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butwhyduh · 3 years

Text

The maid

Part 2

Warning: attempted mugging, guns, briefly blood.

You might have worked in one of the nicest homes in all of Gotham, but your own place was much more modest. It was on the edge of the bad areas of Gotham but not quite labeled as unsafe. But then again, it’s Gotham. Is there a safe place here?

A second story walk up that had a fairly nice view of the park. If you stood in the left corner and stared just right. Okay, it was just fine but you were proud of your first roommate-free place. The Waynes paid well.

You had just gone to the grocery store and was queen of only-one-trip. So your arms were currently full. They might have been a little too full as you tried to pull out your key to the front door. You leaned a bag with your hip against the brownstone and tried to yank your key ring from your pocket. You had a distinct feeling that you weren’t alone. This made your hands shake a little and you tried harder to get at your key.

You weren’t alone.

There was approximately 2 people watching you. A mugger on the corner. His last 40 ounce drink of malt liquor was starting to wear off and he had a pounding headache from cursing out the mother of his children. How dare she try to force the brats on him on a Saturday night? He needed a few bucks because he was out of beer and he needed a cigarette. You looked like a perfect target.

The second was someone who could be even more dangerous. In black tactical pants, a black shirt with a red bat symbol, brown leather jacket, and a shiny red helmet, the Red Hood could easily be described as intimidating. And he was watching you. He’d been watching you for over a week.

Famous on the news, he had taken over part of Gotham’s underground and shook up other parts. He was known for shooting anyone who attacked children, women, or in any sexual way. If they were lucky, it was just in the kneecap. Currently Batman’s number one who-the-fuck-is-that-guy and a high priority. Was he a vigilante or a villain? All Batman knew was that the Red Hood was shaking everything up and targeting his Robin.

If it wasn’t for the bulletproof fabric that Alfred had just added to Robin’s costume, Tim Drake would be 6 feet under. As it was, he was out of commission for 2 weeks healing bruised ribs.

Red Hood watched you passively. Were you going to be fast enough to get inside before the mugger? He’d hate to have to save you. He would. You were a valuable commodity to him. You were the new maid for the Wayne Manor. If there was any way in, it was through you. The most likely weak link in security.

You dropped your keys and cursed quietly. It wasn’t quiet enough as it seemed to call the mugger to you. He started walking towards you. A box cutter in his pocket was pulled out and he yelled at you to stop. You made a sound that was somewhere between a yelp and a whimper and bent quickly to scoop up your keys. Items from your bag fell out in your haste.

Red Hood pulled out one of his backup guns. It was loaded with rubber bullets, one of the few non-lethal weapons he had. The man was almost on top of you before Jason pulled the trigger. The thug fell before he even touched you. You shrieked and looked around. You saw a flash of red on a roof top before it left. You hurried to open your door. Once in your apartment, you locked the door and put a chair in front of the door.

Over the next week, you had a really difficult time staying on task as you were barely sleeping. But seeing a certain member of the household had you hiding a smile as you worked.

You really did try to avoid Mr Timothy Drake-Wayne but he seemed to always walk down the hall that you were working in. You had long since laundered and returned his shirt. He would flash you the tiniest of smiles before continuing on his way. He was 3 years younger than you but somehow seemed worlds older.

One day you were helping Alfred cut up fruit in the kitchen. It was a calming task in the quiet room. A big plate of apples and oranges was quickly dispatched into slices.

“Hi,” Tim said suddenly beside you causing you to look up mid slice and jump.

“Shit,” you said holding your finger. You grabbed a paper towel and wrapped it up.

“I’m sorry! Is it bad?” Tim said. You held your finger over the sink to look at the cut. Blood welled quickly but it didn’t look super deep or long.

“It’s okay. It’s not too bad,” you told him. Tim dug in a drawer and pulled out a bandaid.

“Here, let me see your hand,” he said. He held your finger as he wrapped the bandage around it. You looked at his long dark eyelashes and small pieces of shiny black hair that fell in his eyes. He was certainly pretty.

“All better,” Tim said dropping your hand. You flushed at his closeness.

“Thanks,” you said looking at him. “Your shoulder, What happened?”

Tim had a large rectangular bandage over his left shoulder and you noticed a bruise under his right eye. He smiled awkwardly before gulping.

“I’ve been taking Brazilian Jui Jitsu classes and had a bit of the accident. I’m fine. Just a nasty bruise,” he said, glossing it over. “Probably should have stuck to CrossFit.”

“Maybe. Looks painful,” you said. You moved over to continue cutting fruit.

“You’re being careful when you go home, right?” He said suddenly. You looked at him confused.

“Yeah, why?”

“Just that there’s a new guy out there. Someone called the Red Hood. He’s been seen all over the city. Nobody really knows anything about him. I just- we just want to make sure you’re safe. We can provide a you with a ride home,” Tim suggested.

Yes you had heard about him. Killed drug dealers and rapists. He delivered a bag of heads to a crime family, rumors said. He had even attacked Batman and Robin a few times. Red Hood sounded terrifying. But you should be fine since you had nothing to do with any of Gotham’s underworld.

“I should be fine. But thank you, Mr Wayne,” you answered.

“Call me Tim. It wouldn’t be a hassle at all-“

“I’m fine. Thank you,” you said with finality. He nodded.

“Understood. I must get back to work. Sorry about your hand.”

“It’s okay.”

———————————

On one of your days off you decided to hit a used bookstore that was just down the road from your apartment. It was a cute little hidden gem. Books haphazardly piled on shelves to the ceiling. Tiny little rooms connected in a maze for each genre.

The bookstore was usually pretty empty and was the kinda place where you could sit and read on one of the hidden plush chairs they hide in various corners of the store. You could buy a cup of coffee from the front and spend an hour looking and reading. It was a pretty cozy place.

The prices were pretty cheap and after checking out your favorite section, you had a little stacks in one arm. In the other hand, you had a fresh iced coffee. You walked toward your favorite hidden chair in the back classics section. As you turned the corner, your coffee almost smashed into a body that quickly caught your hand and preventing the spill.

“Sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going,” he said. You got a look of him. Tall and extremely fit. Wavy black hair and blue eyes with a little apologetic smile on his lips. He was hot as hell.

“It’s fine. I should have looked too,” you said and you both moved to the same side of the walkway. “Sorry,” you said with a smile.

“Nah, don’t be,” he said standing against the wall to let you slip by. “By the way,” he said as you squeezed past him. You stopped and looked at him.

“Can I ask your name?”

“Oh, sure,” you said before saying your name. He had a kind smile. Despite his large figure, his soft mannerisms and cozy sweater made him seem... safe.

“I’m Jason. That book in your hand is based on one of Shakespeare’s play. 12th Night. I saw a copy over here if you want to look at it,” he offered.

“Yeah, that’s interesting. You’re into classics?” You said. You watched as he reached up to grab the book from the top shelf. His sweater rose to show a strip of very tone skin.

“I’m kind of a sucker for them. The only problem is that they don’t really put out many new books,” Jason said with a shy smirk.

“That does sound like a problem,” you smiled back at him.

“I hope I’m not too forward, but can I have your number,” he asked playing with the spine of his book. You smiled and flushed. Did he really not know how hot he was? Because he acted like a nerd but looked like a snack.

“Yeah,” you said putting you number in his phone. “Then I can hit you up for more book recommendations.”

“I’d like that. I hate to go but I’ve got to get ready for work. That’s why I was in a hurry,” he admitted.

“I hope you aren’t late because of me.”

“Worth it. But I’ll be fine. See you around,” he said leaving.

“Yeah,” you called after him. Did you just give your number to an absolute 10? You had a little smile on your face for the rest of the afternoon.

#Tim drake x reader #Red Robin x reader #robin x reader #batboy x reader #the maid

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spookyspaghettisundae · 3 years

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The Spider Show

Every breath rasped through my throat. My sides hurt. My pursuers were right behind me.

Without looking where I moved, I chose the next left down this maze of alleyways.

A chain-link fence. Great. No barbed wire atop the barrier, though. Not too high, either.

Water splashed my jeans when I stomped through a puddle next to the nearest dumpster. I jumped at the fence. My fingers found hold, the metal digging into my digits, but the tips of my boots slipped and slid as I scrambled to scale the obstruction. Struggling to climb, I found that I’m worse at climbing than I am at running without getting winded. I probably looked even dumber than I felt and only made it halfway up.

The two police officers were upon me, and one of them had the same raspy breath of fatigue. For some reason, I remember that surprising me.

The other grabbed me by the ankle and yanked. I tumbled down, crashing into the puddle. My shirt and leather jacket got soaked within seconds.

I stared up at one, then two muzzles of guns, both pointed at me by men with angry eyes.

They didn’t even tell me to turn around. Or anything at all, really.

And I was sure they wouldn’t be reading me my rights.

One of the two cops was overweight and catching his breath. The other one was built like a Greek god’s statue, like he did CrossFit or something, because the chase I took them on for several city blocks seemed to have not taken it out of him at all.

I grinned sheepishly at them, though I didn’t expect my natural charm to work in this situation.

In the dim light of the alleyway, dark spots had visibly stained the armpits of both their uniforms. Though it was after nightfall, the city was still muggy; the sweltering heat refused to go away.

Once I had caught some breath, I was the first between us to speak. Still, I wheezed.

“I thought it was my car. Honest mistake! Girl scout’s honor.”

The overweight one scowled and shook his head.

The other guy replied.

Growled.

“You’re under arrest. And I don’t believe you’re gonna get outta prison for a long, long time.”

I tried my best to flash another disarming grin but let me be real with you here: I was scared. Exhausted. I had no idea how this was going to go. If I had eaten anything in the past few hours, I might have thrown up now.

There was no clue if the others had been able to keep up the pace to help me out here.

Things were going according to plan—kind of. And also, not.

There hadn’t exactly been a script to follow.

As I exhaled, my words shuddered when I asked, “What do I gotta do to make you boys turn into the slime-things? I show you my vampire fangs and you show me your sexy spiky jelly bods?”

They both narrowed their eyes at me. Not like they thought I was crazy.

But like I knew something I shouldn’t.

Dead giveaway. They had to be in on it.

Between breaths, the overweight cop sighed, “Maybe we should ice her. Fuck the questioning.”

“Chief said—”

“Fuck the chief. What’s this loser gonna say, anyway? Probably just gonna lie. Just let Brubaker put a worm in her, let the collective do the talking.”

“Or, even better, we take a part from her for you-know-who to use,” said the other, hunching down to grab me by the arm and wrestle me up onto my feet. “You got a knife on you, bro?”

Well, that’s where I freaked out. Mention of a knife—and the unspoken implication of removing parts of me—triggered my flight response. I started flailing against them and got knocked in the face by the butt of a gun. I saw black and stars for a few seconds and stopped thrashing. Cuffs were coming out. The two of them were all over me, meaty hands limiting my movements and pinning me down and wrestling me around. I had no chance against them.

When I opened my eyes again, the cops started wobbling. Gym-guy first. Then the overweight cop. Their torsos started convulsing and shaking and shuddering in grotesque ways that human bodies shouldn’t.

I recognized this transformation by now—from the ones that attacked in my apartment, the ones D gunned down in the alleyway—the slime-demon cops, transforming into the green blobs of spiky Jell-O from the waist upwards.

First came the wobbling, then they turned.

That’s when I noticed the others creeping up behind them. I reduced my struggling to mock efforts.

BLAM. BLAM.

Two thunderclaps. I had flinched before I heard the shots.

Still did, even after all this time in a street gang.

Spider was right behind one of them. The shotgun’s smoking barrel hovered where CrossFit-cop’s head used to be attached to a neck.

This time, I appreciated my instinctive flinching; appreciated that I screwed my eyes shut, because the shot had splattered me with blood and chunky salsa.

Head gone.

The overweight cop had gotten the same treatment, adding to the spray of human gore on me. Slate had gotten behind him—different shotgun, same procedure, making the possessed cop one head shorter.

The bodies of the two headless officers collapsed next to me in the puddle.

Their bodies had stopped shuddering. One of their hands still twitched. The other’s legs flopped around, then dropped. Stayed still. They hadn’t transformed yet.

Spider and Slate stood over the dead officers, pointing their shotguns at them. Spider nudged one of them with the tip of his boot.

We stared at the corpses for several seconds. Several seconds more, and the lack of response ensured that Renaissance’s “trick” to killing demons worked.

Nobody helped me up. I stumbled around, pawing at the fence until my fingers found purchase and I dragged myself up onto my feet.

Swallowed the remark of thanking the two guys for nothing.

And still, no more movement from the two corpses. Ragged stumps of necks wept oodles of blood where the solid slugs from shotguns had transformed heads into fine red mist, a fine red mist that I was wearing on my face and jacket now. Wiping it away was a futile but instinctive gesture, only smearing it across my face and making me cringe over the metallic taste on my lips.

Spider said, “There you have it. The vampire was right—it works. Let’s roll.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Slate muttered.

He hocked up phlegm and spat on a body.

That was all. That had been the entire plan. I held my side as we jogged back. We had to move quickly, because CrossFit-cop had radioed it in when they started chasing me. When they had “caught me” trying to jack a car on the turf of the Carnivalez gang, and deliberately set off the alarm while the patrol car passed me by, just like Baby Joker had taught me to.

The motor was still running in the shiny white SUV. Baby Joker was seated behind the wheel. His eyebrows furrowed when he saw us—or rather, when he saw me. I was covered in viscera from the waist upwards, it must have been a whole sight. We all piled inside, and he drove off before anybody could buckle up.

Spider loaded another slug into his riot gun. Slate did the same on the passenger seat.

Slate craned his head back to look at Spider when he asked, “Guess this means the Carnivalez work for the demons, huh?”

Spider stayed quiet. His gaze twinkled something fierce. He stared ahead at the road while we rolled through the city night. The spider tattooed across his entire face almost looked like a real spider in the dark, giving me the creeps, especially when I saw it from the corner of my eyes. I wasn’t even afraid of spiders, but this really skeeved me out.

Once the hurting in my side lessened, it hit me.

No words of gratitude for putting my ass on the line. Things had really changed.

The car stopped. Baby Joker’s hands curled around the steering wheel and tightened.

In the shine of headlights, two figures blocked our path.

One was wearing a colorful bandana over a clean-shaven dome, clearly a member of the Carnivalez. But he was holding a leash, and attached to that leash was a collar, a collar around the neck of a slender man on all fours, encased in a black leather gimp suit, covered in shiny chains and rings and zippers.

“Run those crazy motherfuckers over,” Spider said.

Baby Joker hesitated.

“You fuckin’ deaf?”

I opened my car door.

Spider sneered. “What the fuck are you—”

Leash-guy stared at me. The glow in his eyes was unnatural. Like that of a cat having a flashlight shined upon them in the dark.

Vampire.

Had to be.

The gimp growled. Roared. Like a human mimicking a feral dog.

Or maybe he was a feral dog in human form.

He strained against the leash as he lurched towards me, held back, and held tight by the Carnivalez vampire, yanking it back and choking the growling. I think he reacted to the blood on me.

And when the guy holding the leash opened his mouth to speak, I swear to God his teeth were pointy. Sharp.

“Thanks for murkin’ those assholes. They been gettin’ testy.”

I narrowed my eyes.

That’s when I sensed more of them. I didn’t even dare to look up.

The glow of eyes on the rooftops. Hungry eyes. From the periphery of my perception, I knew they were there. Watching.

Vampire eyes.

Spider emerged from the other side of the backseat. I could feel his glare upon me until he addressed the leash-man and the leashed man.

Asked Spider, “Who the fuck are you?”

“You fuckin’ blind? We’re the Carnivalez. We work with the awakened. Like I said, Spider,” said the leash-man, enunciating Spider’s street name with painful clarity. “Thanks for murkin’ those assholes.”

I tried to feign a smile, but I had to set my jaw and the smile died along the way. “Cool. How about we all back away slowly and go about our ways?”

The gimp lurched again; snarled from underneath his leather hood. He swung his paws—I mean, his gloved hands, ending in sharp metal talons—in my general direction. The closed zippers encasing and concealing his face almost freaked me out more than the glow in the other guy’s eyes. I wondered if the leashed man in the gimp suit even looked human underneath the skintight layer of leather, or like a “feral fuckin’ ghoul”, as D had described Marv’s vampires.

Leash-guy nodded.

“Works for us.”

He tugged at the leash, wandering off to the side of the alleyway and giving us space to drive past them. The leashed gimp reluctantly followed, choked again as the vampire yanked the leash.

Spider shot me a dirty look. Posed one more question to the vampire.

“You with Renaissance?”

Leash-guy nodded and grunted to confirm.

Spider then ducked back down into the car. I followed suit.

Baby Joker drove off, and we got the hell out of there. The eyes followed our movements.

“Guess that clears that up, huh?” Slate said.

Nobody answered.

Our heads stayed on a swivel, making sure we weren’t followed. Police sirens howled, but we quickly passed through several blocks, and Baby Joker maintained the distance to the noise of trouble approaching.

Though the Carnivalez didn’t follow us in vehicles, I glimpsed more eyes on the rooftops. More eyes in the shadows of alleyways until we pulled out onto the larger streets. Eyes in windows of derelict houses where junkies squatted.

Tiny white dots of eerie light in the darkness, almost glittering like the stars in the skies above, were it not for all the unnatural hunger burning inside those gazes.

Once we were out of the north end of the city, I lost sight of them. I imagined them to still be out there, watching us, but we had gotten out of Carnivalez turf.

Spider suddenly spoke. The tattoo on his face danced, like a hand-sized spider stretching its legs when he talked.

“I heard you didn’t go through the normal initiation like the rest. Rocco been goin’ soft?”

Nobody answered.

I felt his eyes on me. Burning with a malice that made the gazes of the Carnivalez vampires almost pale in comparison.

Baby Joker spoke up before I could find any words. “Rocco says she prove herself in a trial by fire, after takin’ a bullet from the pigs. She was with us when we stormed Bateson’s mansion, boss.”

That word in this context—it punched me in the gut to hear it like that. Rocco was the boss. I still had not come to terms with Spider taking over after getting out of prison.

I had no idea who the hell this Spider was, and—quite frankly—I did not like him one bit. He had not done or said anything to ingratiate himself with me or command my respect.

All he commanded was my fear.

Fear of him.

He said, “I heard that, too. Funny though how it’s only always the demons that are getting you banged up, Kelly Romero. Is that a coincidence, or might you be a plant for the vampires? Like the Beast? The Beast at least seems too dim-witted to be bullshitting us. You, on the other hand—”

I had nothing to say. Swallowed emptily. Spider’s pause made me uncomfortable.

“Hm. You say you worked as a gas station clerk before joining?”

Remember how I said I always had a bad feeling about things Spider said?

There it was again, stronger than ever. Tension welled up in me. My hands trembled while I forced them not to ball up into fists.

In my heart of hearts, I knew that protesting would only dig a deeper hole for myself.

Maybe if I just shut up and let him talk, he’d lose interest and—

Spider just grinned at me.

“I also worked at an assembly line in a plant for packing frozen food. What the fuck is your point?”

I had surprised myself over my sudden retort, my sudden burst of confidence. My defiance.

It also stunned Spider.

“You ever hear o’ the old way we used to initiate new members?” he asked.

I swallowed again, incapable of getting rid of that unpleasant lump in my throat. Answered.

“Yeah.” I croaked it out. Like a toad.

“But not you,” he said. I had never heard him sound this amused. The words slummed out of him with sadistic pleasure. “Maybe I should initiate you like we used to with those meth-head bitches I used to keep around. Rocco ever tell you of those days?”

I felt sick again. I almost wished I had eaten something now, so I could projectile-vomit into his face and put an end to this. To stop this from going wherever it was going.

“No?”

He continued to stare at me while I avoided eye contact. His gaze burned, while I tried everything to avoid it.

Then I finally found the words. Where I stilled my hands by folding them together and gripping hard enough for my knuckles to turn white, the trembling made its way to my voice instead. I couldn’t help it. And I couldn’t stand that this was like letting Spider win.

“Thought you had some pretty hard rules about rape when it came to Kings landing in the joint.”

He chortled.

“Oh, it ain’t rape if you like it.”

Dark.

Fuck. This. Guy.

His grin persisted. Glistening teeth in the corner of my eye, having eclipsed the eerie impression of those vampire eyes everywhere. I averted my gaze, turned my head to stare outside. To watch the lights from storefronts and neon signs and streetlamps and smartphones of passersby, all blurring into colorful luminous streaks as we drove past them.

That was that. Spider had decided he was done for now, leaving me with that vague threat.

There was no more talking to me on the way back.

The tension never left. I picked at my fingernails to keep my hands occupied, trying to get some of the grit and dirt out from under them.

Spider treated me like thin air and directed a few idle questions at the boys, getting to know more about them. It made me wonder if anybody aside from Rocco and D had been in the gang before Spider went to prison.

The rest were all pretty young, so it would not have surprised me if everybody else had joined after Spider wound up in the slammer.

Only when we arrived outside the safehouse at the factory buildings did I notice how my heart was still pounding far too hard and fast. The tension only subsided when I got out of the car, but my pulse spiked again when Spider shoved his shotgun into my hands for me to carry it.

I nearly dropped it because of the way it came out of the blue, without announcement or verbal order. He didn’t even make eye contact.

Asshole.

Asserting his dominance wherever he could.

Later, my hands still trembled while I smoked a joint on the loading bay, sitting alone. Finally, some quiet. A minor remedy for my raw nerves.

I pushed away the memory of all those glowing vampire eyes on the Carnivalez turf. The image of that leashed guy in the gimp suit, on all fours, acting like—I don’t know, a ghoul? Rage zombie? Werewolf? At this point, anything was possible.

“You okay?”

Rocco.

He limped up to where I was sitting with my legs dangling off the ledge of the truck dock. The crutch he was using tapped each time it set down along the way.

“You lookin’ spooked, homegirl.”

I sighed.

“It was some rough shit. Do you think those slime-demons absorb you like the Blob if they get you?”

Rocco’s forehead creased with wrinkles. Then he grunted and groaned as he struggled to sit down next to me.

I reached out a hand for him to help him take a seat right next to me.

“I don’t mean that part,” he said once he had finally plopped his ass down.

I passed the joint to him and kept the smoke deep down in my lungs before releasing.

“Baby Joker said the boss,” he started saying. That word, especially coming out of Roc’s mouth—it still sounded so wrong to me, even more so when Rocco paused, like he had to chew through the words that came next. He puffed out some smoke. “He’s bein’ shitty around you. To you.”

I didn’t know what to say.

Spider responded first.

“Tell me about it, boy.” Right behind us. Despite being as tall and burly as he was, Spider was eerily quiet when he walked. “Tell me about how shitty I been around our new soldier.”

We both turned to look back at the “boss” of the South Side Kings.

He stood behind us, just a few steps away. Looming.

Crooked, yellowed teeth glistened in the dark of the loading bay. A grin shining out from the shadowy spider on his face.

Such a hideous grin.

Then it vanished. He tore his gaze off Rocco’s eyes and locked onto mine.

“This lil’ bitch used to be really quiet,” Spider said. “Tried real hard to impress me and the old gang all the time. Didn’t even make a peep during the initial beating, and I let ‘em beat his sorry ass for a full extra minute because he was shooting his mouth off over how tough he is; tougher than the guys two heads taller than him. But lemme tell you, he played real tough when he iced his first enemy in the name o’ the Kings.”

Neither of us replied.

To Rocco, he said, “Real tough motherfucker. 'Member that time when Carlos’ sister came onto you, all jacked up on meth, and you were pussying out instead of putting out?”

Spider laughed while approaching. Hunkered down, crouching right behind us.

He snatched the joint out of Rocco’s hand, then took a long drag from it.

Spider chortled as he blew out smoke, puffs of it billowing out of his nostrils.

“Then he swore off the bitches like some kinda monk. Did some of the coldest kills, and never got caught. One o’ the best soldiers I’d ever seen in this crew. That’s why you were my right hand, Loco Rocco, and that’s why I had you take over when I got put behind bars.”

I had no idea where he was going with this, and Rocco’s face was, well, all emotions, all at once, all over the place. I had never seen him like this. Rocco was a grown man, and the weird wit he carried with his casual tough-guy demeanor—it was all gone. Wiped away.

I saw a little boy, afraid of the dark. A little boy, angry, barely suppressing his rage. And a little boy, just a couple of hurtful words away from tears.

Rapidly cycling through all these conflicting emotions. Like he was one step away from planting a fist in Spider’s wrinkled face. And the only thing holding him back was dread.

Spider blew out more smoke—right into Rocco’s face.

The old boss continued speaking, “Humans think they’re light. Pure fuckin’ energy. Beacons, or some shit. Fires in the dark, stars in the night sky. But we’re just meat. We get shat out into the world, get run through the meatgrinder unless you’re born with a silver fuckin’ spoon in your mouth, and then clock back out. Return to the same primordial slop that the fuckin’ fish crawled out of once they grew lizard legs.”

Rocco bit his lip. Spider studied my face.

Finally, Rocco spoke. His voice trembled like mine had earlier. I had never heard him like this.

“You changed, boss. Went inna joint as tough as always, came out haunted. Like you seen some ghosts. You sure you don’t need some time, to—I dunno—acclimatize? Lotta things changed. Vamps, demons. Not just gangbangers left and right and the police in the middle.”

Spider glared at him.

Then his hand shot out, seized Rocco by the throat. Gripped hard, the knuckles whitening around where letters had been tattooed onto them.

“The fuck you say? The fuck you think you sayin’? The Kings gone soft or somethin’? Respect in the joint got harder and harder to come by the longer I was rotting in there.”

Rocco didn’t resist. Just let Spider hold him by the throat. His face reddened, a vein on his temple popped.

I wanted to do something, but I was too afraid of making things worse.

I admit it, I feared Spider. He was the scariest guy in this gang. Made me question every single decision I had made by joining when Roc asked me.

But that was the thing. If Spider had asked—which I don’t think he would have—I’d never have joined.

“Fewer and fewer o’ the Kings showing up in the joint. Which either means you were getting less sloppy, which I doubt, lookin’ at where we are now. Or—and this is what I think is more likely—you all just turned into a bunch o’ pussies.”

Spider finally let go, Rocco coughed. Cleared his throat.

“Well, don’t worry your pretty little heads about it, girls.” The last word oozed out of Spider’s lips with contempt. “Daddy’s back home now, and we’re gonna put the fear o’ the Kings in every fuckin’ heart in this city. Every fuckin’ heart.”

Rocco rubbed his neck. Narrowed his eyes for a split second, just long enough for me to register the hatred he was pushing back down.

He asked Spider, “You call Renaissance yet?”

Spider took another drag from the joint and shook his head.

“We got plenty of shit on our plates, and as far as I understand it, the vampires are also killing the demons, and vice versa. I say we let them thin out their own ranks. Focus on getting back into our old business. The whole fear deal. Get some protection money rolling back in. Find a new cook, put product back out there. Get liquid again.”

Spider rose to his feet, towering above us.

Sparks flew as he flicked the roach away, letting it fly in a high arc over our heads before it hit the asphalt below. Asshole hadn’t even finished it.

We had nothing to say, and Spider turned.

Walked away.

I had a weird feeling. A bad feeling, as I always did around this jerk. With growing, unsettling frequency.

Rocco met my gaze, locked eyes with me. Said nothing.

But we had an understanding.

He must have felt it too. He stopped absently rubbing his neck and gazed out of the loading dock into the skyline of the city.

Produced a burner phone from his pocket and thumbed through the very short contact list.

He met my gaze again, ensuring that I was reading what it said on the display before he tapped the call button:

RENAISSANCE

As the dialing tones beeped out from the device, he tapped the button to switch to speaker mode.

After a few rings, Renaissance picked up.

“Spider?” asked the vampire. Calm.

“No, it’s Loco Rocco.”

Roc kept eye contact with me.

“I wanna know more about these demon bitches. What are they?”

A long pause. Something clinked on the other end, like ice cubes in a cup.

Then Renaissance replied.

“We don’t really know what the demons are. The old generation stayed mum about them, a little bit too well. So, now we know fuck-all about 'em. You could try asking Bateson and see if she’s willing to share. Wouldn’t hold my breath, though, after the, uh, barbecue you put her through.”

The tangle of emotions had subsided from Rocco’s face, as if the much calmer and monotone voice of Renaissance helped get his mind back into his old modes.

Rocco’s lips twitched with a weird smile about them.

When he spoke, it almost sounded optimistic.

“Okay, so, off wit’ their heads, and that’s that. No more demon-host, no more demon. Simple 'nough. Let’s say we get rid of all these demon motherfuckers. Are y'all Draculas gonna stay quiet in the night? Keep to one side o’ the river while we stay on ours?”

Another long pause.

Renaissance audibly swallowed something, gulped; like he was drinking.

“You know, I’d kinda like that. I’d like things to go back to the way they used to be. You know, the time before you knew we even existed. So, sure. Once we’re sure we’ve cleansed the city of all these ancient assholes, I think we can talk. Divvy up the lines. We rule the night, you rule the day. Something like that.”

Rocco’s eyes twitched. I knew he was withholding thoughts. Thoughts with far less space for compromise in them.

“Somethin’ like that,” Rocco repeated after him. “Yo, how did this shit get started, anyway? Why now? Why’d the demons come out, why you Draculas gettin’ so obvious and turnin’ people left and right?”

Another awkward stretch of silence from Renaissance until he answered.

He clicked his tongue.

“I don’t know what to believe. Again, you could ask Bateson. She is one of the last of the old blood. Most of them went into hiding, or died, or both, I guess. Dark ages like this one brought too many of them into the public eye, got 'em ganked. Others, like us, knew how to hide in the shadows like the dogs of the night we are. And when we took over, we only knew stories. Fairy tales. A whole lotta bullshit as far as I’m concerned.”

I suddenly spoke up. Had to know. Something that had been bugging me all along.

“Bateson said you kept her locked up. Why didn’t you just kill her?”

Renaissance chuckled.

“We tried. She is way harder to kill than our generation and the fabs. So many of us died trying to get rid of her permanently. The Czech witch can do things you can’t even imagine. Reformed from pools of blood if you ground her to paste. Turned into vapors when we cooked and burnt the shit, dripped from the ceilings until she could take a new form. Ancient fucking sorcery for all I know. That’s why we had to seal her away.”

Rocco asked, “Okay, then who fucked up?”

“No idea. Wasn’t my time nor my authority. Like you, I’m fairly new to the leadership game. Only thing I’m concerned about is that she’s powerful as all hell, and even she seems to fear the demons returning. Let that sink in for a bit, and then you know why I reached out to you.”

With nothing else to say, Rocco stared out into the sparkling lights of the skyline. I, too, had a lot to process.

Unpleasant thoughts of Spider’s presence returned to me, and I glanced over my shoulder, just to be sure he wasn’t lurking around in the shadows nearby.

I did not trust him.

He’d be the source of me losing sleep for the next night.

Renaissance broke the silence and said, “Tell your boss. You need anything else; you call me again. We can talk more concrete terms of how we can work together. I can get you another arc cannon, so you have some extra firepower against Bateson and her goons, though they’ve gone completely dark.”

Asked Rocco, “Whaddya mean?”

“Nothing I can explain until I have the answers myself. Just that Bateson and her syndicate shit-bags have flown off the radar. We’re not even sure they’re still in the city, or just laying low so well that everybody’s lost track of 'em. If you find something out, please do let me know.”

He paused. Clicked his tongue again.

“And if you’re interested in inheriting the kind of power that we—I—possess? Then call me, too. We can arrange something. No strings attached. Just raw fuckin’ power.”

Rocco shook his head with zest, but the words he uttered ended up saying the opposite. He stared at me.

I knew. I thought the same thing. Would have lied the same way.

“I’ll think hard about it, ese.”

“You do that.”

Renaissance hung up. The display darkened and eventually went off, lingering in Rocco’s palm. Then he pocketed it and looked at me with eyebrows raised.

“No fuckin’ way we’re turnin’ into Draculas or demons.”

His gaze smoldered with the same fire I remembered from the moment we first met, and all the times we had faced death together.

“You the same, ain’t you, homegirl?”

I cracked a smile and admitted it, “I’m too scared to. I’m afraid of dying like a chump, but I think I’m more afraid of becoming any of these—these things. You should have seen that guy in the gimp suit tonight.”

Rocco chortled and groaned again as he struggled to get back up on his feet. I got up with him, helping him back up till he could brace against his crutch again and stand on his own.

“Hey, Roc,” I said. I sounded meek. I kind of hated myself for it. “Spider said, earlier—h-he implied I was w-working for the vampires.

He just stared at me, then clapped a hand on my shoulder. Squeezed. Squeezed so hard that it hurt a little bit.

I added, "I’m scared.”

The grin he gave him was lopsided. Concerned. Confident. A bit of both.

“Good. Means you ain’t stupid. And I know you ain’t workin’ for those Dracula motherfuckers. I know you got my back like I got yours. You got a good soul, woman.”

He squeezed my shoulder again.

“We are blood now,” Rocco said.

He let go, clapped me on the shoulder again, and we walked.

I walked him back to the common area where Angel was frying something on the camping stove. The hiss from the pot greeted me with the smell of baked beans and bacon.

My gaze lingered longer than the touch of Rocco’s fingers slipping away from me.

We exchanged another long, knowing glance.

He went to sit down at the picnic tables set up in the yawning hall, slapping the table and bellowing at Angel for some food.

I gasped when someone patted my shoulder and I turned to see the spider.

Spider.

He loomed over me. No grin this time. Then he walked away, approaching others with purpose, and drumming all of us up to visit the picnic tables area.

“New order o’ business,” he said once everybody had gathered, swiveling to address the whole gang. “For now, until the demons or vamps make another move, we’re getting back into business. The Aryan posse and the Ballers seem to have all gone missing, which means we have new grounds to cover. New turf that we can make ours. We got a lotta work to do. We gotta get the cash flowing back in, so it’s back to putting our noses to the ol’ grindstone.”

Nobody spoke up. Nobody protested.

He raised a hand, two fingers outstretched.

“Starting tomorrow, we work in pairs of two. Always two Kings sharing the spotlight, one on one units. You see something funny—you withdraw, keep your eyes peeled, regroup with other teams. No sudden moves, 'cause we’re dealing with fucking animals now, and do take that literally. I’m gonna get to know all of you newer members in our one-on-ones, and I will have you know that all pussy shit is over, effective immediately.”

Another swivel in the circle, and no words from the South Side Kings. The gang tended to listen to the boss, no matter how much I refused to acknowledge him as that.

Rocco did not maintain eye contact with me, and the fury in him seemed to have subsided. Or he had put up his poker face.

“That’s all. Grab your grub, get some sleep. We got a lotta work to do,” Spider said, clapping his hands together twice.

The gathering scattered.

Spider turned to me. Approached. Pointed at me.

“You’re up first with me, new girl.”

I don’t know why I was glib, but I immediately played it back to him, “Lisa is the newest member, not me.”

He tilted his head. Narrowed his eyes.

“But I’m picking you for tomorrow’s action. This is gonna be right down your alley. We remind some business owners of the south side why they should be paying us protection money.”

When Spider placed a hand on my shoulder, it made my skin crawl. I tried to keep my composure. Judging by the impressions of my fingernails in my palms, I’d notice afterwards just how hard I balled my hands into fists.

“Crack o’ dawn, you’ll be ready, first thing in the morning. Don’t be late, or I will give you a wakeup call.”

He smirked.

I was so disgusted and afraid that I didn’t even shudder—I couldn't—I was just paralyzed. I only snapped out of it when he walked away to help himself to some food from Angel’s pot.

I walked away, looking over my shoulder to ensure Spider was at a growing distance, while I wandered beyond the cluster of spotlights illuminating the adjacent hall, where military cots lined the walls, and all manner of belongings were strewn about like a boys’ dorm. Looking at the blanket on my cot, I almost wanted to scratch the itch it would cause, even before laying down and feeling it on my skin.

I was tired. Didn’t feel like eating. Spider’s creepy presence had robbed me of my appetite.

D was also there, on another cot across the hall, twisting and turning and failing to get some sleep. Only now did I realize he had not attended the meeting at the picnic tables. But he had a good excuse. That mind-controlling demon had nearly gotten him to gut himself.

He was still healing up from a bad stab wound.

Bare-chested, the bandage around D’s belly had at least stayed stark-white today—the blood had stopped seeping through the gauze. Maybe I’d be the one to remove his stitches this time.

Once we made eye contact, D squinted and turned onto his other side again.

So much for that daydream.

D had been avoiding me since we left Boombox’s body in the parking garage. Stopped talking whenever I was within earshot or walked away when I got too close.

Still angry with me.

I stifled a sigh and plopped down onto my cot, turning so I didn’t have to look at anybody else.

But I would struggle to fall asleep.

I would sleep with one eye open. Or so, I promised to myself.

I pondered running away. A thought that hadn’t crossed my mind in weeks. What if I just bounced town? Let everybody else deal with this demon and vampire crap?

So, what, maybe I’d get murdered or eaten out in the boondocks. So what? It might be preferable to whatever the Spider Show was turning out to be.

Then I distracted myself from such thoughts in the worst way possible, turning to scenarios in which I got incarcerated and killed in prison. Soon enough, I was the one who was twisting and turning restlessly in my cot, kept awake by the murmurs of other gang members, echoing throughout the halls of our temporary safehouse, and the plague of my own broken thoughts.

I dreaded being alone with Spider tomorrow.

Zero trust.

All disgust.

Exhaustion and sleep deprivation and the weed must have overwhelmed me eventually because I awoke suddenly, and abruptly.

It was still dark out, but the darkness of the sky was slowly turning blue. Murmurs had turned into snoring, sawing wood throughout the hall.

I was covered in a sheen of sweat and fragments of the nightmare slowly returned to me, bit by bit. The strange dream that had visited me before we stormed Bateson’s mansion on the peninsula.

Butterfly Mouth.

The giant figure in the leather coat, the lower half of a bloody skull covered in a swarm of writhing blue butterflies. The bright beach upon which it stood, emerging from the door to nowhere, and the police car standing on the white sand behind me, containing something dark and evil.

Butterfly Mouth had opened its arms wide for me, welcoming me to embrace it.

I tried to shake off the dream, then saw Boombox’s face in my mind. He had been in the darkness of that mysterious door, the sea of shadows—drowning—reaching out for me to take his hand and pull him out.

I had tried to grab him and pull him out of the darkness lurking behind the door of Butterfly Mouth but recoiled in terror when thousands over thousands of cockroaches and centipedes and wasps came billowing out of his mouth, his nostrils, his ears. Clawing their way out of his eye sockets, a dark cloud that exploded outwards from his bleeding body, engulfing me before I could flee, and drowning out the beach’s sunlight.

Just a terrible dream.

I slipped into my clothing and shoes. Had to walk it off.

Just a bad dream.

But there was that feeling again. That bad feeling.

I don’t know why it’s called gut instinct, because I tend to feel it more in my lower back and arms. Tingling, tension—like my entire body is seconds away from cramping up.

I froze.

The real nightmare was standing right there.

With his back to me, dressed only in a black leather vest and his muscular, tattooed arms on full display, Spider stood by one of the cars, waiting for me. A silvery handgun was jammed into his belt behind his back.

He turned to me and grinned, then nodded at the car for me to get in with him.

I had a bad feeling about today.

A really bad feeling.

—Submitted by Wratts

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jayteewin · 3 years

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It’s not THE Open, it’s YOUR Open

2022 will be my third CrossFit Open. My Open No.1, 2020, was just 3 months after my first ever CrossFit class, the heady pre-pandemic times of busy gyms, sweaty hugs and slammed hi-fives.

I completed the workouts (there were 5 that year) in the Eton Box where I was a fledgling member and at WIT (London) where my partner, Julie, was a member. WIT was FULL ON; Friday night, 20 somethings, tops off, abs out, blasting music, hectic and packed…I was a bunny in the headlights! Eton; much more understated, more intimate, relaxed older demographic…but no less determined than their big city counterparts!

The atmosphere in both was electric…I was hooked.

Both boxes had qualities that just lit me up. There was a generosity of spirit that is authentic - everybody wants their fellow athlete (and yes, at 49 years old and new to the sport, it took me a while to be comfortable calling myself that) to be their version of “best” on the night.

There was zero negativity. People I had never met were cheering for me, willing me to grind out those final reps; at the time I wanted to kill them (oxygen starvation makes me very grumpy!), but when I added up my score, those final torturous reps meant everything to me.

I scaled the workouts, was in awe of those that were bashing out RX reps…my barbell was tiny, I couldn’t double under, hardly had a pull up, deadlifts scared the life out of me and at one point my knee started to make a very odd clicking sound! But it didn’t seem to matter, the support in both boxes was unwavering, at times it felt like the slower I went the louder I got cheered!!!

Under the watchful eye of coaches and judges, I got through safely…and achieved the heady result of 8,450th in the 45-50 age group! All that effort and I was in the bottom 20% of my age-group!

It was a reality check; it was humbling and yet hugely motivating. A benchmark had been set, one that was equitable, measurable, and repeatable. I was pumped!!! I didn’t care about the ranking (well, a little bit!), I had done it and I could not wait for the opportunity to enter again.

Open No.2 was a very different experience. The pandemic had hit and we’d all been forced to innovate with home workouts. After valiantly supporting its members throughout the darkest days of the pandemic, it was a huge shame that the Eton box had to close its doors. As we weren’t in London WIT was not an option so we were temporarily gym-less, but determined…Julie and I both did the Crossfit Judges course (being a judge for your very competitive partner and miss-counting reps during a tough WOD is a wonderful test of a relationship – I really must recommend it!!!!), brushed up on our video submission skills and cracked on.

Determined to improve on 2020 I committed to RXing the wods if I could; we discussed strategy, tried to eat well, minimised alcohol, re-did wods that we felt hadn’t gone well…it all got a little bit geeky, but hey, there was a pandemic on, we had nothing better to do!

My thrusters were still mechanical, toes to bar were singles, I couldn’t do a bar muscle up and 22.5kg dumbbell snatches felt like I was lifting atlas stones…but, once the last workout was done, I had moved from bottom 20% to top 25% of my age-group…almost six thousand places higher at 1,732nd

Not likely that No Bull will be knocking on my door offering me sponsorship, but I can promise you, the cold beer felt very good that evening. I was genuinely proud of what I had achieved…and now look towards 2022 I’m keen to see if that extra year on my bodies milometer has slowed it up or pushed it forward...how great that I have a way of measuring and I am so excited to be doing it in my new box @Crossfit Slough

So that’s my story, but the reason I wanted to share it was because that very first year I almost didn’t enter, I thought I was too new, too unfit, and honestly, I was intimidated.

But looking back, I am so glad I did enter, it has genuinely changed my life.

My message to any athlete that is still deciding whether to enter is; It’s not THE Open, it’s YOUR Open. Every athlete’s experience is individual to them and where they are on their fitness journey. BUT I can promise you, while the WOD’s will hurt, you will experience camaraderie, support, joy, and pride like no-where else.

#crossfit #crossfitopen

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nathanielhoover · 3 years

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falloutcrossfit · 11 months

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New Post has been published on FallOut CrossFit - School of Elite Fitness Tri-cities, WA

New Post has been published on https://falloutcrossfit.com/2023/11/november-10-2023/

November 10, 2023

STRENGTH: Squat clean pyramid, for time,

10 Squat Cleans, by 2:00

8 Squat Cleans, by 4:00

6 Squat Cleans, by 6:00

4 Squat Cleans, by 8:00

2 Squat Cleans, by 11:00

WOD: For time,

30 x hang power cleans

20 x bar facing burpees

1000 m run

#crossfit kennewick #crossfit pasco #crossfit richland #crossfit tri cities

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paladinwife · 4 years

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ya didnt have to call me out like that man- GSHSGSJKJGJ but uh all 50 for goober :> (beatrice-santello)

@beatrice-santello @of-saints-and-demons oh god here comes Goober

1. Does your F/O have a birthmark? (or any type of freckles or beauty marks?)

None that are visible! She might have some on her body under the clothes, but none that we know about in canon. I headcanon that she has a couple of moles on her torso.

2. Is your F/O the type to volunteer to their community?

Judging by her past, which she spent fighting to protect her community, she does in her own way. She’d probably keep doing it as well, were she not trapped as an AI in the Corporation.

3. Does your F/O the type to be giving or to take?

Ignoring what I thought this question meant as first she’s more selfless than you’d think. There’s a reason she’s kind of a hero figure in the Back Streets. Even now, her anger is over the dangerousness of the anomalies and her inability to protect people. I’d say she’s more of a giving person.

4. Does your F/O have any battle scars?

There’s a couple very visible on her face. Most likely there’s some on her body as well that you just can’t see because of the bodysuit.

5. Does your F/O wear make up? (Do you think they would be open to wearing makeup if they don’t wear it daily?)

I don’t think she does, mostly because she sees it as a waste of time. The fact that she’d look great is beside the point.

6. Has your F/O ever dye their hair or worn a wig?

She hasn’t. She probably sees that as a waste of time too, but her natural hair is gorgeous either way.

7. What is your F/O fashion taste?

Sleek and maybe a bit edgy, with lots of black and red. Especially considering her signature longcoat.

8. How tall is your F/O?

Taaaall. She’s taller than every other sephirah in the game. If she’s not six feet tall, she’s pretty close.

9. What is your F/O’s blood type?

In her present form, she doesn’t have blood. Which is a really ominous statement out of context. Even when she did, I have no idea what her blood type would be.

10. When is your F/O birthday?

She doesn’t have a canon birthday, but I think sometime in late October to early November. She’s probably a Scorpio.

11. Does your F/O know how to cook? If so are they good at it?

She’s an okay cook, I think. She’s not amazing at it, but she can get by.

12. What is your F/O favorite flavor? (sweet, sour, bitter, salty and umami (savory))

It isn’t listed here, but she probably prefers spicy food over anything else, and I mean very spicy. If she’s not in actual pain, it’s not enough.

13. If your F/O could be a fan of any video game what do you think it would be?

For some reason I like the idea of her just being unfairly good at Smash. She can and will crush you. Her main is probably Ganon or something similar, heavy on offense.

14. What type of aesthetic does you F/O have?

Reeeeed. She has a clear theming color, and I feel like her aesthetic involves it a lot. Red and slightly edgy.

15. What color is your F/O eyes?

They’re a golden color. Sometimes in fanart she’s portrayed as heterochromatic because of her damaged eye.

16. Does your F/O have any tattoos? If not do they like or hate the concept of tattoos?

She doesn’t have any in canon, but I feel like she could get behind the idea. She’d probably get something in memory of her fallen comrades, as a reminder of what she’s here for and what’s at stake.

17. If you could matching tattoos what would it be?

Hmm, some kind of matching symbol to remind of us everything we’ve been through. Potentially one another’s weapons?

18. Does your F/O have any piercings?

I don’t think she does. She doesn’t hate the aesthetic, but depending on where they are they might be risky in battle, so she might not get any.

19. Is your F/O a cake or pie person?

Oooh, hard. I don’t think she’s crazy about sweets, but she’d prefer pie.

20. Is your F/O a morning or night person?

More of a night owl, I’d say. She’s just used to getting most of her work done at night, and it’s a hard habit to break.

21. Is your F/O a coffee or tea person?

Definitely a coffee person. It’s more readily available at the Corporation, and she prefers the taste. She takes hers black.

22. Is your F/O half empty or half full type of person?

She’s more of a pessimist and can maybe be a bit bitter at times. Hard to blame her, considering everything she’s gone through.

23. Does your F/O have a pet? If not in canon what do you think they would have if given the chance?

I don’t think she has one in canon, due to the peculiarities of working for the Corporation. In a AU I could see her going for a big dog, or maybe a cat.

24. Is your F/O the type to want to live in the city or live out in the country?

She’s lived in the city all her life and is used to it, but I don’t think she’d mind the space when it comes to living in the country.

25. Does your F/O like to swim?

I’m not sure she ever has, but (assuming she’s not in robot form) I could see her enjoying it. Helps keep her strong and all.

26. What harry potter house would your F/O be in? (Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin)

She’s a pretty clear shoe in for Gryffindor, especially considering her past.

27. If your F/O was in “avatar: the last air bender” what type of bender would they be? (air, water, earth, and fire)

Honestly if her design didn’t already scream firebender, the fiery personality sure does.

28. Is your F/O LGBT+?

It seems to be a pretty popular idea in the fandom that she’s some kind of wlw. I personally like to see her as bi like me.

29. Does your F/O have any artistic hobbies? (Knitting, drawing, painting, etc)

I don’t think she’s ever tried any, and she’d probably say something about just not being meant for that. Still, I wonder if she’d enjoy it if she ever did get the chance to try. Maybe just as stress relief.

30. What’s a piece of clothing your F/O is never seen without? (glasses, a necklace, hat, etc)

Her design changed as a sephirah, but that long coat she wore before was so iconic. When it comes to accessories though, she tends to keep things light.

31. What type of scent does your F/O remind you of?

Maybe some kind of warm, smokey scent. I mean I know she’s portrayed smoking a lot but maybe some kind of nice bonfire smell?

32. What’s something you see often that has little to no relation to your F/O but always reminds you of them?

She’s never used one in canon, but I could see her appreciating a good knife. Just like swords, which I absolutely do associate with her.

33. Do you have any silly nicknames or pet names for your F/O?

Goober. She probably hates that one. I’m also pretty generous with pet names, which embarrass her if they’re done in front of others, but she kinda likes them when it’s just us.

34. What does your F/O house/apartment look like? (or what do you think it looks like)

I think she’s just fine with a smaller space, just a small apartment is fine. She keeps it pretty organized, not minimalist by any means but she keeps it nice and clean.

35. What season reminds you of your F/O? (winter, spring, summer, fall)

Honestly, fall. Not just because of the colors, but I could see her liking it best.

36. Have you ever had a dream with your F/O in it?

Recently she has started appearing in my dreams. Confusingly Binah (who I’m not considering at all) was also there?

37. Does your F/O play any musical instruments?

I honestly doubt she’s ever had the chance to try, so she has no idea how. Her learning to play a saxophone though, hmm...

38. What’s a song that reminds you of your F/O when you hear?

For her as a character and not in a romantic way, Firestarter by the Prodigy. It definitely has the right heavy feel, and the fire imagery is always good for her.

Also, low key, Together Again by Janet Jackson came on earlier today, and it had me thinking about my ship with her.

39. What is your relationship like with your F/O?

Actually, really close. I’m one of the few people she feels like she can trust, and really she needs me around. I’m the only one she can lean on, and while she knows sometimes she doesn’t know how to handle emotional things, she’ll repay the debt by doing everything she can to protect me.

40. How long have you been with your F/O? (or at least been interested in them?)

I only just added her to the list in the past few days, but I’ve been thinking about her for slightly longer. Still, it hasn’t been very long.

41. Where is your F/O from? (as in born)

She’s from the Back Streets, which is a slum kind of area which is apparently pretty dangerous to live in. I’m also not sure what the city from Lobotomy Corporation is called, but it’s some kind of metropolitan area.

42. Is your F/O the type to read reviews, or just go with their gut

She definitely goes with her gut, just as a general rule. After all, her gut is all she has.

43. What does your F/O’s Saturdays usually look like?

God, a much needed break. Get some coffee, maybe get a workout in, not have to deal with the bullshit from the Corporation. Maybe have some time with me. (This is, of course, unless she just has to work on Saturdays anyway, but god I want her to have a break.)

44. What is your F/O’s most valuable possession?

It’s probably a memento from her time in the Back Streets. Something small, but she’s still pretty fiercely protective of it. In some ways, it’s a reminder of what she’s lost.

45. What’s a fad you can see your F/O taking part of?

Honestly the thought of her taking part in any fad is really funny. The closest thing I can think of is her trying crossfit or something along those lines (and even then, something tells me she wouldn’t be impressed).

46. does your F/O prefer to work alone or with a team?

You know, I feel like it’s really easy to assume she prefers to work alone, especially with how she acts in game, but I think she misses having a team of people she could really trust. I feel like she likes to work with a team, but it has to be the right team.

47. How well does your F/O know tech? (such as computers, smart phones)

She has some exposure to tech, but mostly in a Corporation setting. So some things she’s pretty used to handling, but others she has no idea what to do with.

48. What’s some advice your F/O would tell you?

My first thought was she would tell me to hold on to what I believe in. I think in many ways she’s ashamed of not being able to protect others and the situation she’s currently in, so that’s what she wants to say the most.

49. What animal reminds you of your F/O?

I know she’s been compared to various kinds of big cats before, but maybe a bear? Like for both the vicious reputation and the protectiveness.

50. What color reminds you of your F/O?

Well, considering how strong the color theming is, it feels wrong to say anything but red.

51. What’s the most interesting fact you know about your F/O?

So we’re limited in how much we know about her in canon, so my fact might be kind of lame. But while she’s usually depicted wielding Mimicry (Nothing There’s weapon), she uses many more than that in her Sephirah Meltdown. They include, from what I remember, weapons from Spider Bud, Burrowing Heaven, Silent Orchestra, Apocalypse Bird, One Sin and Hundreds of Good Deeds, Mountain of Smiling Bodies, King of Greed, and Judgment Bird. In fact, I’m pretty sure she touches on most of the aleph-class weapons. Of those, my favorite one that she wields is Twilight (from Apocalypse Bird).

#gebura tag tbd #hoo boy #Anonymous

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garden-of-succulents · 5 years

Text

@bardofspades suggested we #wipitgood, which is to say, since Check Please is ending soon, clean out our WIP folders with all the OMGCP fic we never got around to finishing.

This is my first WIP to post. Trigger warning: Child sexual abuse

A bit of backstory: Curtis O’Brien, my OC, fills the same space, more or less, as real-life hockey player Sheldon Kennedy, who revealed as an NHL player that he was sexually abused by his hockey coach when he was a teenager. He traded off the ability to sue the pants off the Canadian Hockey League for the ability to force them to implement training and policies aimed at preventing and reporting child abuse. After he got his PTSD somewhat under control, he became a full-time advocate against child abuse.

My headcanon is that Kent likewise suffered abuse from his Bantam coach, and has spent a long time determinedly not talking about it. I wanted to write a fic where, before he did start talking about it, someone (in this case, Andy) got him to talk to the one man who’s an expert on what it’s like to be an NHL player out as a survivor. This piece really stops before any of that actual stuff takes place. You just get, you know, Kent being awkward, and everyone being giant nerds about public health. Oh, and the claim that Cummerbund was Andy's dog before she moved to LV, when I later determined that Kent and Andy adopted him together.

---

Andy met Curtis O'Brien when he came out of Customs, smiling her customer-service smile with a card on his name on it but feeling a bit silly. He was easy to pick out of the crowd: an ex-hockey player in a suit, a tall man with a slightly jerky walk who scanned the crowd for her. When he approached she tried to upgrade to the relaxed cheer she tried to copy off rich people who had never been afraid of getting fired, transcending Director of the Aces Foundation to the offhanded, casually powerful just Andy. She couldn't think of him as a prominent expert in his field or the board member of national-level organizations in two countries or a consultant on an important initiative key to her job's success; she just had to smile and welcome a guest to her home. He clutched his checked baggage when she offered to take it from him at the carousel, so she just led him out to short-term parking.

Kent was back from morning workout when they arrived at the house, so he faked calm like Andy and shook Curtis's hand with the hockey-player head dip and mumbled greeting, which Curtis returned. Andy wrestled his suitcase to their guest room, having pounced on it when she parked the car, and invited him to make himself comfortable.

"Nice house," he said, but apparently there wasn't any kind of hidden message behind it. It was a nice house, for a strictly median definition of "nice"; Kent's teammates claimed mansions outside city limits and he'd left a penthouse taking up half a floor to come here, but nothing differentiated their house on the street from any other three-bedroom split level on the block. Its yard was neatly xeriscaped, its carpets clean, appliances undamaged, and she could afford the rent, which had long been the height of Andy's domestic ambitions, but a lot of people didn't think it befitted Kent's dignity or whatever.

"Nice dog," Curtis added, bending over to let Cummerbund wash his hand enthusiastically. Speaking of things that didn't fit Kent's dignity—but the dachshund had been Andy's first.

"Yeah, he's a big suck-up," Andy said. "Smell a fresh mark, hey boy? I bet he'll even scratch your belly for you."

"Don't be hard on him," Curtis said, scratching behind Cummerbund's ears. "He's a good boy."

Cummerbund sat under Curtis's chair and looked beseeching during lunch, while the humans ate cobb salad and made smalltalk. Andy was friends with some of the CWHL players Curtis did an annual fundraiser with. Kent thought one of the kids on Curtis's local WHL team was a good pick for Team USA for World Juniors. Curtis's officemate was doing Crossfit and using the supplements one of Kent's sponsors made; he was training for a marathon. Easy stuff.

From the tension in his shoulders Andy thought Kent would leave it there and move on for the afternoon, claim he was letting their guest settle in. Instead he grimaced in a friendly way and said, "You know, tomorrow will be the first time I've actually sat through one of your guys' trainings."

Curtis reached down to scratch Cummerbund's head. His movements were quiet, but still betrayed a lot of energy, like he was used to slowly leaking stress around the edges while keeping his eye on the puck. "It's getting rarer that anyone lasts very long in hockey without taking one of our classes," he said. "Almost everybody who works with kids does."

"Yeah," Kent said, his hands twitching where he kept them held down on the table, like he wanted to gesture. "I had to, I read the material and took the certificate exam online? I couldn't—I went, like, the morning of it, but I had to leave, so I caught up after." He paused, lifted a hand to scratch the back of his neck, and admitted, "You came to my team in Juniors to give a talk, and I pretended I was sick. Hid at home, got one of my friends to tell Coach I couldn't make it. They scratched me for a game." He was red by the time he'd finished saying it, reaching for his water bottle and fiddling with his lid, didn't look up; instead he picked a cube of cheese off his salad and offered it down to Cummerbund.

"Hard stuff to deal with," Curtis said oddhandedly, though high spots of colour were appearing in his cheeks. He was trying his best to downplay it, though. "Some people gotta take their own time."

"Yeah," Kent said, and blinked, like he'd expected a scolding that hadn't come. He shook his shoulders out a little. "Yeah. It's... yeah. I can't deal with... I couldn't, for a long time."

Curtis stayed quiet, looking at him, as Kent suffered through silence, until it seemed at Kent had no more words to summon up; then he turned to Andy and asked, without fuss, "You're organizing all the people coming in tomorrow, correct?"

"Yeah," she said, curling a hand around Kent's under the table and trying to pick up the conversational ball. "I, uh... yeah. We've got the researchers and the Children's Services people, and some state athletic associations, about ten different sports, and uh, we're expecting about twenty coaches and other people from the Four Corners area."

Curtis raised his eyebrows. "I thought you couldn't get steady numbers from them?"

"Well actually," Andy said, "I have a friend? She's indigenous Mexican and she's got some friends at the Hualapai reservation, and they invited us down to this inter-tribal baseball tournament in Phoenix last month, so I ended up meeting a lot of people there, some of them people I'd been emailing the last six months. But it was making the in-person contact that really got them to commit."

#omgcp #wipitgood #stuff i wrote #kent parson #andy scarlatti #csa tw #child abuse tw

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lobanhart · 4 years

Note

13,29,45 for the asks please? 😇💖

Thank you, dear Shell! 💛✨

13. Do you have good relations with your family?

Yes, we are very close, despite the fact that we live in different cities. We try to protect each other and support each other in difficult situations.

29. What are your hobbies?

I love drawing, writing fanfiction, horseback riding and rollerblading. I used to do crossfit and tried to learn the guitar. I miss the first hobby, the second I do not.

45. Your personality type

INFP-Т Mediator

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cecilspeaks · 5 years

Text

156 - The Trouble with Time

‘tis better to have loved and lost Than to be slowly eaten whilst still alive. There are, on the whole, Many things worse than having loved and lost. Welcome to Night Vale.

Well, listeners, we have all been grappling with the same problem. Time has become normal in Night Vale, or as normal as time ever is. Time is pretty weird everywhere. As a result of this shift in our experience of time, none of us are remaining the same age for centuries anymore. We are aging one year per year, one month per month, one second per precious second. Every moment that passes our skin is less supple. Our mind is less pliant. Our joints ache just a little more.

The entire town is in an uproar, as we are all coming to terms with the idea of getting older. Gym memberships have soared. Everyone is talking at the same time and they’re all recommending green juice diets to each other. The City Council has tried to make ageing illegal, but it turns out this would be unconstitutional as the Supreme Court decided that slow deterioration of the mind and body is an American right.

I myself am not immune to these worries. When I think about what my life would be like after Carlos or, what his life would be like after me… These are the kinds of fears that can’t be shaken off by the light of day. That linger, even after all the shadows of evening have faded. Is love a gift in a finite world? I’d like to think so, but oh, my stomach is in knots. I’m sure your sis too.

And now a word from our sponsors. Afraid of ageing? Terrified of the tides of time? Spooked by the sequential nature of existence? Stop looking at the calendar and moaning. Sure, it may be cathartic to start every morning by picking up your alarm clock and shouting: “You are a murderer! Your numbers are murder weapons! I am the murder victim!” But it’s not helping you out. Instead, try lotion. Just lotion those limbs. Lotion that face. Got any other parts? Lotion them too. Rubbing lotion on yourself won’t stop time. It won’t end the inevitability of death. But when you die, you will be silky smooth, and folks will whispers: “Why, it doesn’t look like they’ve aged a single day.” Buy lotion now and we will send you a box of other things that will not stop you from dying, but will make you feel a little better on your way out the door. Such as fish oil pills, a pair of running shoes, and books with titles like “Get Happy Now, or Else”. Lotion – you can’t stop ageing, so settle on mitigating the surface appearance of ageing. And this has been ma word from our sponsors.

In a new press release, Night Vale resident Leah Shapiro announces the Mariam McDonald memoriam fund. This fund, in honor of the recently deceased Mariam, will be used to finally fulfil Mariam’s lifelong dream, a dream she did not live long enough to see come to fruition: the removal of all sand from the Sand Wastes. Mariam hated the sand, thought it looked frightfully untidy, and that it made a bad first impression for folks just coming to town. She could often be seen when she was alive out with her broom, dutifully sweeping the dunes into her dustpan, and depositing the result into a black trashbag. Obviously, this was slow going, but Leah has vowed to continue Mariam’s quest. “It’s a stupid wish, a real dumb one,” said Leah. “I hate it! I hate it so much, but I don’t know, it’s what Mariam wanted. And so I feel obligated for some reason to keep after it. God, this sucks!” Leah concluded. According to the press release, the Mariam McDonald Memorial Fund currently contains 3 dollars, and is not taking donations. Well, isn’t that the feelgood story of the year? Good luck, Leah. I do hope you get rid of all that sand. Mariam was right, sand is very untidy.

And now for the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner. So today, we will be discussing how to tell whether something is a person. Here are simple tests that can be done at home with whatever you find in your parents’ cabinets when they don’t know you’re looking. Does it grow? It’s a person. Does it bend? It’s a person. Is it square or similar to a square? That’s a person. Nodes or nodules? Person. A frank and enticing laugh? Person. Can it hold liquid? Person. Is it a dog? Yup, that’s a person too. That ooze at the back of your closet? Not a person. We don’t know what hat is, best not to touch it, best not to think on it. Perhaps it is the thinking that gives it its power. This has been the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.

In response to the current “time is normal” crisis, many companies are moving in to offer services to alleviate ageing. Arby’s is suggesting that a regular diet of roast beef has been shown to extend life expectancy by up to 20 years. When they were asked who showed that and how they did so, Arby’s kind of mumbled and sad that they would have those sources for us soon, but in the meantime, come on down and buy yourself a meal.

A number of new gyms have opened up in town, promising advanced workouts that will keep the body and mind tiptop. There is an LA Fitness, also a 26 Hour Fitness, which promises workouts at any time day or night, plus two bonus hours every day that are only experienced by members. And local legend Louie Blasko has started what he calls a Crossfit gym, but it appears to be just the burned out remains of his old music store, untouched since the night of the fire. “Oh yeah,” Louie said. “You can really get a good workout in here, believe me.” His eyes flicked back and forth nervously.

A different angle is being taken by newcomer to town, Casper Rhodes. Casper says that he has conquered the ultimate obstacle: death itself. He does this by freezing the brain upon death until it can be resuscitated by advanced technologies of the future. “Cryogenics means never having to say ‘I’m dead’,” Casper declared, whirling around the red cape he wears and wiggling his eyebrows. “Oh yes, this is a completely real technology. Once you die, we simply and safely remove your bran and freeze it in here.” He indicated the disused grain silo on the edge of town. “That thing is full of brains,” he said. “And each of those brains will be reanimated to a bright and beautiful future hundreds of years from now, and you can too, for a mere 10,000 dollars. Payable upfront, no refunds offered.”

Suspicious journalists asked if they could take a peek in the grain silo and see if it was actually full of brains. But Mr. Rhodes blocked the door with his body. “Uh oh uh,” he said. “Opening the door would mess up the, uh, freezing process. Uh, wouldn’t want that to happen. You just have to trust us.” Hmmmmm.

And now traffic. It’s looking pretty clear on the roads right now. There isn’t a single car to be seen. The parking lots are barren, the highways are mere doodles of the gods without the roaring machines that give them purpose. Where did every car disappear to? We wonder this as we walk to work. Walk to school. Learning the limits and the capacity of our own legs, magnificent machines attached to our own bodies that we had long ago discounted, but now can only propel ourselves by the length of them. And then again and again, one after another. The hours pass and we gradually pass through them, and where are the cars? Did they ever exist? The factories where cars once were built are now full of robots with no purpose, arms ending in specialized tools and drills, all designed to construct a thing that no longer is there to be constructed. And so they bob and weave for nothing. In this way, perhaps, it could be said that they are dancing. To take purpose from a movement is to suggest the possibility of art within it, that perhaps the movement could have meaning merely for itself, but I ask again: where are the cars? Where did they go? Every other form of transportation still exists. Planes still claw their way into the stratosphere, while boats wobble on churning seas. Motorcycles even, given the compete freedom of the highway, tearing into the turns and straightaways at dangerous speeds, but no cars. Was it something we did? Is this our fault? At least there’s no traffic, I guess, and we’re all getting a little more time outdoors which is nice and, oh – Nevermind. The cars are back, all of them. Aaaall at once, driverless and speeding. Well, it’s nice to have them back. This has been traffic.

And now for corrections. In a previous editorial aired on this station, a reporter indicated his belief that peanut butter is a type of rock. That reporter sincerely believed, based on a half remembered lesson from elementary school that he now realizes might have actually been a cartoon he watched, that peanut butter along with sedimentary, metamorphic, and ignius was in fact one of the main types of rock. This reported harbored no ill intent when he lectured for what may or may not have been two hours about his belief that peanut butter was a type of rock. This well meaning reporter may have ignored several calls from his scientist husband, who was trying to get through to correct this completely understandable mistake. But the reporter was on such a roll that he didn’t even notice the calls coming in. Which could happen to anyone. The reporter may have even printed up posters for local schools showing the types of rock, with peanut butter prominently included. If that is the case, these schools should feel free to return the erroneous posters, or keep them, if they feel it might be in some way educational. In any case, the reporter in question regrets the error and now amidst that maybe, peanut butter isn’t a type of rock. Maybe that’s true. Decide for yourself. This has been corrections.

Casper Rhodes and his Quality Cryogenics Corporation continue to advertise their dubious service all over town. He has bought a billboard next to the Waterfront Recreation Area declaring: “A new life awaits you in the future”, with a picture of a disembodied brain that is somehow both smiling an giving a thumbs up, despite its lack of hands and mouth. The Quality Cryogenics Corporation strung a banner along the top of the disused grain silo on the edge of town saying the name of the company. Except the word “quality” has been misspelled, as has “corporation”. Listeners, I am not one to editorialize, not after the recent peanut butter debacle we’ve heard so much about. But it does not seem to me that this Mr. Rhodes is on the up and up. Nothing about this strikes me as a scientific operation, and trust me, I know from scientific operations. Despite these warning signs, a few people have in fact taken them up on their offer, including weekday shift managers at the Ralphs, Charlie Bear, whose lifetime ambition of becoming a ghost has recently curdled into a frantic fear of death. “I thought we had eternity. Now every minute spent is a minute lost,” Charlie said to me when I asked him if they had any more cilantro. So that was a bummer on my afternoon. I must warn everyone not to buy into this Casper charlatan’s lies. Cryogenically freezing brains is not going to save you. In fact, it is time for me to bust this scam wide open. I will sneak into the disused grain silo, and I will tel you what is inside. Then all of us will know the truth.

As I head over there, Let’s all head over To the weather.

[“Revolution Lover” by Left At London http://leftatlondon.com]

OK, listeners I’m.. hold on. This portable recording rig is just a little heavy. Whoo! I have got to get back to my weight training. I was deadlifting as much as 15 pounds, and now look at me.

OK, I am looking up at the towering disused grain silo on the edge of town. The silo that one Casper Rhodes would claim contains cryogenically frozen brains, destined to be reawakened in the future. Well, I’m sure Mr. Rhodes, but allow me to just check in on it myself. The door to the silo is locked with a padlock and heavy chain. Fortunately, I don’t go anywhere without my Special Reporter’s welding torch. It comes in handy more than you’d think. [welding noises] And off it goes. Another win for the first amendment. Listeners, I am opening the heavy metal doors [creaking], and inside it is dark even in this late afternoon sun. I am stepping in. [voice echoing] My eyes are adjusting and oh my god! Listeners, oh my god! The tanks are full, frozen intact human brains, attached to various support equipment, it is all completely clean and seemingly running well, this – this isn’t a scam! The great Casper Rhodes is telling the truth! Death is now voluntary, aging is meaningless! We will all see the future! We will ALL see the future!

Listeners, I must go, I must talk to my husband. We could be together forever, don’t you see? A new world awaits us in the future! I must talk to Carlos, I must! [equipment drops]

Today’s proverb: On one hand, you have skin. On the other hand, you don’t- oh man, what happened to that hand?!!

#welcome to night vale #wtnv #wtnv transcirpts #episode 156 #the trouble with time

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merel-puppy-bechtold · 5 years

Text

Interview with Merel Bechtold

Interview with Merel Bechtold by Mandy Jacobs for the MaYaN Newsletter

She is maybe small in size but there is no way you can miss her! Merel Bechtold has rocked the stage with her guitar on many MaYaN and Delain shows. She is not afraid to make funny faces on stage, she even loves these pictures and with her positive energy makes everyone smile.

What can I say, we just love the small girl with a big personality!

Hey Merel. We will start when you are ready.

Merel: Yoooo I get a glass of water and then I'm ready.

I have fruit fusion water (no additions or calories but still the flavor).

Merel: Chill!! Ready

How are you doing?

Merel: I'm great, thank you! How are you? :)

It's your interview sweetheart ;) I'm happy as always! When did you start playing the guitar?

Merel: I started playing the guitar when I was 14/15 years old.

That's not so long before you stated to play professional, it's it?

Merel: Ehm well what's professional? Haha! I think the first time I played with a known band was in 2013 with Delain.

Hahaha I think you have a real talent. Did you take a lot of lessons? Merel: Oh well, thank you. I had lessons for 1,5 years from a local guitar teacher and his name was Jurgen. I believe he was a really good teacher. Also a fun fact is that Roel (bass) graduated with him from the Conservatory. After that I had lessons of Menno Gootjes (Focus) on the Rockacademy.

What is your favorite guitar?

Merel: My favorite guitar is the white vanderMeij guitar. Its my first custom and it sounds and looks amazing, so its hard to beat. Though I'm loving and exploring my new guitar right now. Its a black 6 string vanderMeij guitar. Very shiny and beautiful! And the maple neck sounds amazing :)

You said something about the Rockacademy did you study there as a full time student?

Merel: Yes I did unfortunately. Don't really want to dive into that haha. But Menno is great though! Love him.

That's okay :) Do you also play other instruments?

Merel: I used to play the piano when I was 6 till 12, but I wasn't great and never really got into that. I guess it was not my cup of tea. Though it helps me with understanding music theory. I still really would like to learn drumming and singing.

So actually the answer is no, I don't play any other instruments.

Hahaha that is a very good answer! You also play guitar in Purest of pain and I saw you are even starting a new band called Dear Mother, how do you combine that with MaYaN?

Merel: That's correct. MaYaN is a band that's easily to combine since we don't play all the time. Though in the past it was harder when I was still with Delain. Also I don't see any troubles combining MaYaN with Dear Mother :)

You quit Delain isn't it?

Merel: Yes

Can I ask you why you quit?

Merel: Of course! I wasn't following my heart anymore and I was very limited in my abilities and stopped growing as a guitarist and musician. So I felt trapped and needed to start thinking about what I want to do. I had a great time with Delain, learned many things and I'm super grateful for that. Also I made friends for life and have memories that nobody can take away from me. Dear Mother is a band that I have dreamed of for a few years now. It's basically my great escape. Creating new music gives me such a great feeling and I'm learning so many new things. Its fantastic. Also playing with MaYaN is challenging, exciting, great musicians, a lovely family and great fans. I can't ask for more.

When can we expect more information about Dear Mother?

Merel: This year :)

Great! You are a very busy lady and now you're also on Patreon! Can you tell me what that is?

Merel: It's something that I wanted to do for a while and now I'm free to do so. I'm creating weekly vlogs. In these vlogs I'm filming my musical journey. Every week is different, so every video is unique. It could be that I'm on tour with the MaYaN family, writing new music, recording or something else. It's a lot of fun! In the last video I show everybody how I started creating a new riff. And in the next video I turned that idea into a track and sharing the process of that is very cool instead of only being able to enjoy the end result like seeing a show or listening to an album. Now you are able to follow the whole process and the struggles along the way. Also I'm doing a monthly live session in our private Patreon group and all Patrons can share their questions or do suggestions for me to feature in the next video. It's very interactive and the response on the vlogs is great so far! I'm sharing these moments and previews. And the Patrons can comment on the videos and ask my questions or suggestions for me to feature in the next vlog. So it's very interactive and a lot of fun! You can find more about my Patreon under:

http://www.patreon.com/join/merelbechtold

Can you tell me a funny story about something that happed with MaYaN?

Merel: Oh boy. There are many fun moments. And some bad events can be funny afterwards. But I guess that every tour story is fun right? So Mark tries to make me feel awkward, with success. In a very playful way though. It's his thing you know. So during one of the last shows he licked my face from my chin up to the top of my face, whilst I was playing. So that happened. It was very impulsive, wet and hilarious. I don't want to inspire others with this story though!! haha

Did you get your revenge?

Merel: I always get my revenge :) And so the game continues...

What are your hobbies besides music?

Merel: I find this a hard question to answer, because there are many things that I like, but I wouldn't call any of them my hobby. I love to travel, explore national parks, hiking, street food, cooking, climbing, crossfit. Other than that I love everything that gives me a thrill. I used to be massively good on a snowboard, so there is definitely this passion for all kind of extreme sports. Also I love my motorcycle.

I saw a lot of motorcycle photos, when did you start riding a motor?

Merel: Since I was six years old I wanted to do motorcross, but it didn't happen. Last summer I got my drivers license and bought a super sexy motorbike. I'm fascinated by the caferacer style and especially scramblers. At some point I really would love to build my own.

Do you also go on holidays on your motorbike?

Merel: Not yet. I don't have biker friends. So hopefully I will find the right people for that purpose at some point.

What does your prefect vacation look like?

Merel: Roadtrip!! I love to travel in a duo, discover new places, national parks, skip cities, no western tourists. A balance of relaxing, activities, eating and traveling.

Are you rather active or lazy?

Merel: I guess I am good at both. I rather be active, but it doesn't always work out haha.

What is the craziest thing you have ever done?

Merel: Oefff. I always do crazy things and up in crazy situations. But there is one thing that stands out. And that is peeing out of a window of a car on the German motorway. Bare in mind that on most parts there is no speed limit. The full story is that I needed to pee really badly. And I mean really really bad. But the sound guy which was also the driver (Delain), only wanted to stop at a gas station. In Germany it means that a gas station can take up 100 km til the next one. I really couldn't hold it... So I crawled in the front, opened a window and sticked my butt out of the window and peed. Thanks to the wind it was still hurting the next day haha.

There are not many female musicians in the metal world, why do you think that is?

Merel: Maybe it's because there are not that many role models. But for me music it's not about gender. And I really don't care if it's a guy or a girl behind an instrument. To be honest I don't understand the fascination of it. For me it's never about gender. It's about playing together, creating something to be proud of and expressing yourself. It even annoys me if somebody says 'you play guitar very well for a girl'. It's such a strange thing to hear.

You just play the guitar very well. You fit pretty good in the male dominated Metal world, do you have any advice for the female musicians?

Merel: Haha thank you :) Personally I actually don't see it that way. Like a 'male dominated metal world'. For me music and especially metal is a way to express myself and to feel home. Playing in a band is like being with a family and expressing yourself together. And sharing your dreams with other great people within the band or out in the crowd. So my only advice for being a female musician is to just express yourself and enjoy creating and playing music.

Well spoken! Is there anything else you want to tell the readers?

Merel: Yes! Thank you for being on the MaYaN newsletter, it means a lot to all of us. I really hope to see you around at a show at some point. Thank you!!

#merel bechtold #actual puppy #MaYaN #Interview

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