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earninganincomplete · 3 months

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The Three R's

Summary: There's a recycling crisis in Sandrock, and Burgess knows he's the one to try and solve it.

Rating: G

Characters: Burgess, Pablo, Dan-bi

A/N: @perniciouslizard is my main. I just felt like messing around with character voices, so I wrote a bit of nothing for fun.

Word Count: 1337

Once a month, Pablo’s mailbox was stuffed full of magazines. Most of them were popular fashion magazines from around the region, but a few were more “general interest.” Pablo always rolled his eyes and did air quotes when he said that, for reasons that Burgess thought must only be clear to super fancy people like Pablo and Amirah.

That didn’t matter. Pablo said he needed all those stacks of glossy paper to run his business, and Burgess had to trust him. They seemed to be kept next to the stations inside the salon, so there was no reason to think it was an elaborate scam to release more litter into the oasis and the surrounding areas. Pablo and Burgess had different priorities, but Burgess knew he wasn’t evil. He’d even seen Pablo pick up a bottle from the ground and toss it in the trash when he thought no one was watching.

The magazines were still a problem, though! “Accidental” litterings could happen, especially during a sandstorm. Burgess had watched, once, in horror, as one of the builder’s free roaming cats knocked down a recycling bin, got the secured lid off, and scattered the contents. Bits of junk had hit the wind and were out of sight before Burgess was able to make it down from the temple grounds.

“Reduce, Reuse, Recycle!” Burgess had set up a meeting at the Blue Moon to try and explain to Pablo why “reduce” took the primary spot in everyone’s favorite anti-trash slogan.

“I’m just one man, sweetheart,” Pablo said. “You can’t expect me to keep a full house entertained and ensure I’m paying proper attention to beautifying my customers. And if I leave them alone, they get bored and leave before everything’s set properly. Even the elderly transform into petulant children if you don’t give them something to look at while they’re waiting.”

Again, Burgess couldn’t argue about how Pablo ran his business. He still recalled very clearly the time a tourist fell asleep on a busy day and got locked in when Pablo closed up. When she woke up and realized she was in the dark and couldn’t figure out how to get out, everyone in town heard the stream of insults and cosmopolitan expletives coming from the salon when she found Pablo in his bedroom and woke him up. He had assumed she was a “fantastically coiffed robber.”

“Well, I guess if you’ve done everything can to follow the first and most sacred of the three R’s, then I guess...can you try reusing them?”

Pablo sighed. “Sometimes I rip them up if their ‘newest trends’ section is offensive enough. Plaids? This season? Really?” His voice was soft and gentle. “And after I burn the parts no one deserves to have to see, I give the rest of that magazine to the doctor for his bird.”

“You burn it?”

“Oh, just the worst parts. I promise. But I don’t think his bird uses enough paper in a month to take all of them. Maybe the town should think about investing in better locking lids on their garbage bins? Just an idea?” Pablo had an air of calm about him as he sipped his tea, but Burgess got the sense that he didn’t think any of this was his responsibility. But litter was everyone’s responsibility.

“I can apply for another grant, but Mayor Trudy says that garbage collection already takes twice as long since we added the old locks, and the animals have already figured out how to break into the cans, anyhow.” Burgess had ordered sand tea because it seemed like what everyone drank when they sat in the Blue Moon talking to Pablo. He hadn’t taken a sip yet. This was a difficult puzzle and he was determined to solve it. He sighed. “I guess using gene manipulation to create races of super intelligent mutant animals was another bad move on the old world’s part! Who could have guessed?”

“And they made them so ugly, too,” Pablo said, sympathetic. “Well, it seems like a more complicated problem then I realized.” He frowned. “Well, how about you just take them? Maybe your church could, I don’t know, distribute them to the fashion needy throughout the area? While you’re out there dropping off food and things, anyway.”

Burgess had to approve of charitable impulse, which made it difficult to turn down the offer. He felt a tiny be like this very serious problem of chronic littering – a problem Pablo had caused with his rampant magazine subscribing – was not being taken seriously. And maybe the problem was being foisted off onto him and the church. “Um, thanks! I’m sure all the people living in the depths of poverty on the edges of civilization could use...something to read?” Literacy rates fell dramatically the further people lived from any major city.

Pablo must have had the same thought. “They all have pretty pictures in them, too.”

He couldn’t figure out how to turn down the offer, so Burgess took the donation. He didn’t want to store them in with the more important things in church storage, so he kept them in a neat stack in the back of his dorm room. Whenever someone (usually Dan-bi) went on a charity run, they would take some along. They only ever took a couple, since food kind of took priority space-wise. It usually took a full season to distribute them.

The ranchers thanked the church for the “free TP,” but Dan-bi mentioned they all were dressing more colorfully when she visited again. “Farmer Ban asked me if he thought his shirt looked good on him, even though he’s a ‘winter,’ whatever that means.”

“Oh! Then he probably wants to wear different shades of blue? The quiz I took says I’m a spring and I should wear bright colors! Except I’m not sure I guessed my undertones right, and that’s a big deal, apparently.” Burgess had read every single magazine. It was difficult for him to have a piece of paper nearby and not read it. Plus, some of the magazines had surveys! And quizzes! “Maybe I’ll ask Pablo later.”

“I bet he’ll love that.” Dan-bi shoved a couple more magazines into her bag. “I think this might be your last season with these. I guess some of Fang’s patients started reading the scraps X was scattering around, and they spent less time trying to talk to him. So he’ll take the leftovers.”

That would probably just move the problem forward a couple more seasons, but Burgess was willing to accept a lot to get the distracting quizzes out of his direct eye line. “That’s great! But, oh no! What about Farmer Ban? If his love of fashion is just starting to blossom, I wouldn’t want to crush it before it had the chance to bloom!”

“I’ll save him a couple, Burgey-boy. Don’t worry.” She started to leave, and then ran back. “Oh, hey! This Friday! Babysitting? You up for it?”

“Oh, of course! It’s such an honor that-”

“Yeah thanks bye!” She was gone.

“Well...bye!” He called out the window.

Burgess knelt down next to the stack of magazines. “And goodbye to you, too, magazines with beautiful people on the cover!” He really would miss the quizzes, though, even if all the articles about getting a “summer body” made him feel kind of bad in a weird way he tried hard to not think about.

He heard a loud bang right outside the dorms and rapidly jogged out to find out what was making the noise. Coco was sitting on one of the dorm’s recycling bins, pecking at the elaborate lock the builder made for him to test out. Three pecks and it fell off. “Co Co--!” It flew away when it spotted Burgess.

“You can’t keep getting away with this!” He shook his fist at the sky. “I’m adding it to your fine!”

Man, everyone was just running away from him that night. He piled some rocks on the can and went back inside.

#mtas #burgess #pablo mtas #fanfic #mtas burgess

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divinecomedyproductions · 6 months

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My Frustration 2: Electric Boogaloo

This is something of a sequel to my previous post because looking back on it, the way I described 'pop-culture/literally intellectuals' and how they go around spouting "raised stakes and consequences" and especially relating to my distaste of Pyrrha and Arkos being tragic, and Black Sun seemingly thrown out the window or even if it didn't they would be put on the chopping block next sounded to broad and generalized

I want to make it perfectly clear, I'm not saying every person who uses those terms are snobs and are being completely arbitrary

I am aware Monty always intended Pyrrha and Arkos to be tragic, and I get why the story idealistically works(such as Celtic Phoenix is trying to do with Fixing RWBY) and I get why it works for a majority and why its objectively good and what not

But I'm gonna be honest, and pardon me using a Harry Potter gif because I know the whole ordeal about JK but the gif is a mood...

I love the world and characters and certain concepts of RWBY, but I honestly I just really don't like the story that was told with them or directions they went, which once again isn't to say its objectively bad

I’m not saying the direction RWBY went with V3 or Pyrrha and the rest of the cast being tragic in some way or another is objectively bad, it was just not my taste

And I am not saying every normal RWBY fan/RWDE person who liked it is an elitist about it nor are all of them trying to insult me and attack me personally or say my ideas are bad but rather help you guys understand my experience with the toxic strain of the fanbase.

and I am not trying to change canon or its “trajectory” , nor am I doing this to spite Monty, especially when I never knew the guy. This is a difference in handling ideas and concepts.

I’m doing my RWBY AU, which will most likely be revamped into an original story since it takes a whole different directions with the characters and world, but it's mostly because with post V3 and now in retrospect I saw what this world, characters, ships and other ideas could have been all in a story I believe is worth telling. And I was very disappointed and frustrated that it wasn’t along with my own personal exhaustion how epic storytelling has been going in several franchises.

and my original story which might be a magitek space opera, is kinda cross between RWBY, Fairy Tale, Star Wars, Flash Gordon, and The Chronicles of Narnia

The problem with that in the past is I have met individuals who were just snobs using the fact 'raised stakes' and 'consequences' in epics are necessary to just flat out negated any alternative ideas for concepts without even going into detail and from where I am standing it's becoming more legalistic and arbitrary to the point nothing is allowed to go right, at least not on the small scale as well as the large scale

Like for example, my original story recycles concepts of RWBY such as Jaune and Pyrrha, Blake and Sun, Weiss and Netpune, and Ruby and Oscar as new characters but they get well earned happy endings and they reign as kings and queens on their respective planets and the last couple reigning over them all as emperor and empress

in the past on other websites a lot of ideologues just kept harping on 'raise stakes' and 'consequences' like cheerleaders at a prep rally as if those things inherently forbid such things

for example

"Arkos ended tragically worked, ergo all couples and characters in epic stories like Jaune and Pyrrha(the dork knight and the warrior woman isolated by society) especially if they are directly inspired by them must also end that way to raise steaks and consequences, and they only way they can have a happy ending is in a sitcom/romcom. Doesn't matter what the epic story is about, what happens, their roles, or why, or why it makes audiences happy, if they don't end up dead in an epic, it means nothing."

and to borrow a point from another previous post, when it came to my AU and original story, the fandom would set me and others like me up into a conundrum;

RWBY Fandom: “*sneer* the changes you made in this AU, its not RWBY anymore! Change it up and make it an original story!”

Me: Fine. *tweaks the designs, change the names, and aesthetics…*

Fandom: “Ah! This story is thinly-veiled fan fiction and its characters, world, and ships are clearly influenced by RWBY’s world, characters, and ships you wanted among other things along with you being butthurt which is pathetic and sad cope!

You should disengage the source material, use something else which you 100% agree with, grow up, and ya know, you need to learn to be more original!"

Me: "Philip Pullman did it with the Chronicles of Narnia in "His Dark Materials Trilogy" and you also got Omniman and Homelander from Invincible and The Boys who are Evil Superman..."

Fandom: "Well they can do that with stuff you like, but you can't do that with stuff we like."

and to borrow my point from my other post as before, when I tried to explain my personal distaste how it feels like tragic romance is bleeding into other stuff like DC Comics when Dan Didio trashed Bruce and Selena's wedding and ruining Clark and Lois's marriage and the 'hero's shouldn't have happy personal lives' gibberish, one rwby individual condoned it because

"single batman and superman sells well"

right after he said what I wanted was inherently 'pandering' which in my eyes is hypocritical since to do what 'sells well' can be pandering along with the idea I can't stuff my niche interests into stuff they like, but when its the reverse, its totally acceptable

They would go on how "they're just fictional characters, its not that deep" and then we would actively disagree with these things creatively, it all of a sudden was a matter of life and death

the pattern was pretty clear

and combined with my experience a lot of people in the RWBY fanbase began flipping off people who walked out on RWBY V3, insulting them and what they preferred, and telling those people basically "shut up and go watch a sitcom" just gives me this feelings there's a bias, and The RWBY fandom is the tip of the iceberg...

If you like the right things, think the right things, subjectively feel the right things, and subvert the wrong this for the right things, your justified in forcing your opinions onto others, can get away doing and saying whatever you want on the internet anywhere and to anyone without suppression, and simultaneously suppress and censor others within your own communities

#rwde #writing #long post #toxic fndm #toxic fanbase #dc comics #on writing #pop culture

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melgaardmlvvelling · 2 years

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Saving Environment With Government, Ngos And Waste Management Companies

While couple of years back governments were required to enforce legislations to encourage the practice of efficient construction and demolition waste management, today situations are slightly different. Majority of the global citizens tend to be more conscious and worried about the well-being of the environment, who require no regulations to act responsibly. Even many top waste disposal companies has emerged on the scene, taking the initiative of protecting environmental surroundings to the next level with better ways and innovations.

Given construction and demolition sites contribute largely up pollution, the target is about the construction companies. Government and environmentalists have acted accordingly, setting new measures and practices for them to limit the pollution emission level. It has dawned on people the actual health hazards it holds if the current scenario is constantly on the thrive; right from causing asthma, bronchitis and perchance cancer to decreasing the capacity of lungs.

It came a little too late, one could argue, if the danger numbers of air pollution, in several countries, has hit the red zone. Even in countries like Australia, that has always prided itself as eco-friendly, the threat is high. A 2014 report suggests, an average of, 3000 Australians are killed each year as a result of air pollution. No wonder Brisbane, Melbourne and Adelaide waste management agencies are playing heroes nowadays.

These agencies, although existed even couple of years back, less difficult more widely used today. They have adapted to new techniques to take care of new challenges efficiently at affordable. With efficient waste management practices, they struggle minimizing how much pollution generated as much possible. They provide treatment for dispose the waste safely. Also, taking their services a good step ahead, in addition they offer recycling services- ensuring a 360 solution.

DIY steps may also be playing larger role for construction companies, who instead contracting professionals, have taken up the task themselves. While their methods are nowhere as efficient, their approach is welcome, given their decades of indifference towards environment well-being.

However, the situation of construction and demolition waste is deep rooted, with many companies still flaunting a careless attitude and prioritizing profit at the pinnacle. To save Rubbish removal Logan , they're still reluctant towards adapting new practices and contracting professionals. Government and NGOs do try to keep check on them but with unsuccessful attempts most with the times.

Saving environment is often a duty not of just one, but everyone. To take the green initiatives, government, construction companies, NGOs, and waste management contractors must be around the same platform to bring the risk level from red zone to yellow, otherwise green.

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skipbinsinadelaide · 2 years

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How to Choose the Right Size Skip Bin for Your Project

If you're doing any renovations or construction, you'll eventually need to get rid of the rubbish. And what's the easiest way to do that? A skip bin! But with so many different skip bin sizes and types available, how do you know which one is right for your project?

In this post, we'll show you how to choose the right size skip bin for your needs. When it comes to choosing the right size skip bin for your project, there are a few things you need to take into account.

The size of the Skip bin Adelaide will determine how much waste you can dispose of at once, so it's important to choose one that's appropriate for your needs. If you're renovating your home or clearing out a lot of accumulated junk, you'll need a larger bin than if you're just doing a bit of spring cleaning.

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Finally, think about what type of waste you'll be disposing of. If you're getting rid of hazardous materials, you'll need a skip bin that's specifically designed for that purpose.

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A good way to estimate the size of skip bin you need is to measure the amount of waste you expect to produce. This can be done by counting the number of bags of waste you think you'll generate or by measuring the volume in cubic metres.

Once you have an idea of the size skip bin you need, you can then start browsing our extensive range and find the perfect one for your project.

What can I put in a skip bin?

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General waste includes everyday items such as cardboard, paper, plastic, and metal. Hazardous waste, on the other hand, is classified as anything that could potentially harm the environment if not disposed of properly. This includes chemicals, liquids, and solids.

It's important to remember that not everything can go in a skip bin. For example, you can't put food waste in there because it will attract pests. If you're unsure whether or not something can be put in a skip bin, always ask the company before you book.

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Once you've determined the size of Skip bin Adelaide you need, the next step is to book it. You can do this online or by phone, and we recommend booking at least a few days in advance to ensure you get the bin you need.

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Your skip bin must be of the correct size for your project or it will not be collected. This is because overloaded or incorrectly sized bins can cause safety issues and block traffic, so it's important to choose the right size for your needs.

How can I get the most out of using a skip bin?

Here are a few tips on how to get the most out of your skip bin hire:

Try to fill it as much as possible. The more you fill it, the more you'll save.

Make sure you only put debris that's appropriate for a skip bin. This includes items like bricks, rubble, concrete, and soil.

If you're working on a large project, it might be a good idea to speak to our team about hiring a larger bin. That way, you won't have to make multiple trips to the skip bin and can save time and money.

Remove all the lids and caps from your debris before putting it in the bin. This will help save space and make sure that everything fits properly.

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#MiniSkipsAdelaide #SkipHireAdelaide #SkipbinAdelaide #SkipBinsGlenelg #SkipbinshireAdelaide

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pixeltypist · 2 years

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Walking the Lyne

Word count: ~4000

Summary: When Reia Alantra goes looking for the city’s curiosities, she finds a little more than she bargained for.

Genre: Dystopian speculative fiction

CW: suicidal ideation, mentions of death

- - -

Cloud always asked me why I still took the Tram despite the Empire’s warrant for my arrest and my father’s bounty for my head. I always gave the same answer: for the reminder of the world we live in and the people we live among. For the vast majority of my life, my father’s shadow had shielded me, and if I was going to change the world, I had to breathe the same recycled air as everyone else.

Besides, it’s not like the guards posted at the cabin entrances posed any risk. No one looked at people's faces anymore; tech implants kept everyone too preoccupied with their live feeds. Not only that, but the pass I carried provided a different name each time a guard scanned it and always told them I’d received my daily dose of Magik.

The Tram Network was a tangled mess of rails above the city, weaving around each other and the skyrises that tried to touch the top of the Dome. Of course, the Empire had strict requirements about how close any one or any thing could be to the Dome; after all, it was the thing keeping all the oxygen we generated inside and all the dark, swirling fog that covered the Earth outside. No one had seen the stars since even before the Calamity.

I liked trying to look past the fog for the speckles of light that peeked through. Even though I knew those were the Lyne service stations, or the Rovers the Lyne workers used to get to the service stations for shift changes, I liked to pretend that they were stars — or maybe even signs of life outside the Dome.

If I pressed my cheek against the cabin’s window and looked down, I could see the swarms of people on the streets below. When sandwiched between people on the Tram, it kept the scale of the lives I was trying to save at the forefront of my mind. My father’s Syndicate aimed to destroy Lyne because they were killing the planet and killing everyone on it, and my father wanted to destroy Lyne because the Empire controlled Lyne and the Empire had killed my mom. He wanted to watch the world burn for it.

While I agreed with him — Lyne must be destroyed — we couldn’t live without them right now. The Magik they manufactured by draining the world’s ley lines kept the oxygen generators, carbon dioxide scrubbers, food synthesizers, and water purifiers going, and humanity still had no way of living beyond the glass bubbles we’d constructed at the start of the Calamity.

“I’m really worried about him,” the woman next to me murmured to her friend, and I unfocused my gaze out the window so I could better listen.

“I know; me too… I can’t imagine what it feels like, losing your whole family, just like that.”

“Did you hear that it was a Magik overdose that did them all in?”

The other woman gasped. “No, really? All the reports say that shouldn’t be possible anymore, that they fixed the formula.” She sniffed. “They must have done it on purpose…” She paused and lowered her voice. “Do you think he’s going to do something stupid? Should we report him?”

“I don’t know… But he’s serious, I think. Stopped taking Magik, even.”

The woman’s friend straightened and laughed. “Then I’m not worried. He won’t be able to lift a finger in a few days.”

Magik withdrawal terrified me. Before Lyne started sucking them dry, ley lines had spanned the planet, connecting all living things together. When Lyne started harvesting that energy, all animal and plant life died, including a large chunk of the human population. Because most modern humans didn’t have a connection to their own, innate magic, they relied on ley lines — just like everything else out there — to sustain them. To solve this, the world's greatest minds came together and created Magik: a silvery liquid people could ingest — or inject, now — to supply the magic they needed to survive. Without it, people’s minds start to fade and their bones grow brittle; you could break someone’s hand with a gentle handshake if they’d skipped three days in a row of their required Magik injection.

But Magik contained more than energy. There was something else in it, something that latched onto a person’s soul and made them need it. My father’s family had kept their ancestral magic, which allowed every Alantra to exist without Magik, and those who came to the Syndicate learned this magic, too. Despite this, I had seen my fair share of people die from withdrawal, even with their magic unlocked. Even those who didn’t die experienced severe pain and fatigue for weeks after. In fact, I’d started down this path to search for a way to make that transition easier.

A bell sounded through the cabin, and a moment later, the Tram slowed, coming to a stop at the station. I kept my head down as I exited the cabin and took the flights of stairs down to the ground level.

As a crime lord’s only child, I’d had certain lessons ingrained into me. First: everyone wears a mask. My father played the part of a rebel, of a social justice fighter, but he was angry and bitter and grieving. Second: secrets were everywhere, and every secret was useful in its own way. My father used these secrets as leverage in his war against the Empire, but I used them to gather knowledge.

It’s why I kept wandering the city despite it all. The place humanity called home was full of relics of the past, and we could learn from those relics — whether it be the mistakes or the triumphs. I needed them both; if I missed something, even a small detail, I wouldn’t be able to push out Lyne when the time came.

The flow of people on the street swept me into its current as soon as I stepped out of the station doors, and for a few moments, I let it take me where it willed. Trash crunched under my feet, and neon lights made it near impossible to see the Tram tracks I knew were above. I could still feel the change in pressure and the artificial breeze on my face as they whooshed by.

Vendors shouted their goods and prices at the masses, and I maneuvered toward the edge of the river of people to see if there was anything promising. Recently, I’d gotten my hands on some pre-Calamity texts that had helped my research, and sometimes, just seeing the exposure to the barrage of sights and smells would spark or connect ideas.

I always found the city to be most interesting on the fringes, anyway. After the Calamity, humanity scrambled to regain their foothold in the world, and they reused what they could. This resulted in a maze of hidden paths spanning the whole city, but they all went somewhere.

When I slowed to get a better look at one of the stalls — were those tablets? — someone knocked my shoulder hard enough to turn me around. My gaze landed on a staircase that went down into a small, dead-end alleyway. I promised the old woman overseeing this collection of relics that I’d be back, and I walked around her booth to explore.

The alley was more like an empty lot that had been set aside for a building. Evidently someone had forgotten about it, and the public turned into a trash pit instead. This alone was unusual; bots swept the whole city once a month to reclaim debris. There wasn’t a single surface left untouched, but here, the trash went up to my ankles.

I walked around the perimeter of the lot and ran my hand along the smooth concrete walls — maybe there was a hidden door? — and when I got to the darkest corner, the one tucked against the street above and across from the staircase I’d entered through, I felt something textured and different under my feet. With a satisfied grin, I brushed away the debris and found a manhole cover, which I pulled. I could barely make out copper rungs, and with a shrug, I swung my body into the hole and went down the ladder into darkness.

It didn’t take long for the light below me to creep into my vision, and when the ladder finally ended, I found myself in front of a dusty control station that looked out at an empty Lyne tunnel through a pane of dirty glass.

Most major inner-city Lynes had been abandoned long ago because of the danger they posed. When Lyne started building the infrastructure humanity needed to survive the Calamity, they discovered how unwieldy the magic could be. Almost weekly, there was a story about an accident — whether it was a city block destroyed by an improperly regulated Lyne or a shift of Lyne workers killed by an explosion that wasn’t powerful enough to breach the surface. Not only that, but having a major Lyne running through a city was inefficient; they didn’t have mechanisms in place to limit usage, so the people sucked the Lyne dry.

Now, the main Lynes ran on the outskirts of the city, and Branches, which had top secret limiter tech attached to them, brought Magik into the city proper. Whenever possible, Lyne routed the Branches to existing Lyne tunnels, but if the old tunnels were too degraded, the Branches followed the same route but with an offset. Because of this, the Empire guarded the location of Lyne tunnels even more ferociously than they did the Limiter tech; if people ever found the tunnels, we’d have another energy crisis on our hands. To stop people from looking in the first place, all Lyne employees had explicit orders to shoot anyone found poking around where they weren’t supposed to.

This particular tunnel was certainly not in use. Characteristic silver lines streaked the walls that were still in tact, but for every streak that had left the walls smooth, there were three others that had gouged the concrete. There were some points where the cracks converged and ate away at the wall to form holes big enough that I could crawl through.

I stuffed down my curiosity and turned my attention to the panels; maybe I could learn something from these. My attempts at controlling my own magic had been crude but effective, but they were unique to my magic. If I was going to shift the world away from Lyne, the tech I built had to be usable by all and should be as close as possible to what people were already familiar with and, ideally, even easier to use. That was the only way I’d be able to get people to buy off on it.

I forced myself to ignore the dials — no use in trying to figure out how those worked quite yet — and looked over the bigger picture. In order for Lyne to keep the inner workings of its proprietary tech a secret from the population, those who operated for them had to know enough to operate the Lyne safely but no more. Most likely, the workers themselves had an engineer that oversaw them, but the control panels themselves had to be dummy proof. Maybe there’s a manual or something they forgot to collect… I shook my head and forced that curiosity down.

Really, it looked like a map. Or, even one of those piping system drawings I’d seen in the pre-Calamity era textbooks I’d been lucky enough to find while wandering the Underbelly. There were two rectangular blocks etched into the panel on both ends, and a thick line connected the blocks across the panel. Just inside of those blocks, there was a switch with an amber light below it and a green light above it. Along the center line, lines branched off, and each branch had another switch before it split into two, which also had switches on either end. A circular etching notated each split, and under each one were some LED panels. Maybe those were pumps?…

I couldn’t stop myself now — I had to confirm my hypothesis — and I started opening cabinets and drawers in search of some kind of manual or list of procedures. After a few minutes of searching and finding nothing, I stepped out of the control room and into the tunnel itself; maybe I could find the things the symbols on the control panel represented.

I opened the control room door and stepped off the platform, and I slowed when I realized I could see my breath. I could almost smell the chill in the air, and the silver streaks on the tunnel walls started to feel more like frost than markings left by Magik. Above me, I heard snapping and crackling, and when I looked up, I got lost in the mass of sparking wires for a moment. Those were still live? Did Lyne not clean up well, or were they purposely wasting Magik?…

I sighed and picked my way across the rest of the tunnel to peer through one of the holes in the wall, and I jumped when I heard a wrench clang to the floor. Cursing followed, and ahead of me, someone peeked into the tunnel to see if anyone had heard.

We locked eyes, and I sighed again. This wouldn’t end well.

When the stranger cursed again and ducked away, I walked toward them and wondered if they would be reasonable. Probably not. I reached up to the copper amulet hanging around my neck and murmured, “Ancestors, hear me now. Protect me and guide my hand.” I reached for the Bank clipped to my belt next, turning the dial on its top a single tick.

There were a few options. Option one: this was some rookie Lyne worker doing some maintenance. That was bad because of the aforementioned: “shoot anyone you see meddling with the Lynes.” Option two: this was some rando trying to hack the neighboring Branch. They would shoot me because they’d think I was a Lyne worker. Option three: this was one of my lovely father’s cronies about to perform an act of terrorism, and they would definitely shoot me, Lyne worker or not.

I used my thumb and index finger to pull on the ghostly white Thread that leaked from my Bank’s cap, and I pressed my will into it, shaping it into a thin shield that outlined my figure. It would protect me from energy shots, not bullets; if, for whatever reason, this guy had a pre-Calamity style gun, then this shield would do nothing to stop it.

When he came back into view, he held a blaster, and sure enough, he took the shot. The red bolt spread over me before dissipating, and I got the satisfaction of seeing his surprise as I picked up my pace. I didn’t like the odds that he had something that could hurt me, so the sooner this ended, the better.

By the time I reached him, he had a knife in his hand, and my father’s third lesson became relevant: you are never safe. My father had started my self-defense training when I was old enough to walk. I caught the stranger’s wrist as he swung, and I twisted his forearm to take a look at his wrist. The blade clattered to the ground, and I shoved him away.

“Shooting at people without asking questions is very rude, you know.” I looked him over. Definitely not from Lyne: no uniform. He wasn’t with my father, either: no brand on his wrist. His dark brown hair was graying, and his irises were going white, although there was still a fair amount of blue woven in them. He was going through Magik withdrawals, then.

I frowned. Was this the same guy those women had been talking about?

“I’m not with Lyne, and —” I started.

“Then what the hell are you doing down here?” he demanded, and I arched an eyebrow.

“I could ask you the same question.” I glanced over at the wall. Nails pinned explosives to the smooth brick, but there were still some free floating wires — he wasn’t done yet.

“Are you suicidal?” I demanded harshly. “I assume there’s a Branch on the other side of that wall. If you take it down, it will disintegrate you.”

He glared. “Lyne is already destroying the planet, and they’ve already killed thousands. I might as well take them down with me.”

This had to be the guy. The world was so cold now; without your family, you had no one. Even his supposed friends on the train had been apathetic about his disaster, but I couldn’t believe that his family had simply overdosed. It must have been Lyne Sickness.

The Magik the Empire fed the population was addictive and expensive – and simultaneously required for our survival – but if you took too much, it burned away your insides and left you as a husk. By the time it starts doing damage, you’re too far gone; you need more Magik to ease the pain, which ultimately results in a rapid downward spiral to meet the Reaper.

I gestured at the ceiling full of broken wires. “Those will take the Lyne straight to the surface and will result in a free-flowing drain on the whole system that will go on to kill thousands. Blowing that wall will not only put a strain on the already stressed ley line but will also incentivize the government to siphon off even more Magik, which will kill the planet faster.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “It will cost the government and Lyne thousands of Credits and thousands of hours to repair — if they even can.”

I took a tentative step forward. “I know you’re hurting, and while I don’t know what it is that you’re feeling exactly, I understand it. My mom loudly advocated for research and tech that would provide an alternative to Lyne or even cut Lyne out of the equation completely.

"When the Emperor ordered her arrest, we tried to fight it. Connected with lawyers and even some sympathizers within the Empire’s hierarchy to prepare a defense before my mom let them arrest her, but they shot her on sight.”

I pointed at the haphazard explosive rig he’d constructed. “That will only make them angry.” I shook my head. “Even if we assume your gesture is effective at getting Lyne to shut down their operations, society will go straight back to the tech because there isn’t a viable alternative available yet.”

His eyes hardened. “So, what? I should go kill myself elsewhere, then?” he spat, and I winced.

“No, I don’t think that either.” I took another tentative step forward. “You want to hurt Lyne, right? I’m working toward that myself; I’m performing the research my mom had called for years ago. I’m getting close; I just need help —”

“Oh shit.” His eyes widened, and he stepped away from me. “You’re the crazy one, right? Rey something-or-another?”

This guy was trying to blow a whole chunk of the city and was still concerned about whatever the Empire was saying about me?

I tempered my annoyance. This man was one of the very people I’d abandoned my family to save, and I had to reach him somehow. “Reia,” I corrected, “and I’m definitely not crazy. There is a safer alternative to Magik, and it’s something innate to us all.” To help me demonstrate, I touched my metal amulet and silently called out to my great-great-great-grandmother, and Esma materialized next to me as a shimmering silvery-white figure.

The man yelped. “What the fuck?”

Esma was the oldest member of my mom’s side of the family that I’d been able to reach using the ancestral magic my father had taught me as a child. His family’s magic allowed ancestors to pass memories on to their children, they could lend their children strength, speed, and occasionally other supernatural abilities. When I ditched him, his side of the family exiled me, which left me with my mom’s side, and I’d been surprised to discover they had their own kind of magic to teach me.

She smiled at him. “My name is Esma, son.”

“She’s been teaching me about the old magic, the magic our ancestors used to navigate their day-to-day lives, and I believe it’s the key to saving the planet. At the very least, it will heal your Lyne Sickness.”

“Bullshit,” he spat. “If that were possible, then why haven’t they told us?”

Was this how everyone was going to react when I finally made my research public?

“Why do people do anything? For the Empire, I suppose it’s control, but who knows.” To prove my point, I looked at Esma. She smiled and nodded, and she faded into the same ethereal substance contained within my Bank. I grabbed the Thread and cast it to the ground, and through it, I reached deep into the earth, drawing the magic’s roots deep. I fed it a bit of my own life, and when I blinked, there was grass under my feet.

The man fell to his knees. “H-how?” he stammered.

His reaction was reasonable; no one had seen anything natural or green since before the Calamity.

I smiled. “That’s a question that takes a lot of unpacking and is best answered over a cup of tea, I think, but —”

His eyebrows drew together. “Tea?” he repeated, and the veins in his neck strained as he stood. “Tea?” he repeated, voice louder now, and he grabbed my shoulders. “Where the fuck were you when my wife and my daughters were sick? When they were convulsing on the ground and screaming for someone, anyone, to help them?!” Milky tears trailed down his cheeks. “You could have saved them!”

“I—” I stammered, but he wasn’t done.

“What, are you keeping this all for yourself?” His grip on me tightened painfully. “Is it just for you and your friends so you can laugh and watch the rest of us suffer?”

“No, of course not —”

“Then why haven’t you told anyone?!”

“I’ve tried! Why do you think there’s a warrant out for my arrest?”

“Then try harder!” he roared.

Whatever response I might have had scattered to the wind when someone else’s voice echoed through the tunnel: “Oi, who’s down here?” The stranger let go of me, and I turned toward the control room: a man wearing a white suit was shining a flashlight at us.

A Lyne worker.

I must have tripped some kind of alarm when I opened the manhole cover — or maybe when I opened the control room door. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I drew two Threads from my Bank — one to shield the stranger, and another to shove the control room door shut. I turned back to him and gently shook his shoulder. “Let’s continue our argument elsewhere, hm? Do you know how to get out of here?”

He didn’t respond, and I swallowed a groan. “If you want to avenge your family — if you want to take down Lyne — then you’ve got to survive, okay?” Still nothing. My seal on the door wouldn’t last long. “What would you have told your wife if your positions had been switched?”

That was enough to kick him out of the freeze, and he looked down at the locket hanging from his neck. “I would’ve told her to avenge our babies.”

“Well, you’re only going to be able to do that if you live.”

He looked back at his explosive rig, and the control room door slammed open. “You won’t be able to finish it in time.”

The Lyne worker shot, and red flashed as the stranger’s shield absorbed the energy.

He looked at me at the Lyne worker and then back to me with a peculiar expression on his face. “You…you saved me?”

“Look, can we please talk about this somewhere else?”

Finally, he nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”

Relief left my legs weak, and I stumbled after him. Maybe people just needed to see that they weren’t alone, that someone was in their corner after all. Or, maybe people just needed hope.

- - -

A/N: Because I’ve started doing the writing thing full-time now, I figured I’d start with short stories and build back up to writing novels. In the before times, I could pour 50,000 words into a story (and sometimes realized that the story I’d come up with a character didn’t work for the character), but it’s been a long time since I’ve managed to do that >.> Since the goal is to not stress myself too much or get burned out, short stories (despite having very little experience with the medium) are the easiest way for me to get back into the habit of writing and exploring characters as well as a good way for me to focus on specific bits of craft relatively risk-free. For now, I’m putting Reia aside to make room for other worlds to explore, but I’m sure I’ll come back.

I’d love to hear y’all’s thoughts on this world, and I hope you enjoyed reading it! Thank you so much for taking the time, and I hope to see you around :3

#writing #short story #speculative fiction #fantasy #magic #scifi #science fiction #reia alantra #dystopia #dystopian #climate change #not for anything specific but I figured I ought to start writing about topics I care about

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jessenpallesen08 · 2 years

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Internet Successful Business - Easy Strategy Make Money From Home

We are truly fortunate to maintain in your global filled with endless chances. We are very fortunate to imagine in your global that has no limits exactly what is easy. We are also very fortunate to be in a global where abundance is everywhere, yet practically all of us use life as if we're nice and clean of part involving most this luxury. Next, Assassins Creed iv Black Flag Jackdaw plaza have a lead generation system. Don't waste time talking to uninterested people today. Their time is valuable and also so they know this. They see themselves as a helpful professional whereby people must earn their time. Assassins Creed iv Black Flag Jackdaw Free Crack give environmental benefits as well. If we think about cream dispenser, it is reusable. Cream chargers are recyclable and often will properly get rid. Backlink: It's always a choice to link your site from various places online. Go post on a forum tied to your site's content, highlight links with your signature. Post relevant articles from your internet on news stories. Basically, let people know your site is marketplace. #5 - Solipskier - This can be a different twist on the endless runner game. Many games perhaps you controlling the character, in Solipskier are generally controlling the earth that the type is skiing on. By swiping up and down you control the height of a floor allowing the skier to pass through gates and avoid walls. Could possibly even increase your finger up and build a pit that the skier will hopefully sail over. Salon Internet marketing thrives off of keywords. Keyword phrases should even be a direct correlation to your topic. By using Assassins Creed iv Black Flag Jackdaw Setup like Google, Yahoo and Bing are able to find your videos and rank them solution . popularity and content. They have a better know-how to be free of unwanted belly fat and this means they'll be using a connected with cardio exercises to burn calories whilst building core strength using weights and various full body exercises.

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pigeonclam90 · 2 years

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50 Hottest Southeast Asian Noodle Dishes

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wornoutmouse · 3 years

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May I request Ogun with a Black shy female reader doing a training session that leads to a little bit more 🙈

Anon please

You’re a second-generation pyrokinetic (Like Joker and Maki). Idk why but I made up in my head that you have flint-bottomed tap-dancing shoes that briefly light when you scrape your feet against the floor…..so that’s where you get your fire from 🤣🤣🤣

This one is a bit longer than normal cause i gotta build the tension

I am terrible at action scenes bruh

Chug- lift heels, slide forward, and then drop the heels at the end of the slide forwards

“Hey, Y/n!” You look up from the bland mashed potatoes and corn Company 5 had prepared. It was a hot Sunday morning and your partner in crime was as excited as ever. He stood a few feet away at the back entrance in the cafeteria. Cocking a thumb behind him, he dawns a toothy grin. “Want to play a quick game?” The game Ogun hinted at was one you were quite familiar with and one you should have known he would ask you to participate in today. “Fine, but don’t cry when I win.” You scoop another spoonful of corn before tossing your tray away for recycling. You’d need all your strength cause Ogun never lost without asking for back-to-back redos.

.You didn’t quite understand the need to be sweaty all the time, but always gave in to his whims

Ogun preferred to train in the field where the sun shined the most throughout the day at the far left of the Company. Often as you went on throughout your day-to-day training, you’d spot Ogun doing laps and practicing his attacks throughout the day.

“I’m feeling fired up today Y/n, you might want to be worried.” You close your eyes as you stretched an arm over your chest. You had yet to lose but you knew Ogun only saw that as a personal goal to get past. “Let’s get this over with, I’m tired.” The smell of smoke enters your nostrils giving you enough time to dodge Oguns boosted attack. “I told you about letting yourself known Mr. Montgomery.” You open your eyes, Oguns skin was lit ablaze with his pyrokinetic abilities.

From afar you’ve always admired the swirls that decorated his skin whenever you got amped up, and this time was no different. “I see you’re already using “Flaming Ink” what, you already scared?” Ogun widened his stance, glowing white eyes watching you shift your feet. “I’ve been working on a new move that I want to show you so why don’t you try your little fire trick.”

Curious, you scuff your shoe on the floor and draw your fire...only the fire doesn’t come. You do it again and the light goes out just as quick as it came. “What did you do?” You narrowed your eyes at Ogun. “Oh nothing, I’m just faster than you now.” You take a few steps back, “Oh that’s how you want to play it? Okay!” You take off running at the very edge of the field and Ogun is fast behind you. Internally you admit that he had gotten much faster, but a simple fact as that wasn’t going to make you lose.

Doing your best to maintain speed, you chug and draw the flames close to your chest out of Montgomery’s line of sight. It was small, mostly snuffed by the kick of your legs as you ran but it was big enough to get the job done. Similar to Ogun in his natural state, you too could throw projectiles just not as damage-inducing.

Turning around as you run, your eyes widen when Ogun appears just inches in front of you, “Surprise!” Your flame is snuffed and you tumble bringing Montgomery down with you. You prepare to feel your body be crushed by his muscled one but at the last minute your shoulders are grabbed and you flip again. The change in elevation causes you to lose a bit of focus, but you can still clearly feel Ogun cushion your fall.

“Oh wow, this looks like something out of an anime.” Ogun laughs when he finds himself lying flat on his back, you positioned comfortably on top of him. The position was completely ridiculous with your thighs straddling his stomach but you were thankful that you wouldn’t be in any sort of pain later.

“Looks like I’ll need to train harder huh?” You playfully punch Ogun’s shoulder. Even though the whole ordeal only lasted 6 minutes, you could feel your back drenched with sweat. While you couldn’t wait to get in the shower, Ogun seemed content with being in a salty state. “You’re dripping all over me you know?” Your head immediately snapped down to look at Ogun with wide eyes, “Excuse me?”

Ogun had a neutral look on his face not hinting at any humor behind his words. “You’re sweating really bad. Did little ole me get you all worked up?” He had to be teasing you at this point, but you couldn’t find a single crack in his facade. “Yeah well, maybe if you didn’t choose this big ass field with no trees I wouldn’t be 2 seconds from passing out.” You stand up, a bit wobbly, and help him up. “I’m going to go shower, you can stay out here if you want to.”

Ogun happily joins you on the way to the showers. You could hear his excitement from finally beating you. “Don’t get cocky, it was a one-time occurrence Ogun.” An arm is slung over your shoulder. In a smug tone, Ogun mocks you, “Don’t be mad cause you lost. You’ve had enough time to be cocky on your own terms.” You gasp mockingly before turning your head to spit back a remark but lose your breath from how close his face is to yours. At such close proximity, you become aware of small details. How his skin shinned in the sunlight, how Oguns eyes contained such a very specific hue of orange that they mimicked the fire of Sol almost precisely. You even wouldn’t be surprised if they would burn to the touch.

“What’s the matter, got nothing to say?” Out of instinct, you shove his head away with so much force he goes flying before landing on his ass. Before any questions are asked you deflect, “Gross I got your B.O all on my shoulders.” From behind Ogun scoffs, “How dare you, any other fine lady would be blessed to be near my manly musk.” Stifling a laugh you utter one final tease before slipping into the girl’s shower, “Yeah, manly must.”

It was endless labor as your captain followed you around, blowing that damn whistle. Given laundry duty, you had to take multiple shifts back and forth throughout each level of the building to collect everyone’s clothing. When you came across Ogun’s level your job was hindered as you were forced to wait as he sifts through his piles of dirty laundry, “Trush me Y/n, there’s a shirt that I accidentally put in here but it’s actually clean.” “Ogun if it’s in the dirty clothes then it’s dirty.” You try to haul his stuff out but he stops you. “I swear if you don’t move I’ll burn your stuff.”

Ogun chuckles, “You burn my clothes and it’ll catch your clothing as well.” Ogun reaches inside the pile you held pulling out a blank white T-shirt that looked annoyingly similar to the 12 other T-shirts you had watched him toss to the side. “Unless of course, you’re trying to go streaking which by all means I encourage you to.” You ignore his joke and pretend it doesn’t strike a certain feeling in your gut.

For your next task, you had to prepare different levels of activities for a group of 5th graders coming to the company the next day. Of course, Ogun would be assigned to the same task as well so while you worked diligently to bring equipment from the storage room, Ogun spent his time using each of the items incorrectly. “Please stop bouncing the footballs with the tennis racket before you get hurt.” Ogun ignored you as he dribbled with the racket. “Don’t be mad cause you’re not as creative as me.”

Well, as you predicted Ogun ends up getting punted in the face when he tries to toss the football in the hoop. Even though the sound it made on impact was loud and hollow, Ogun barely flinches when it ricochets. “Wow you seem pretty experienced with getting hit in the face with balls, you barely moved.” Ogun glared as he watched you pick up the football. Absentmindedly you spin the football as you speak, “You know if I didn’t know any bet-” Your speech is gargled when your mouth becomes stuffed.

While you weren’t watching Ogun through a basketball at your hand making you push the end of the football in your mouth. “Wow you seem pretty experienced with balls in your mouth, you gotta show me some time.” You cradle your mouth, it throbbed with dull pain and resentment filled your mind. “I’m sure it’ll be easy, there aren’t going to be too many inches stopping me.”

At this point, both your nerves are on high alert, and the energy in the air shifts from playful to angry. “Oh yeah?” Ogun walks slowly and calmly towards you, raising a brow when you stumble back yet still maintain your glare. The hand cradling your jaw is held tightly in his grasp, “Would you like to try?” The dare only eggs you on, “You won’t last a second.” The faint twitch of his temple lets you know you hit a nerve.

*Wheeeeze*

Both you and Ogun’s heads snap to the left. Pan stood at the gym doorway arms waving and whistle blowing, a clear attempt at reprimanding your laziness. The playful aura comes back and you and Ogun are subjected to extra work for your negligence. “This is your fault you know.” he shoots back, “I don’t want to hear it Montgomery.”

Ogun walked down the hallway in search of a new victim to torture, so it was only pure convenience when he stumbled near your living quarters and caught you just before you walked inside. “Y/n! You were absent for dinner.” You take one look at him before dashing into your room. All you wanted was to sleep, training with Ogun, and then having to complete your own set of chores plus extra was tiering. So seeing Ogun wandering out and about during the late hours only met trouble.

You jolt from your train of thought as your door is banged on. “Go away Montgomery, I’m trying to sleep.” Ogun whined, “Well you weren’t trying too hard cause you weren’t in your room yet, now let me in.” You kicked the door back, “No, now go away!”

No sound is heard, not even a shuffle. Sighing you walk towards your bed with a content smile, you’d apologize to him later but now it was your time for rest. Heavy wind billowed through your opened window making you shiver as the curtains tickle your skin. The sharp coolness made your teeth rattle but it was just the right amount of cool you needed in order to head off quickly to dream land. Turning the dial of your lamp, your room is shrouded in darkness and you climb underneath the covers. Nothing could stop the relaxation you were about to receive…….nothing but the feeling of “something ain’t right.”

Opening your eyes and expecting the worse, you are then greeted with the worst as the same fiery eyes you admired hours before, hovered above your face. “You should really close your window.” You scream and throw a punch in Oguns direction but it is in vain as he catches it and pins it down. “I should really get you back for doing that earlier.” Ogun doesn’t make any move to let you go or even speak again. “How the hell did you get there so fast?” You are unable to look away from his eyes, nothing else would have mattered anyway.

More wind blows through your curtains. “I told you I’ve gotten faster.” You can feel his breath caressing your cheek the closer he gets to your face. The hand wrapped around your wrist tightens despite your body being slackened. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah”

No one knows who moved first. All you know is that your pajamas were being ripped off of your body as Ogun aggressively devoured your lips. Tossing everything to the ground, Ogun sits above you, with his shirt was off, you are given the liberty to admire his chiseled body. Ogun makes quick work with fingering you open, watching with a toothy grin as your chest shakes and your breath stutters. “Not talking much now are you?” He doesn’t care if you respond, all he cares about is wearing you down. You pull him closer, nails dragging down his back, as your orgasm overwhelms you. “Ogun!” Your legs are hiked up and over his shoulders as he positions below you.

“Good job, I don’t want to hear anything else but my name.” The stretch was burning and filled you tightly. “How many inches you think that is?” You weakly slap Ogun’s arm as he weakly ruts into you before pulling out completely, “S-Stop making fun of me.” “ Aww, but it’s fun!” Ogun is slow and precise as he mashes his hips forward. There is no hesitation and the pace stays at a fluid toe-curling pressure. “You’re so silent now Y/n. Tell me, how does it feel, huh?” Your back raises from off the bed, “It...good-I oh god!”

The simple fact that you couldn’t speak sent tremors to Oguns cock. He wanted to tease you more, make you break. Your pussy was wet and sopping for him and not even Sol could make him stop fucking you, not when you looked so beautiful underneath him. But a mischievous streak doesn’t go away that easy.

Leaning back on his haunches, you are put back on top of Ogun, the same position you were in when on the feild. He doesn’t move and just looks at you, “What are, what are you doing?” You try to bounce but he holds you down making you pulse around him. “Please let me move.” But he doesn’t, the only movement you get is when you’re held down harder on his cock. “How many inches Y/n?” You shrug, “I don’t freaking know like 5 or something!?” You just wanted to cum not answer a random questionnaire.

Ogun uses his strength to lift you up and slam you back down. “Wrong, try again.” It takes a moment for you to catch the breath that got knocked out at the second stroke. “Do you really want me to stroke your stupid ego, fine 8inches!” You are slammed down again and this time it hits a special spot just short of your G. “Wrong again, don’t be a smart ass Y/n” He rubbed your side. “Come on, play my game for a little bit, don’t you want to cum on my dick?” Oguns hands squeeze your breasts, thumbs rotating the dark circles of your areolas leaving your nipples to tingle in need.

“Si-Six damn it! It has to be like 6.” your answer is mumbled but is loud enough to satisfy Ogun. As if you weighed nothing less than a piece of paper, Ogun uses his thighs to bounce you on his cock. Your chest bounces in his face taking his immature mind to cloud nine. He could feel the tell tell sign of his own orgasms cumming, as your ass slammed down on his shaft. “Stop squeezing down so damn hard!”

Being the person you are, you don’t listen even after you feel Ogun spill inside of you. “Oh fuck!” You rearrange your own legs and start bouncing at your own pace. The tight grip on your waist means nothing as you chase your second cumming. “Hurry up you little shit my balls are burning!” Ogun tossed his head back as his mouth releases cracked moans. His cock continued to twitch as it became softer but still stimulated. Soon, Ogun couldn’t take the stimuli anymore and pushes you down on the bed. The feeling of his fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy was a little less satisfying than his cock but you cream around it just as easily.

You lay down giggling while Ogun goes in and out of sleep. “I was right, you didn’t last a second.” “Shut the hell up, you’re like a vice.” Your sweaty state somehow doesn’t bother you as you rest in the afterglow. Your blinds continue to shimmer as the wind continues to blow. “Five and a half.” The numbers mean nothing to your muddled brain, “What?” Ogun looks at you, “5 and a half inches is the correct answer but I appreciate the 6.”

Suddenly the glow was no longer worth it.

#ogun x reader #ogun smut #fire force smut #anime smut #poc reader

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nyupreservation · 3 years

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Happy Preservation Week! (Part 1 :)

Happy Preservation Week, everyone!

I’m Cat Stephens, an Andrew W. Mellon Fellow studying Library & Archive Conservation at NYU’s Institute of Fine Arts. At the IFA, I’m earning an MA in the History of Art and Archaeology, and an MS in the Conservation of Historic and Artistic Works, specifically in the conservation of books, paper objects, and photographs.

Students in my graduate program have the option to spend their year-long graduate internships almost anywhere in the world, but I chose to stick around and intern at the NYU Libraries’ Barbara Goldsmith Preservation & Conservation Department... In addition to being awesome at their jobs, the conservators here are excellent teachers, and I’ve always been impressed by the range and volume of treatments that they perform every year! Additionally, NYU has done an impressive job of reducing the spread of Covid-19 on campus, and I feel very lucky that my internship was not severely impacted by the University’s precautionary measures. Since September 2020, the library’s preservation staff and I have had the option to work in the library for 2-4 days every week, and we catch up on paperwork during our teleworking days.

Over the last seven months I’ve worked on many treatments that have helped me understand the finer points of library preservation, and I’ll describe four of my favorite preservation/conservation treatments for you over the next four days. These treatments include a 19th century publisher’s binding, a 16th century book bound in recycled parchment, a wooden box full of unexposed Daguerreotype plates, and ... a skateboard??

But first, unless you’re a library or museum professional, you may be wondering what Preservation Week is, and how does “preservation” differ from “conservation?” For cultural heritage institutions, Preservation Week is a yearly opportunity to draw public attention to the importance of preserving cultural heritage materials of all kinds. These materials may include modern books, medieval manuscripts, audio/visual materials like VHS tapes and home movies, photographs, scrapbooks, textiles, digital data, paper documents, and metal, wood or glass objects, just to name a few. Many of these materials are held in libraries and museums for public enjoyment, but perhaps many more are sitting in our basements and attics! If you have special things at home that you want to preserve, there are many online resources available to you, and I’ve provided links to some of them at the end of this post.

For conservators and other preservation professionals, Preservation Week is a good time to consider the enormous range of objects that we’re tasked with caring for, and to think about new ways to preserve and conserve them for the next generations. In libraries and museums, “preservation” and “conservation” refer to slightly different activities, but they both contribute to the wellbeing of cultural heritage objects. “Conservation” refers to any physical interventions performed on an object, such as cleaning, making repairs, or compensating for parts that have been lost. A conservation treatment can reduce the stains in a flood-damaged drawing, or it can transform a pile of ceramic sherds back into an ancient vase. “Preservation” usually encompasses the activities performed around an object which will minimize the object’s chemical and physical deterioration over time. Preservation activities include the making of enclosures to protect objects from physical harm, dust, or light damage, the management of pests, and the careful control of temperature and humidity in storage facilities. Preservation and conservation are two sides of the same coin, and many argue that “preservation” is the broader term which includes conservation activities. This point of view is often held in libraries, where the objects (usually books) are not just static relics of the past, they are vehicles of information; to access this information, books must be handled, and they must be able perform a kinetic function. For this reason, any conservation treatment that restores functionality to a broken book can also be considered “preservation.” Of course, many old or rare books have been digitized and made available online, but even so, scholars often want to verify and augment their online research by perusing the original book… there’s no digital substitute for the real thing :)

Thanks so much for reading, and stay tuned for tomorrow’s installment of our Preservation Week 2021 blog series, where I’ll discuss the conservation of a novel published in 1891 (photos below!)

-Cat Stephens

Some At-Home* Preservation Resources:

American Institute for Conservation (AIC): “Caring for Your Treasures”

American Library Association: “Saving Your Stuff”

FEMA (Federal Emergency Management Agency): “Salvaging Water-Damaged Family Valuables and Heirlooms” ... (Fact Sheets are available in English, Chinese, Vietnamese, Haitian Creole, Portuguese, and Spanish):

Minnesota Historical Society: Preserving “Clothing and Textiles”

National Archives: “How to Preserve Family Archives (Papers and Photographs)”

*But sometimes a problem is so complex that it requires a conservator… AIC’s “Find a Conservator” tool can help! https://www.culturalheritage.org/about-conservation/find-a-conservator

#PreservationWeek #Preservation #Conservation #Libraries #SpecialCollections #TodayInTheLab #NYU #NYULibraries #AmericanLibraryAssociation #ALA #NYUIFA

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robinrunsfiction · 4 years

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Baby, You’re A Haunted House

Pairing: Gerard Way x Female Reader Rating: General (TW for blood, mentions of a suicide) Requested By: None Word Count: 6,330 Author’s Note: Here is my first story for spooky season! I had hoped to have it up sooner, but life has been busy. This story has been in my mind since this spring. I intend on writing a little bit about the location it’s set in because it’s real! It really is a seminary that was converted into apartments in my hometown. I’ll link to the post here when it’s written. And yes, that is a picture of it below! Also!!! There is a reference to another one of my favorite bands and one of their albums, first person who can correctly point it out wins... a prize? My admiration? Not sure yet, but shout it out if you know it!

It all seemed too good to be true.

(YN)’s roommate had let her know that she was going to be moving out of town for a new job and the thought of looking for a new apartment or roommate was overwhelming. She was dreading the process, but the next day while eating her lunch at work, she spotted an ad in the paper for Holy Name Heights. The description stated the apartments were newly renovated and located in a historic building on the edge of town, so she called right away to set up a tour.

Later that week she was touring the building that had previously been a seminary for many years. The diocese had sold the second and third floors of the sprawling building to a developer who converted the rooms into apartments, while leaving the first floor as office spaces for the diocese, a Catholic charity organization, and a small museum about the history of the church’s presence in the area.

“This place is beautiful,” (YN) marveled at the space. While being only one bedroom, it was spacious, had a washer and dryer so she wouldn't need to haul her laundry anywhere, assigned parking, not to mention a beautiful view, but a question nagged at the back of her mind. “How much is it per month?”

“$850 per month including utilities,” the agent replied with a smile.

“Oh! Ok, yes, I’d love to apply!”

A few weeks later as (YN) was moving her things into her brand new third floor apartment, she realized how quiet the building was. She paused briefly at each door as she walked by, straining to hear if anyone else was there. As she arrived at her own door with another armload of boxes, the door next to hers opened and a dark haired man stepped out. She shot him a quick smile as she fumbled for her keys.

“Do you need some help?” He asked.

“That’d be great,” she laughed and he took the box from her so she could get her keys straightened out. “I’m (YN).”

“Gerard,” he replied as she got the door open and took the box back from him.

“Have you lived here long?”

“Just moved in last weekend. I’m glad I’m not the only one up here anymore.”

“Wait, seriously? None of these other apartments are occupied?”

“I don’t think so, I haven’t seen many people around. I guess an old seminary might be kind of a hard sell.”

“Yea, I’m not sure I would have considered it either if I wasn’t in a bind. Thanks for the help with the box,” (YN) smiled as she shifted it in her arms.

“No problem, I’ll see ya around,” he smiled before continuing down the hall.

“See ya,” she called after him. (YN) closed the door behind her and shook her head. Cool apartment, good price, cute neighbor. It all seemed too good to be true.

The next day (YN) got up, made a pot of coffee and set about unloading the box that held her mug collection. The fact that she didn’t have to share cupboards with a roommate delighted her, as she didn’t have to worry about any of her favorites getting damaged. She put on some music and made her way over to the living room window as the smell of brewing coffee filled the room.

Her view was of the front of the building. Trees with bare branches lined the hillside that the building sat upon and a long driveway led up to the front of the building. She loved knowing that the leaves would soon be filling those branches, and then in the fall they’d turn beautiful shades of gold, red and orange. She also liked the idea of being able to see who was coming and going up the driveway.

After enjoying her coffee, she got back to work unpacking her apartment. The hours flew by as the pile of broken down cardboard boxes piled up near her door. As she wiped her sweaty brow, she realized she had no idea what to do with the boxes and trash that had accumulated. Had the agent even shown her where the dumpsters were? Then she had an idea. Gerard.

Should she bother him? She didn’t even know for sure if he was in. She took a deep breath as she approached his door and knocked. She wondered how long she should wait if he wasn’t there, or didn’t want to answer. She’d never interacted much with the neighbors at her old apartment building, so maybe she was being totally obnoxious. (YN) was so deep in her own thoughts that she almost didn’t notice that the door was opening.

“Hey (YN), what’s up?”

“Hi, umm this is probably super dumb, but I don’t know where the recycling bins and dumpsters are. The agent never pointed them out, and I didn’t think to ask until I realized I was knee deep in broken down boxes,” she laughed nervously.

“I can help you carry boxes down,” Gerard offered with a smile.

“You don’t have to do that,” (YN) could feel herself blushing.

“It’s no problem.”

“I mean, if you insist!” (YN) laughed and he followed her back to her door. They each took an armload of boxes and Gerard led the way to the staircase that was at the end of the hallway next to his apartment. (YN) glanced over her shoulder at the dark portion of the staircase that led up to a door, most likely the attic. She quirked an eyebrow in curiosity but continued after Gerard.

“So what do you do?” (YN) asked, breaking the silence that hung between them as they headed down the stairs.

“I’m a comic book writer,” he replied almost sheepishly.

“Oh wow, that’s really cool,” (YN) replied genuinely and Gerard lit up.

“Thanks! A lot of people think it’s kinda lame, but it’s just a different type of writing, ya know?” (YN) nodded in agreement. “What do you do?”

“Boring office work,” she said shaking her head. “I wish I had time to do creative stuff like write or draw.”

“You should try, even if it’s just a little bit at a time,” he said as he opened the door leading out into the bright sunshine. “The dumpsters are back here.”

“Thanks,” (YN) smiled as she dropped her share into the recycling bin. "And maybe I'll try to find some time to write, if inspiration strikes."

"You'd be surprised how ideas can pop up when you least expect them," Gerard replied as they made their way back to their floor.

Winter started to melt into spring, and (YN) had settled into the routine of her new apartment life. Or at least she thought she was.

It quickly became clear that she must have been a lot more absentminded than she realized, and her old roommate must have been picking up her slack. She could have sworn she had more milk left when she put the carton back in the fridge, but when she grabbed it the next morning for her cereal there was almost none left. And then there were all the things that just seemed to disappear for no reason that never reappeared, no matter how hard she looked.

One thing that didn’t seem to disappear was her crush on her neighbor Gerard. Interacting with him also became part of her routine, as it always seemed they were running into each other walking into the building or by the mailboxes.

It just happened that it was one of those lucky days, as (YN) had just walked in with her bags from grocery shopping when Gerard walked by.

“Hey (YN),” he smiled.

“Gerard,” (YN) started, trying to stifle a laugh. “ I’m not trying to be mean, but do you know how to cook? I feel like I’ve only ever seen you with take out, but never groceries,” she said nodding to her own bags.

“I know how to cook! I am a functional adult,” he replied with feigned offense.

“If you say so, enjoy your dinner,” (YN) replied as she entered her apartment.

“I’ll prove it to you,” he called just as she was about to shut the door.

She poked her head out the door, eyebrows raised. “Oh really?”

“Tomorrow night? 7 o’clock?”

“I’ll be there,” she replied with a smile. When the door was shut behind her, she couldn’t help but let out a squeal of delight.

The next evening (YN) was digging through her drawers looking for the sweater she wanted to wear to dinner with Gerard, but she absolutely could not find it.

“This is crazy, I know I saw it when I was putting away laundry,” she muttered to herself. She got up and went over to the closet housing the washer and dryer, in hopes it had just fallen between the machines, or maybe was still in the dryer. She looked all around but found nothing, and trudged back to her room.

‘Wait, I didn’t turn the light off,’ she said, flipping the switch back on with a shake of her head. “I need to get more sleep.”

Giving up the search, she threw on a different top and checked the time. It was a few minutes past 7 and she hurried out the door.

“Welcome to my humble home,” Gerard said with a smile as he let (YN) in.

“Hmm, seems familiar,” (YN) giggled. “Oh dinner smells great!”

“Thank you,” Gerard smiled proudly. “We’ll be having spaghetti and meatballs. Umm, I don’t drink, so I have soda or water,” Gerard offered.

“Water is fine,” (YN) replied as she sat down at the table. “How’d you day go?”

“Good, I think I have a new story I wanna work on,” he answered as he placed plates on the table and sat down himself. “How about you.”

“Pretty boring actually. I’ll have to admit, knowing that we’re gonna be having dinner got me through my day.”

Gerard smiled and (YN) could have sworn she saw a blush creeping across his cheeks as he glanced down. "I'm glad I could help."

Conversation lulled as they dug into their meals, and The Smashing Pumpkins played softly in the background.

"Ok, I have to apologize for that dig yesterday about you not cooking, this is very good,” (YN) smiled.

"I have to admit, I bought the sauce, and the meatballs were frozen," Gerard winced.

“That’s fine! I do the same,” she laughed and Gerard looked relieved.

(YN) was having a wonderful time hanging out with Gerard and she felt like she could listen to him talk forever. He spoke with such passion and enthusiasm, it drew her in and she hung on his words. They laughed and joked and the time flew by until (YN) found herself stifling a yawn and she glanced down at her watch.

"Oh, it's late! I should get outta your hair."

“Well m’lady,” he said, affecting the same posh accent they had been joking around in earlier and bowing before her, “I do hope this evening has lived up to all your expectations.”

“It most certainly has,” she said with a laugh as she curtseyed holding out an imaginary skirt.

Gerard reached out and took her hand in his and placed a kiss to the back of it, catching her off guard as he looked up at her from behind his lashes. "I hope we can do it again sometime soon."

(YN) nodded. "Yea," she said almost breathlessly. "I'd love that."

Gerard walked her to the door and when she glanced back at him when she reached her own door, he was leaning against his door frame.

"Night," she waved before walking into her apartment and he smiled and waved back.

(YN) could hardly sleep that night, as she was absolutely buzzing.

Weekly dinners soon became a tradition between (YN) and Gerard, with both of them taking turns hosting the other. (YN) knew she was terrible at both flirting and picking up when others were flirting with her, but she couldn't help but feel like Gerard might just like her too.There was something about the way his friendly hugs and touches started to linger longer and longer.

One night when they had been hanging out Gerard had casually mentioned going to hang out with his brother on his birthday, so (YN) took it upon herself to bring him his present before he left that day. As she stood at his door, she felt just as nervous as the first time she was at his door asking for help with her boxes. Once again she was totally lost in thought when Gerard opened the door.

"Hey (YN)!" He greeted her.

"Hi! Happy birthday!" She smiled, holding out the plate of chocolate chip cookies and the card she picked out just for him.

"You remembered my birthday?" He asked, his eyes going wide and pink dusting his cheeks.

"Of course I did!" She laughed. “How could I forget?” She added a little more softly.

The smile grew on Gerard’s face and (YN)’s heart fluttered. “Thanks,” he finally replied, shaking his head. “Hey (YN), I was wondering, if umm, you’d like to maybe like go out on a date, like a real date some time? Don’t feel like you have to say yes just because it’s my birthday.”

(YN) laughed again, and she could feel herself blushing. “Yea, that would be really nice,” she nodded. “And I definitely would have said yes, even if it wasn’t your birthday.”

“Great!” Gerard grinned, but the buzzing of his phone grabbed his attention. "Oh, Mikey's here."

"Have fun with him," (YN) smiled and waved as she turned to go while Gerard grabbed his jacket and keys.

"Wait," Gerard said as he locked the door and jogged over to her, just as she was reaching her door. She looked up at him expectantly and he seemed nervous again before leaning in and placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. "Thanks again for the card."

"No problem," (YN) smiled before ducking into her own apartment to swoon.

A few days later, it was finally the day of their first date. Gerard suggested they go to the art museum and grab coffee. Even though they hung out all the time, the fact that this was actually a date made things ever so slightly awkward. As they walked into the museum, their hands brushed a few times before Gerard took her hand in his. She glanced over and smiled up at him and he seemed relieved. They chatted and joked happily as they walked through the exhibits before they went down the street to the cafe.

Finding a table tucked away from the others, they settled in with their coffees. The sun that had been shining when they walked in was soon covered in dark heavy clouds, and big heavy raindrops began to beat at the windows. Something about it made a shiver run down (YN)'s spine, a feeling she’d almost grown accustomed to.

"Gerard, can I ask you something kinda weird?" She asked when there was a lull in the conversation.

"Sure," he nodded.

(YN) sighed and looked down. "This is gonna sound crazy, and maybe I'm going crazy, but sometimes things get moved in my apartment, or I feel like someone or something is watching me. I've checked every inch of it and there's nothing there, but I dunno. Have you ever felt that in your apartment?" She finally looked up and was startled by Gerard's expression.

"Yea," he said softly, a look of unease on his face. "I totally know what you mean. I notice it when I’m at your place mostly, but sometimes when you come around," he trailed off.

"But, I mean, ghosts and stuff aren’t real though, right? Like It’s probably just the vibe of it being an old building.”

“Yea,” Gerard nodded with a tight smile. “Ghosts aren’t real, vampires aren’t gonna hurt you, zombies aren’t gonna eat your brain while you’re at the mall.”

“Right! You are right. I’m sure it will pass.”

After the rain stopped, they headed back to their building and headed up to the third floor, stopping in front of her door.

“I had a lot of fun today,” (YN) smiled.

“Me too,” Gerard nodded. “I, I really like you (YN). I hope we can do this again.”

(YN) grinned and nodded. “I really like you too Gee, and yes I’d really love to go out again as well.”

Gerard’s face lit up, any nervousness alleviated. He reached up, cupping her cheek gently, as her eyelids fluttered closed. He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers softly, before pulling back just as quick.

“I can’t wait to do that again,” Gerard whispered.

“Then do it again,” she replied.

Gerard didn’t hesitate for a second longer, leaning back in and kissing her deeply as she kissed back. His hand found her waist as she clutched his jacket. When they finally pulled back, they were both breathless and smiling.

(YN) knew that it was the start of something special.

Summer arrived with warm weather and abundant sunshine, but that didn’t stop the cold drafts that would breeze through (YN)’s apartment, even when the air conditioning was off. But then the noises started. Thumps and knocks in the middle of the night, jolting her awake. Once she was convinced someone was hammering frantically on her door. In the middle of the night. She jumped out of bed and rushed to the door, checking through the peephole to see who was there. But there was no one.

The solution that seemed to be working best was spending as much time away from the apartment, specifically out with Gerard. From picnics in the park, to going to movies, cafes, wandering around book stores or comic book shops for hours, (YN) loved every moment of it.

One evening they were watching a movie in her apartment, happily curled up on the couch together when the thumps in the wall began behind them.

“What was that?” Gerard asked, startled.

(YN) sighed. “No idea. It’s been like this for a while now. I called the maintenance guy, but he doesn't think anything is in the walls. It’s why I’ve been so tired lately, I haven’t been sleeping, like at all.”

“Do you wanna come stay over at my place tonight? Maybe you’ll sleep better,” he offered.

(YN) smiled back at him. “Ok sure,” she nodded. When the movie was over, she changed into pajamas and they made their way back over to his apartment for the night. The next morning when she woke up, she stretched and sighed happily as Gerard held her close.

“Sleep well?” Gerard asked sleepily.

“Mmhmm,” she replied, looking up at him. She reached up and brushed away the hair that was falling across his face. “Best I have in a long time.”

“You’re welcome here anytime you want, sugar,” he said leaning in and kissing her sweetly.

"I worry that I'll overstay my welcome if I’m over here that often," (YN) laughed.

"Not possible, sugar," he said with a smile. "I love getting to spend my nights with you. Days too. I guess what I’m trying to say is I love you, (YN)."

“I love you too Gerard,” she replied before leaning in and kissing him deeply.

September arrived and Gerard was going to be gone for the weekend with a few of his friends on a guy’s trip for his brother Mikey’s birthday. (YN) was a little nervous at first about being alone at night, to the point where she was considering going to visit her parents for the weekend. Surprisingly, she was able to sleep through the night without any noises or strange occurrences waking her up.

The next morning she got up and went to retrieve a mug from the cupboard for her morning coffee. Without warning, a glass flew down from the top shelf, smashing into her forehead. (YN) yelped in surprise and stumbled back, glass shards littering the floor. Tentatively she reached up and touched just above her brow and when she pulled back, her fingers were covered in blood.

"Shiiiiit," she groaned as she carefully stepped over the broken glass on the floor and made her way to the bathroom. Flipping on the light, she felt nauseous at the sight. Blood dripping from the gash landed and streaked down her cheek like tears, accenting the dark circles under her eyes that she just couldn't shake after so many nights of interrupted sleep. She looked like death.

"Gee must really love me if this is what he's looking at every day," she muttered as she dabbed away at the blood with a washcloth.

A few hours later while walking out the emergency department with a fresh set of stitches, she decided she may as well fill in Gerard.

Happy friday! guess where i just left!

From Gerard 💖: Work let you take a half day?

Hospital 😬

She dropped her phone back into her purse as she made her way across the parking lot, but by the time she got the door unlocked, Gerard was calling her.

"What happened?!" He asked frantically as soon as she picked up.

(YN) sighed. "A glass fell out of my cupboard and I got a cut above my eyebrow. Just a couple stitches and I wanted to make sure they got all the glass out," she replied, downplaying the accident. She knew he'd be back in a few days and he'd know she wasn't telling the whole truth about the cut, but she didn't want him to worry or end his trip early.

"But you're ok? Do you want me to come back?"

"Yes, I'm ok. But no, don't cut your trip short, I'm gonna go straight over to my parents for the rest of the weekendI think. It's one thing when we're losing sleep with weird noises, it's another to be attacked like this."

"You… you think," he sighed, seeming to be choosing his words carefully. "That a ghost did it?" Gerard asked in a hushed tone.

"If the glass was off balance and simply fell out of the cupboard it would have gone straight down. This was thrown at me, Gee. There was force behind it."

"Fuck," Gerard muttered. "I'm sorry sugar."

"Don't worry, I'm ok, I promise."

(YN) was grateful that Gerard believed what she told him about the haunting of her apartment. He could have easily dismissed her or her fears as crazy and ghost her, but he didn't. He was just as concerned about the situation and her wellbeing. After that weekend they began talking about moving out as soon as their leases were up.

It had been a couple weeks when Gerard had a meeting in the city that was going to run late into the evening, so (YN) was stuck spending the night alone in her own apartment for the first time since the attack.

As she got in bed, she wondered how long it would be before she would be woken up at night. The noises always managed to cut right through her slumber to wake her, no matter how exhausted she was when she fell asleep. And exhausted she was as her eyelids were heavy as soon as her head hit the pillow.

She wasn't sure what time it was when the noise woke her up, but she sat up in bed and looked at the ceiling. It sounded like skittering, and she wondered if it might be something as innocent as an animal stuck in the attic. 'Wouldn't it be something if it was some animal all along,' she thought as she laid back down and closed her eyes again.

What felt like only moments later she opened them again, but she was not in her room. She wasn’t even in her apartment.

“Gerard?”

He looked up from where he was sitting on the floor in front of his couch with a look of concern and fear on his face unlike any she had seen before. “(YN), are you ok?”

“No, I’m- why am I in your apartment?”

“I was asleep and some noise up in the attic woke me up, but before I could fall back asleep there was this loud bang and I went up to check what was going on because it sounded different from anything before, and you were up there on the floor like you fainted. You didn't even stir until just now when you woke up.”

(YN) shook her head. “I heard the noise too, but I went back to sleep, I didn’t even get out of bed, I went right back to sleep until I just woke up here. What could have made me faint if I wasn't even awake and can’t remember what I saw?”

Gerard ran his hand through his hair, considering her question and when he spoke, his voice shook slightly. “I… I dunno (YN). After I brought you down from the attic, I went back to your apartment so I could put you in your own bed and your door was locked.”

“But that’s not possible unless I took my keys and locked it behind me. Should we go up and look for them upstairs?”

“No!” Gerard said quickly. “I mean, I don’t want to make you stay here if you don’t want, we can call the maintenance line to let you in, but I don’t wanna go up there again. Tonight, I mean.”

(YN) climbed off the couch and sat next to him on the floor. “I’ll stay here, you know that's fine but,” she paused, taking a deep breath. “What did you see up there Gee?”

He shook his head, looking down at his hands. “We can talk about it in the morning? It’s late.”

(YN) swallowed hard and nodded. "Yea, that's a good idea."

Gerard got up, offered her a hand, helping her up. He placed a kiss to the back of her hand before leading the way to his room.

(YN) always felt safe with Gerard's arms wrapped around her holding her tight, but it was still a very poor night of sleep for both of them. The next morning (YN) and Gerard were sitting in his living room, sipping coffee in silence before (YN)'s curiosity got the best of her.

"Can you tell me what you saw up there now?" (YN) asked suddenly.

Gerard looked up at her, the dark circles under his eyes matching hers. He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Do you really wanna know?"

(YN) nodded. "I wanna understand what happened last night. Well as much of it as I can."

Gerard drew a deep breath. "Ok. I went up there when I heard the second bang. I was kinda surprised the door was open. And then I was shining my flashlight around and," he drew in a breath and shook his head. "I thought I saw someone at the far end of the attic, but my flashlight went through him. I started to panic and that's when I realized you were on the floor. I grabbed you and carried you back down here and, well you know the rest."

"You saw the ghost?" (YN) asked, her voice cracking with fear.

Gerard nodded solemnly. "I think so."

Gerard's words kept ringing through (YN)'s mind. There was no denying it now, she was being haunted by a ghost. She was, generally speaking, freaked out about the whole situation, but also a little curious. That's when she remembered the museum on the first floor.

The space was small, no larger than an office. Shelves were filled with books and bibles, and old black and white photos lined the walls, but one picture stood out as different from the rest. An elderly woman stood before it, gazing up at the portrait of the young man.

"Excuse me, do you know any of the history of this building?"

The elderly woman tore her eyes off the photo and looked back at (YN). "Well, I should say I do. What can I help you with?"

"I don't know how to ask this delicately, but, umm, is there any reason to believe that it might be haunted?"

The elderly woman nodded slowly. "Well, yes, I suppose there would be," she replied before glancing back at the portrait. "This was my brother, Joshua. He was in the seminary and was going to become a priest when he met her."

"Her?"

"Elenora. She was beautiful," she paused, studying (YN) for a moment, "actually you remind me of her. But he was so conflicted, he wanted to be a priest, but he was so enchanted by her. He convinced himself, and her, that the only way they could be together was in death."

"Oh no," (YN) gasped.

She nodded. "They were to jump together from the roof. He went first, she never went."

"I'm so sorry," she replied softly.

"It was 60 years ago. I had known Elenora my whole life, so I blamed myself for introducing her into his life, but I didn't blame her! I still don't. I don't admit this to many people, but we're still friends."

"You have a very forgiving heart," (YN) smiled. "Thank you for telling me all that."

She nodded. "That is what I am here for," she replied as she walked around to a small desk and picked up a dust rag before turning back to one of the shelves.

(YN) made her way back to her apartment and shut the door. "Joshua, if that's you, please leave me alone," she said.

Nothing happened and (YN) shrugged.

The cool fall weather settled in and October was filled with the warm glow of red, yellow, and orange leaves on the trees outside, but by Halloween, the branches were blown bare, leaving dark, imposing branches reaching toward the sky.

Gerard's friend Frank invited them to his house for a Halloween party, and to celebrate his birthday.

A night out, dressed as Bonnie and Clyde, was exactly what they both needed after all the time they spent living in a real life haunted house for almost a year now. (YN) also loved spending time with Gerard's friends. They quickly made her feel welcome and made her future with Gerard seem even better.

It wasn't too terribly late when they decided to call it a night and headed home. "I'm gonna go change and I'll be over," (YN) said before heading into her apartment. Gerard nodded and headed to his own door.

She kicked off her shoes and dropped her jacket over the back of the chair when she felt a cold rush of air blow past her. She closed her eyes as a shiver ran through her whole body. When she opened them, again the cold air was surrounding her, wind blowing her skirt around as a freezing rain started to pelt her arms and face. Frantically she looked around, realizing she was on a rooftop. Before she could get her bearings, phantom hands were on her, pushing and pulling her toward the edge.

"No! No! Get off of me! Let go!" She screamed, flailing her arms, trying to shake off the attack. She seemed to break free and started to run toward the hatch to the attic.

The hands grabbed her ankle and sent her tumbling to the rough surface of the roof. When she looked over her shoulder, a figure made of a shadowy mist was pulling her by the leg toward the edge.

"No! Stop it! No!" She screamed again, her hands scratching at the roof, trying to make purchase.

From behind her she heard a bang. She looked up and saw Gerard at the opening to the attic. "(YN)!"

"Gee! Help!"

"Let her go!" Gerard commanded as he ran to (YN), pulling her off the ground and wrapping her in his arms protectively. She buried her face against his shoulder as she clutched his shirt. "Are you ok? I got you sugar, you’re safe now."

"No, no I'm not ok," she sobbed.

"Come on, let's get inside."

Gerard helped her down the ladder and carried her down the stairs to his apartment. He set her down in the bathroom and set to work cleaning the cuts across her hands, legs, and feet.

"Gee, I don't wanna stay here tonight, I can’t stay here anymore, I have to move or I’m gonna end up dead!" (YN) cried as Gerard wiped the blood away from her palm.

"I know sugar, I'll get you cleaned up and we'll go find a hotel room tonight, ok?" (YN) sniffled and nodded in agreement. “And then in the morning we’re gonna find a new place to live, you and me.”

(YN) had been watching as he worked, but hearing him say that she looked up at him. “Together? Even after all this? What if it follows me?!"

He reached up and wiped away the tears that were rolling down her cheek. “Together. Nothing's gonna come between us, not even a ghost."

A smile finally broke across her face as he placed bandages on the worst cuts. Then she finally changed out of her soaked and bloodied Halloween costume and into a pair of Gerard's sweatpants and an old hoodie. She didn't have shoes, but she didn't care. She wasn't going back into her apartment until the day she was going back to pack it up and move out. And even then, she was considering hiring someone to do it for her.

"Ready to go?" He asked when she walked out of his room.

"Let’s get away from here," she nodded and he took her hand. They hurried through the cold rain to his car and she sighed as she sunk into the passenger seat. She finally felt free.

Gerard started down the long tree-lined drive when suddenly a large tree limb came crashing down in front of them. (YN) screamed as Gerard slammed on the breaks.

"Shit! Are you ok?" He asked breathlessly.

"Look!" She whimpered, pointing a shaking finger out the window. Gerard looked as well at the ghastly figure on the other side of the branch. Gerard put the car in park and unbuckled his seatbelt.

"Gee, what are you doing? Gee? Gerard! Stop it, get back in here!" She cried frantically as he got out of the car. Not knowing what else to do, she scrambled out as well.

"Give her to me!" The phantom wailed, striking cold terror through her. "I gave my life for my love, she belongs to me!"

"This is not your love!" Gerard shouted back.

She moved to stand next to Gerard, interlacing her fingers with his. "I'm not Elenora! I've never done you wrong!" She pleaded. "Gerard is my true love! Let us pass!"

The phantom's face contorted, snarling, teeth growing long, fingers becoming claw-like. (YN) screamed in fright as Gerard stepped in front of her. As the ghost launched at them, headlights came up the drive, shining bright in their eyes, and the phantom faded into nothing.

The other car stopped and the driver got out. "Need help moving that branch outta the way? Woah, you two look like you've seen a ghost," the man laughed.

Gerard shook his head and looked back at (YN) sympathetically. "Well, it is Halloween."

A few months later (YN) and Gerard had settled into their new place. There was nothing in the new place that (YN) would describe as too good to be true. Their commutes were longer, they had to go to the laundromat to do laundry, and they were paying more in rent, but they were together and they finally had peace. And that was worth every penny.

“Hey Gee,” (YN) said as she padded into the living room one Saturday afternoon, holding something behind her back.

“Yea sugar?”

“So I’ve been working on something. I’m not sure it’s any good, but I think it’s finally ready for you to look at.”

Gerard sat up and looked up at her curiously. “What is it?” (YN) handed him a binder. “The Haunting on Holy Name Hill."

“A long time ago, back when we first met, you said I should try writing or drawing if I’m interested in it because you never know when inspiration will strike, and since moving out of that awful place I’ve been trying to wrap my head around everything that happened. So I started writing about it," she shrugged. "I fictionalized some of the events and changed our names, but can you read it and tell me if it’s any good?”

“(YN) I’m so proud of you,” he said with a smile as he got up and wrapped her in a hug. “I’m gonna read it right now.”

“If you insist. I’m gonna go to the laundromat.”

A while later when (YN) came back, Gerard wasn’t on the couch where she’d left him. “Hey Gee, did you finish reading it yet?”

“Yep,” she heard him reply as he came back from the second bedroom they’d set up as his office. “And I have something to show you too.”

“What’s that?”

“First of all, wow, the story is so well written!” he grinned.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously, you’re a natural! And second, look,” he said handing her a stack of drawings.

“What are these?”

“I was thinking, if you want, we could pitch your story as a graphic novel and these are some drawings I did when I was reading it. This is your character, this one is me.”

“Gee, these are amazing! And you really think that it’s publishable?”

“I really do,” he nodded.

“Ok yea, let’s do it. Other than being the place where we met, there should be some kind of good that comes from that awful place. And maybe serve as a warning to everyone else about things that seem too good to be true."

#gerard way x reader #gerard way fan fic #gerard way fan fiction #gerard way imagine #my chemical romance fan fic #my chemical romance fan fiction

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merakiui · 4 years

Note

So you know that subtle rivalry hinted between Theo and Nine, like especially about the piano and stuff? I've seen their mini rivalry in personal stories too, but like I think it's pretty funny, cause the calm, peaceful Nine with the cool and collected Theo. What things do you think they would "fight" over? If you do small stories, like maybe a small story over it??

(Absolutely! Their relationship on the AFTER L!FE website says both of them believe the other has “ulterior motives,” which is definitely interesting. I ended up writing a small story/oneshot for this, and I hope it was good enough in terms of what they would “fight over.” Theo and Nine are so fun to write for when it’s in this format.)

Cake (Nine and Theo)

The manager is like cake, Theo thinks as he walks down the hall, a few documents held securely in his gloved hands. Everyone wants a piece of their time, but there’s only so much to go around. I guess it makes sense. They’ve always been sweet when it comes to the Reapers in the 14th Department.

Cake has an expiration date, as does any food. Along with that, it’s messy. Perfect frosting, fondant flowers, and a moist sponge that gets all over silverware and on clothes. Nevertheless, it’s a dessert for any celebratory occasion. Theo knows a lot of the Reapers can be compared to cake. Take innocent Ell and his happy-go-lucky personality for example. If he were a cake, he’d be the most overbearing slice of sugar. Such a simple cake is an insult, though. If you’re going to indulge in something unhealthy, at least make it overly presentable so you won’t have to fuss over the consequences of such a treat in the near future.

But Theo isn’t interested in cakes that have basic layers. He’s much more intrigued by those that have stacks of unique combinations, such as pineapple, vanilla, and even coconut. Each layer can be carefully picked apart, and every flavor dissected before his blue eyes. People are like cake. They’re either sickeningly sweet or spoiled with a rotten attitude, and they fall victim to their own natural expiration dates with the course of time. They can be broken down and devoured as easily as one does to a slice when they’re hungry. More importantly, their ingredients are always different. Opposing backgrounds, conflicting lifestyles, and even the people with whom they associate. When mixed together, it creates a person who holds their own morals, judgements, and rules based on the cards they have been dealt.

Perhaps that’s why children are so territorial when it comes to snacks; they believe it’s their right to be granted the best treat. In a group of three, who is most entitled to the last slice of cake? The two warring sides or the one unknowingly trapped in the middle? Sharing is cast aside in favor of getting the final piece. No one wants one-third of something. You can’t have one-third of a person. But Theo’s not of that age where you assume the world will be given to you on a silver platter. He knows when to choose his battles and when to surrender.

He knows when to savor every bite of cake he can get.

Theo almost drops the files he’s holding when he hears the upbeat staccato being played in rhythmic succession on the piano. That piano. The piano he should’ve found with the manager. If only they’d asked for his help. If only Nine hadn’t ruined it by impressing them with his dexterous talent. If only—

“You’re amazing, Nine!” the manager praises, a grin on their face. “I wonder if the other Soul Reapers have any sort of musical talent, too.”

“It’s nothing special,” he says, politely deflecting the compliment as easily as one discards a slice of moldy cake. “But I’m pleased you enjoy it, Manager.”

Of course, Theo thinks bitterly, drawing his lips into a thin line. Nine’s playing for them again.

“Can I try?”

Nine nods, sliding over on the bench to make room for (Name). While they tap certain keys at random intervals, sheepishly attempting to knit a comprehensive melody, Theo looks on in dissatisfaction. It’s Nine who senses the presence of a third individual, and he cranes his neck to confirm his suspicions.

“Oh, Mr. Theo. A pleasant surprise seeing you here.”

“You’ve been playing a lot lately. Won’t Nyang Lead Manager get angry if he catches you slacking off?”

“He doesn’t have to know,” (Name) says, rescuing Nine from any criticism Theo might have at the ready. “Besides, the day’s been slow enough.”

His heart sinks when he notices the bento boxes, evidence of two meals that have been thoroughly consumed. One for (Name) and one for Nine... They ate lunch together, and now they’re on the piano—the one he should be playing—acting completely chummy. Why? he thinks, his mind attempting to wrap itself around the concept of work relationships. Why are they so close?

His instincts tell him it’s all part of Nine’s master plan to have you to himself—to take all of the cake and leave nothing but crumbs for the others. It’s so selfishly enraging. Luckily, Theo has reason to stay in the spotless storage room. He sets the files on the lid of the piano, nearly swiping the bento boxes out of the way. There was more than enough room, and Nine doesn’t miss the calculated abruptness in Theo’s actions.

“Hm? What’s all of this?”

“Reports from this week’s patrol shifts,” he explains in a matter-of-fact tone. “I was told to bring these to you for review.”

“Right! I forgot about that. Thanks, Theo. What would I do without you?”

Just as fast as it sank, that familiar cardiovascular muscle skips a beat. Sneakily, he eyes Nine to gauge his reaction. The calm Noctu Reaper is staring right back, a partial smile gathering at the corners of his lips. If a pastry chef adds poison to the meringue of his cream horn and it incapacitates an unsuspecting customer, is he at fault? Does the issue lie with who sold him the poison? Were his intentions outlandishly harmful or driven purely by revenge? In this situation, who would be the chef? Theo’s certain it must be Nine. After all, he’s infecting you with a skill that should be reserved only for him. Playing the piano has always been his speciality. Nine is just a copycat baker whisking all sorts of notes in hopes that it produces a suitable tune.

His talent is poisoning the chances Theo has of impressing (Name) with his flawless playing.

Like a garden that’s been infested with weeds, stripping its sprouts of their needed sunlight, Nine has planted ugly hemlock.

“Is everything all right?” Nine questions, seeming concerned at Theo’s stretched silence. “Mr. Theo?”

“Everything’s fine. I’m flattered you’d worry about me.” Despite the fact that Nine’s older and that Theo ought to respect his seniors, he can’t bring himself to willingly trust the Reaper who’s been stealing the manager’s heart with his dexterity.

(Name) pops up from the seat at once, startled to have caught sight of the time. “Sorry, Nine. I've got to supervise Day and Kati’s cleaning shift. You can never be too careful with those two...” As they grab their empty bento box and the pile of documents, exchanging serene farewells with Nine, Theo opens his mouth to say something.

I’ll go with you, he wants to add, and yet the words evade him.

The manager turns to address Theo, a radiant beam in their expression—the sight of a flower that has wilted once and sprung back to life with a little bit of water and sunlight. “There’s a book I found that I think you’ll like. I’ll lend it to you if you’re interested. Let’s talk more next time, okay?”

His heart just about flips into cardiac arrest. How can his manager be so mindful and generous despite the minimal conversation they’ve shared? Such a gesture is sweeter than any cake the other Reapers may resemble.

“Let’s,” he echoes, watching as they make a swift exit. And suddenly the once dusty, overcrowded storage room becomes a haven. Observing it from his angle, he realizes just how much work the manager and Nine have done in terms of cleaning. That could’ve been a task suited to him. Now it’s as though you and Nine have started meeting up periodically in this room.

Nine rises from his spot on the bench, gingerly closing the lid over the piano keys. “Is there something on your mind?”

Theo raises a brow. “Nothing in particular. Why do you ask?”

“I was only curious. You seemed quite attached to the manager’s reactions. Though that’s just a speculation of mine. Please forgive me if I assumed incorrectly.”

“Well, I don’t want them to disapprove of my work.”

“I understand. You always do your best, Mr. Theo, so don’t let the pressure of appeasing Manager weigh you down.”

“I won’t. Thank you for your concern.” His words are hollow—lacking a soul—but he delivers them anyway. A faux cake needs no decorations if it’s role is not to be enjoyed. It’s merely a placeholder in his acquaintanceship with Nine. Stale enough to be recycled for future use, but also courteous in case of an emergency. “Then, I’ll be taking my leave now.”

Nine bids him a professional goodbye, friendly against the powerful tide of passive-aggressive distrust Theo’s built up. The disarming Soul Reaper closes the lid of his bento box, listening to Theo’s even footsteps as they grow distant with each passing second. He isn’t a fool, and neither is the picture-perfect Reaper in the Day Team. Something’s amiss. Anyone would be able to recognize the tense atmosphere that has ensnared the storage room in its vicious maw. Nine isn’t a stranger to formulated schedules. Ever since (Name) asked to meet him in the storage room for a few coveted minutes of listening to him play, Theo’s been in the distance, looming like a shadow in a child’s nightmare.

His finger taps at the colorful plastic while the gears in his brain turn. Nine doesn’t know Theo well enough to make any rash claims, and he certainly wouldn’t say any of that outright. Perhaps he just doesn’t know how to approach others, or he might want a chance to practice on the piano. If that’s the case, it would justify his lingering near the storage room. Nine has noticed the pattern, though. Theo’s always there when the manager observes his skillful fingers dancing across the keys. He’s never there for anyone else.

“I suppose anyone would think it’s an ulterior motive,” Nine murmurs to the empty air. “I’m not too sure.”

Green-eyed monsters don’t have blue eyes, so what does that make Theo?

Said Soul Reaper waits outside the door of the storage room, pressed against the wall with his ears alert and his mouth shut. To be blunt, Nine’s taken too much of the cake, and Theo’s not going to allow that. Crumbs are messy, and he despises messes. For a moment, the darker side of his thoughts conjure other messes. Crimson messes. Accidents that involve choice words and measured actions. Everything should be exemplary for a delicious result. But there won’t be any cake if he’s lacking the ingredients. The only recipe that makes is regret with a side of loss.

Theo slips away from the wall, quietly moving in the other direction. There are many layers to Nine that he must separate for intense study. The closer he gets to the center, the more personal he’ll get. And if the perfect cake involves a book, a piano, and the layers of a certain someone, he’s willing to forsake cleanliness.

Nine is there in the doorway wearing a faint smile as he witnesses Theo leave for a second time.

Something is definitely amiss with Mr. Theo.

#afterl!fe #after l!fe #afterl!fe nine #afterl!fe theo #oneshot #afterl!fe x reader #yandere afterl!fe #yandere afterl!fe x reader #yandere theo #yandere themes #afterl!fe the sacred kaleidoscope #yandere afterl!fe theo #yandere theo x reader #theo #nine

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cavernovs · 3 years

Text

Izara “Kit” Levine

➵ BASICS

NAME: Izara Levine GOES BY: Kit, Iz. AGE / D.O.B: 3rd September, 2098. [ 32 yo ] FACECLAIM: Zoe Kravitz GENDER & SEXUALITY: Cis-Female, Bi. HOMETOWN: The Hideout CURRENTLY: Lupis SPECIES: Human Werewolf PACK: Kaelstrom ROLE: Unranked.

➵ TRAITS

POSITIVE: Loyal, Determined, Protective, Humorous. NEGATIVE: Impulsive, Troubled, Detached, Untrusting.

➵ BIOGRAPHY

A single moment has more power than any creature would dare admit; a split second; a mistake; an error of judgement that decides the fate of the next second, and then the next… until there’s no more seconds left.

Until death comes with claws extended and rips the life from a body it claims. There is nothing sanctimonious about it, there is no pleasant drift off into an ocean to be taken by darkness. It is brutal, unforgiving and without mercy. The only comfort that clouds the minds of those prey to their own misdeeds, is the haunting curse of hindsight.

The what if’s; the if one could turn back the clock and change something —- those futile little pleads can be heard, loudly, but often, it’s even more regrettable than succumbing to the inevitable abyss.

Consider how lucky one must have to be to ever choose their fate, and those who would never see the chance; torn from everything they once new.

That’d be enough to incite their own sharpened teeth of judgement; vengeance that reminds all standing like the untouchable gods they believe to be; an envious and bitter existence… because there are far worst things than death.

There’s always been stories of things that go bump in the night. Often passed down from one generation to the next, real horrors that would sicken the unsuspecting. And what young impressionable child ever expects to hear the chilling tales detailing how monsters stole the lives of lost loved ones? The kind of beasts that send little girls to bed with one eye open and invoke nightmares the moment that eye falls shut.

Because it does only take a moment.

And the difference between those little children and Izara Levine, was that Iz would wake up the next morning.

Not everyone had the blessing of being protected by magical wards, guardians who ensured she was prepared for the never ending war of the species; a childhood without wool over ones eyes. She’d sleep with a blade beneath her pillow, knowledge of exit strategies in every room and made promises she didn’t understand to ensue the continued safety of her people.

It didn’t mean she wasn’t afraid to go to bed every night, that when the doors locked, she’d not scamper through the dark — crawl through those little shortcuts that curious children discovered when their guardians weren’t looking, and find a reason to no longer be scared.

Axel Reyes was her reason.

And he had been since she could write her own name, then later his — and then still when they both signed off papers for hunting parties in the years after.

She was a spirit, always smiling — fuelled by the belief that they were protecting their kind from the creatures of the outside, she did everything she thought was right then. And always the mischievous one sneaking additional crafting supplies onto their exploration parties, roped her best friend Mal into such misdeeds. She had an eye for recycling the things lost to time, and making them anew. Trinkets she could artfully redesign for the young children, another kind of gift for Axel and eventually, on a larger scale, structurally adjustments to the Hideout.

She liked the carpentry, the paint that clogged up the cracks in her scouting gear. A knife her pallets tool soaked in drying paint, often clamped between teeth as her hands busy away with her makeshift tool belt.

The Kit she was rarely seen without. From art supplies, to crafters tools, to bandages. Izara liked to be prepared for it all — when creativity struck; when the world became a little too much for someone who were forced to enter the outside as a warrior and not an artist.

That was only for within the walls of the Hideout.

Eventually, it became a a running joke “Kit” became her doted name - and emergency response would just be “Get Kit”, and everyone just knew she’d come running.

She came running when Malcolm went reported missing too. Her closest companion, besides Axel - her love, to have been swiped from the safety of the Hideout and lost to the outside. The one that became a vision of the horror stories she’d been told as a child. Thus came the nightmares, the persistence to try do something about the humans ever dwindling numbers.

Axel and Kit had been inseparable, two warriors devoted to the cause; everyone knew.

Just as it became obvious that Izara and Axel were not sharing a bed because she was avoiding nightmares anymore.

They were good; a team, had secrets between them that would never be voiced to another soul. Bravely fierce in how they pursued love, nobody made her smile quite like Reyes could. Or laugh, or gave her quite the muse to mural the hunters quarters to most of the others’ dismay.

So came the ring.

And so came the downfall of it all.

The mistake.

A miscalculation, a strategist’s error that put Izara and her team of six others in the hunting party when she pursued a lead on Malcolm that put her in the midst of a wolves den. Like cattle wandering into the wrong direction - a misread of a map that sent them six miles Souther than intended. It hadn’t crossed their minds then, not until the first cry for help came.

She remembered dropping her gear, knows she ran to help, fingers in her tool kit for some concoction from a scientist to get their scent away. Anything that’d get them out of there unscathed. But too many moments late.

Limbs look fake when they’re detached from a torso, surreal like a dark painting one couldn’t stop looking at; morbid curiosity to most of humanity. Izara couldn’t outrun wolves if she dared tried, and fighting them was equally as futile considering their numbers.

She wasn’t supposed to survive, she knew that.

Whilst the pain that tore through her backside and shoulder made her throat hoarse from screaming. There was nobody who’d come to her aid. And it might’ve been a whole day of clawing injured body through mud and grime before a miracle came; a scout from another raiding group found her delirious, with an impossible fever.

They thought she would die from that if not from blood loss or an infection from untreated wounds. When they realised why she was fighting so hard and that she had the potential to live through a transformation, she was suddenly an enemy of her own. Contained like an animal who might go feral.

“Don’t let Axel see.”

The only thing more painful than a wolves canines leaving her scarred and infected, was when Reyes did see.

And when he let her go.

She’s haunted by that night, plagued with memories that remind her of what she’s lost almost a decade ago. Forced into a new life in a world she grew up determined to eradicate - an irony that angers the beast inside her.

She’d had to become something she always told herself she hated. Join the ranks of a new system she barely understood, got on a first name basis’ with creatures she never considered would ever have a damn name. Left her wondering if she’d been wrong all those years ago to be a careless killer.

She still remained to be one, but with a savagery she had little choice in.

Kit remains a crafter, found odd jobs across the state for businesses that required something that only art could capture - she still believed magic couldn’t recreate real creativity. She started smiling again, albeit, formed from a broken place.

But she never aired where she came from if she could help it, a new fear that despite how near a decade of adjustment had treated her with as much kindness as a slow falling sledgehammer. Kit wasn’t about to trust them with any of it.

She’d always been a survivor, but she refuses to be defined only as a victim of a tragedy.

➵ CONNECTIONS

AXEL REYES / Human / Ex-Fiancé. MALCOLM DEVEROUX DAVENPORT / Human Vampire / Best Friend [Thinks he’s dead.] LUCKY JONES ADAMS / Human / Friend & Liason

➵ ADDITIONAL

Bit of a rag-tag-esque approach to everything and anything.

Axel let her go free from the Hideout after she was bitten six years ago with the promise that he would kill her if he ever saw her again. Three of those years she was considered lone, struggling to trust or integrate into the supernatural world and made few allies that eventually assisted her with what would be the following three years more pack friendly and ready.

Kit wears her engagement ring on a chain around her neck because she’s a sentimental little bean.

Does have the Kaelstrom tattoo on her arm, but it took her a while to get there.

Free spirited, attempts to humanise where she can and finds it difficult to view all supes as friendly as the few she’s grown closer to.

A little rough around the edges type of gal. An entire list of bad habits she doesn’t think are actually bad habits but are most certainly definitely bad habits.

Handmade Kit at her waist 90% of the time, tools and first aid equipment etc. She’d feel naked without her belt and she has everything in there, she’d swear to it.

Reluctant to befriend anyone on the first encounter; trust issues through the roof; old habits die hard, she might pull a knife first and then get your name.

Hasn’t been in contact directly with the Hideout for nearly a decade. It’s probably all changed since she remembers it, but she low-key treasures those memories and listens for anything through the grapevine that’s happening there. But she’s never tried to go back. Lucky stayed in infrequent contact with her and fed her little updates about those she cares for that she had to leave behind.

Lies to anyone who asked where she came from beyond: lived north, neutral territory and assisted a witch for some time.

Anyone who’d been in or is affiliated with the hideout for over a decade would probably know/recognise her if they saw her on a second glance, maybe.

Will fearlessly street paint anywhere that’ll allow her to without disturbance, she’ll be the Banksy of Calamity, just watch. She signs all her work off as: K. [For Kit.] She isn’t fussed on anonymity, but she wouldn’t want anyone from her old life to turn their attention her way.

➵ WANTED CONNECTIONS [TBA]

THE STRATE-SHIT [0/1] - The idiot of a strategist that sent Kit’s raiding party in the wrong direction and made the supply run a suicide mission. This could be anyone, perhaps they’re no longer in this rank/are no longer in the hideout or have never owned up to their error and are living in denial and bliss. But she knows mofo, she knows.

CANINES AKIMBO [0/1] - The obvious one, the wolf that bit her and massacred her team. Anyone wanna own up to that, would likely be a pack wolf opposed to a rogue as it’s a lot of damage to do for a singular wolf. But perhaps it was a mix of all since they were just ... wandering southside like deer, psh.

THE INSIDER [0/1] - Okay, so she ain’t exactly keeping tabs on the Hideout and her ex-lover, but she certainly tried to contact someone she trusted to give her the updates about whether those she loved and cared about are alive and well. But she wouldn’t want anyone to know that she’s doing that, and they probably link up like once in a blue moon with some grumpy ass conversation & likely would have lately told her about Axel’s role of Commander & Damien’s leave.

#calamity.intro #bio

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mostweakhamlets · 4 years

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genuine question: why is staged cringe?

I want to preface this by saying that I loved Staged initially. I thought it was a super cool concept with actors I’m fans of. I still think that it is a really cool concept! I think it’s great that these actors hatched this idea of acting from home over video chat. I love it when people are experimental. I love it when people break the status quo with art.

However, I think that this is one of the downfalls with Staged. There’s so much potential there, and you really notice how much of that was squandered when you start noticing the things about the show that don’t sit right with you. At least, that’s how I felt.

It really is a matter of, “I feel like this show aged poorly. For the love of God, make series two different.”

I have a lot to say about this, so I’ll put it under the cut and in sections haha

Superwomen

This was my biggest peeve with Staged. I felt like the women (mostly Anna and Georgia) couldn’t just exist. It felt so unnatural and so forced. Like “Look, these women are just any women.”

I know that Georgia Tennant already has this sort of public image of being this super productive mom (which I have more feelings about but won’t go into it here). I think that’s awesome! But Staged hammed that up. I know that it was supposed be a satire version of her, but come on. She’s Supermom to the point that her husband is incompetent? That he really can’t make dinner for his own children? That he has to just reheat something she made that week?

We see Georgia as the perfect woman—helps a friend with childbirth, writes a book, she apparently does all the cooking and cleaning (judging by how surprised she looks when she notices all the laundry folded and put away when she returns from the childbirth), and is the perfect mom and wife. And I know that she had little screentime, but why couldn’t we see any actual flaws? Why does she have to be Supermom every time we see her while her husband seemingly dicks around on Zoom all day?

And then there’s Anna. She’s much more private than Georgia is irl, so she doesn’t already have this crafted public persona. We see less of her in Staged. The Tennants have more of a story than she and Michael do. And with that time, they really made sure to make… smart. I guess you could call it that.

It felt like there was an attempt to make her smart when she had all this information about—what was it? Italian fascism?—on the top of her head. But it definitely felt “smart” in the way that men often think people are “smart.” They can just regurgitate facts rather than actually say anything constructive. It felt like she had just played Trivial Pursuit a lot or binged watched every single episode of QI. I’ve no idea why they felt the need to just awkwardly shoehorn that in when there are so many other ways to show that a woman is intelligent.

It makes me wonder what the creative team thinks of women—at what point is a woman valuable in front of a camera? Could a character like me, who doesn’t know a lot of trivia or isn’t an exceptional cook or can be a birthing partner, earn screentime in a production by these men? Are women allowed to be flawed beyond “Haha yeah I’m eating cake while watching yoga videos” and agreeing to put recycling in someone else’s bin?

Is there an oversaturation of the male ego in Staged? Kinda. It was all about three men’s shit show while girlfriends and wives stood in the background as flawless house partners. It feels like that bland brand of feminism that’s like, “Women can do anything! And that includes compensating for their male partner’s shortcomings!”

Covid Insensitivities

Back in March, we were all different people! We thought we saw a light at the end of the tunnel. We were watching TikToks and staying home and supporting essential workers. But things got very much worse. As an American, I’m terrified of what’s going to happen in my country alone. Much of the world has been hit hard, and government leaders all over are proving to be incompetent.

But early summer/late spring was a different time. And when they filmed Staged, they had a Covid subplot with Michael’s neighbor. At the time, it felt fine. But now it feels icky, in my opinion. It feels wrong for rich people, safe in their homes, to craft a storyline where a fictional woman has Covid, and “It really affects me, Michael Sheen. I’m worried about this.”

At the time, I felt like, “Is this really the angle they should have taken with such a serious global issue?” And now I feel like, “This is definitely not a subplot they should have gone with. Oh my God, I physically cannot watch Michael Sheen fake crying while on the phone with a doctor.”

Their hearts were probably in the right place, but it aged terribly. I really hope that they don’t return to subplots like that in series two.

Which brings me to my next point:

The Oh So Relatable Lives of Celebrities

The Covid-neighbor subplot felt wrong for another reason: it felt like a misguided attempt to look relatable to an audience who is probably a bit more exposed to the virus than these people sitting in their massive homes.

I won’t go into this much because I don’t see it as a major issue. Again, at the time it felt fine. We thought we were all in this together, and these rich people really did get the common struggles: dealing with childcare, being cooped inside all day, etc.

But again, things changed.

I’m honestly tired (and a bit bitter) of seeing rich people trying to pose as having the same set of problems the rest of us do right now. Sure, it must be hard to raise five kids right now. But when this is over, the Tennants get their nanny back irl. Yes, it’s hard to stay inside all day with little outlets. But Michael Sheen irl 1) has actually been acting quite a bit during this, as we’ve seen now, with plenty of press and 2) has a huge garden and a magical little park he could always walk to.

I can’t help but feel bitter as I sit in debt, unemployed, watching very well-off actors get irritable over lockdown.

In General

In general, Staged was fun at the time. It was cute, and I enjoyed watching it when it came out. It was during the “hopeful” stage of the pandemic, as I like to call it. Loans payments and rent payments were paused. Eviction was illegal. People who could, stayed home and watched TikToks. But now we’re in a different stage.

A lot has happened, and a lot of places are refusing to shut down states/countries again for the sake of the economy. People are starting to realize how little their individual livelihoods matter to our governments. There are tense elections all over the world. There’s no relief being provided for people who desperately need it.

I think that the sort of quirky Covid stories like Staged aren’t going to be necessarily enjoyable right now. Really, the last thing I want to see is rich people pretending like they’re struggling in their huge homes and with their presumably unlimited resources.

I’m really holding my breath with series two. I hope that they go in a different direction than they did last time, or it’ll be a completely tone-deaf show to me.

Like I said, there is so much you can do with a setup like Staged, but I think that they dropped the ball so many times that it just feels like someone else should take over this format.

I’d completely understand if people disagree with me. These are just my criticisms of the show.

#this is very long i'm very sorry #staged #michael sheen #david tennant #these are just my opinions!!#Anonymous

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disneyat34 · 3 years

Text

The Aristocats at 34

A review by Adam D. Jaspering

The second Disney Dark Age was defined by a series of decisions resulting in decreased film quality. Some decisions were timesavers, prioritizing efficiency above craft. Some were financial decisions, scaling back ambition, favoring simplicity. Some of it was a general sense of disillusionment. The glory days of the Disney empire were gone. Animation as a medium was in a rut. The prestige of working in cartoons was akin to working on an assembly line.

The Aristocats was never a children’s book, fairy tale, or published story. It was an original concept by writers Tom Rowe and Tom McGowan for Disney’s Wonderful World of Color. In 1961, they were instructed to develop stories featuring animal protagonists.

One of the stories involved a family of cats forced from their home by an evil butler and maid. The cats would hide around Paris, staying safe, exploring the locales, having adventures. This was the first draft of The Aristocats.

For years, the writers worked and re-worked the story as a two-part, live-action, made-for-TV movie. From every angle, The Aristocats was infeasible. The writers were trapped in an endless cycle of revision, rejection, revision, rejection. By 1966, they gave up. With so much time, money, and effort sunk, they recouped their losses by selling the treatise to Disney Animation Studios.

The animated medium worked to the writers’ advantage. The cats could now talk, react, move, emote, and think like more than simple house pets. It made completing the script much simpler. However, that was the only advantage earned.

The greatest indicator of the troubled writing process is how heavily the movie borrows ideas from previous Disney films. Disney had made films about pets in trouble before, and they were successes. To copy their success, The Aristocats copied a number of plot elements and themes.

Consider what is lifted from 101 Dalmatians. Someone nefarious kidnaps a bunch of beloved pets. The pets evade their captor, and are forced on an arduous trek back home. They find respite only through the hospitality of other animals along the way.

Consider what is lifted from Lady and the Tramp. A spoiled pet, accustomed to love and indoor life, is forced from home. They find a streetwise transient with a heart of gold who agrees to help. Over time, love blooms despite the pair coming from two different worlds.

The Aristocats is a shameless blend of 101 Dalmatians and Lady and the Tramp, simply substituting the dogs with cats. It offers nothing unique. What it lifts, it doesn’t improve on.

The xerographic animation is the worst its ever been. Xerography has always resulted in scratches, inconsistent line widths, and rough details. In The Aristocats, it’s laughably bad. Lines are sketchy, frayed, and wiry. In wide shots, character outlines are too thick. On close-ups, outlines are too thin. Errant reference lines are left in place, never cleaned before going to print. Detail lines are too bold and garish. The animators were either getting sloppy or lazy.

The female lead of the movie is Duchess, a white angora cat. She is voiced by Hollywood actress Eva Gabor. Gabor is best known for the sitcom Green Acres, where she played a socialite unwillingly relocated to a country setting. She admirably plays Duchess, a cat socialite unwillingly relocated to a country setting.

Gabor lends an air of nobility and sophistication to the character. Unfortunately, she never fully hides her Hungarian accent. She slips between her natural voice and a French affectation, creating a definite European sound, but not of any particular area.

Duchess’s three kittens are Marie (white, voiced by Liz English), Berlioz (black, voiced by Dean Clark), and Toulouse (orange, voiced by Gary Dubin). All three are voiced by American children and speak in an American accent.

In most Disney movies, young characters are voiced by actual children. The same is true for The Aristocats. Unfortunately, the three actors here are among the worst the studio has ever seen. The children lack a sense of timing and awareness in their recitations. Everything they say is forced and toneless. They’re not acting, just reciting the script. It’s made all the worse they don’t project, delivering their lines quietly and without passion into the microphone. Every line sounds as though they have sore throats and stuffy noses.

The male lead is O’Malley, an orange piebald shorthair voiced by Phil Harris. Phil Harris voiced Baloo in The Jungle Book, and was acclaimed for bringing the bon vivant bear to life. It’s no surprise, in a film that has already recycled so much, it recycles an entire character. Phil Harris gives O’Malley Baloo’s relaxed nature, cocky arrogance, love of music, and budding paternal instincts. The only difference between O'Malley and Baloo are their species.

The plot of the film centers around Madame Bonfamille, an elder Frenchwoman of notable wealth. An aging woman, she meets with a lawyer to draft a will. With no spouse and no living family, she bequeaths her estate and all monetary goods to her beloved cats.

This enrages her longtime, long-suffering butler, Edgar. So much so, he conspires to kill the cats, leaving him the sole beneficiary. The evil maid from the original story spec was written out completely.

There is so much to unpack in such a confounding setup. The first among them, Madame Bonfamille won’t relinquish her estate until she dies. She appears to be in her 70s, but is still fully ambulatory, healthy, and mentally sound. She won’t be passing on anytime soon.

So why would Edgar attempt to kill the cats immediately? If he killed the cats now, Madame Bonfamille would adopt new cats and start the cycle anew. Why wouldn’t he kill the cats when Madame Bonfamille is closer to death? If she’s enfeebled or incapacitated, she’d be unable to amend her will.

Let’s give Edgar the benefit of the doubt and assume he panicked. He was blinded by greed. He was offended his boss would discount his years of loyal service. He’s seen as lesser than a quartet of creatures who use a litter box. He didn’t consider the ramifications of preemptive catslaughter. The insult caught him off-guard.

If Edgar behaved rationally, bided his time, and planned a perfect murder, killing the cats would still be stupid. Without researching French estate law of the early 20th century, we can reasonably assume a person cannot name pets as beneficiaries. In which case, the will’s stipulations would be voided and Edgar would inherit the estate.

Assuming it’s unconventional but acceptable, the cats would need a caretaker. What would cats do with such money? Cats can’t shop, can’t pay bills, can’t pay taxes. Edgar would almost certainly be given power of attorney over the cats. He’d live in the manor, be granted a trust fund, and all in exchange for occasionally feeding a few cats. The cats would legally own the wealth, but Edgar would be in charge of where it’s spent. Edgar would get everything anyways, and his hands would be clean.

Even for a kid’s movie, the plot is overly simple and collapses under scrutiny. After so many rewrites and changing of hands, standards dropped noticeably. Nine different writers worked on this movie. The filmmakers had no expectations of the script beyond “complete” and “printed on paper.” The Aristocats is no masterstroke. But maybe it was never intended to be.

It’s never been officially stated, but in an era of financial instability, it’s easy to see the appeal of The Aristocats. A paper-thin plot is an acceptable concession to showcase a bunch of dancing and singing cats.

Disney had never made a cat movie. Disney had made dog movies, and subsequently sold dog toys and dog merchandise. But some people like cats more than dogs. There was an untapped market for cat toys and cat merchandise. All they needed was a cat movie. The plot was irrelevant.

The stakes of the movie are incredibly low. In 101 Dalmatians, the dogs are forced to walk from the outskirts of town back into London. It’s an arduous journey. The weather is harsh and unforgivable. The puppies are tired and hungry. The villain is actively on their trail, ready to attack at any minute.

In The Aristocats, the cats are forced to walk from the outskirts of town back into Paris. It’s a leisurely walk through the countryside. The weather is pleasant and sunny. Edgar doesn’t pursue the cats, assuming them already dead.

The cats were carted off somehow, and now must return home. Their journey isn’t one of survival, just inconvenience. It’s all the tension of a motorist running out of fuel and walking to the nearest gas station.

The plot is so razor thin, characters and vignettes are introduced that do nothing except pad the runtime. After O'Malley falls in a river, he’s saved by a pair geese. It’s an Avis Ex Machina.

Their contribution to the story fulfilled, the geese do not waddle off. The cats follow them into town. There, we meet the geese’s drunken uncle. The drunken uncle does nothing of significance or importance. He stumbles, confused, dizzy, inebriated in a misguided attempt at humor. It’s funny because he abuses intoxicants. Enjoy, kids!

When Edgar attempts to dispose of the cats, his efforts are interrupted by two hound dogs. These dogs chase his motorcycle, causing Edgar to crash. In order to escape without being mauled, Edgar leaves the sidecar and several personal effects behind. He’s forced to return the next day to retrieve the incriminating evidence.

Why these two dogs are so territorial is inexplicable. They don’t just chase Edgar’s motorcycle, they declare a vendetta against him. They chase him off, they chase him back, they even steal the motorcycle and attempt to run him down. If Edgar wasn’t literally trying to drown kittens, the dogs would easily be the villains of the movie.

The dogs have Georgia accents. There’s no reason why. They live in France, just the same as any other character. Should we assume the dogs immigrated from the American south just to work on a farm in a new country? Were they adopted by French farmers from breeders across the Atlantic?

Simply put, they’re hound dogs. Hound dogs are stereotypically southern. It would be silly to have them speak French. It’s also silly to have two characters with Georgian accents in the French countryside. There were no good solutions here.

There’s also a Chinese cat who supplants his L’s with R’s when he speaks. He has buck teeth and squinty eyes. He carries chopsticks around with him. The Aristocats copied so much from Lady and the Tramp, why wouldn’t it also copy its racist stereotypes?

Madame Bonfamille and Duchess are the only characters in the film to have French accents. The rest of the characters speak with American, British, and Appalachian accents. For a film set in France, an array of English dialects is distracting and confusing.

Maurice Chevalier sings the film’s title song. Disney secured a French icon, but shied away from the French language. French accents were either too distracting or too indecipherable. At the least, the replacement accents should be consistent.

The French setting was entwined with The Aristocats since its Disney’s Wonderful World of Color days. Producer Harry Tytle is credited with setting the film in Paris. The intention was, what 101 Dalmatians did for London, The Aristocats would do for Paris. Yet another idea borrowed from 101 Dalmatians.

While The Aristocats is set in France, there’s nothing specifically French about its setting. Except for the establishing shots, the movie could just as easily be set in Montreal or Stockholm. Most of the movie is set in a faceless countryside or indistinct buildings.

The other puzzling aspect of the setting is when exactly this movie takes place. The movie insists the year is 1910; the vehicles, furniture, clothing, mannerisms, etc support the assertation. But Scat Cat and his crew are cats out of time.

Scat Cat is a jazz musician (voiced by Scatman Crothers, hence the name). Scat Cat and his band are close friends of O'Malley, later becoming friends with Duchess and her kittens. The band play anachronistic, 60s-era swing jazz.

While jazz music did exist in the 1910s, it was closer to its Dixieland and ragtime forbearers. It certainly wasn’t present in France. Jazz didn’t reach French ears until WWI, introduced by American soldiers. All that’s beside the point; Scat Cat and his crew come straight out of the Kennedy era.

Anachronistic music has never been a problem in Disney films, but early 60s music in a 70s movie set in the 1910s is a disastrous choice. 70s music would be acceptable. 1910s music would be acceptable. Even 40s music, splitting the difference, would be an acceptable choice.

Music can’t be used in a movie just because somebody on staff likes the song. It needs to fit the film, of course, but it also needs to be either modern and contemporary, or a nostalgic throwback. It’s the exact reason the Sherman Brothers shirked from using a rock and roll song in The Jungle Book.

60s jazz is dated, irrelevant, and distracting. It doesn’t belong in the movie. It doesn’t fit the setting. It’s not old enough to be classic, and not new enough to be relevant. It makes Disney seem like their finger is off the pulse. But there were big jazzy numbers in The Jungle Book, and The Jungle Book was a success. So The Aristocats also got a big jazzy number, even if it makes zero sense.

The Aristocats is a mess from the bottom up. The paper thin plot is a discarded treatise no one else wanted to make. It’s puffed up with unnecessary scenes and characters that contribute nothing. What little is offered is blatantly recycled from other Disney pictures. The animation is among the worst ever proffered from Disney Animation Studios. The characters are bland and undefined, the setting is underutilized, and the ending is so conveniently contrived, you can tell precisely when the screenwriters threw their hands up in frustration.

It may be unfair to place the failure of The Aristocats on Disney Studios alone. The 1970s was a dark age for animation in general. The decline of the studio system in the 1960s had a ripple effect into the animation industry. Theatrical shorts from MGM, Warner Bros, Universal, Paramount, and Disney themselves ceased in the mid-60s. Animation was becoming outdated and irrelevant.

The end of the era would be tragic, but animation wasn’t a dead medium. Ironically, the rise of Saturday morning cartoons on television meant animation had a larger audience than ever. But without studio financing and prestige, cartoons were churned out cheaper, quicker, and with smaller returns. There was a market demand without standards or incentive. It was a no-win situation.

Still suffering from Walt’s death years ago, Disney Animation Studios was under financial strains and a creative dry spell. Disney animation was coasting on nostalgia, constantly in danger of being shut down. The board of directors only needed one excuse.

The filmmakers cut every corner and made every concession. In doing so, The Aristocats came in underbudget, and turned a profit. In financial terms, the movie was a success. And while the film has its share of fans and defenders, from a cinematic standpoint, in every other sense, it is a disaster. Disney Studios proved cats don’t always land on their feet.

Fantasia Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs Cinderella Alice in Wonderland Sleeping Beauty Pinocchio The Jungle Book The Sword in the Stone Bambi 101 Dalmatians The Three Caballeros Lady and the Tramp Peter Pan Dumbo Melody Time Saludos Amigos The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad The Aristocats Fun and Fancy Free Make Mine Music

#The Aristocats #Disney #walt disney #Walt Disney Animation Studios #disney studios #movie review #Film Criticism #film analysis #Disney canon

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