits and her hesitant requiem. He doesn’t trust himself enough to have to explain whatever complicated expression must be on his face. So. He relaxes his grip, holding on just tight enough to seem intentional. With his other hand, he silently affixes the bandages back into their proper orientation, albeit with less tact than he might have otherwise spared had he been in full control of his facilities. Then, for good measure, he tugs the sleeve of her shirt back over them / no-one the wiser. He lowers his voice into a neutral pitch / tucking an ‘I’m fine’ into his cheek in the very likely event she wonders aloud what the hell is going on with him. And if she asks about his errands, he’ll shrug and say he was too lazy to do his chores, he’s been wandering around looking bored all day, it’s not like it’s a big deal, is it ? It’s not like we’re collecting firewood, is it ? It’s not like anybody is going to yell at us for slacking off, is it ? And that’ll shut her up long enough for him to wrestle his heartbeat back under control / tight-lipped and serious once again. Right, okay. One two three four. He ignores the jackass he tripped in his haste to catch Mikasa, the one cursing him out for his twisted ankle. ( ANTS IN THEIR HILLS. BOATS IN THEIR DOCKS. THE WATER HAS NOT STARTED TO RISE, NOT YET. )

“... Come on,” he mutters. “Hurry up. Everyone’s preparing to leave, so, we’d better just ...”

non-verbal meme.

#this started out with a much softer tone in mind I swear #eren just can't help but be a fucking emo ig #let's all just ignore how hard I went for this there was no reason whatsoever #me? consistently formatting every paragraph? haha ... no #erleidn #sorry if this makes no sense I didn't read it lmao

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losingmymindtonight · 6 years ago

Text

Trope: Losing Powers

Peter had been gone for 28 days, 17 hours, 43 minutes, and 27 seconds when F.R.I.D.A.Y. finally got a hit on his location.

Tony knew that because he’d had the counter running across every free screen for weeks.

There was no time wasted when the notification came in, not a second for gathering or regrouping or slowing to breathe. Just Tony, pushing the team forward with one-minded desperation. Steve scrambled to keep up, shouting terse orders and jogging just behind Tony as he stalked towards the Quinjet.

It took 3 hours and 16 minutes to get to the kid’s location. 4 minutes for everyone to organize. 7 minutes to advance on the heavily guarded research facility. 19 minutes to take out the guards, break into the winding hallways illuminated by fluorescent lights. 2 minutes for Tony to smell the blood.

It was all over the kid’s cell. The walls, the floor, the exposed pipe in the corner. Fresh and old, small smears and massive puddles. It was everywhere he looked. Blood, blood, blood.

Peter was in the center, strapped down to a medical table by fucking zip-ties. He’d been stripped down to a stained pair of boxers, hair longer than Tony remembered it being, eyes duller than he’d remembered them being. The kid let out a deep, guttural whine when the door opened, face twisting in a flinch, like he was expected a blow.

“Peter,” he breathed, staggering towards him, disengaging his gauntlets in his rush to touch, skin-to-skin, to offer the comfort he’d been deprived of for way too fucking long, “Peter.”

Glazed, brown eyes stared back at him. His pupils were blown. Drugs? Fear? The kid squinted like he was struggling to see him. Drugs, then. Maybe. Probably. “Mister Stark?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s me. It’s me, buddy.”

Peter’s head dropped back, lungs deflating. A delirious smile curled across his face, words lazy with relief. “You’re... a little short for a Stormtrooper.”

He blinked, brain still preoccupied with the metallic scent of blood aching in his nose and the incisions littering every visible inch of the kid’s skin and the fact that he could map every single one of his ribs and how sick he looked, how delicate and fragile and very not like the Peter he knew.

Then, he forced out a chuckle. Act normal, act cool. He had to hold it together for Peter. That was his only job. “Of course you’d make a Star Wars reference.”

“‘S my best quality.” The words must have sparked the kid’s memory, because some of the exhaustion on his face faded, and a thrum of panic took its place. He jerked against his restraints, chest heaving. “Mister Stark, I have to tell you something. I-”

“Shh,” he created a small knife with the suit’s nanites and started sawing through the zip-ties, carefully not to nick Peter’s already raw skin, “we can go through all that later, okay?”

“No, you don’t-”

He set a restraining hand against the kid’s collarbone. “Does this information put us in imminent peril?”

“No-”

“Then hush.” He finished with the zip-ties around his wrists and ducked to his ankles. “How bad are you hurt?”

“I dunno.” Peter’s voice was faint, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Stopping feeling it weeks ago.”

Oh, Peter.

“Okay,” he choked out, wishing he was strong enough to hide the way that statement cut through his bones, “that’s okay. We’re gonna get you to the Quinjet, get you pumped full of the good stuff, and Helen’ll take care of you.”

“I don’t know if she can,” Peter whispered, voice broken.

“Hey,” he returned to the kid’s face, cupped his cheek, “none of that. Whatever she can’t fix, we’ll fix. Together. Okay?”

For a few beats, Peter just stared at him, wavering between his fear and the intrinsic trust he had in Tony.

The trust won. It always did.

“Okay.”

“Good boy.” He finished with the zip-ties, reengaged the gauntlets, but kept his helmet lowered. One of his arms slipped under the kid’s knees, wary of the dark bruising flaring across the left one, while the other went to support his back. Before fully scooping him up, he paused. “Ready to blow this joint?”

Peter rested his head against the suit’s metal shoulder, voice a tired murmur. “So ready.”

“Good.” The kid was light. Way lighter than he remembered him being. He tried to make a joke of it as he walked to the door, his precious cargo cradled closely to his chestplate. “We’ll have to get a burger in you ASAP, squirt.”

For some reason, the comment made Peter choke on a sob. “Y-Yeah. I guess.”

Despite how much the sound of the kid crying hurt, he consigned the reaction to the hysteria of being freed rather than anything more serious. He could still remember the plane flight back from Afghanistan, sitting against the wall, feeling something tickle his face and reaching up to realize that they were tears. Rhodey kneeling in front of him, concern written all over his expression. Are you okay, Tones? He’d shrugged. I don’t know.

He’d locked himself away in the bathroom for the breakdown, waited out the episode before stumbling back to his seat and staunchly ignoring Rhodey’s stares. Peter, on the other hand, just turned his face into Tony’s shoulder and quivered, teeth digging into his lip as he cried.

“It’s alright.” Tony soothed, moving silently through the smoky halls. Which side had set off the smoke bombs? He couldn’t remember. “You’re safe now.”

Peter nodded, short and sharp, hiccuped on a sob, then coughed.

At first, Tony thought he’d just worked himself up enough that his lungs were rebelling. He’d done it before. Or it could’ve been the smoke, although it had dispersed enough that it wasn’t bothering him, even without the helmet.

“Easy,” he muttered, catching a glimpse of the exit in front of them, “we’ll be out of here soon. A little sunshine’ll do you good, I think.”

He’d expected the kid’s coughing to abate once they got into fresh air. Except... it didn’t. If anything, it was getting worse. He jogged up the ramp to the jet, ignoring the team’s questioning looks, and made a bee-line for Cho.

She met him halfway, eyes already cataloging Peter’s visible injuries. “When did the coughing start?” She asked, guiding them over to a medical bunk.

Tony deposited Peter carefully, letting the suit leak away and pressed his bare palm against the kid’s shoulder, a silent reassurance. “Two minutes ago, maybe?”

“It was probably the smoke. His body’s struggling to adjust.” She shoved an oxygen mask into his hands. “Here. I need to check out these incisions.”

He knelt by Peter’s arm, lightly setting the oxygen mask over his face and brushing a few curls out of his eyes in the process. “There, buddy. Just try to relax.”

Peter groaned, another agonizing cough cutting the sound off short. His expression was twisted up in discomfort. Tony glanced over at Helen as he scrambled to keep the mask pressed firmly over the kid’s face, feeling strangely frantic. “He’s in pain. Can we fix that, please?”

She nodded, stepping back. “I brought his pain meds. Let me just-”

“No,” Peter rasped, shaking his head violently enough that it spurred him into another round of coughing, “no, don’t.”

“You don’t have to be brave about this, Pete, it’s alright to need-”

“Can’t.” A wheeze. Peter winced. “You’ll... You’ll overdose me.”

Cho scoffed. “Peter, I’ve been treating your metabolism for long enough to-”

“They took my powers,” Peter rasped, cutting Tony off. “They-”

The end of the sentence got lost in another round of wheezes and gags, but it had been enough to get the point across.

Tony’s frantic eyes met Cho’s surprised ones.

He shook his head, desperate not to believe it. “That... it can’t be...”

“It makes sense, Tony,” she murmured, shock melting into thoughtful understanding, “his muscle mass is severely depleted, and his healing factor hasn’t been working properly. Some of these wounds are days old, and they’ve only just started to heal.”

No. No. “Could just be malnutrition.”

“Maybe. But we should trust him.” Cho glanced over Peter with concern as his breaths got shorter. “It’s better to assume the worst so we can prepare for it. If he’s really lost his powers, that means that any medical issues he had before would be back. Is there anything-”

Tony’s eyes widened, symptoms clicking into place. God, he was so fucking stupid. “Shit, Cho. He had asthma. Has asthma. He... He has asthma. Really bad, I think.”

Understanding fell across Cho’s face. Her eyes darted to Peter’s heaving chest, then up to the ceiling. Her voice was terse. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., do we have any albuterol on board?”

“Yes. It is located in Medical Locker 12A.”

Cho was moving all at once, grabbing tubing, a mask, a dark black box that Tony assumed must be something important, and a handful of other things. She put them together with the kind of familiarity he imagined didn’t come only with being in the medical field, she’d done this before, often enough that each action had become muscle memory, but he didn’t comment on it.

“This is a nebulizer. It’ll get the albuterol into his lungs more effectively than a rescue inhaler at this point,” she explained. Her voice softened as she finished assembling everything, eyes landing on Tony’s. “He has to sit up.”

“On it,” he replied, slipping behind Peter and settling his back against his chest, shushing him gently as he tried to gag in another breath.

Cho handed him the nebulizer’s mask without another word, and he tossed the oxygen aside in favor of the new setup.

“Just do your best to breathe, Peter.” Cho flicked on the machine, and it hissed. There was a surprising amount of sympathy on her face. “I assume you probably know the drill.”

The kid nodded, then dropped his head had against Tony’s shoulder, staring up at him like he was an anchor, something to tether him to Earth.

“Hey,” he whispered, desperate to fulfill the role Peter was so obviously imploring him to take, “you heard Cho. Just breathe. The meds’ll help soon.”

They did, too. Five minutes later, and Peter was slumped against him, breaths deep and borderline greedy, eyes shut with exhaustion, Cho was prepping an IV of plain-old morphine, supplies laid out to clean the dozens of wounds scattered across the kid’s body, and Tony was still holding the kid, one arm braced around his chest and the other holding the mask to his face.

The nebulizer stuttered, and Cho gently slipped it out of his hands. “We’ll do another treatment in 20 minutes or so, just to be safe. Are you feeling better now, Peter?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, eyelids fluttering open. He stared at Tony, expression full of guilt, “I’m sorry.”

“For what? Scaring the shit out of me? Yeah, you should be.”

Peter let out a wet laugh. “You’re gonna be doing this a lot now.”

“Doing what?”

The kid gestured at himself. “This. My body’s stupid. Can’t even breathe right. I step wrong and I sprain my ankle.” He glanced away, cheeks red. “‘M useless.”

“First of all, you’re not useless.” He used his free hand for force Peter’s gaze back to his face. “And second of all, you’re talking like I’m not gonna fix this. Which I am, by the way. You’ll be back to Spider-Manning and scaring the shit out of me in increasingly inventive ways before you know it.”

“What if you can’t?”

“Do you doubt me?”

“No, of course not.” There was something needy in Peter’s eyes. “But what if you can’t?”

He studied him silently, picking each word with caution. “Then I guess I’ll add a rescue inhaler to the list of things I keep in my pockets at all time. No biggie.”

That seemed to relieve whatever fear had been lurking under the kid’s skin, because he sank back into his chest and didn’t even flinch when Cho placed his IV. “Thank you, Mister Stark.”

He smiled, warm and fond. “I am gonna fix it, though. Just saying.”

The kid’s eyes fell shut again, mouth quirking up in amusement. “Of course you will.”

#I'm trying to use these as writing exercises #so if some of them seem a little off #that's why #ANYWAY if y'all want some quality lost powers whump #check out iron_spider's fic 'don't leave me now'#that shit hurted #in all the right ways #irondad #tony & peter #irondadbingo #tony stark #peter parker #tw: asthma #tw: aftermath of torture #tw: blood #losingmymindtonight writes

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homenum-revelio-hq · 5 years ago

Photo

Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Mary!

You have been accepted for the role of MARLENE MCKINNON with the faceclaim change of Zoe Kravitz! We really enjoyed how you incorporated Marlene’s background with her large family and the farm into her personality, her strengths, and her weaknesses. We are so excited to have you as part of this roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Mary

AGE: 26

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: The most fortunate thing about the world’s given circumstances right now is that I’m working from home as self-quarantine, which opens up A LOT of time for me. This is my reality for the next month and a half or so, and even if (God-willing) we return back, I’ll still have at least a couple hours every other day to spare for replies and such.

ANYTHING ELSE: Triggers: self-harm, eating disorders, suicide.

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Marlene McKinnon

AGE: 24

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Female, She/Her, Bisexual

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Ravenclaw

ANY CHANGES: FC change to Zoe Kravitz! Also not sure if she should be younger like 21 to match Lily’s age? If not, I don’t mind keeping her at 24.

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Marlene is always the first to volunteer to help. She’s fearless, loyal, and holds so much integrity in doing the right, fair thing for all - even if it’s not exactly her first choice. She might not have the friendliest face, but she’s incredibly compassionate to the lives’ of others. She holds a balance of head and heart, just as any true Ravenclaw would. Speaking of her head, Marlene is one of the most resourceful witches in the Order. She has a great mind to come up with a creative solution, in order to quickly problem solve. She’s also a natural leader. Growing up as one of the older siblings in her family, she had to manage many personalities working together. So she naturally excels in having to facilitate teamwork, which made her an obvious contender as both Quidditch Team Captain and Order of the Phoenix member. Marlene has a deep hero complex - so naturally, she struggles when something goes unexpected. It isn’t like she’s surprised and made to look foolish if she fails. Marlene is smart enough to deduct the possible outcomes within a situation, but her pride gets the best of her. In these moments, she is the perfectionist, competing with herself to always perform at her best. So when she slips, it’s truly personal. Marlene is also quite impatient. Over the years, she’s been able to control herself so she doesn’t come off as hotheaded or anything. However, there are those moments where you might question if Marlene is being sarcastic or if she’s perfected the dry delivery of her inner aggression.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Marlene loved growing up on the McKinnon Farm. Her family was huge - not only did she have five siblings (three brothers and two sisters), but having her vast number of relatives visit the farm on a weekly basis for Sunday dinner was the norm. Everyone was close and dependent to another for companionship, growth, and love. She learned the most from her family - the kind of witch you should be, the definition of success, what love truly meant - and she knew how lucky she was to have this great sense of home to fall back on. Her favorite memories were after dinner on a family holiday, where her siblings, cousins, and herself would run through the meadows and play Marco Polo. Life on the farm always felt so easy. Up until the age of eleven, she had known nothing else, and yet knew that the farm was her own little oasis in the world. As much as she loved Hogwarts, living there only proved her ideology of her childhood home even more so.

OCCUPATION:

Well, if you are to ask Marlene, she will tell you her first job is being part of the Dissendium Task Force. It’s a role she takes very seriously and puts every ounce of passion in. Her hero complex really compliments this position, since she has this sense of duty to save people from the evils of the war and help them find some peace in their given circumstances. However, her job to the public eye is Head Ranch Handler of the McKinnon Farm. Marlene is not the only hired hand on the farm, but she is the one who manages those that work for the McKinnon family business. She oversees herding of the winged horses, supervises financial planning, and continuously looks for new opportunities to expand the business on the farm, such as harvesting or humane breeding of magical creatures. The farm is a beloved part of the McKinnon family name and Marlene takes her job very seriously, feeling the heaviness of this important job on her shoulders.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

Her purpose is to be the central point of the Dissendium Task Force. Even though she isn’t the only witch and wizard assigned to this team, she understands that her position and connection to the farm is fundamental to the Task Force, therefore, integral to the Order. With Marlene’s balance between emotion and logic, she understands that technically the actions of the Order are illegal. However, Marlene has a greater sense of justice, the greater good, and understands that in the world there are shades of grey - including this. And she will be honest and say she doesn’t agree with the Order’s decisions half the time. Something she will never admit it is the way she feels about the “inner circle”. Some people would find her thoughts as jealousy, but truly, Marlene feels that this idea of a select group of people making the decisions for a whole organization is equal to the same cause we are trying to fight against. There are few witches and wizards she questions to being in the inner circle in the first place, and wants to challenge if it’s really even fair for someone who has no knowledge of her life to make the decisions for her.

SURVIVAL:

On the outside, Marlene would suggest that she has thrived this long because of her great wit. In passing, she has had to interact with a handful of dark wizards and keep a cool composure, so they weren’t to suspect her involvement and just simply choose to ignore the McKinnon family and their home. But on the inside, the probable main reason she has survived this long has been the family’s assets. Even with being considered “new money”, Marlene is still part of a large, wealthy Pureblood family, with a significant, ever-growing business that effects both sides of the war in some benefit. The farm is just secluded enough in the English countryside that it hasn’t peaked the Death Eaters interest, so living there and continuing to centralize the Task Force refugee efforts has remained to be safe during these times. Whether that has been brought by ignorance or by a bribe, that we currently don’t know - at least not yet.

RELATIONSHIPS:

For Marlene, seeing as she grew up in a family that has given her everything, it’s hard for her to not set these high expectations when it comes to her friends. She would consider her two closest friends at the moment as Remus Lupin and Lily Evans. However, things lately have been tense between her and Lily. Marlene is trying to be the better person and be patient with Lily insisting to save every Muggleborn. However, Marlene knows that even her farm’s resources have their limits - and to save everyone simply because they might be targeted could crash their resources, blow their cover, and create mass hysteria. They have had a couple discussions back and forth on the subject, and anytime Marlene has felt herself about to blow over, she’s chosen to walk away. Marlene isn’t the type of person to do that, but Lily has been one of her closest friends since she can remember. This makes her friendship with Remus only more important when it comes to keeping her head cool. The more she talks to other members of the Order, such as Edgar Bones, the more she has begun to open up. However, there are equal amount of Order members Marlene has still found difficulty in trusting, such as Alice Longbottom or Mary MacDonald.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:

Wow, difficult. VERY difficult. I’m not sure what ships are currently sailing so I’m truly going blind here. Off the bat, I would say Remus Lupin since there’s already a current connection there and foundation of trust. It would be definitely interesting to see something happen between Lily and Marlene maybe - they might have been good friends for a long time. So now, with Marlene being really disappointed at the way Lily is acting in regards to the Task Force, maybe it’s a deeper issue than just ‘focusing too much on muggleborns’. I could also see some kind of hookup between her and Dorcas. Also, Sirius Black. But that’s purely because I’ve seen the ship before and any chance to love down any version of a Sirius Black, I would be 1000% down for. Fabian Prewett might be a cool option too if the character is really into getting himself into danger. I don’t know, Mary ships all things so this is hard!!! lol

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

She’s DEFINITELY got blood/financial privilege. She’s Pureblood and her family is new money. Some Pureblood families probably wouldn’t thrive in the farm setting, but even as rural as her upbringing was, it wasn’t simple, nor was it common. The farm could get confused with a plantation with how much land there was and how grand the main house is. It was luxurious without being goudy and despite the war around them, they have never experienced a hit in their business. Marlene has definitely lived comfortably, and that’s possibly part of the reason why she’s probably so fearless when jumping into situations - because she’s never felt true hardship on a fundamental level. She basically grew up with the perfect life. As for her biases, I don’t think she would cast out anyone for being a werewolf or Muggleborn or half-breed, but I think she would have a harder time in understanding their extraordinary circumstances. It could be done - but it would just be more difficult, as she would at first try to use logic from her own life - when clearly that wouldn’t work because she has never lived in that person’s shoes.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

Harry Potter role-plays have always been home for me. Since the very beginning of my rp time here on Tumblr. The circumstances going on in the world right now somehow guided me back here, as I was yearning to do something again that I really enjoyed - and as I was searching for a new Harry Potter role-play to apply to, I stumbled onto yours. It had everything I searched for in a good HP RPG, including really warm and patient admins who dealed with all my constant messages! It really got me excited to write up this application and it brought back the magic that I had missed so so much. I’m looking forward to being able to fangirl over relationships I can plot and create for my character, but mostly looking forward to the relationships I might possibly make OOC. I have found family in past HP RPG’s and in the end, that’s what I always yearn for in the end.

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

Well, who would I be if I didn’t recommend at some point to go canon and kill off Marlene and her whole family??? Maybe loosing her family’s farm beforehand?? I mean half of me is like how can I say that my poor bb I haven’t gotten the CHANCE, but also, I love conflict and I feel like that would be such a gut-wrencher. However, OUTSIDE of that, something maybe a little more plausible and in the immediate future, would be a raid of the Potter Estate. It could even get tricky and messy, because Marlene could offer up the McKinnon Farm to use as HQ for the time being and maybe some members are on her side - like Dorcas or Remus - and others are not - like Lily or James - and the creates a rift of tension. Idk?? lol

ANYTHING ELSE? Not really!! I’m ready to go chief if you’ll have me :’)

#harry potter rp #marauders rp #marauders era rp #hp roleplay #hp rpg #homenumaccepted

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3laalhuda · 5 years ago

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Pandemic

In questions of science, the authority of a thousand is not worth the humble reasoning of a single individual.

Galileo Galilei

We live in amazing times! The world is put into quarantine, and fear and panic are being actively instilled into every mind through mass media and government activities. Yet, every person with a scientific background is scratching their head in bewilderment, because the cause of this 'pandemic' (the coronavirus) cannot be a real threat to humanity. In fact, it is not strong enough to be of any threat. Most deaths, assigned to this virus, are dubious to say the least: these are largely elderly people, who were ready to die anyway from a pre-existing chronic health condition, such as cancer, diabetes, heart disease and autoimmune illness. Many (if not the majority) of these people did not have any specific tests proving that they died from coronavirus; it was simply assumed that they died from this virus based on their symptoms. It is quite common for a gravely ill person to finally succumb to a common cold, flu or pneumonia, because their immune system is not working well and the body is naturally winding down. Everybody dies eventually, death is a fact of life, and there is a typical daily death toll around the world, fluctuating up and down with seasons. If one took all deaths, that happened in a particular hospital in one month, and blamed them all on a virus, then we can 'create' any pandemic.

What about young people and children? Healthy people without chronic health problems, if infected with coronavirus, have either no symptoms at all or go through ordinary symptoms of a common cold. Unfortunately, many young and middle-aged people in the modern world live on processed and low-fat foods, which undermine their immune systems. That is why we have some statistics of younger and middle- aged people getting seriously ill, because these people damage their health daily by their food choices. But these statistics to not amount to anything out of the ordinary; they are the same as any statistic of people dying every winter from common colds and flu. When it comes to older people, apart from poor diet, there is another factor to remember: majority of them are taking statin drugs to reduce their blood cholesterol levels. Statins make human immune system disabled, so it cannot deal with any infection properly.

Testing for viruses is expensive and not common. It is not clear what tests have been used in all the claims of 'coronavirus deaths', so we cannot say with absolute certainty what exactly caused those deaths. But, leaving all that aside, the numbers of people getting seriously ill or even dying do not justify the worldwide panic and hysteria we all find ourselves in the midst of. It is completely out of proportion! Has the whole world lost its sanity? The fear is palpable everywhere, particularly in any mass media outlet.

History shows that the biggest enemy of humanity is not a virus, or a bacterium, or any other microbe. Our biggest enemy is FEAR! Fear destroys our immune system, creates chronic illnesses in the body, destroys our relationships with other people and scares us away from Mother Nature. In short: fear destroys our lives! This 'pandemic' is one of the biggest exercises in mass fear whipped up in recent times, and it is bewildering just how successful it is!

There is no such thing as free media, all media is tightly controlled by those in power. Try to put yourself in their position: if you were in charge of a large population of people and you wanted them to behave a certain way, wouldn't you control media first and foremost? Of course, you would! Ruling people is impossible without controlling their minds. Every king, every emperor, every dictator and every government, worth their salt, have known this for millennia. The real facts about coronavirus are completely out of proportion with the mass hysteria, the pandemic of panic and fear created by the world media. Who is ordering the media to do this? Why are they doing this? What is the real agenda behind the coronavirus? These are the questions many people are asking.

Perhaps it is time for us to re-read Harry Potter by J. K. Rolling. If you only watched the films, please read the books, as films can never give full justice to the books. If reading is not to your liking, I invite you to listen to the audiobooks, recorded beautifully by a British actor Stephen Fry. J. K. Rolling has given a good description of what mass fear does to humans. The whole 'coronavirus pandemic' looks like a smoke screen. What real action is happening behind that screen, something we are not supposed to know? There are many opinions and conspiracy theories flying around, proposing different scenarios for that real action. Is there a 'you know who' or 'Voldemort' there, busy with his evil plans? Perhaps, there are several Voldemorts with their entourage of 'death eaters'? What are they up to? It may become clear at some point, but at the moment there is something more important for us to understand. Albert Einstein has observed with great sadness what was happening in Germany during the second world war. The atrocities of that war demonstrated clearly what frightened humans are capable off, and how easily they are manipulated. He summed it up with a phrase, that has become a famous quote: 'He who joyfully marches to music in rank and file has already earned my contempt. He has been given a large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal cord would suffice.' Let us start thinking for ourselves, as the real truth always exists at grass roots, in the 'humble reasoning of a single individual'. 'Unthinking respect for authority is the greatest enemy of truth.' - states another quote by Albert Einstein. Perhaps, it is time for us to stop obeying blindly and to start using our minds and our hearts? And, perhaps, we should teach our children to do the same?

So, what should we do at this bewildering time? Here is what I suggest.

Stop eating foods which destroy your immune system! These foods are: breakfast cereals, conventional bread, sugar, pasta, everything else made from flour and sugar, vegetable oils and everything cooked with them, Western soy products, all soft drinks and beer, all processed 'foods' and snacks, butter replacements, margarine and all low-fat 'foods', all pre-prepared and take away meals, all food additives and E-numbers. Instead, eat fresh eggs cooked in animal fat, bacon, fatty meats, oily fish, freshly prepared vegetables, liver pate and liver cooked any other way, other organs of animals (kidneys, tongue, tripe, lungs, brains). Make meat stock at home from gelatinous meats (feet, necks, heads, offcuts, skin, bones, joints, tails and other less-expensive parts of animals and birds). Make soups with this stock and eat all the meats on the bone, including the bone marrow. Make kefir, yogurt, sour cream and cottage cheese from raw organic milk. Eat plenty of raw organic butter and sour cream. If you cannot get raw milk, buy high-fat traditional cheeses, sour cream and natural butter. Make sure that every meal is rich in animal fats (beef, pork, lamb, duck, goose, chicken fat, butter and ghee). Eat fermented foods. Cook your food at home from fresh ingredients. These foods will keep your immune system so powerful and robust, that you will be able to forget about any infection and enjoy your life.

Stop washing your hands with antiseptic and sterilising lotions and potions! You are damaging your bodily microbial community, which is your most fateful ally against any infection! Instead get some soil on your hands! Dig up that useless lawn in front of your house and start growing vegetables and medicinal herbs. Lawns have become important contributors to the damage we, humans, are doing to our planet. Start taking part in reversing that damage! Get in contact with animals: cats, dogs, horses, cows, goats, etc. They are wonderful at maintaining a strong immune system in us, humans. And they are wonderful at taking us out of fear and into love!

Stop wearing a mask! It is not protecting you from anything! In fact, it is accumulating large amounts of microbes and creating a perfect moist environment for them to proliferate. Pathogenic microbes, growing on your mask, produce toxic gases, which you are breathing in. instead, spend more time outside in the sunshine, working in your garden. The beautiful spring has started! It is time to plant, to create new life. If you live in a city, get up to the rooftop of your building and create a roof top garden. There is plenty of know-how for creating such gardens (online and in books). Working outside with soil and plants will lift your spirit, strengthen your immunity, fill your blood with oxygen (which destroys any infection) and fill you with love instead of fear. And it will make your nose, sinuses and throat produce lots of virus-destroying mucous. Keep blowing your nose and clearing your throat, while working in the garden. Through mucous production your upper breathing passages clean themselves up (removing toxins, pollution and microbes), making you much healthier in the process.

Stop hiding indoors!The quarantine, imposed upon us, has given us a perfect opportunity to commune with soil, sunshine, fresh outside air and other humans in our households. Communing and sharing with other human beings is the biggest privilege of our lives! In 'normal' times we often don't have time for this privilege, because we are too busy working, earning, etc. Working together in the fresh air and in the sunlight with your loved ones is a joy! They are not going to infect you with anything dangerous. Instead, infect each other with laughter, enthusiasm, positivity and sense of humour!

And finally, do not allow fear into your life! Fear is nobody's friend! Instead, fill your life with kindness, gratitude and love. Just look at Nature: the infinite perfection of every leaf, every blade of grass, every hair on your cat, every feather on a bird and everything in a human body could only have been created out of energy of Love.

Become a carrier of this energy, an agent of this energy for yourself and everyone around you, and your life will transform! Where Love rules, there can be no fear, no hysteria and no panic pandemic.

Legal disclaimer: this blog is not a call for civil disobedience. I have expressed my personal opinion in this text, and invite the reader to think for themselves.

Find out more about the GAPS book and where to buy it

Find out more about the Heart book and where to buy it

Find out more about the GAPS Stories book and where to buy it

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The Panic Pandemic

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dramallamadingdang · 5 years ago

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Replies, the God edition.

I promise that I’m not going to talk about this stuff a lot, though now I’m kinda thinking that I do want that sideblog, if only just to get down all my own thoughts in writing, which has always helped me to sort of mentally organize things. But, I did want to reply to a couple replies and also paste in some nonnie replies, so that I can get ‘er all done in one (long, of course *eyeroll*) post. I also apologize for not tagging previous posts as non-sims, for those who block such posts. In my defense, I’d gotten in from a night out and was in that “tired, but not quite tired enough to sleep” place, and in that place I get kind of spacey and careless. So I’ve fixed that.

So, anyway, replies for @snarkysims and @nimitwinklesims as well as two anons who sent me asks are behind the cut...

snarkysims replied to your post “Speaking of religion, I saw in a lot of MTS off-topic discussions that...”

I appreciate you being candidate about your journey. While I do consider myself to still be Christian, much of what you said resonated with me. I appreciate you being open to people regardless their beliefs. Cheers!

Frankly, I’ve never understood not being “open” to people of other beliefs, even when I was very Christian. I mean, that sort of attitude is...Well, not very Christian, is it? Christians are charged with bringing the gospel to the non-believer, and you can’t do that if you can’t meet people where they’re at in order to talk to them. Sure, some brands of Christianity are more isolationist, so as to avoid ungodly influence and whatnot, but as a Christian, I was always of the opinion that doing so was a mark of dangerously weak faith and that it defeated the whole “be in the world but not of the world” thing, not to mention making spreading the gospel that much harder. Our society has just become so polarized and tribal that it’s ridiculous.

Well, in any case, I love people of all kinds, whatever their beliefs about anything, and I have very strong disagreements, including religious ones, with some of my very best friends. I have no truck with the whole “purity test” business, wherein I can’t be friends with, or associate with, or ally with on issues on which we do agree, or have spirited discussions with people who disagree with me in any way. While I do understand the importance of having community with supportive like-minded individuals, what’s the point of always surrounding yourself with people who agree with you in every single particular? Mutual back-patting? Circle jerking? I’ve never understood that, and it’s only gotten worse with the whole “call-out culture” thing. No thanks.

nimitwinklesims replied to your post “Speaking of religion, I saw in a lot of MTS off-topic discussions that...”

For some reason I can't access the entire post when on mobile -- will try laptop later.. curious to read!

It’s probably because it’s freaking long! *laugh* I do go on, I’m afraid. *sigh* But if you still can’t read it, I’d be happy to copypasta it into messages or some other format.

I am so sorry that you were indoctrinated. I had difficulties breaking away even as a non-indoctrinated (self-indoctrinated?) convert. I still sometimes have nightmares about hell and all. So I can’t even imagine what it’s like for people who had this stuff drilled into their brains from birth. I am glad that you had the fortitude to escape. :)

It rather surprised me -- though it probably shouldn’t have -- that the “if Yahweh was proved to be real, I’d believe in him but refuse to worship the f***er” is a common theme among atheists, especially, it seems, among those who had a fervent belief at some point and then deconverted, as opposed to those who were raised secular and/or just never believed. Maybe it’s a reaction to betrayal. I mean, you spend “X” amount of time being spoon-fed carefully-chosen rhetoric and scripture and swallowing the notion that this character is all-loving, that he’s the very embodiment of love, and then when the scales are lifted from your eyes you realize how very wrong that is and, at least in my case, I really felt the weight of the time I had spent (and wasted) thinking that this character was something that he clearly isn’t, by his own words, if you believe in the whole “the Bible is the Word of God(TM)” thing. I was angry. I guess I still am. Not at god, per se -- because I don’t believe that god is real -- but at the people who deliberately misrepresent him in order to make more people believe in him.

I cannot presume to speak for all people for whom speaking in tongues is a thing. And even amongst fundamentalists, it is a not a thing for all of them. A good percentage of fundamentalists are, in fact, very opposed to the concept. It is primarily a thing in charismatic Christianity, which IIRC consists of maybe 400 or 500 million Christians worldwide of various denominations. (As opposed to the 2 billion+ Christians that exists as a whole.) So, it’s not a common thing by any means, on the whole.

And yes, they are babbling random nonsense, and IMO many of them are just faking it and deluding themselves. Why? Because within charismatic churches, speaking in tongues is considered proof of one’s born-again status. Meaning, it’s proof that you’re saved. So there is tons of pressure -- especially among impressionable children -- to do it, with the unspoken admonishment that if you don’t/can’t do it, then maybe you aren’t really saved, and if you aren’t really saved, then you’re destined for hell. So, you get situations like this clip from the Jesus Camp movie.

The other thing is that mass hysteria is a thing. Christianity is generally practiced in a group rather than as a strictly individual activity. We are social and imitative animals. So, if one person starts “feeling the Spirit,” genuinely or otherwise, sure enough other people start thinking “Hey, there must be something to this,” and then they start feeling it, too. If this happens among a large group of people, then it becomes truly awesome, in the original sense of the word rather than the 80s sense of it. And then you end up with things like the Toronto Blessing, and people swearing that they felt and/or were imbued with the Holy Spirit and then felt compelled to do all these crazy-ass things.

So, my own personal opinion is that the whole thing is part being conformist out of fear and part mass hysteria. But, like I said, I don’t really speak for anyone but me. For me personally, I have both faked it and experienced the mass delusion thing. Pentecostal worship services are wild. But, were I to speak in tongues now, it’d definitely be just faking it...but I can fake it really, really well. :)

#snarkysims #nimitwinklesims #replies #non sims

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kpopisthereasonihavenolife · 6 years ago

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Hold Your Breath

BTS

Kim Taehyung/Reader [F]

Genre: Drabble, Sea Prince AU

Words: 1.4k

Your leg’s burned. Just how much farther were they going to chase you? You’ve done nothing wrong, it wasn’t your fault. The fault was in the law and its unjust ways. Who forbade humans from coming into contact with the greater life forms of the vast, open seas? It’s simply unfair.

The sea was beautiful and the life under was even more so. From the plants, microscopic organisms, wildlife of water and the humanoid people of the sea. Some think they’re merfolk. Some still refuse they exist; simply a prolonged state of mass hysteria. Those folk, are the real fools. You know better, you’ve befriended one after all; a boy of the waves.

He gorgeous. Hair a shade deeper than the sea’s blue shine. Eyes a bright cerulean that shimmer like dragon tear stones. Skin covered and glimmering with scales and gills. His scales covered his forearms and highlighted his cheeks. Gills lined him ribs covering his lungs.

You see, those people of the sea aren’t completely inhuman. They have human organs that melded with sealife traits and genes. Some say they first came to be when an ancient witch was killed, executed by waterboard. They say she left behind a curse on her village, cursing them with the ironic fate of flooding the village until it was nothing but a massive body of water. Only to enchant her once people in spite of her death.

His people were an oddity. Primarily living in the water, but able to walk on land as well; however, not for too long as they would dry up on land. He didn’t have a tail of a mermaid, but 2 separate legs of a man. Webbed toes and scaled ankles and scattered scales all up his legs and thighs. His arms were toned and strong, finger slender and nails long and sharp. His teeth sharper than sharks, yet at bright and white a pearls.

His naked body was covered only in a single cloth that his people were able to enchant and weave together under the surface. A special kind of material that wouldn’t succumb to ocean currents and still offer protection of the finer jewels so to speak. Shells and shark teeth hung around his neck in a thread and a fish hook pierced ironically through his earlobe. He was a beautiful man of the waves.

Taehyung was the beautiful prince of the kingdom below the surface.

You’ve never had the liberty of seeing his home, but you were fortunate enough to see him for the first time a year ago. Turns out, when you decided to explore a cover that is only accessible when the tide is low, you would stumble upon the unsuspecting prince. He nearly took you out on an impulse of a fight or flight instinct.

Grabbing your shoulder and pinning you to the ground, he rolled over you. His azure hair dangling from his forehead and scraping yours. His glowing eyes piercing straight through you, sharping than his fishhook earring.

You, of course, did the one thing any human vulnerable in this current situation would do. You opened your mouth and you screamed.

The man above you panicked as he quickly covered your mouth. He hissed in your face to shush you.

“Be quiet, human!” You pushed your face forward to bite his hand, causing him to jump off you and shake it around. Seething as he watched the reddening teeth marks appear on his hand. He looked incredibly up to you. “You- you bit me?!”

“It’s only fair!”

“How in the ocean waves is that fair?!”

“You attacked me?! Hellooo!”

“I didn’t attack you!”

“Right, because throwing a girl to the ground is such a friendly ‘hello, how are you’!”

“It was reflexive, okay?!”

“Whatever, Fishboy.” He gasped.

“That’s low, even for a human.”

“Okay, fine. I take it back... Fishman.”

“HEY!”

It’s hard to believe that that one interaction has blossomed so greatly in just a single year. Over time, you and Taehyung met in secret nearly every night by now.

Taehyung was a storyteller. He was born to weave and tell tales, you swore it was in his blood. He’d tell you all sorts of miraculous folktales, some true some not, but he’d never tell you which was what. He’d never tell you the difference between the truths and the falsehoods. He taught you the language of his people, his culture and his love of his home.

In turn, you answered any questions he had about humans the world about the surface. He wasn’t aware though, that it was against the law to interact with his kind. You had been breaking the law for so long, so he tried to convince you- for your sake- to stop meeting him. But, no matter what, you’d always wait for him to show up. It had already been 6 months by then, you were already in too deep.

After the last year, you felt like you’d never get caught and could stay with Taehyung like this. However, doesn’t the coin of the universe just love to flip? You were woken up one morning by rude bangings on your front door.

Ambling to your door, you peek out the peephole and cover your small gasp with your palm. The police, two men. You stood, unable to move for the longest time until they hammered their arm against your door again. You jolted as you looked around.

Maybe they didn’t want to arrest you. Maybe they didn’t know about Taehyung. Maybe they only wanted to ask you a few questions about something. Those pitiful thoughts flew out the window as you peeked one more time to see a pair of handcuffs in one man’s hand and overheard them talking about ‘this arrest’. So, you fled.

Jumping out your furthest back window, you ran towards the direction of the sea. Feet bare, shorts on your hips and a loose tank top with no support of any kind underneath. You were too panicked to be embarrassed about your braless torso at the moment. You had little time to run for your freedom- for your life. Even if you got caught, you didn’t care. You just wanted to see Taehyung again. Just one more time at least.

You soon heard the two men chase behind you. You turned corners and ran allies in hope of losing them. Though you gained distance, you never lost hem completely. Just your luck. Soon you ran into the sandy beach and collapsed into the shore. Waves crashing against your knees as you heaved and gasped for air.

You gained a lead in the chase somehow. It was your only chance. Now.

“Taehyung!” You screamed out into the deafening ocean. “Taehyung!” Another scream causing you to choke. He had to show up. It was now or never again. Please, just once more..!

He never showed like you so wished. You stared sorrowfully into the distance when you heard those bad men after you again, gaining up on you. You clicked your tongue and picked yourself up, taking off again. Running along the shore, heading to one more area to try.

You’d never met him in the open before, so maybe he just wasn’t around. He couldn’t hear you, so you needed to go somewhere further out. Somewhere the ocean sat under. You needed to go into the water without getting wet.

Your feet sunk into the wet sand kicking it up with your heels with each forceful nudge forward and soon you came to a dock. A small pier reaching out in the water, far from the swimming beach. Perfect for fishermen. You ran along the wood to the end of the dock and took a deep breath.

“Taehyung!” You cupped around your mouth and yelled. Your voice cracked and you coughed. Tired, out of breath and nowhere to go. You spun around with your back to the sea to face the two men who had been pursuing you.

“You’ve already made this harder than it needs to be. Just give up Sea Talker.” That’s what the illegal action of communication with the ocean was called: Sea Talking.

“What’s so bad about reaching beyond humanity? What kind of ignorant morons do you have to be to deny them life!” Before the men could advance to restrain you, the ocean added oddly.

Water rose violently on the dock, threatening only the men. You then felt someone behind you, pulling you backward. They moved to your front and came close to your ear.

“Hold your breath,” Taehyung instructed right before he wrapped his arm around your waist and dove in the ocean.

Both he and you, disappearing into the sea.

#kiim taehyung #taehyung #v #bts #bts v #taehyung fic #x reader #reader insert #female reader #taehyung x reader #v x reader #au #drabble

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especially-heinous-ada · 6 years ago

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Mankiller, Pt. 1

Hello, Tumblr world! It is with great pleasure that I finally unveil the first chapter of my brand spanking new Hannibal Au! Focused on Dr. Chilton and a mysterious female OC. I’m so excited to share my idea with you all, and I hope you enjoy it. In this chapter, the story begins...

As with all my other posts, please feel free to holler at me in the comments. I read them all, and always appreciate them! If you’re shy (I totally get it!) but still want to holler at me, hit up my asks as an anon. I love hearing your thoughts. Thank you to everyone for supporting my writing! Let me know if you enjoyed the first chapter and would like to read more.

Click, clack. Click, clack.

The hallway was as dark and quiet as it was empty. It had an almost eerie quality to it.

Drama queens. Always have to create ‘ambience.’ She scoffed as she drew ever-nearer to her destination.

Click, clack. Click, Clack. Her steps echoed through the halls as her stilettos struck the cold, stone tile. Her flowing dress billowed behind her as she moved swiftly, like a woman on a mission.

She reached the end of the hallway, where she pushed open a set of black double doors. They groaned loudly, announcing her arrival to the room’s occupants. At a massive, wooden table sat three men in suits.

“Hmph.” She pulled out a chair and slunk into it gracefully, alone at the far end of the table.

“Wouldn’t you rather come closer?” Called one of the men from across the table. “You look awfully lonely down there, Mankiller.” She rolled her eyes.

“I actually prefer being alone, thanks.”

“Suit yourself. Frigid bitch.” He called back. The man seated in the center waved him down. His face was familiar. He was the one always present whenever she received an assignment. They called him Jay.

“We’ve done this song and dance plenty of times before, so I won’t bother with the pandering formalities. The government has utilized your…services…many times over the years. I understand, now, that you are looking to get out of the business? Slip into the darkness and not be bothered?”

She sighed loudly, sitting back in her chair and crossing her legs.

“That is what I told your boss, yes. So why exactly am I here?”

“Same reason as always. There’s a threat, and we need it eliminated.”

“Boring. And you can’t just order your lackeys to do it, becaaaause….?”

“He’s murdered everyone who’s tried. Anyone who comes close to discovering his identity mysteriously disappears, only to reappear with pieces missing. So they’re bringing in the big guns for one last mission.”

She sat up straight in her chair, uncrossing her legs. He’d piqued her interest—it was obvious by her reaction. Now that he had her attention, he continued.

“These pieces… they’re internal organs, mostly. Not just a foot, or an arm—and not just a simple disemboweling where he takes everything out. No. He’s taking the time and effort to cut them open and remove certain, particular pieces.”

“You’re thinking he’s a cannibal.”

“Precisely. He’s operating out of a very specific region. He never goes too far, so he must be rooted in the community somewhere. There’s an FBI investigator on the case, but they can’t seem to crack it.”

“Oh, no. How shocking!” She snarked. Jay ignored her, used to the attitude by now.

“They’ve got a special detective working with them—some weirdo named Will Graham. He’s given some good insight, but we don’t have any solid leads, so they’re just ideas floating around in space.” He slid a file across the table.

“Every lead turns out to be a dead end, so they have no idea of his true identity. That’s where the legendary Mankiller comes in.”

“You want me to figure out who he is, then eliminate him.”

“Precisely.” She raised an eyebrow, then glanced down at the file, not bothering to open it.

“This freak got a name?”

“They’re calling him the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“A bit melodramatic.”

“You haven’t seen the crime scene photos. He’s causing mass hysteria.”

She scoffed.

“What do you say, Mankiller? One last mission?”

“If I do this, will you finally leave me alone? I’m sick of playing cleanup crew after the government’s sloppy work.” She said caustically, folding her arms as she met his gaze.

“If you do this, you can have anything you want. Just name it.”

Some goddamn peace and quiet would be nice. She thought before standing.

“Fine. I’ll do it. You owe me big for this one. I expect a big, fat retirement bonus at the end of this.” She said, grabbing the file off the table before turning and sweeping out of the room.

Click, clack. Click, clack. She set off down the cold hallway once again, opening up the file to peruse its contents, looking for a starting point.

Where to begin? She thought, quickly thumbing through pages of documents. She stopped when she saw a picture stapled to the top of what appeared to be a psychiatric report.

“The Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. That’s a mouthful.” She let out a single chuckle. The document purported to be an analyzation of the Chesapeake Ripper’s psychological condition. Uninterested in the pretentious psychobabble splayed across the pages, she continued to flip through to find the author.

“Dr. Frederick Chilton. Never heard of him…Why don’t I start by paying the good doctor a visit?” She suspected he knew more than he was letting on in his rather brief report. Snapping the file shut, she strode down the hall. As annoying as it was to deal with the government’s favorite meatheads, she had to admit: the Mankiller always felt best when on an assignment. The more dangerous, the better. She smiled, feeling the rush of the hunt return once more. It’d been almost a year since she’d taken an assignment and she’d nearly forgotten the thrill of it all.

“Look out, Ripper. Here I come.”

************************

-The Next Day- The Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane

As she stepped into the hospital, the Mankiller felt uneasy. She was never a fan of hospitals, or psychiatric wards. She suspected that if they could, Jay’s higher-ups might try to throw her in a place like this. Not that they could, of course. They needed her too much. Not to mention the fact that when they first started begging her to take assignments, she’d cleverly insisted they grant her immunity for all crimes—future, present and past. She smiled.

Sometimes, I even impress myself.

As she strode up to the front desk, she found two men conversing behind it. One wore a plan white dress shirt, no tie. He had plain, black hair buzzed short, and wore an unremarkable pair of plastic, black-rimmed glasses. A subordinate.

The other man was much more ostentatious, both in dress and manner. He wore an impressively stylish double-breasted suit, which she surmised must have cost a rather pretty penny. His hair was also dark, but longer, and gelled into a fashionable style. He wore a full beard, but it was meticulously groomed. It was obvious he cared very much about appearances.

Of the two, she deduced it would be most beneficial to approach the more flamboyant man. It was clear to her that he must be some sort of supervisor. That, combined with his overt attempts to appear attractive and successful made him a much easier target to manipulate, when compared to his subordinate, who’d be much too concerned about following rules or losing his minimum wage job.

“Hello.” She greeted pleasantly. The two kept talking, and she sighed. It looked like she was going to have to bring out the big guns. She leaned over the top of the desk, making her cleavage prominently visible, then cleared her throat.

“Excuse me, would one of you handsome men be able to help me?” She smiled. At that, the men turned to face her, finally breaking from their conversation. They seemed irritated at first, but quickly changed their tune after they had a moment to observe her.

“Certainly, I can help you with whatever you need; I am General Administrator of this facility.” The well-dressed man boasted, as predicted. “What can I do for you?”

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Administrator.” The Mankiller smiled. “You see, I’m looking for someone here.”

“A doctor, or a patient?” The man asked curiously.

“Doctor.”

“Which doctor? Do you have an appointment?” The assistant butted in. The Administrator waved him down with an annoyed look.

“I’m looking for a Dr. Chilton?” The Administrator smiled spryly.

“Well, you’ve found him.” He replied, motioning to himself. “What did you need?”

“Actually, I’d really just like to speak to you, if that’s alright? Um, privately?” She was really laying it on thick now; giving the sexy voice, shooting him the steamy bedroom eyes, looking him up and down, the works. She was only partially acting; he was actually quite attractive, especially for a man in this line of work. She’d been expecting a grey-haired old fogey.

His eyes widened slightly and one eyebrow rocketed upward to his forehead. He stuttered for a moment before managing a coherent response.

“Well, I don’t have any appointments scheduled until this afternoon… I suppose that would be alright. Follow me.”

Worked like a charm. Sure, seducing men with some cleavage and eye batting was cliché, but it was that way for a reason—it worked. Every. Damn. Time. Dr. Chilton should be thankful that he’s not my target, or he’d have just signed his own death warrant...with his penis.

She found the thought amusing and stifled a chuckle as Dr. Chilton stopped in front of a black wooden door with gold accents. He reached in his pocket to pull out his key and unlocked it, swinging it open and motioning for her to go inside. She thanked him and stepped in in front of him. He followed, carefully closing the door behind them.

“Feel free to have a seat wherever you’d—oh.” He’d turned to find her sitting, with her legs crossed, on top of his desk.

“Sorry, is this inappropriate?” She smiled salaciously.

“Perhaps. But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, if you won’t.” He winked.

I’ve got him now. She scooted back on his desk, dangling her legs off the side, and threw her head back, letting him look her over without being watched.

“What exactly are you here for?” Dr. Chilton asked, approaching the mysterious woman. She looked so sensual sitting there on top of his desk; her mere act of existing was turning him on. Why was she here? How did she know him? Was she a fan? Did he even have fans? If he did, he hoped they all looked like this.

Her long, tanned legs dangled off the edge of his desk, crossed delicately. On her feet were a pair of black stilettos whose heels looked positively deadly. Her dress was rather short and exposed the majority of her perfect legs. If it rode up any further, not much would be left to the imagination. The flowy fabric clung to all the right places, accentuating her ample curves. It took all the strength he had within him simply to prevent himself from displaying his arousal as she turned her gaze upon him.

“I’m here because I need you.” She responded, sounding purposely suggestive.

“Need me for what?” Chilton pressed, swallowing hard.

“I think you can figure that out.” She winked.

“…But you didn’t even know what I looked like when you showed up.” He said, frowning. Damn, he’s got me there.

“I…need some information.”

“About?”

“The Chesapeake Ripper.” She admitted, deciding to be direct. He scoffed.

“After the last person came knocking about the Ripper, I elect to pretend he doesn’t exist with new callers.” Maybe he wasn’t as much of a pushover as she’d originally thought. This might require her to fight dirty.

“Fair enough. If you don’t want to talk, well…I came here to pick your brain, but once I got a look at the rest of you…I knew I wanted to play with more than just your mind.” She stood, drawing closer to him. As she grew nearer, Chilton found himself holding his breath. It was like seeing a majestic, mythical creature up close.

She grabbed him by his suit jacket and backed up, returning to the desk and bringing him with her. She sat down on the edge of the desk once more, legs spread, pulling his full body against her. One hand left his jacket and pulled him in by his tie. She pressed her lips against his.

Oh, my god. Am I dreaming? Chilton wondered to himself. Indeed, he’d had dreams like this before, but this was much too real. He could smell the sweetness of her perfume, like cotton candy. He could feel the softness of her mouth, the warmth of her body pressed against him. He kissed back fervently. If this was a dream, he hoped he’d never wake up.

Oh, my god. She thought as Chilton began to kiss her back. He’s actually a really good kisser. She hadn’t counted on that. She felt him raise his hand, intertwining his fingers with her hair.

Holy shit. This is actually really hot…but I’m on a mission, she reasoned.

She felt herself moan into his mouth as he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth.

Well, I suppose there’s no harm in having a little fun?

She threw her arms around his neck, pressing her chest against him, arousing a small groan from him. He leaned forward into her, pushing her back onto the desk. She threw caution to the wind and let her hands roam over his body, exploring him, when suddenly his intercom buzzed.

She came back to her senses, pulling away from his kisses. She glanced up from his lips to his eyes. They were a beautiful green-tinted hazel, and she found herself wishing she hadn’t noticed as she averted her gaze.

“As fun as this has been, I have to go. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” She said, sliding off the desk from underneath him, thoroughly embarrassed at her lapse in focus. She made toward the door, wanting to escape as quickly as possible.

“Wait!” Chilton called after her, wincing to himself after he did. Was he making this decision with the head on his shoulders, or the one she had just so thoroughly excited? She froze just before reaching the door, turning to face him. She wore a blank expression, hiding her feelings—not wanting to let her guard down again.

“If you go to dinner with me, I’ll tell you everything I know about the Ripper.” A tiny little smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before disappearing so quickly he wondered if he’d imagined it.

“Deal.” She responded. “I’ll call you to make arrangements.”

“You don’t know my number.”

“I’ll call here.”

“How will I know it’s you, and I should answer? I don’t even know your name.” He reasoned.

“Uh, Sylvia.” She answered, feeling flustered. “I really do have to go now.” She lied, pushing the door open and power-walking down the hall.

What the hell was that?!?! She screamed internally.

In all her years as an assassin, never once had she felt even an inkling of emotion for a man she’d seduced on the job. Now here was this smug doctor, making her heart pitter patter like she was a virginal schoolgirl. He’d even gotten her flustered enough to blurt out her real name. She hadn’t answered to anything other than Mankiller in years, and that was how she liked it; she’d erased any trace of her real identity long ago.

Perhaps this last assignment would be more difficult than anticipated, she feared as she began to wonder how she should handle her next encounter with Dr. Chilton. Perhaps this time, she’d bitten off more than even she could chew.

Back in his office, Dr. Chilton sighed heavily before answering the intercom’s sixth buzz.

“What is it, Johnathan? This better be good.”

“Sir, Jack Crawford is here to see you, and he brought Will Graham.” With a groan, he pressed the intercom button once more to respond.

“Send them in.”

As Sylvia hurried toward he hospital exit, she happened to notice a familiar face.

Oh, no. What’s he doing here? She tried to hide her face, but there was no denying he’d seen her. Why the hell was Jack Crawford here? At this precise moment?

“Well, well. What brings you here?” He said suspiciously. Jack was one of only a handful of men alive today who knew the Mankiller’s true identity.

“I assure you, Jack, it is absolutely none of your business.” Sylvia smiled pleasantly, though she allowed her irritation to seep into her words as a warning. He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted.

“Dr. Chilton will see you now.” The assistant from earlier announced. Jack closed his mouth in a frown before walking away, electing not to say anything at all. Sylvia smirked as she made her exit, though she knew she hadn’t seen the last of Jack Crawford.

I’ve only been here one day, and yet, what a web I’ve spun for myself. This is shaping up to be my most entertaining assignment yet.

#hannibal #au #chilton #mankiller #part 1 #my oc

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teacherintransition · 2 years ago

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In Defense of Boomers…

This negative labeling of whole generations drives me up the wall..

Baby Boomers are getting an especially bad rap… have you ever watched “Woodstock: Three Days of Peace and Music” …man?

I was watching the 1974 documentary, “Woodstock: Three Days of Peace and Music” the other day and was reminded of what an amazing, world changing event it was for that era; and consequently for every following era. There has been very few successful music festivals of that scale that were free of rampant commercialism and or violence: Altamont, Roskilde, Woodstock ‘94, and the horrifying Woodstock’99. (my generation’s attempt at a remake)

I’ve been to my share: a couple of Lollapaloozas, a Van’s Tour, two Ozzfests, Bonnaroo and some smaller ones. They were good, but leaned pretty hard on the consumerism ideal and price gouging the concert goer; but hey, this is MURICA. None have approached the sheer scale and lofty idealism and community that the original Woodstock achieved. Before any of my former students retort with, “uh …huh….uh, hey Mr. Rich…uh …huh…we’re you there…like you’re old uh huuuh!” No, no I wasn’t my chronologically challenged paduwans…I was a baby at the time; and my father would’ve called them, “a bunch of dirty, commie hippies!” What can I say, dad was dad.

Those guys were the infamous…Baby Boomer generation; which has unfairly garnered a lot of social negativity the last few years. It has led to an unwieldy list of labels often meant to become pejoratives: boomers, yuppies, hippies, yippies, greatest gen’ers , slackers, X’ers, millennials, Gen Z, Gen Alphas, commies, fascists, libtards, Maggits, evil capitalists, free loaders, punks, beatniks, snowflakes, acid freaks, corporate slaves, silent gen’ers, “Human sacrifice! Dogs and cats living together! Mass hysteria!” - Dr. Peter Venkman. Whew! Hey man, let’s just chill out.

This labeling …and dare I say, “divisiveness?,” began nicely enough with labeling the Americans born between 1910-1924 the greatest generation. Fair enough, what with that group of Americans overcoming the Great Depression and winning WWII, although the generation before them was called the ,”Lost Generation” …the survivors of WWI and the Stock Market Crash of ‘29. Those guys turned out some great writers. I digress, when all of those servicemen and women returned from WWII they made babies and made America the economic powerhouse of the world, which you would think was a damn good thing, but the Baby Boomers are wrongly, in my opinion, getting hammered for this. Millennials and Gen Z’ers are blaming them for rampant consumerism and waste and the death of the dinosaurs. It’s wrong for them to have benefited? Since retiring and being lumped together with Boomers, I’ve become aware of the negativity this has wrought. (Remember I’m Gen X…you know Cobain, Tupac, Pearl Jam, peace dividend, Clinton, NWA, Jane’s Addiction)

I guess I could respond to this negative stereotyping by shaking my fists and yelling, “YOU DAMN KIDS …GET OFF OF MY LAWN!” I know I recently wrote on generational differences, but that was more of an exploration into understanding. This is kind of a teaching moment; and since I taught for thirty years, let’s see if I still got it.

As I mentioned I was watching a documentary on Woodstock, I became reawakened to the absolute marvel that this was…500,000 people in a muddy field, supporting, loving and celebrating music and hope. You know like hippies…and it really hasn’t been done since. To call Baby Boomers, “greedy capitalists stooges;” I mean…have you seen the attendees at Woodstock? In a way that no other generation of people have done since, they revolted against and changed the established social order. They could have been greedy little capitalists and dressed in khakis and polo shirts, but what did they do instead? Gave up their security to live in communes and started the organic food movement, were beaten and jailed for protesting the war, were drafted (the last generation to have been done so) they marched for civil rights, for women’s right, for LGBQT right, started environmental awareness, fought for public schools…etc. etc. Sure, they did drugs… a lot of drugs; but their philosophy is leading the way in legalizing marijuana. Did they make mistakes?…aw, hell yeah. But few generations put it on the line like Boomers. I don’t deny that younger generations are being dealt a tough hand and maybe, Boomers could’ve had more forethought in some things, but how much would we all be struggling if they didn’t do what they did?

We are all people…human beings, and most of us are simply trying to do the best we can. Circumstances dictate the differing results that arise from our struggles, regardless of the random time a person was born. It’s my feeling that we all could do with a lot fewer of these divisive labels and more recognition of our shared humanity. Being removed from the work a day world, allows you a more expansive perspective. Does that sound like a hippie from Woodstock? If so…groovy, an early retired Gen X’er can still learn something.

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