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the-shadow-of-atlantis · 3 years

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Wait You're A What?

Tagging: @melyaliz @lizartgurl @sea-quinn @coffee-randomness @speedypan @gobydana @uncpanda

A/N Britney and the color coordinated triplets belong to @melyaliz Harper horde belongs to @speedypan

Read More of the Next Gen Here

"Why's Uncle Dicks cop car here?" Aquata asked as she stepped out of the car.

"I dunno." Shaylees shrugged and looked over at their father who was helping their siblings climb out. "Dad?"

"I know your uncle is investigating something. Maybe he needed your mother for help." Kaldur said as he helped the last one out of the car.

The twins shared a look before quickly rushing into the house.

"I'm telling you this is too calculated to be an animal. Sure their attacks can be precise but also there seems to be sighs of… oh hi girls." Annabella quickly glanced at the clock and sighed. "How was school?"

"Good." Shaylees responded.

"What's going on?" Aquata inquired seeing all the files spread across the kitchen counter.

"There's been a string of deaths recently but there's something odd about the deaths." Dick furrowed his brow. "There's a good chance I'm gonna have to hand this over to the team. So be ready you guys have a mission tonight."

"Tonight?" Aquata asked, her shoulders slightly slumping.

It had been the first week back at school and Tyler had really wanted to take her out on a date to celebrate. Great… she really hoped this wouldn't ruin things. He was a pretty great guy.

"I gotta go make a call." Aquata said as she turned to leave towards her room.

"Hey Aquata, I was about to call you." Tyler said as soon as he answered.

"Oh?" Aquata felt her heart drop.

"Yeah hey listen I'm sorry I really wanted to go out tonight but something came up some family trouble." Tyler sighed.

"Oh thank God." Aquata breathed then realized how that might have sounded. "I mean it's okay! Something came up for me too that's why I was calling. Now I don't feel so guilty for canceling. How about if everything calms down by Sunday we could do lunch?"

"That sounds great." Tyler said and Aquata could almost hear his smile.

"Great, see you Sunday then." Aquata said though for some reason she couldn't bring herself to hang up.

She felt butterflies flutter around in her stomach and she was glad she was alone as she was pretty sure she was blushing like crazy.

"This is nice." Tyler whispered.

"Yeah it is." Aquata mumbled.

Faintly Aquata heard someone else talk on the other end of the phone making Tyler sigh.

"I have to go." He whispered.

"Me too." Aquata responded. "See you soon."

"Of course." Tyler said and then the line disconnected.

"Sooo how did it go?" Shaylees asked as Aquata walked out into the hall.

"Great actually, something came up for him too so we're postponing till Sunday."

"Oh nice." Said Shaylee as she gave her a knowing smile.

"Oh stop it." Aquata said, playfully shoving her sister. "Come on, let's get to the cave already."

The briefing room was quiet as the twins and their cousin Britney sat there waiting for their teammates. Their mother and uncle stood at front, both of them going through the tablet that now held all the files. It was strange seeing their mother in uniform, it was moments like these where she really resembled grandpa Bruce and Uncle Damian. Aquata had just started spinning in her chair when the door opened and in came the horde.

"Sorry someone was taking too long to get their hair done." Eric said, smacking Collin upside the head.

They quickly took their seats and Aquata waited for the briefing to start. Except it didn't and a few moments later the triplets came in. Okay then this was probably a serious mission. Everyone took their seats and the room went silent again.

"For the past two months the police has been dealing with a string of deaths and they can't figure out what's causing it. At this point they think it's an animal considering the wounds but I'm not quite sure." Annabella began and the screen behind her turned on and showed tons of pictures of all the victims.

"Ew." May squeaked quietly.

Aquata wrinkled her nose a bit but leaned forward to get a better look. She could see why police thought it could be an animal the bodies were riddled with puncture wounds like a dog bite. But these were much too big to be a dog.

"Why do you think it's not an animal?" Collin asked.

"The attacks are too precise and happening just on the outskirts of the city near forested areas. Almost like it knows that the attack will be blamed on an animal. So I'm not risking any of my workers if there's a slight chance this thing isn't what the police say it is."

"The attacks are also close to full moons." Dick added and everyone looked puzzled.

"You think it's a werewolf." Aquata asked deadpanned, though her stomach seemed to churn a bit.

For the past three months she'd been dating Tyler. And the more time she spent with him the more she was convinced he was a werewolf. She never said anything, never asked, hell she had her own secret to keep from him. So she waited to see if he was ever ready to tell her. This couldn't have been him though.

Her head spun as she tried to think of the times they would hang out. Any sign that maybe he was bad. But no he would mainly skip on full moon nights, never anything leading up. She could almost hear her grandfather and uncles voices in her head.

Focus, find a pattern.

A pattern. There in the bite marks.

"You have something to share Aquata?" Her mother asked, yanking the girl from her thoughts.

Aquata glanced around realizing that everyone was staring at her. Her mother didn't look upset with the fact that Aquata had basically zoned out. Instead she looked expectly at her daughter waiting to see what insight she might provide.

"I think you might be right about it being a werewolf or something similar. The bite marks, there's always one on the left shoulder. It's the deepest of all the bites it's also close to heart. I think whoever is doing this is trying to make more. And I think we're looking at the failed test subjects. I think they're going back and killing whoever didn't complete the transformation, making it look like an animal attack."

Her mother smiled and turned to her brother. "You owe me dinner."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, we still need to figure out if it is what we think it is." Dick countered, though his eyes shined with amusement.

"Yeah okay. Okay well with that insight this is how it's going to go down. Red Arrow, Blue Arrow, and Red Willow, you guys will take the woods surrounding the areas that the attacks have happened. Try to spot any tracks that seem suspicious and where they might lead.

Red, Green, and Blue you guys will take the westside while Tempest, Cyclone, and Finch take the eastside of the buildings and houses that are near the forest. You two will start from opposite sides and meet in the middle. Check every building, alley, and anything abandoned looking fro any suspicious activity or victims.

Nightwing and I are going to be close by. As soon as one of the teams spots something we will be on our way. Understood.”

Everyone nodded in response. “Very well let's go.”

The girls raced through the roof tops occasionally stopping to glance through windows and sunroofs to see if there was anything out of the ordinary. So far every building was empty except for the one where Riddler, Penguin, and Calenderman were playing poker.

“Anything?” Aquata asked through the coms as she leaped to the next building.

“Woods are clear so far.” Blue Arrow said.

“And a lot of these buildings are surprisingly empty.” Red responded.

“Yeah we’re-“ Aquata halted when she heard shouting coming from the other side of the building they were standing on.

“Cyclone?” Her mothers voice came in.

Aquata signaled to her cousin and sister to be quiet as they carefully approached the edge of the building and peeked over the side. There in the alleyway were four figures. A rather large man one was standing over a girl who was sobbing uncontrollably while two slightly smaller men were standing several feet away.

“Marcus stop this, you know this won't have a good ending.” One of the smaller men shouted and Aquata recognized Tyler’s voice.

“You're right it won't have a good ending for you.” Marcus growled and lunged towards Tyler and his companion.

Without thinking Aquata jumped off the building in the direction of Marcus. She whistled sharply as she plummeted to the ground. Immediately Marcus glanced at her confused only to receive a hard kick in the face. Quickly rolling out of the way Aquata glanced over to see the girl disappear in a soft blue light, great that means her sister got her. Pulling out her water-bearers she formed the water into swords and quickly froze it in place.

“Might I suggest you bite into something that’s a little more dead. There’s a nice restaurant not too far from here that serves a very good filet mignon.” Aquata said keeping him distracted however Marcus simply growled at her. “I'll take that as a no.”

Britney dropped down beside her pulling out her own weapon. “Seriously, you couldn’t wait for us to plan something first?”

“I have a plan. Take out the big bad wolf.”

Marcus growled again and charged but before Aquata could strike Tyler rushed in and shoved Marcus into a nearby wall.

“Aquata?!” He asked standing in front of her.

“Cyclone.” Aquata answered automatically.

“What?”

“Watch out.” Aquata sidestepped her boyfriend and sliced at Marcus' arm who howled in pain.

“You’re a hero?” Tyler asked kicking Marcus towards his companion who Aquata finally identified as Cason. Cason quickly got Marcus in a choke hold.

“You really want to have this conversation right now?” Aquata questioned as she rushed over to Cason, her arms sparkling with electricity. “Let him go unless you wanna get shocked.”

Cason did as he was told and Aquata quickly sent a charge through Marcus' body making him go limp.

“Okay, now you may continue.” Aquata sighed, running her hand over her face.

Tyler was about to say something when two different gusts of wind rushed through the alley. The horde and the triplets showed up and Aquata almost wanted to bash her own head into a wall. Tyler stared at her wide eyed.

“You're all heroes?” He asked.

“Yup and I’m the leader, and sorry who are you again?” Collin said, holding his hand out.

“Tyler, my boyfriend.”

“Wait, he's the one going around killing people?” Collin asked, taking his hand back.

“No idiot the guy passed out is the one killing people.”

“Speaking of killing.” Shaylee said, appearing beside Aquata. “This girl is still alive.”

“Why does she look dead then?” Cason asked.

“Sleeping spell she wouldn’t stop freaking out.”

“Does she have any bite marks?” Tyler asked, trying to get a good look at the body.

“No first thing I checked. Girl got lucky but what do we do with her?”

“Erase her memory.” Annabella sighed as she approached the group with Dick right behind her. “Right now that’s the best option for her. I also said to radio me and we would come to take over.”

Aquata winced slightly yup that one was on her. Marcus suddenly tried to lunge at Aquata but her mother quickly stood in front of her and growled.

“Stand down.” Her voice boomed and Marcus halted his face full of confusion as to why his body obeyed.

Blue magic swirled around Marcus and suddenly he was bound in chains. Tyler and Cason stared at Annabella wide eyed with fear.

“How…” Tyler whispered, unsure of what exactly to ask. However Dick cut in.

“I'm guessing you guys have also been trying to catch this guy for a while.”

“Yes. Our pack is nearby. We're suppose to take him in for a trial.” Tyler said composing himself.

“Call your pack then and get this sorted. Right now the police still believe this is just a strange animal attack.” Annabella said. “However we are going to expect an update. And we’re taking the girl to make sure she is taken care of”

“Um okay.” Tyler said unsure of what to make of this whole situation.

Annabella smiled warmly at him. “Don't worry we can go over this when we're not holding a rabid werewolf prisoner.”

“Right right.” Tyler muttered, rubbing his head. Aquata could almost see all the questions racing around in there.

He locked eyes with her and Aquata could only bring herself to mouth the words we’ll talk later. After that they gathered the girl and the two groups went their own way.

Benched that’s what Aquata was after the stunt she pulled on the mission. And extra training lectures run by her Uncle Damian, though the joke was on her mother Aquata actually liked her uncle's lectures. The only downside, the lectures started immediately and Uncle Damian had a strict no phones policy. So by the end of her lecture on Saturday her phone was filled with messages by Tyler.

It was all pretty much the same thing he wanted to talk. In response Aquata simply sent her address because on top of being benched she was also grounded. By the time she got back home Tyler was there pacing.

“Hey.” Aquata said softly as she got out of her Uber.

“Hey.” Tyler said slightly startled.

They stood there looking at each other awkwardly.

“I've been trying to get in contact with you all day. And then I was like well let me text her sister only to realize I don't have your sisters number. Then I thought to come to your place only to realize I also don’t know where you live… well until now.”

“I know, I know sorry. I got in trouble for that stunt I pulled last night and got sent to my uncles for some training lectures.” Aquata explained quickly.

“Oh, okay yeah… training lectures… hero.” Tyler muttered. “So those times you’ve postponed dates that’s because you’ve been off being a hero.”

“Not entirely. Sometimes it has been family stuff.” Aquata winced slightly. “Are you mad?”

“Mad?” Tyler asked looking at her confused. “Why would I be mad? No, I’m just… shocked. My girlfriend is a freaking superhero. How cool is that?!”

Aquata couldn’t help but laugh suddenly. “This coming from a guy who can transform into a werewolf.”

“How long have you known that?” Tyler asked, his voice suddenly quiet.

“Since we met.” She answered honestly.

“What?! And you never said anything??”

“I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. Also no offense but you're pretty terrible at hiding it.”

“Its the hair isn’t it.”

“Yeah you shed like crazy.” Aquata giggled.

“It doesn’t scare you?” Tyler asked, his voice was trying to use curiosity to mask the fear.

“If anything it's pretty hot.” Aquata said truthfully, taking a step closer. She couldn’t help but smile as he began to blush.

“If I had known you would take this so well I would have told you sooner.” Tyler whispered.

“Well I get it. I usually dont tell my partners I’m a hero on the first date.”

“Yeah no that’s definitely a second date kind of thing.” Tyler smirked, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“You are such a dork.” Aquata smiled, closing the distance to kiss him.

Someone behind her cleared their throat and Tyler nearly jumped out of his skin. Aquata turned around to see her mother.

“You're still grounded missy.” She said but her stern voice didn't match the playfulness in her eyes. “Tyler, why don't you stay for dinner. We can talk more privately inside.”

Tyler cleared his throat. “Thank, thank you Mrs. Durham. I’d be happy to.”

Annabella nodded and turned to head inside the house.

“So um what exactly is your mom?” Tyler whispered.

“It's a long story.” Aquata said, taking his hand. “Would you like to find out?”

Tyler looked at her and smiled as he nodded and Aquata couldn’t help but feel her heart swell. With the butterflies threatening to burst they walked down the path way to the house.

#oc #my ocs #next gen

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mikhaelkosanik · 4 years

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Chapter 3 (google translate)

My office was located in the old part of the library. Many years ago this building was enough. Then Brumaltown was only restored after a wave of migration. But gradually the city grew, and a small house was not enough to store all the books. The authorities rebuilt a new public library in the city center, and dividing this into two parts, they gave it to private practices and the Grasse Foundation. While working, I occasionally saw Kathleen Grass, the youngest of Emma's children. She brought valuable documents to the archive and personally entered the materials into the file cabinet. Apart from her, no one could do this: Eliot and Emma died almost twenty years ago, and their eldest son Eugene was developing for the treatment of the virus. He was not up to the papers. As a result, Emma’s children shared responsibilities: the son was engaged in science, and the daughter in the fund of assistance and archives.

Kathleen was happy with everything: from childhood, she had seen what difficulties her mother had faced and what kind of ostracism she was subjected to. Science was not given to her either, and everyone noticed this: from parents who encouraged any undertakings of children, to teachers. And although the fund hired volunteers from time to time, they were not full-fledged assistants. Funding had severe restrictions: all donations went to meet the needs of patients and small salaries of those same volunteers. I knew this, because the Grasse Foundation collaborated with FVP and provided them with quarterly reports.

At first I was surprised that volunteers were paid money, but then I realized why: the fund worked not only in the states, but also around the world. His activities were equated with the Salvation Army or the Red Cross from the past. Because of this, few people went to such work, and there were always not enough hands. It was rumored that the fund even sometimes offered those works that were not directly related to risk as socially useful work. For example, all the same work in the archive. But recently, this has not helped.

The library was the best choice: it was hidden behind massive trees in the depths of the largest city park. Silence - and only rare visitors distracted from work, embarrassing applicants. Sometimes people came to me with such problems, which it’s a shame to admit even to ourselves, not like outsiders. Over the years, I have seen a lot. FVP did not like it, but everything tripled me. Without an eternal eye, working on your head was easier. And besides, part of the library was given to the archive, which also drove idle onlookers from this place, because they did not care about “some kind of documents there”.

When meeting, Kathleen gave me access, provided that I would check the operation of the equipment in the archive. She rarely came, busy with no less important matters, and it was extremely difficult to remotely check the archive. Looking for at least someone who will often visit this place, Miss Grasse asked for my help. The work is simple and easy - of course, I agreed.

Before, another employee worked with me, and we went upstairs one by one. But time passed, and Dale was promoted, moving to work in a private school for Eno. I was left alone among the books, dust and noise of the archive fans. This weighed, and at the same time saved: it was easier for me to experience my grief alone than in full view of others.

The caller came a little earlier and was waiting for me near the entrance. “This is good,” I said, recalling what other times there were clients.

More than once or twice, I came across those who called, begged for help, made an appointment, but never came. There were people who called three to four times, but found excuses not to visit a psychologist. So with all desire it was impossible to help.

“The costs of work,” I consoled myself, trying not to think about the bad. “I can't force them, after all!”

The current visitor nevertheless found the strength to come to the appointment, for which I was very grateful to him.

It turned out to be a tall, tight, though not complete, man in a strict business suit with a bright spot - a tie.

His stern facial expression with small wrinkles, barely noticeable on pale skin and cold evil eyes burned through me, hinting that the owner is not one of those people who blindly trust others.

“Eh, the consultation will be difficult,” I said immediately, hurrying up to the front door and standing next to the stranger.

The gestures of the applicant were smooth, but verified and very mean. I noticed this when the man turned to me. Like he was hiding something. This reminded me of the equilibrists in the circus - they just as carefully and smoothly moved, walking along a thin rope over the abyss gaping beneath them.

Approaching, I hastened to extend a hand to the expectant, noting the smell of cigars and "burnt" skin, mixed with subtle touches of cologne. My observation was confirmed: the stranger shook my hand tightly and gestured that it was worth continuing the conversation elsewhere.

Opening the door and minting a few steps on the bright tile, we went into the office near the entrance. Once there was a children's reading room. I really liked that from those times there were drawings on the walls and shelving with books. Many of them were written off, and I just took the books to myself, making excuses that I would read these tales to either my sister or my nephews.

We were greeted by a spacious room in blue and light yellow tones. I did not touch much, because it did not stop me from doing serious work. In addition, children's drawings and the situation itself sometimes said: for me there are no children's problems - there is a misunderstanding between children and adults.

When the visitor and I settled down in comfortable chairs left over from the past, he proceeded to the story.

“My name is Eric Coleman,” the man began, continuing to drill me with a heavy look from beneath his bright wide and straight eyebrows. - Your number was given at the hospital. It so happened that my daughter began to hurt herself.

- How long have you noticed this behavior? - the bright office tuned for a peaceful manner, and I hoped that I would be able to find out the details. I understood that, while working for the ZSC, I did not arouse the confidence of the newcomer, but still relied on his consciousness.

“Just yesterday,” Eric spoke calmly, his pose not expressing excitement, but I understood that this was not entirely true.

The one sitting opposite me seemed a strong-willed, decisive person, maybe even tough and straightforward. It shone through in his precise and dry manner of speech, in the article and direct posture. And although the man was large, which only added severity to his mind, he spoke surprisingly emotionless and calm. It’s just dry, as if stating the facts from some encyclopedia.

How many people will immediately tell a stranger, albeit very famous in narrow circles, that his child hurts himself and, perhaps, is trying to commit suicide? I also did not know such. Sometimes I spent a good half of the session on a banal clarification of the situation and its circumstances ... if not the entire session.

“Don't think, my daughter doesn't want to die,” Mr. Coleman remarked, guessing what I was thinking. - She inflicts wounds horizontally. If these were suicide attempts, she would inflict them differently.

- Selfharm? I asked. “Are you sure about that?”

“Most likely,” Eric answered my question. “I saw the veins being cut,” the man ran a finger along the sleeve, showing a vertical section.

Here I was already thinking: I had many patients who tried to commit suicide. Often, adoptive parents did not even know about the depression of their children, turning after one or two unsuccessful suicide attempts. I was definitely not the kind of person who should prove the lack of such a motive in behavior. I had a selfie in my practice, but for a long time. And he was connected with completely different circumstances.

Eric immediately made a reservation that this is not the case. But perhaps he simply did not know all the circumstances?

Maybe his daughter did not know how to inflict wounds in order to die? Or maybe she did it to check if she could bear the pain or not. A case came to mind: a boy inflicted wounds long enough to prepare for pain. But, without talking to the child himself, I could not draw any conclusions. Maybe a man is really right and the wounds are just self-harm, not talking about the desire to die? True, the latest version cannot be completely discounted. Statistics inexorably told me that even ordinary self-harm could ultimately lead to suicide attempts.

“You said you were a pink family?” - I remembered the detail of yesterday’s dialogue. It was awkward to be silent for a long time, considering options that might actually not exist at all.

I knew very well that “pink” families are called families where one of the spouses belonged to the eno. Officially, enos were considered hermaphrodites, which was indirectly confirmed by the structure of the genital organs. But only indirectly. Not all enos were born like that. In addition, a biological evaluation took place at birth. Therefore, the Garth test was created. It consisted of two parts: a biological assessment, which is given to all children at birth, and a psychological assessment, passed at eight and fifteen years. Often I saw very young children who did not even pass special tests, with a marker of the third sex - a pink choker on their neck. Why they put on this attribute so early was a mystery to me. Only the Garth test finally put an end to the question of the gender of the child. More precisely, even a fifteen-year-old teenager. This is the official age when every third-sex citizen received documents with a special note.

Over the years, I have seen a wide variety of enos, from gentle and sweet, when looking at which it is impossible to believe that they are biological men, to completely brutal and strong. After all, biology remained biology, and the psyche does not always affect the appearance as we would like. Within the norm, at least.

The formation of the “pink” marriage took place even if not before my eyes, but I found the forerunners of the current liberalization. And I'm ready to put my hand on the Bible, swearing that now everything is more or less good!

When the first outbreak of the virus broke out in 2034, almost every government threw itself into creating a cure. These attempts to cure the Mehoni virus led to the discovery of the Encantant. It began to be used after the first clinical tests on cell cultures. There was no time for more serious research.

A side effect of the drug and became irreversible changes in the psyche of some men. For a long time, it was believed that “Encantant” was a kind of chemical lobotomy that changes gender awareness and disables sexuality. That is how eno appeared.

The institute of the “pink” marriage and the “pink” family took shape finally not so long ago, about 60 years ago. A crisis in the economy, a crisis in politics, a lack of resources, a lack of women - all contributed to the forerunners of the “pink” marriage. Even the church did not condemn this, with the proviso that the guys do not sleep with each other. In addition, in those years there was a definite base, both cultural and scientific, allowing for relations between people of the "same" gender.

Healthy girls then massively campaigned to give birth to children. They tried to ban abortion, legally require the birth of children under a certain age. But all this was before the war. After that, another misfortune appeared - the reduction of the population. Almost all governments quickly realized that, if they continue to restrict women, the economic crisis will lead to the collapse of the remnants of the past, and the reduction in DBV will completely destroy the economy, returning the world to the agrarian-feudal system.

During the years of devastation, the third sex did not bother anyone, and the problems of eno remained in the shade for some time. Everyone tried to restore what was left of the once great country, split in two. Moreover, the migration of survivors from dead lands has become a huge problem - both for the states and for the S.I.C. Amid a similar problem, the enos seemed inconsequential and were ignored. As, in fact, what is happening in the shelters of St. Elena for patients with the virus. No, shelters appeared long before the first bombs fell on the world. That's just not easier from this. And then, after the story of Emma Grass, society had to put up with the fact that there are patients with a virus dangerous to humans and they also have their own rights. Because of this, the institution of the “pink” family was created. This is the price that the vast majority of countries were willing to pay for the peace of their citizens. At least that's what I knew. After all, sick children and women had to be put somewhere.

In addition to the third sex, who married a man, there were female “pink” families, where both partners had a virus note in their documents. But there were very few of them, and in my practice I did not happen to meet them. Eno alliances with women were not considered “pink” because of biology. Moreover, such marriages steadily made up for the shortage of the third sex, because Enos could only give birth to their own kind.

I doubt that female "pink" couples formed a relationship from a good life. More likely because of ostracism and loneliness. There was no question of love.

I already had a certain practice in working with “pinks”. It was necessary to work in such families not only with children due to a number of legislative aspects, but also the characteristics of the enos themselves. Almost all eno, both according to my data and statistics, had a soft psyche, a compliant character and a very strong parental instinct. Often they were brought up very strictly and in places harshly. The first years of the FVP required the education of eno children in closed schools. Due to the artificiality of the third sex, after coming of age, graduates of closed schools were transferred to the jurisdiction of the SSC. Then eno accounting was very tough, they were considered as a resource, and I even found those times ... Well, yes, there were enough problems in society, the economy was rising from its knees, and we had to look for ways of least resistance.

At that time, “pink” marriages were most often the second for male widowers, and eno spouses were considered by them as an option for a free nanny for children and a housemaid. A kind of bonus for good service to the homeland. After all, someone should lead a life, take care of children, especially after overpopulation has begun. Because of it, the number of officially permitted marriages was limited. These almost had nothing to do with love or sex. No one was embarrassed by the consumer attitude towards eno. Yes, and they themselves put up with this, just to survive: almost all the knowledge of the third sex was reduced to housekeeping and caring for children. Just 25 years ago, everything was just that. In those days, the “pink” couples tried not to advertise the relationship after the wedding. Yes, and the WCC did not strongly advocate the openness of these families. Well, yes, they once engaged in the selection of couples for eno: it is unprofitable to advertise problems in such families. So there was a cult of silence.

It might seem that no other options existed, but this is not entirely true. There were parents who wished their children happiness regardless of gender. Yes, society imposed severe restrictions on the behavior of eno, on their ability to learn, live and work independently. But loopholes were even then. My couple, for example. He received a very good education and after college got a job as a teacher. For those years, it was just “unheard-of arrogance” on the part of Eno.

Today, in 2133, everything was different, although the sediment from those troubled times was still felt. Almost every show or program said that “pink” families are one of the pillars of society. From screens, posters and newspaper pages, Protection of family values seemed to shout out its slogan: “A strong family is the key to a happy future!” First of all, this concerned precisely the “pink” families and eno spouses. And it is not surprising that such families turned to me in the most difficult and neglected cases ...

According to my information, officially in Brumaltown there was only one “pink” family, which did not want to make contact. The same girls who were infected with the Mehoni virus. This created additional problems. Most likely, you will have to work not only with the girl, but also with one of her parents.

“Yes,” the interlocutor answered, a little confused. Bitterness froze in his eyes. Then the amber flame flashed, and Eric added:

“But,” having paused, “we are not quite so.”

It was very important. Of course, I probably could not know what was meant, but certain assumptions nevertheless appeared.

With the onset of the liberalization period, a sufficiently large percentage of enos did not want to formalize any kind of relationship. Yes, and to join them, too, did not dare. It was easier for them to live apart than to follow the stringent requirements of society. My former colleague Dale, who worked directly in the educational center, also complained about it, and the top of the FVP expressed their complaints about this - this was regularly reported in the news. If we count the number of eno, then we get quite decent numbers of single citizens: approximately every fifth state citizen and every twelfth citizen of S.I.C were alone. For other countries, I did not have statistics and could only refer to these summaries.

As a result, the Defense even had to make concessions and allow lonely eno adoption if they met the requirements of agencies. To be more precise, the latter, it seems, was influenced by the Grasse Foundation, which could not endlessly sponsor orphanages and orphanages, where, in one way or another, children with the Mekhoni virus got into.

I involuntarily breathed a sigh of relief: I will have to be very careful both in communicating with the Coleman family and with the Family Values Protection authorities, which, upon completion of work, I will add this case to my report. I couldn’t conceal customer data. No ethics could cover this!

“Good,” I finally remarked, scrolling through the foregoing in my mind, “come with your whole family.” I’ll try to find out the reason for your situation. Eric thanked me and left the office without saying another word. After his visit, I involuntarily recalled what I had been trying to escape from for thirty years. Alas, I knew firsthand what the “pink” family is.

***

The next day, the Coleman failed to arrive. Eric called and dryly warned me that due to busyness, the meeting would have to be rescheduled. I agreed. In terms of speech, it looked like the first time Eric’s husband had called me. Understanding the state of the Colemans, I was very afraid of meeting with members of this family.

During the weekly break, I thought for a long time whether to take a new family or not. “Pink” families had their own specifics, because of which working with them was extremely costly in terms of resources. I was not sure that my reserves in this case could be enough. Neurotization in such pairs always exceeded the average, and it was simply not always possible to reduce it. And without it, the whole workflow would turn into hell. In addition, I myself once had a “pink” pair, because of which I could somehow project my experiences onto strangers, which could also affect my work. And the worst thing was that if I took on this case, I would have to lie to the Protection of family values. It would affect me too. After all, I worked for this organization.

I was persuaded by Eunice to tackle this, always getting in where I didn’t need and loving to put her two cents in any of my business. True, it was she who said that only I can understand such a family and help, having a certain experience behind me.

“You understand that someone else will calmly report about them to FVP?” Or somewhere else! Can you imagine what it feels like? - the last argument of the sister was a shot at the bull's-eye.

She knew that I could not talk about something if they did not directly ask me, even though I myself worked for the Defense of Family Values. Therefore, “pink” families turned to me in the hope that I would not say too much. At least that was before.

"Okay. If I can’t help, I’ll try to find another specialist who can be trusted, ”I reassured myself, as I did in situations with missing clients.

Eric did not deceive and really came on the day off with his family. That day, the door of my office swung open, loudly and unpleasantly banging against the wall. For the first time they burst into me like this, and I was even taken aback by such things, having remained standing by the table.

A guy of a dry physique flew into the office in a whirlwind. Dressed in a crumpled T-shirt, well-worn trousers and a battered leather jacket, the guest reminded me of a huge stray dog from distant childhood: the same one, beaten by the life of a rogue.

The guy’s eyes smiled, as if to spite the whole world, sparkling with excitement. It reminded me even more of our shaggy friend with Eunice. He also brazenly smiled at his mouth, wagging his tail and edible bulls at the guys in the neighborhood. And only by the small gray lock in the visitor's long tousled hair did I realize that the stranger had long been not a teenager or even a youth.

Rushing across the entire hall, he flew up to me and, holding out his hand, he rumbled:

- Hi. Are you dock?

I did not want to respond to such familiarity. I was just about to speak out, looking around at the sloven, as Eric entered behind him in a heavy, measured gait. Behind him peered apprehensively a little girl in a closed dress and with an elegant scarlet bow on her head.

“You ...?” I asked in surprise.

- Adrian Coleman. I called you, - still holding out his hand, laughed "rogue." “This is my ...”, hesitating and less confident, “my husband, Eric.”

Then, pointing to the still hiding girl, he said: “And this is our daughter Rina.” The girl only embarrassedly smiled and waved my hand, hiding again behind the adult. She seemed against the background of high enough strong parents quite tiny and reminded me of a beast of galago. Especially with large purple eyes, a small nose and a bow, one to one like huge triangular ears.

“Good afternoon,” Eric greeted dryly again, sitting down in a chair and showing with a gesture that his partner should do the same.

Adrian sighed theatrically, but still sat next to his spouse. Rina initially also sat next to her parents, but soon she became interested in the environment. We started a conversation, during which at first Adrian spoke more, chattering about all sorts of nonsense and nonsense. In contrast, it looked comical: a groovy jerk with smiling eyes to the whole world, like a dog’s eyes, and a gloomy phlegmatic man, boring others with a stern look. That's for sure - opposites attract.

And I realized what Eric meant by saying that they are unofficially a “pink” family. Colemans simply did not formalize the relationship! It’s good that I didn’t start the report. Now I was free to write in it about the conversion of a single father. Then I thanked the Lord that there was still a code of ethics for the psychologist and I could refer to it if someone tried to find something in my documents. And reports often turned out to be simple formalities for archives. Therefore, I breathed a sigh of relief: I did not want to set up my clients at all.

Coleman's daughter, Rina, turned out to be a silent, slightly aloof girl. She really looked depressed and painful: she covered her face with hair, hid her eyes, even if only for the first time. When parents talked about themselves, Rina separated from us adults, sitting back on the floor and hugging her knees. Talking with the Coleman, I remembered Eric's first visit. The man seemed a stern, domineering man with a heavy look. Straight and cold. This impression was complemented by the manner of speech, not a bit changed in the presence of the family, and the same strict, even prim style in clothes, and even dry, verified gestures, in which almost no emotions slipped.

The only thing that stood out against this background was a hairstyle similar to a yellow dandelion, and a more or less bright tie (albeit combined with the main suit). It seemed that Eric was a stern, imperious tyrant, accustomed to keeping both his partner and daughter under control. But I was wrong. All three spoke very openly and warmly, which was also evidenced by the fact that Adrian was chattering non-stop, and Rina, seeing a bookcase with books, asked me for permission and went to look for something interesting for herself. None of the fathers limited her to this. He didn’t even say a word. When the girl got up, I noted that her walk was a little uneven. This was not evident, but the girl limped on her left leg. “Leg injury?” I thought. “Athlete?”

The men themselves, though a little nervous, tried to be as honest as possible with themselves and me. And although only Adrian spoke, and Eric was silent, I saw that the men were in solidarity with each other. In the circumstances, lying did not make any sense. The mental state of the child depended on my work and both parents understood this.

Not finding anything interesting among the books, the girl painted the whole meeting something in her album. Adrian said that she often draws various sketches and gives to her friends. This hobby replaced another, and both fathers were glad that their child had found a new interesting activity for themselves.

“It was very difficult for us to find something like this,” Adrian smiled awkwardly with his hand behind his head. - Rin, almost no one wanted to take in circles and sections.

“She does not look like a conflict person,” I thought again, casting a cursory glance at the girl immersed in the drawing. “Asperger Syndrome?”

After a short presentation, we talked about their problem and a little more on abstract topics. I made sure that all three of those who came relaxed and realized that I could be trusted. The whole conversation, as I noted, rested on Adrian. He enthusiastically talked about his hobbies, his daughter and Erica, noting any trifle. He was probably nervous because I was connected with the FVP, and thus tried to cope with the jitters. At first, I could not understand which of the parents in this pair is Eno. No one had a hoop on his neck, appearance, too, as I said earlier, was not always an indicator. But still, I noticed that Adrian’s behavior is a little more characteristic of Eno than his husband’s behavior. In any case, it was he who spoke more often about Rina and with great warmth.

As the atmosphere in my office became more laid-back, I suggested the Coleman play a little. First I needed to establish the level of aggression of all family members. Aggression is not always directed outward, and I, as a psychologist, understood this very well. It can also be directed inward, in other words, towards itself. This is exactly what happened with Rina. Cuts could be a sign of auto-aggression. I wanted to understand if this is true. For identification, the Wagner test was useful to me. However, I immediately stipulated the principle: everyone takes a piece of paper and writes his answer in this charade. And then he hands it to me. In fact, this test is not carried out, but I was not sure that I would meet all the family members again. I needed to understand: could Rina adopt the level of aggression from one of the parents, was this level high or not.

Eric just rolled his eyes, Adrian nodded, and Rina folded her hands and put them to her cheek, like children do during sleep. I regarded gestures with signs of consent. He began to show one hand drawings in different poses one by one, asking the same question: “What does this hand do?” This was the test. Looking at images of hands in various poses, patients talked about their personal associations, albeit subconscious. They kind of projected their emotions onto drawings with hands. The drawings themselves depicted only hands in one or another pose, without any context or background. Nothing complicated. Simple work of associations. But only in this case the test took a lot of time.

I showed one card and waited until everyone wrote something on my sheet. A couple of times I saw Adrian peeking at Eric or Rina's sheet and indignantly resented that this answer was incorrect. Well, the answer itself was not voiced, limiting itself to exclamations: “Nonsense!”, “But she doesn’t do that!” Now I understand why Rina left the fathers a little distance. Another test I offered was for her. As if in jest.

“Rina, you're an artist,” I remarked. - There is such a test, Lusher test. Do you know him?

The girl shook her head.

“Choose the colors you like best right now,” I laid out a few cards on the floor. - You can choose them yourself and put them in order from the most attractive to the least. Just choose them precisely according to the “like” principle, and not according to the principles of combination, tradition and other things. Good?"

Rina nodded and enthusiastically began to choose the colors she liked.

This test took very little time. A minute later, in front of me was a table of the following order of colors: blue-green, black, brown, dark blue, violet, red and orange. It turned out that on the one hand, Rina was a very confident girl, but on the other, her aggression most likely had an internal motive. This was evidenced by the dark colors that followed the first blue-green. Another tick in the direction of depression.

Due to the speed of choice, I had no doubt that it was made exactly as I requested, without any association with fashion or any traditions. The only thing, I still had a little doubt about the black color. Rina herself was dressed in a black dress with white ruffles. But I still decided to accept these results. Nobody bothers me then to conduct this test again as a control check.

After the charade, I invited the Coleman to tell the story of their family. It would be nice to get an anamnesis, because I could not rule out a single variant of the occurrence of such a state of my young patient. At that moment, Rina looked at her fathers and pointed to her album. She did not utter ten phrases for the whole meeting, plunging into her drawings.

“Exactly,” cried Adrian, “forgot!” You have a lesson in the studio today! Sorry, petty! ” Rina shook her head - they say it’s fearless to be a little late - and, taking her father's hand, she went to the door.

- I trust Eric! He is our family's walking encyclopedia! Will tell you everything! - shouted Adrian, hiding from sight.

“As always ...” Eric sighed, sitting comfortably in his chair. - He likes to shift concerns to me.

“And in my opinion, he trusts you very much,” I remarked, sitting opposite my interlocutor. - Can you tell how Rina appeared in your life? It will be very important for me now to know how your daughter grew up. Perhaps the reasons for her behavior are in some event from the past.

Another sigh - and my interlocutor was immersed in the memories of almost thirteen years ago.

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theonyxpath · 5 years

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Eric Zawadzki here. As there seems to be a lot of interest in the Clades, I thought I’d share a bit more about these. To that end, I’ve provided the introduction to Clades, most of the write-up for the Mutant, and the current version of one Mutant Variation – Rapid Healing. A usual caveat applies: This game is just entering the first round of playtests, so things (especially mechanical things) could change.

Clades

Origins are how you went into the Divergence; Clades are how you broke. Which of the five Clades a Deviant belongs to depends on how her mind and body adapted to the process that fractured her soul.

While individuals within each Clade transformed along similar pathways, every one of them is unique and carried specific variances into their transformation. The Divergence brought the inevitable conclusion that the human subject would be altered into something inherently inhuman, either through dying or breaking and accepting becoming one of the Remade. While the outcome was unavoidable, the specifics were never certain. Despite any similarities that may exist in appearance, function, or powers of Broken within the same Clade, every transformed is unique. Each survived the Divergence in their own way and came into their Variations and Scars as individuals. No one within a Clade need have consistency or predictability with their peers.

Every Deviant has three Adaptations – two as a function of their Clade, plus Stubborn Resolve (p. XX), which is universal to all Remade. However dissimilar various Broken are, the Adaptations denote shared experience in surviving the horrors. For some Remade, the fact that others share their Adaptations is the only comfort they have in knowing they’re not alone.

Cephalists: The minds of these Psychics lashed out at the trauma of their Divergence, reshaping themselves as their souls cracked and giving them power over the world through sheer mental will, beyond anything a Baseline would understand.

Chimerics: Also known as Hybrids, these Remade combine human and foreign species to try and gain the best of both worlds. Hybrids may incorporate animal organs, plant genes, hastily attached limbs, or play host to voracious pathogens and parasites to merge human and other and see what results.

Coactives: The Infused blend the intangible with the solidity of human flesh. The precise power bound to the Broken that shattered her soul could be nearly anything. One harnesses deadly levels of electricity or radiation while another channels angelic light or demonic darkness. The intangible source is irrelevant to belonging to this Clade, only that the human controls it.

Invasives: The Cyborgs gained power as their flesh grew around invasive, inanimate matter, taking it in and incorporating it to be one with the human. Some Invasives benefit from shiny technological marvels while others make do with tarnished jury-rigged devices, but gadgets aren’t the sole province of this Clade. Magical artifacts, alien devices, and other exotic materials bonded with human meat also mark Invasives.

Mutants: Something in the genome of the Grotesques rebelled at the horror of the Divergence, rejecting whatever was trying to force change by responding with a change of their own. As the Mutant’s soul cracks, his body becomes something more, something with the ability to refuse the alternative insult to his flesh.

Classifying the Unclassifiable

Conspiracies focus on Clades because it gives some predictability to the Divergence, but this is far from perfect. It may be somewhat logical to think that slicing open a subject and surgically implanting mechanical parts produces an Invasive, but the victim’s body may reject the cold metal and latch onto the warm electricity inside the machines, becoming Coactive, instead. Or some quirk of genetics may force her body to violently destroy the foreign substances and rewire her Mutant physiology to be inimical to all machines. The stimulus of the Divergence is impersonal, while the response of Clade is nothing but personal.

Clades are not truly random, as statistical clusters do exist. The individual subject is important but not the only factor. Divergences appear to follow certain trends based on the events that brought about the rupture of a Broken’s soul. As an example, overcharging energy supplies — even with ephemeral energies poorly understood by science — while performing procedures may help skew results towards producing Coactives. Implanting living biological material is best suited to achieving a Chimeric result, just as grafting machines to human flesh most often gives an Invasive, when it delivers anything at all.

Progenitors who work under controlled conditions tend to have some level of repeatability to their methods, or at least try to limit the variables as much as possible to channel the results down the pathway they desire. To help deliver the control they so desperately crave, conspiracies specializing in producing certain Clades may use psychological profiling and genetic screening to identify those subjects with similar characteristics to what has previously yielded favorable results. What worked to make one subject of given background and health characteristics may work on another.

Despite these efforts, the Divergence is more art than science and any method can just as easily result in psychic Cephalists or genetic Mutants instead. Overall, Progenitors know every population has its outliers, and statistical anomalies exist. Sometimes, accidents just happen. Ignorant bystanders or isolated observers in the right place at the right time can undergo the Divergence as readily as carefully prepared subjects. In the end, which Clade a Deviant joins depends largely on the physical, mental, and spiritual state of the transformed herself.

Mutants: The Grotesques

Adapt and survive.

Every Mutant is a miracle, a statistical anomaly that, by rights, should have died as a result of the Divergence. Somehow, they didn’t. Their body rejected the cybernetic implant, or transplanted organ, or infusion of exotic energy as though allergic to it. Then it went a step further, transforming into something that would never suffer another such incursion. Unfortunately, this aggressive immune response still splintered the Grotesque’s soul.

The Mutant can endure almost any environment, for a time. Grotesques only rarely encounter situations that they can’t adapt to overcome. If a Mutant doesn’t have what it takes to thrive at that moment, she can change herself and triumph. If the Grotesque needs some advantage to save the day — or tear down a conspiracy — she will adapt and make it happen. These changes carry a cost — always a cost — but many Mutants are willing to pay this price if it advances their cause.

Welcome to the Freak Show

Mutants embody humanity’s adaptability to overcome any situation, including the Divergence. Regardless of whether the Remade was willing and prepared for the transformation, something within her genome refused to obey. Her body changed to survive, developing its own way of coping, and rejecting what was on offer.

Most Progenitors agree that this surprising immunity has roots in some quirk in the Grotesque’s DNA, but they argue vociferously over whether it would have occurred in the face of a different Divergence trigger. In short, no one knows with certainty whether the Mutant’s genes would have reacted the same way to a nanotech injection as it did to the implantation of a unicorn’s heart, or even whether the heart of a lion would have succeeded where the unicorn’s heart did not. Genetics might predispose a person to mutation, but it is equally reliant on the much less likely possibility that she is exposed to a Divergence-triggering stimulus that will unlock this potential.

Inhuman Resources

The very adaptability that refused compliance is what conspiracies want with Mutants. Every loyal Grotesque is a wildcard giving power to the conspiracy. Rivals may plan for attacks from many fronts, but they can never fully prepare for the Mutant dedicated to the conspiracy’s disruption or destruction. This unpredictable power makes Renegade Mutants just as terrifying to the conspiracies they’ve betrayed. Even Mutants who have worked within a conspiracy for years as Devoted could return for vengeance from any direction and despite the obstacles placed in their way.

This risk and uncertainty prompt smart conspiracies to approach identified Mutants carefully. Recruiters would rather proffer the carrot than the stick, enticing the Remade to join on her own terms, and under what she at least believes is her own free will. The cost of keeping a Grotesque onside and at ease is usually far less than forcing her to comply. Among several conspiracies, Mutant assets enjoy a freedom unmatched by other Clades, and coexist with the organization as a valued freelancer or consultant rather than a slave. The main question is how long can the Mutant turn a blind eye to the treatment and propagation of other Broken in the conspiracy’s clutches before her maladjusted conscience realizes the truth of her ‘business partners’?

Mutant Variations

Mutant Variations penetrate the Deviant’s anatomy down to the cellular level. Grotesques suffer frequent comparisons to cancers, for their most common capabilities are disturbing perversions of normal bodily functions, and they are the Clade most prone to fatal deterioration due to Instability.

Rapid Healing (• to •••••)

Subtle Discrete, Perpetual

The Deviant’s body works tirelessly and unerringly to restore itself.

This Variation must be Persistent. This Variation cannot heal damage caused by Scars (such as Perilous Variation) or Adaptations (such as Adrenaline Surge or Overclock).

At Magnitude •, the Deviant’s natural healing times are halved.

At Magnitude ••, the Remade heals one bashing damage per turn in action scenes and heals all bashing damage at the end of each scene. This also removes minor ailments such as colds, food poisoning, or sprains.

At Magnitude •••, as Magnitude ••, but the Deviant also heals all lethal damage at the end of each chapter. This also cures most diseases and purges the Broken’s body of toxins.

At Magnitude ••••, as Magnitude •••, but the Deviant instead heals one bashing or lethal damage per turn in action scenes, heals all lethal damage at the end of each scene, and heals all aggravated damage at the end of each chapter. This also regenerates damaged or destroyed limbs and organs, eliminating relevant Persistent Conditions such as Blind or Crippled.

At Magnitude •••••, as Magnitude ••••, but the Deviant is nearly invulnerable to death, except as the result of Instability. Even if decapitated, dismembered, or incinerated, his body still makes itself whole. After being killed, the Broken’s body can remain inert for as long as his player wishes, such as to wait for enemies to leave the scene or until he is no longer immersed in a vat of strong acid. When he rises from the dead, the Deviant heals points of aggravated damage equal to Scar Power.

The Coactive Symbiote doesn’t remember the assassination missions her body carried out on behalf of her old employers because the spirits they coaxed into possessing her never let her — at least not until she convinced one to help her escape (Amnesia; Persistent).

The Invasive contains powerful nanites capable of rebuilding his body from a fragment, if necessary. They have done her mental health no favors, however (Murderous Urge, Persistent).

The Mutant possesses regenerative abilities that would make a starfish jealous. Although he heals quickly, he also feels pain more keenly (Fragility; Persistent).

#Onyx Path Publishing

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omgficrecsplease · 6 years

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omgcp fanfic starter pack!

hi y’all! we here at omgficrecsplease have put together a quick, little check please! fanfic starter pack! all fics are sorted by pairings and we hope you enjoy! and be sure to check out all the recs we have posted here! have a wonderful day y’all! :D

Jack/Bitty

A Little Bit Closer by marswithghosts

E | 107,963 | Summary: Eric Bittle's To-Do List:

1.) Frame Masters in Library and Information Science diploma and send to Mama, because she never understood the lack of sleep and abuse of caffeine, but she sent cookbooks and money for good chocolate, bless her. 2.) Throw away every last highlighted article, graded paper, and syllabus, because they are no longer needed, thank the sweet Lord. 3.) Promote the library's new periodic reading series, because it wasn't the capstone project for nothing. 4.) Harass Boston Bruins star Jack Zimmermann into taking a picture for @BPLWestEnd to promote the reading of his new children's book, Jacky's Bad Days. 5.) Do not ogle Boston Bruins star Jack Zimmermann's ass. 6.) Fail step five. Repeatedly.

Ice Crew Please! by rosepetals42

T | 61,433 | Summary: Jack Zimmermann was drafted first by the Providence Falconers when he was eighteen years old. He is good at hockey. Very good. His team won the Cup his second year and now, in his third year, they are looking good. Jack should be on top of the world. And some days, he manages to convince himself he is.He’s not, of course.

Enter the Ice Crew.

AKA: The Ice Crew AU

maybe i'm waking up by idrilka

M | 157,904 | Summary: It’s almost funny. All he ever wanted was to play hockey, to play in the NHL, to win the Cup. This—Samwell, the team, the Haus—was supposed to be just a detour, but now it feels more like a destination he failed to realize he’s already reached.

(Or: Jack signs with the Falconers, graduates, and leaves. It's the hardest thing he's ever done. What comes after is even harder.)

self reflection by sinspiration

T | 29,218 | Summary: Bitty is in Annie’s, bent over his textbooks and wondering, not for the first time, why he decided to take French as a language (oh yes, it’s because so many old recipes are written in French, he’s going abroad there to study food history, can’t wait for the summer; half of fall and then winter semester until he goes, but that doesn’t help him now does it), when he hears someone clear their throat. “Excuse me, is this seat taken?” Oh boy. Eric doesn’t even bother lifting up his head. “Sorry, not a girl and not interested.”

Something Like This by emmagrant01

E | 285,748 | Summary: Jack thought his first year in the NHL would be 100% about hockey, but the reality is so much more complicated. (AU where the Goodbye for the Summer comics didn’t happen, because I had already written 80K words of this. But just because it’s canon doesn’t mean we can’t still enjoy long, angsty, get-together stories, amirite?)

Alternate summary, courtesy of Dracavia: What if Bad Bob didn't say anything at graduation?

Nursey/Dex

a service i can render by miastree

T | 73,484 | Summary: (11:48) Hey Bits are you free on Saturday? I want to go and see a movie or something (12:09) damn right im free (12:09) this is america

Dex wonders if the person that keeps ceaselessly texting him at all hours is at all interested in legitimate conversation or if his life is, genuinely, that boring. He keeps replying anyway, because for some reason, the appeal of a clumsy, nosy, ex-hockey-playing ballet dancer that types in all lower case happens to be greater than he first thought.

Standing right outside my door by eleanor_lavish

M | 5,594 | Summary: “I’ve been doing holidays alone for years, bro. I mean, I spent more holidays at Andover than in New York.”

Dex’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel. He kind of really hates Nursey’s parents right now, even though he’s never met them. He wants to yell at Nursey about this ridiculous chill he has going on, about how it’s fucked up, ask how he’s not just pissed off all the fucking time, but he looks over and Nursey’s eyes are still closed, and he’s curled in on himself in the seat. “Yeah, well. Not this year,” he says firmly.

I Know I Am, But What Are You? by sysrae

E | 19,322 | Summary: “I need you,” says Dex, “to be my fake date at my family Christmas. Please.”

“Cool,” says Nursey, mouth operating on Chill Autopilot while his higher brain functions come to a screeching halt. “I can do that.”

Bitty/Jack/Kent

touchy subject by applecrumbledore

E | 49,578 | Summary: Bitty finds a photo booth strip and almost doesn't recognize Jack because he's not sure he's ever seen him grin off-ice before, and his hair is so long it curls around his ears, and he's so, so young. It takes Bitty a few long seconds to realize the boy he's kissing is Kent Parson, with the same backwards cap and everything.

I Watched It Begin Again by jacksbits (fragilehuge)

E | 19,979 | Summary: Kent hits on a stranger at a party. Except the party is at Jack’s house and the stranger is Bitty. It’s not Kent’s smoothest move.

Infinity, Plus One by SummerFrost

E | 75,577 | Summary: Eric Bittle hoped to find a lot of things at Samwell University, but being caught in the cross-fire between his surly captain, Jack Zimmermann, and his friendly-but-moody alternate captain, Kent Parson, was certainly not one of them.

Ransom/Holster

Five Things Adam Birkholtz Learns in HDFS 332: Healthy Couple Relationships by EllyAvon

T | 6,079 | Summary: HDFS 332: Healthy Couple Relationships is just the night class Holster is taking with Lardo to fulfill one of his core requirements. He doesn't expect it to drastically change his life.

OR: The Weirdest Healthy Relationships PSA Ever.

OR: Wholesome Holsom

In a Different Frame by sunfair

E | 4,853 | Summary: Holster is determined to become somebody's boyfriend. Too bad he's kind of an idiot. He figures it out, though.

someone as good for me as you by astrolesbian

T | 7,056 | Summary: “So tell me,” Justin’s mother says, all business, “is your boy going to propose?”

“What, Jack?” Justin says, and doesn’t really think much of it, because his mother eats up the details of Jack and Bitty and JackandBitty like Holster eats up rom-coms.

His mother sighs, and he can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “No, baby, I meant Adam.”

Shitty/Lardo

Exeunt, Pursued By Heteronormativity by psocoptera

M | 35,786 | Summary: Shitty Knight takes a post-graduation road trip. Four friends, six thousand miles, two tents, several embarrassing photos, a giant rabbit, three cops, and a bear.

Jack/Kent

It's a Good Life If You Don't Weaken by garden of succulents (staranise)

E | 33,373 | Summary: Making it through the draft is just the beginning.

Kent and Jack are on different teams at opposite ends of the continent. They're living up to huge expectations. They're not supposed to show pain. And not everything they do to get by is precisely healthy.

Fortunately, they're not totally alone.

right on time by leetlebird

T | 49,428 | Summary: Eric Bittle doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to dating, but even he’s embarrassed for himself when he starts flirting on Tinder with a guy who has a weird cat obsession, abs so perfect they border on trashy, and DL in his profile.

Eric Bittle also hates the office finance guy, Kent Parson, more than is probably healthy to hate one of your coworkers.

These two things are in no way related.

Or, the You’ve Got Mail AU that had to be written.

didn't ask for you by Mizzy

M | 24,702 | Summary: Kent Parson has well over ninety-nine problems. He has a chronic potty mouth, a sneaking suspicion he may be an actual idiot, a narcissistically-named cat with gas issues, too many sisters... the list goes on.

Kent Parson has more than ninety-nine problems and Jack Zimmermann — freshly, resentfully and recently traded to the Las Vegas Aces — is definitely one of them.

Gen

Chime Hours by MarquisdeHockey (SpacePunkStevie) (note: it’s tagged for ships but it’s firmly gen)

M | 54,811 | Summary: Back in Montreal, not long before the draft, Jack had died. But only for a bit.

The witch he'd met there had very kindly saved his life, so he was inclined to forgive him any small oversight. For instance, the lack of instruction manual or, perhaps, the fact that he'd neglected to mention Jack's new psychic powers.

So he kept his head down. Played hockey. Tried to navigate old friends and new teammates. And, occasionally, he'd have to go and stop a death he'd seen coming like he was some sort of conscientious banshee. What he absolutely didn't want to do was to solve any mysteries or delve any deeper into the whole magic... thing.

Series

Best Laid Plans by Euphorion

E | 18,596 | Summary: "Dude," said Holster, his eyes huge, "that's so sad. We gotta get them together."

"This isn't a romcom, Holtzy," Ransom said, patting his arm. "I'm sure that's not what Shitty had in mind."

"Actually," said Shitty, "that's exactly what I had in mind. And I've got a plan."

#omgcp fic rec #check please fic rec #fic list: starter pack #mod danielle #obvs this is by no means comprehensive but we hope you all will like it!

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animatevibration-blog · 5 years

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Mad Titan, Or Last Man

Please note that this is an incomplete assessment of motivations simply because comic book characters will never have an end to their story. I am also not informed on Thanos’ current exploits in the comics since I have not read Marvel, or any comics for a number of years. The focus will be on an older iteration of Thanos and his fascination with death that I believe derived from him growing up in a utopia of immortals essentially. Also, this is not an explanation of the Hollywood version of Thanos since his motivations make no sense and is clearly just political propaganda from writers that don’t know anything about population trends. This is not a super in-depth analysis either, I’ve merely looked at his motivations through the lens of the Nietzschean last man, as well as the underground man from Dostoevsky's works.

I had difficulty understanding it at first, mostly because I personalized concepts too much that I shouldn’t have, namely Lady Death. Which in turn, made Thanos’ motivations look like an outburst of an angsty teenage boy. You can’t fully personalize a concept in a story otherwise you miss the point, Lady Death is still death itself, the only real reason it was given form is because that’s seems to be the easiest way to relate to values expressed in stories; it makes it easier to embody them through secondary personalization, which is a term coined by the psychologist Eric Neumann. Secondary personalization is an act from which the more something is understood, the more it is refined in the consciousness until it’s anthropomorphised completely, creating almost a god image within the individual. It’s essentially the same as the image of Helen of Troy discovered by Faust when he travels to the realm of the mothers, she was the spirit of unbridled creative generation and freedom that he longed for. Lady Death is the anthropomorphised value of what Thanos desires most, and he expresses it as female because he is male, because it’s that which he lacks, the other part of his reality. That is partly a Jungian notion from which the male takes an inward journey to discover the Anima within, or his inner feminine that is tied to his highest value, making the attaining of that value an almost sexual act of union between being and image, something like that.

“But wait” you may say, “then why is Death a woman to all within the Marvel universe?” Good question, that is because the concept of death has always been a feminine one throughout history; it is the consumptive element of nature that consumes the life that came before so that successive generations may come into being. The easiest picture to express this in is the Ouroboros, the serpent that eats its tail. It is the sphere that contains existence from which death, or consumption is the precursor to new life. Other faces of death are the Babylonian Tiamat, the Malekusian Le-Hev-Hev which translates to “she who draws us in with a smile so she may consume us.” There is also Nut from Egyptian myth, the mother sky who embraces all in death, which you can see her image placed on sarcophagi, and Ta-Urt who is the bestial guardian of the underworld. Death is Feminine because it is part of nature, or the great mother earth, so it’s not surprising that we will portray it as a woman... Most of the time.

For this assessment though, I want to focus on Lady Death as a very singular expression of his “highest art” so to speak, which arised from the stagnancy of Utopianism. So, let’s begin.

What would a man(or eternal) strive for when perfection was already attained? I really needed to think about that for a second because when you think about utopia, the interesting bits are always the struggle to achieve it. That’s where the meat is in such a value system, that’s where all the action is, and that’s when I had an idea. So, what would a man(eternal) strive for when perfection was already attained? Perhaps he would strive for struggle itself. Perhaps when given eternity, what then would be more desirable than the finite? What could you desire more after you are given the universe through society, than to have it all taken away? It sounds crazy doesn’t it, who would ever destroy perfection merely to struggle? Well, a human would... Even in the face of eternal happiness and comfort, simply to achieve one semblance (if even for a moment) of the meaning that comes only from the finite and imperfect, a person would dash it all away.

That is the purpose of Thanos, he craves the one thing that was taken from him by his parents, and the society that believed it knew better, namely death. Honestly, what meaning could you ever possibly find in a world where people have already conquered the most meaningful aspect of it? Things have to die, things have to wear down, they need to decay because the universe isn’t a structured space of rules and laws. It bends, it curves, it’s constantly changing, it’s a flow of perpetual becoming. The speed of light itself is constantly changing, and that is the speed of causality itself, which is the frame from which events can even happen in reality. Laws, structures, immortality are all societal concepts born from consciousness, more precisely the consciousness of the left hemisphere; especially the concept of immortality. Things are always changing, we just cant perceive most of it, and you, are not really you. Everything you are now is the current complexity of a a cosmic lineage that dates back to the very beginning of existence. All the material that makes up your being came from the death of something before you. Whether it be the nutrients you ingest from animals and plants, or the elements of you refined in the cores of long dead stars. You are a process, not an end, and to extricate yourself from that process is to produce a fate far worse than death could ever be, an immortal Utopia.

I had to ask myself, is that really the goal of life, just to transcend it? If like the eternals that happens, what other outcome could you have but a utopia of eternal happiness and complacency? Why would you even want that when what is taken is so much? What other options could you ever have than sacrificing everything that made you human; to place it all at the alter of godhood, so that you could simply keep existing and going through the motions like a machine. There’s a reason why vampires are portrayed as impulsive nihilists most of the time, because what the hell else can you do with eternity once you have it. Of course there is a universe full of possibility within the universe, but it will never be achieved by the eternals because they are no longer part of that process and the only kind progress they can achieve is scientific analytical processes which is very indicative of western culture now, because that’s all they value. Which in turn will probably only lead to them becoming like Celestials, ethereal nothings that don’t exist in reality, that don’t understand the underlying complexity and importance of emotion, and merely act like computers.

That entire society and Thanos himself is a microcosm, most likely of the projected anxiety of a post-industrialized society that puts far too much (to an almost pathological degree) value in a singular system of linear analytical cognitive progress. My god ladies and gentlemen, if eternity was sitting in a lab continually making it easier for people to live for the eternity they have anyway, where all that’s left are mere intellectual and habitual procreative pursuits, I would also think death and destruction would be a far more preferable option, it could even become an ideal. Jesus, just try it for a hundred years and get back to me on how you feel about it. I don’t blame Thanos for pining after it, lusting after it, making it his muse, his companion, the Galatea to his Pygmalion, his reason for being. It’s meaning that matters, not more life, not happiness, not perfection, It’s the meaning in the struggle for more life, it’s the meaning you derive from struggling for happiness, it’s the meaning in life that you derive from struggling for perfection that gives depth to existence. It’s not the result, it’s the process. Death matters because it makes everything beautiful, everything meaningful, everything is something you will never see again, something that will never be again. Struggle matters because it makes you more than what you were, it allows you to change. Now let me talk about struggle more.

To struggle is to be human, to suffer is to truly live. Humans are the only beings that can say life is suffering and have a smile on their face. And humans are the only beings in the known universe that will willfully suffer in full understanding of it. Each person has a vast ocean of dormant potential in them just waiting to be realized. I don’t say that in a metaphorical way, though that’s the best way to describe it. You have a plethora of dormant genes in you that wait for the right environmental factors to be activated and embodied as new modes of being, because humans are action oriented, not cognitive oriented. It’s the notion of wishing upon the stars, each one represents a potentiality of what you could be, and you have a choice, you can pick a star and struggle for it. But if you don’t have to struggle anymore, if you have forever and everything provided for you, you won’t do it, you won’t experience it, because you don’t have to. I say this because Thanos is human, strikingly human, perhaps even the greatest of what humanity could be, essentially he is the underground man in a world of last men.

“I tell you: one must still have chaos in oneself to give birth to a dancing star. Alas! There comes a time when man will no longer give birth to a star. Alas! There comes a time of the most despicable man, who can no longer despise himself. Behold! I show you the last man, ‘What is love? What is longing? What is a star?’ So asks the last man and he blinks. The earth has become small, and on it hops the last man who makes everything small.”

“His species is ineradicable like that of a flea; the last man lives the longest. ‘We have invented happiness’ says the last man, and blink. They have left the regions where it was hard to live for one needs warmth. Becoming sick and being suspicious are sinful to them: One proceeds carefully. He is a fool who still stumbles over stones or human beings!”-Thus Spoke Zarathustra p.13

Of course, it would be very rational to want such an existence, and everyone on his world is very rational, but rational isn’t reasonable, and reasonable isn’t meaningful. People are contradictions unto themselves. They almost never want what they need, or need what they want, or even want what they want. The easy paradisaical life is a beautiful dream full of splendor and joy... Only so long as it stays a dream. If man were to make his dream a reality I believe, well, I know that the moment after he would spit on the very ground he toiled so arduously to build and content himself with its absolute destruction, just so something interesting could happen in his utopia. That is the folly of it, and that’s what I believe Thanos saw, even if he didn’t understand it himself. That is essentially Dostoevsky's notion of utopia and the values of enlightenment which is basically the society the eternals had made.

“There are continually turning up in life moral and rational persons, sages and lovers of humanity to make it their object to live all their lives as morally and rationally as possible, to be, so to speak, a light to their neighbors simply in order to show them that it is possible to live morally and rationally in this world. And yet we all know that sooner or later those people have been false to themselves, playing some queer trick, often a most unseemly one. Now I ask you? What can be expected of man since he is being endowed with such strange qualities? Shower upon him every earthly blessing, drown him in a sea of happiness, so that nothing but bubbles of bliss can be seen on the surface; give him economic prosperity, such that he should have nothing else to do but sleep, eat cakes and busy himself with the continuation of his species, and then out of sheer ingratitude, sheer spite, man will play you some nasty trick. He would even risk his cakes and would deliberately desire the most fatal rubbish, the most uneconomical absurdity, simply to introduce into all of this positive good sense his fatal fantastic element. It is just his fantastic dreams, his vulgar folly that he will desire to retain, simply in order to prove to himself(as though it were so necessary) that men are still men and not keys of a piano, which the laws of nature threaten to control so completely that one will be able to desire nothing but by the calendar. And that is not all: even if man were nothing but a piano key, even if this were proved to him by natural science and mathematics, even then he would not become reasonable, but would purposely do something perverse out of simple ingratitude, simply to gain his point. And if he does not find means he will contrive destruction and chaos, will contrive suffering of all sorts, only to gain his point! He will launch a curse upon the world, and as only man can curse (it is his privilege, the primary distinction between him and other animals), may be by this curse alone he will attain his object- that is, convince himself he is a man and not a piano key! If you say that all this, too, can be calculated and tabulated chaos darkness and curses, so that the mere possibility of calculating it all beforehand would stop it all, and reason would reassert itself, then man would purposely go mad in order to be rid of reason and gain his point!” -Notes From Underground p.230-231

The point I’m expressing is that people are inherently chaotic, and that they love it too, it’s the source of our greatest freedom, the dancing star. We would also destroy all that was good for us merely to keep it. That chaos is lethal to utopianism and eternity. Thanos killed his people and worshiped death because perfection had a flaw, it was meaningless. They sacrificed everything for it, and in turn missed the sole notion powerful enough even to propel one to remake the whole universe and succeed... death. But, that’s just some guys opinion.

#thanos #nietzsche #dostoevksy #philosophy #marvel #study motivation

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katrinapavela · 6 years

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#Black Panther Themes Applied to #Scandal (#ICMABAS)

Black Panther gives us an opportunity to watch a film by and about black people, enveloping ourselves in the warm fibres of its tapestry of topics. Needless to say, the conversations go well beyond the usual fodder about representation and its attending anxieties about the white gaze on black work. I’ve heard a few discussions on the topics of black feminism, black radicalism, hair, fashion, cinematography, joy and pain—all inspired by this one film. I’ve tried to keep my thoughts to myself, or to the group chat, but I can’t anymore. I’m making the time today to touch on a few of Black Panther’s themes that made me draw some (clear) parallels with Scandal. Some of them are ones that I have talked about before. But because Black Panther is a rare, internationally shared moment that distills the themes so clearly, I just have to do a Wakanda edition of I Can Make Anything Be About Scandal (#ICMABAS). This is super spoilerific, so I don’t wanna hear from you if you get spoiled.

A Nation and a People Come to Understand their Place in the World:

In Black Panther, the proud people of Wakanda begin their journey, in the film, with a strong national presence, but it is an insular one. They believe their greatest resource is vibranium, the strongest substance known to man. Sitting on this wealth causes them to hide in plain sight from the outside world, as a form of protection. In the words of Olivia Pope, a woman who falters in living up to the values she implores others to follow: “Sometimes fear keeps us safe; but sometimes it holds us back” (416). By the end of Black Panther, the Wakandans come to understand that they are not just an African nation, but they are part of the African Diaspora. They become black people. And as Black people, free from the scars of colonialism they never experienced, they take up the responsibility of alleviating the pain and suffering of Black people who do have those scars. The film’s end shows us the declaration of this and that they start where one of their own (Killmonger) was deeply emotionally wounded: Oakland, California.

Sometimes we begin to understand who we are by seeing those who so distinctly represent who we are not; or who we do not wish to be. The gap between where we are and where we want to be is more easily traversed when we understand who we are. Without that latter piece, the journey seems meandering and purposeless. The tragic figure of Eric Killmonger evidenced for King T’Challa and Wakandans that they were connected to a Black world outside of their nation, and that true freedom means being able to serve your people to the best of your abilities. This very idea came not from Killmonger, but from Nakia—Wakandan international spy and T’Challa’s person/trusted advisor.

As a friend (@yrisaacs) recently said to me: knowing who you are is the place from which you can do the most good. That applies to yourself and others. Nakia understood this, and T’Challa, being the baby kind that he was, took time to come to see Nakia was right. Two things here: I am reminded of my Fitzgerald and Olivia. Fitz now knows who he is and his (privileged) place in the world. And what is he doing with that? He’s putting it to use to help people—namely Black people (finding missing Black girls, and tackling the criminal (in)justice system which is disproportionately cruel to Black people). Olivia Pope has accomplished great things in deceptive and untruthful ways because, ultimately, she doesn’t know where she’s going in life, because she doesn’t know who she is yet. In my preamble to S7, I remarked that the poster of Olivia Pope on a bench, overlooking Washington, DC gave me the impression of Olivia searching for her proper place as a Black woman in the nation. Olivia has sided with the Republic, again and again, to her own detriment and disengagement precisely because she does not know who she is, and is probably afraid to uncover. She is lost and can’t admit it. And in the gap of a loss not dissimilar to Eric Killmonger’s, an overzealous dedication to an abusive nation becomes a stand in for what is actually missing: a grounded sense of self. The identity, which Olivia’s father, Rowan, has emphasized, has failed her. Killmonger, too, was failed by fathers—both N’Jobu and T’Chaka. Olivia will not understand her place in the nation until she reconciles with the black feminine presence (preferably her own mother, Maya), perhaps starting in the upcoming HTGAWM crossover wherein she will interact with three generations of Black women: Analise Keating, AK’s mother, and Michaela. In both Black Panther and Scandal, the absence of the black maternal figure is strategic narration.

Disappointing Fathers & Absent Mothers

Another theme that looms large in both Black Panther and Scandal is the failure of fathers and the absence of mothers. These related issues produce lost children whose disengagement masks a profound search for true connection. My dear friend and scholar, Schuyler Esprit (@thatmaroongirl ) introduced me to Pauline Hopkins’ work in 2013, noting her influence in Shonda Rhymes’ style of drama. In Jill Bergman’s treatment on the trope of the motherless African American child in the novels of Pauline Hopkins (1859-1930), she notes that motherlessness is a motif that runs through all of Hopkin’s novels. Bergman (2012) asserts that the motherless trope resonates for African Americans dealing with the profound loss of having been abducted from a motherland, and the ensuing familial fragmentation that occurs as a result of slavery. For African Americans, post-Reconstruction, this results in alienation from a country in which they reside, but are not loved. Furthermore, it produces a profound longing for the missing maternal figure, which can manifest as a desire to connect with a literal lost parent or heritage (of the motherland).

Both Olivia and Eric Killmonger are left motherless, as children, and in the care of their fathers. We do not know the circumstance under which leaves Killmonger motherless. Olivia, however, is lied to by her father, at the age of 12 that her mother is dead, when in fact she is taken prisoner by her father as punishment for betrayal (308). Olivia is soon sent off to an expensive European boarding school and never lives with her father again (301, 306). This is effectively a double abandonment. Eric Killmonger, too, is abandoned by his father (N’Jobu) through his murder at the hands his brother, King T’Chaka. The reason for N’Jobu and Maya’s death/”death” are ostensibly the same: protecting a nation by punishing the individual betraying it. In the case of both children, their own family members are to blame for their abandonment. Neither family provides any true consolation for the loss these children experience.

The Scars of Disengagement

The childhood abandonment increases the sense of alienation for both Killmonger and Olivia well-into adulthood, where it has metastasized. Born N’Jadaku, he becomes Eric Killmonger, and wears the evidence of his scarred childhood on his literal body. The scars are supposed to resemble tribal markings, but they are effectively empty in Killmonger’s case, as each represents the death of someone at his hands. All of it done to reach Wakanda to exact revenge for his father’s death. In Olivia’s case, as is for many women, the scars of her childhood pain are all internal. On the outside she radiates ‘bad bitch’, but that flawlessness has always been a deflection. The disengagement comes off as aloof coolness, but that too is armor. It keeps people from getting too close.

But T’Challa does eventually get close enough to see Killmonger. Having defeated Killmonger for the soul of Wakanda and path to freedom for the rest of the diaspora (the battle takes place in a futuristic, underground railway!), T’Challa sees the extent to which Killmonger is damaged by what his father, King T’Chaka did. T’Challa tries to save Killmonger, but he baselessly assumes that this help comes in the form of bondage, and instead chooses death, citing his kidnapped ancestors who jumped overboard instead of facing a lifetime of bondage. I wondered if he chose to stick with the dependable pain that he knew, rather than being made vulnerable, which accepting help requires.

Death is a way out of bondage—a fate seen as worse than death. This theme has popped up on Scandal repeatedly since Olivia was kidnapped in the 4th season. At that time, one of her captors told her “There are many things far worse than death” (410). The time in bondage, however brief, has returned an Olivia who has become increasingly alienated from the people and relationships around her. Each ensuing season has seen this compounded. She, like Killmonger, mistook help as a form of bondage (509), choosing instead to hold on to the familiarity of her fears through the death of a relationship. Both these characters see vulnerability as a kind of bondage.

Black Feminism as a Check on Toxic Masculinity:

One of my favourite things about Black Panther is the balance of the masculine and feminine. Perhaps because of the absence of colonialism, and the European Enlightenment ideas upon which it operated, Wakanda is not a society dominated by patriarchy. There is a king, but T’Challa’s visit to the spirit world to reunite with T’Chaka revealed there were female Black Panthers, too. There’s also Okoye, the General of the Dora Milaje—the best warriors in the land. And there are female members of the king’s counsel, including the Queen mother, Ramonda. Female leaders of tribes. The best engineer in the land is a 16 year old princess, Shuri. And the person who shows the king the future of Wakandan leadership is Nakia. Every single one of these women is different, and what’s more none of them believe in a self-reliance that alienates love or other relationships. Community and country are important to them, but so are individuals. Black women play pivotal roles as fully formed humans who lead. It’s a film white feminists should study.

I bring up the role of Wakandan women not just because they are sovereign beings and equal citizens, but because there is a clear point being made in the film with regard to how T’Challa and Killmonger treat these women. The contrast in treatment aligns seamlessly with each man’s political philosophy on the liberation of Black people. Earlier I wrote about the strategic absence of Black femininity in both Olivia and Killmonger’s life. T’Challa, by contrast, is surrounded by women (his mother, sister, Okoye, Nakia, etc). He loves, respects and values their counsel, especially as he is finding his footing as a new king in the wake of his father’s death. Meanwhile, Killmonger, who doesn’t grow up with that influence, is seen with a girlfriend, whom he soon kills when she stands in the way of his mission. Having arrived in Wakanda, he disrespects, chokes, or kills Wakandan women. Killmonger may have had a point, but his overall philosophy of liberation was fucked up. Killmonger’s was a toxic masculinity that ultimately consumed him and obviously harmed those around him.

“Masculinity without the combination of the feminine is weak. It is all bravado. It is not true power. It is anger without control. That’s the message [of Black Panther] to me”–@rodimusprime, TBGWT

Toxic masculinity has all but consumed and ruined the life of Olivia Pope, too. Olivia has been questing to find out what true power is, and along with the way she has increasingly adopted the primary model of power in her life: that of her father, Rowan. His is a toxic masculinity that reads power in terms of domination and violence, particularly toward black women. Black women whose names end the letter ‘a’ have had their lives ruined by Rowan. He separated is wife Maya from Olivia for over twenty years. Before Maya, we learn he had a paleontologist girlfriend who he seemed to love. Her name was Sandra. She ended up dead, shot in the head by Rowan. And now Olivia has adopted so many of her father’s traits, including a disregard for things deemed ‘weak’ or ‘feminine’, except the cut of her clothing. She threatens people’s children to get what she wants. She kills lovers to teach a lesson and maintain her power. She lies to the people who, somehow, still love and care for her, to prove she can outsmart anyone. The adage ‘hurt people hurt people’ is completely true in this portrait of generational abuse in the Pope family. And the absence of the Black mother (as well as any black female friends) is a key to understanding how the toxicity of this type of masculinity, which masquerades as Black power, is ultimately weak and unsustainable. It is disengaged and alienated. It has no friends or intimate relationships, even of the non-romantic kind. It is lonely and fragile.

What will save Olivia from becoming Killmonger (because Rowan is already Killmonger and can’t be saved. I feel this in my bones.), is a change in her understanding of her own power. She will have to draw on a feminine source for that. The relationship with Fitzgerald is a source of feminine power, as Fitz himself represents masculinity that embraces the feminine . That is the balance that attracts Olivia to him, but that relationship will not succeed until Olivia sees possibility and power in the black feminine presence—in someone who mirrors that for her so that she can see it in herself. The Olivia we have at present is someone stomping around with a lot of hurt and insecurity inside. She has not truly embraced her inner ‘bad bitch’ because that comes with understanding vulnerability as a necessary part of life and love.

The Master’s Tools

“For the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house. They may allow us to temporarily beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change.”—Audre Lorde (1979)

Olivia is not Killmonger, but I see some of the same pain inside them, and the same misguided ideas about power, which are aligned with the masculine. Killmonger’s plan to fight oppression by arming Black people around the world was untenable and dripping in the same violent domination colonizers use to put people in bondage. But, you know, it sounded cool. I guess. When was the violence supposed to end? When the oppressors were overthrown, then what? Killmonger is an extreme example of Black patriarchy-masquerading-as-black-radicalism. And it’s why it cannot lead us into the future.

The true radical, to me, in Black Panther was Nakia. She is the one who thought that Wakanda could show the rest of the world what it meant to provide aide. After all, Wakanda was not a nation which had made itself rich off the backs of oppressing people and stealing the resources of their countries, only to turn around to offer pitiable aide and blame them for their own poverty. So, for Wakanda to help Black people around the world, from a position of love for those people would be radical indeed. In a white supremacist world, loving black people is a radical concept.

Vulnerability as True Power: The Importance of the Heart & Governing

Speaking of loving black people as a radical act, I want to conclude by talking about the heart shaped herb and its relationship to strength and power. When T’Challa undergoes the ritual to become king, the other tribes are entitled to challenge him. He has to prove he is worthy of the crown, through their agreement. T’Challa is stripped of his Black Panther power before he fights for the crown. This means he has to make himself vulnerable as a man (not a super hero) to prove his worthiness as leader. This is a contrast to how Killmonger conceives of leadership and power. Later this idea reinforced when the heart-shaped herb restores T’Challa’s panther powers. When he enters the spirit plane to consult his dead father, T’Challa asks T’Chaka if he will make a good king. T’Chaka tells him that he will be challenged because “you are a good man, with a good heart. And it’s hard for a good man to be king”. It was then that I understood why the flower, which provides strength, is shaped like a heart. The combination of the delicacy of the flower and the heart shape, both associated with the feminine, are conveyed as sources of strength and power. It reminded me of another character who’s a good man with a good heart:

“Weakness is our strength. It’s what makes us human. It’s where our compassion lies.”—Fitzgerald Grant (211)

The ‘bit of sweetness’ Maya saw in her daughter, Olivia, is something the daughter sought to eradicate, thinking doing so would make it easier to rule her “empire”. But to eliminate vulnerability makes one a tyrant. It makes one less of a human. Wakandans understood that. At one point Okoye tells Killmonger that his heart is full of hate, and so he cannot be an effective leader. A good leader needs heart because they must understand the struggles of the people they are leading. I think Olivia is, underneath it all, a good woman with a good heart. Someone emotionally browbeaten by fear, trauma and years of emotional abuse that have led her to cope through addiction. Unlike Killmonger, I don’t think she’s given up on life or love. She just has to work at embracing vulnerability and her full potential as a black woman. It’s the key to seeing new possibilities in life, as the Wakandans did.

What themes did you guys see?

#Black Panther #black panther review #scandal #i can make anything be about scandal #olivia pope #icmabas

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