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soulmate-game · 4 years

Text

Part 1 … Part 2

“So, How was your first day of school in America?” Lois asked as her small family all sat around the table eating dinner. It was almost painfully ordinary, traditional. A married couple and two kids eating a normal dinner and talking about their day.

All of them appreciated that one piece of normalcy in their worlds of superheroes and villains and PTSD.

Marinette snorted, almost choking on her forkful of food. After managing to somehow swallow without causing herself discomfort, she smiled at her mother figure.

“Honestly? I know Jon could fly and I could teleport to school in practically no time at all, but somehow Damian still manages to seem more impressive.”

“Right?!” Jon agreed emphatically, leaning over the table towards her and almost getting his whole plate of food smashed against his chest. “Probably because helicopters are huge and look awesome, but we’re still just us when we use our powers.”

Marinette nodded sagely at that reasoning as if it was something actually serious. Tikki, who was sitting next to her plate with a half-eaten cookie, giggled.

“That makes sense. But be careful Kaalki doesn’t hear you referring to them as ‘not impressive—‘“ Marinette was cut off before she could even finish her sentence.

“Too late, I already heard that blasphemy,” the other Kwami’s voice carried down from upstairs, making Lois and Clark’s lips twitch up in amusement. “I’m a god, dear, I have even better hearing than Kal-El,” for some reason the little horse god always referred to the boys by their kryptonian names, but they didn’t seem to mind much. “Not as impressive as a helicopter, hah! See if I let you use my fabulous powers anytime soon, Guardian or no Guardian.”

Marinette just rolled her eyes. Technically she could just command Kaalki, but that was against her morals and the horse god would never keep her from responding to an Akuma attack anyway. This was just harmless teasing.

And it was really nice in contrast to everything they were used to dealing with.

“Okay, but besides the helicopter,” Clark pressed gently after everyone’s chuckles quieted down. His face was open with genuine curiosity, and a little bit of worry that Marinette caught onto instantly. “I know Damian isn’t always the easiest person to get along with or understand. Did the rest of the day go by alright?”

Marinette actually set her fork down on her plate, her smile turning a little gentle. “Actually? Yeah. When we first spoke I thought he was a stuck-up jerk like some of my ex-friends and a bully of mine from Paris. But he’s just not good with people,” Marinette’s smile turned even softer as she gazed down at the table, at some memory nobody else could see. “It reminds me of my friend Kagami, from Paris. She acts pretty similar. Really impersonal and prickly on the outside, but once you get to know her she’s the most loyal friend you’ll have. Her mom is really strict though, and Kagami never got to interact with a lot of kids her own age, so she still has issues figuring out how to behave around others sometimes,” Marinette actually ended up laughing a little, rubbing the back of her neck. “We uh, we actually had a crush on the same person back when we first met and it sparked a pretty rough rivalry for a while. Once we got past that though, we ended up being best friends.”

Jon snickered, trading knowing glances with their parents. They had already agreed that, unless Damian or Bruce told her themselves, Marinette would have to figure out the Bat’s identities on her own.

“That sounds very familiar,” Jon stated with a little nod. “Me and Damian fought when we first met, too. Legend has it that Dad and Bruce, Damian’s dad, didn’t get along right away either.”

It was Clark’s turn to snort. “I think it’s just a Wayne thing,” the man agreed, amused. “They don’t like getting close to anyone right off the bat,” Lois kicked his leg under the table for that pun, but Clark cheerfully ignored it. “It is pretty funny that you have a similar experience with someone completely unrelated, though. Maybe we should invite her over sometime? Do you know when her school’s next break is?”

Marinette sat up straight in her chair, her smirk wide and almost blinding at the prospect of seeing one of her closest friends in person again. They video chatted and called often enough, but it wasn’t the same. “Actually! Kagami told me that she’s going to Gotham next month for a fencing competition. She’s an Olympic hopeful, you know. She has to make a good enough impression in different national and international competitions to be selected,” Marinette was almost bouncing in her seat, looking like a female version of Jon for a moment with her vibrant blue eyes shining with rare unhindered excitement and her body unable to stay still from the energy.

“I heard that Gotham was holding the World fencing finals this year,” Lois remarked, but kept eye contact with Clark for a moment as the two communicated silently in a way even telepaths couldn’t copy. Marinette recognized the hesitance in their faces, and her bouncing stopped immediately. She knew why they would be reluctant to let her go.

“I know Gotham is dangerous and I still have attacks pretty often,” Marinette’s voice was suddenly soft, but firm in a way that the rest of their little family hadn’t heard from her much at all. It made Clark and Lois look at her, waiting for her to finish making her point patiently. “But self defense isn’t really an issue. Even without any powers, without transforming, I…” Marinette took a breath to steel herself before continuing. “I learned martial arts from Maman. And I’ve used the Miraculous so long that all the combat experience of the previous Ladybugs is mostly muscle memory by now. And Kagami is more than just a fencer, her mom’s trained her in all sorts of sword fighting her whole life. Trust me, nobody messes with Kagami and gets away with it easily,” Marinette actually looked down at her hands, watching as she essentially had a thumb war with herself to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes.

“I don’t think physical attacks are what we’re worried about,” Lois admitted slowly, frowning. “I mean, yes, it’s a concern. But if I remember the dates for the competition correctly, I’ll be out of town for my first long distance job since you came to live with us. Clark will be at work during the day on the weekend, though maybe he can get a day or two off,” Lois gently worried her bottom lip with her teeth for a second. “I suppose, if Jon wants to go with you, it wouldn’t be as much of a problem if something happens…”

Oh. They weren’t worried about people attacking her. They were worried about her own mind. Which, after the last few months? Was perfectly fair.

“I don’t mind if—“

But, as life usually ended up, they were interrupted from their peace. Everyone jolted in their seats as the door was unceremoniously kicked down, and a man in his early twenties walked in carrying a mountain of boxes in his arms. Marinette blinked, no longer on guard since the rest of her new family immediately relaxed. But still, she was confused. Nobody said anything about having a visitor today.

“I know, I know. I haven’t been in touch for way too long, give us a little forewarning, blah blah blah. I brought presents this time though,” the man said, cheerful and casual and blasé. With the boxes on the center of the dining table, Marinette could finally get a good look at him.

He was probably about twenty four or twenty five, if Marinette’s ever-sharp eyes were correct (they hardly ever weren’t), and his hair was spiked up with a bit of gel, but not too much. Just enough to give it kind of a tousled-rebel look, and it was cropped close to his head on the sides. He had on a black leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders and slightly down the arms, with slightly baggy black jeans and a plain, worn red shirt. Dark black sunglasses rested on the top of his head, even though the sun had been down for a while.

He did not meet the usual Kent aesthetic of a charming, traditional nuclear family. He was more of an… oddly joyful punk. It actually gave her slight Luka and Jagged vibes, and made her relax a bit into her chair. Contrary to what most might think, Marinette had a bit of a soft spot for the punk rocker look. Most people, that she had met at least, who wore it on a regular basis were amazing people with great senses of humor and large personalities.

“Old man, I got you socks,” he called out with a lazy smirk, chucking the first small box over at Clark. The man caught it with a fond eye roll.

“You always get me socks.”

“Maybe if you stopped being boring, I’d get you something better,” the stranger mocked with good humor. “Lois, jewelry that you’ll never wear,” he handed the box over to the woman with significantly more care, before sliding over one of the bigger boxes to her as well. “And a new camera that you will actually use.”

“Hey, Wait a second, you know you don’t have to—“

“And for the squirt,” the man interrupted without letting Lois finish saying that there was no need to spend so much money. He tossed the last big boxes over to Jon one at a time carelessly, smirking the whole time that Jon playfully scrambled for them. “Video games, geeky shirts, and inside jokes,” he stated happily.

With the table now clear of boxes, he finally noticed the extra body. He blinked, making silent eye contact with Marinette for a tense moment.

“Okay, she’s too old to be a secret child. Did someone make another clone? Did Jon get a girlfriend that looks freakishly like a long lost Asian family member? What did I miss?” He asked, never taking his eyes off Marinette. Clark grimaced.

“If you didn’t break your phone so often, maybe we would have been able to tell you sooner,” the man said slowly, cautiously, with his eyes never straying from the stranger. “This is Marinette. Marinette, this is Connor. He’s… Jon’s brother,” the pause there was a bit odd, and Marinette frowned at the look on Clark’s face. It was like he didn’t know what to say at all, or how to say it. “Marinette is living with us for the foreseeable future. If we get the chance we might officially adopt her, so she isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Woah woah woah, what?” Marinette’s voice came out a lot squeakier than intended, the girl thoroughly whiplashed by this situation. It was hard to think straight. “I— we never talked about adoption.” Clark’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, not in as many words,” he conceded slowly. “It would be incredibly hard, and we wanted to give you time to settle in before asking. But… well, you’re officially an American citizen and we all feel like you’re family already. So…”

“You wouldn’t have to change your name,” Lois was quick to interject, watching Marinette’s face worriedly. “And you can say no. You’re already a Kent. We would just like to make it official legally, if and when you’re ready.”

“Okay, stop making the poor girl freak out,” Connor interrupted, eyes also on Marinette and gentle in their concern. He gave her a lopsided smile. “Ignore them. Clark never had great timing that wasn’t related to legitimate danger. So, sorry I didn’t get you anything,” he leaned back casually, thumbs hooked on his jacket pockets lazily. “Didn’t expect I’d have a new sister when I came back to visit.”

Marinette calmed down a little, but emotions still overflowed in her head, her chest still tight and the air feeling too thin. She offered Connor a shaky smile before standing up, looking over to Clark and Lois. “Um, I— can I— I’m tired.”

Clark sighed, nodding even as his face fell at Marinette’s state. “Yeah. We’ll talk about the competition some more in the morning, get some rest.”

The girl only nodded before making a hasty retreat up to her room, even forgetting to take care of her only half-empty plate. Tikki did her best to calm her bolder down from her place hidden in the girl’s hair, but it wasn’t doing much good. She just needed space, and time to try and process everything.

—*—*—*—*—*

“Aren’t you cold?” Connor’s voice made Marinette jolt, looking over at him with wide eyes. Nobody had ever followed her on her post-nightmare trips before. She wasn’t even transformed. She just sat, in her pajamas, on the empty terrace of her old home. It hadn’t been sold yet so she wasn’t worried about scaring anybody.

“I… should have expected you to be the other Superboy, honestly,” Marinette deflected with a weak smile before turning to look over the city again. She licked her lips, trying to calm herself down. “And yeah, I’m a little cold, but it’s no big deal. I’ll just go back home before it gets too bad.”

“You’re trembling,” he pointed out casually. And she was, her whole body was practically vibrating against the terrace railing. Marinette only gave out a pitiful laugh.

“That’s not from the cold.”

Connor only sighed, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall behind them. Gave the girl a little space.

“What did… What did Clark and Lois tell you? About me?” Marinette decided to ask tentatively. Connor raised one brow, honestly a little surprised that she didn’t also have super hearing to go with her powers. It was slowly becoming more and more obvious that Marinette was not exactly like the other Kents, and Connor only liked the jumpy little girl more for it.

“As much as they could without feeling like they were crossing a line,” Connor admitted. “That they took you in after an accident during a metropolis attack a few months ago, when you had nobody else reliable enough to take care of you. That you’re not Kryptonian, but still special and knew about all of our identities already. But strangely enough they didn’t mention teleportation or the fact that you were a Parisian superhero, not that I’m really all that surprised.”

Marinette smiled, snickering a bit at that last part before sobering again. “Is it… weird?”

Connor silently examined the girl for a moment, she probably expected him to ask what she meant. And maybe if he was anybody else, he would have.

“To suddenly come home to a new person that I’m suddenly supposed to accept as a part of the family? Not really. In fact, you’re probably the most normal surprise I’ve dealt with in years.”

“But,” Marinette looked back at him, eyebrows furrowed and blue eyes swimming with uncertainty. “But I just show up out of nowhere, and you really just accept me? Just like that? I mean, you’ve known me less than a day and you just saw me teleport to Paris in the middle of the night— you aren’t worried at all? Or suspicious, or— you really just accept me just like that?”

Connor couldn’t help but chuckle, pushing himself off the wall to lean over the terrace railing with her. “You know, technically I’m only eight years old.”

Marinette flinched with surprise at the subject change, eyes wide. “Huh?”

Connor laughed at her confusion, rustling her hair a bit. “I’m a clone. I was made with Superman’s DNA, and that of another asshole we won’t mention. Don’t tell Lois I swore. Anyway, I was ‘born’ as a teenager,” he used finger quotations to show that he wasn’t exactly born normally. “With all the mental development and knowledge of a sixteen year old. Pretty much, anyway, but I was still a newborn,” he shrugged. “Clark wasn’t exactly thrilled. Jon was eight at the time, which is why Clark can never decide if I’m the older or younger brother, and he wasn’t exactly planning on another kid back then. Not to mention the whole ‘created in order to kill Superman if he ever went bad,’ and ‘might be a spy because I was made by his arch nemesis’ thing,” Connor waved his hand as if this blasé info dump didn’t actually matter. Marinette just gaped at him, which made it hard for the guy not to smirk. “Point is, Clark was suspicious. Didn’t exactly want anything to do with me. Can’t say I completely forgive him, but it’s mostly water under the bridge nowadays. Especially when we found out that I did have trigger words, and I was unknowingly dangerous. Don’t worry, those trigger words were erased ages ago. Anyway, Clark eventually got his act together. Gave me the Kryptonian name Kon-el, had me live with him for a little bit. We worked it all out,” Connor turned back to Marinette, taking his sunglasses off so he could look her in the eye properly. “I really don’t think a Ladybug is exactly threatening in comparison.”

Marinette was silent for a moment.

“You know I could throw you off this balcony, right?”

“Eh, I can fly.”

Another moment passed before Marinette couldn’t help it, and started giggling. Those giggles turned to laughs, which quickly turned into joyful bellows. Connor joined in, smiling as he laughed alongside her.

“But… you like it with them, right?” Connor suddenly asked, looking over at her. “I know Jon can be a bit overexcitable, and Clark is an annoying boy scout.”

Marinette just shrugged. “Well, it’s not too bad,” she said softly. “I mean, at least neither of them can die by getting crushed by falling debris. So that’s an improvement at least.” Marinette instantly went pale at her own words, slapping a hand over her mouth. Connor snorted, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s the exhaustion talking. C’mon, let’s get you back in bed before Clark accuses me of corrupting you.”

Marinette just nodded, doing the world’s quietest transformation before opening a portal back to her room. She was already detransformed, Connor having one hand on her doorknob, when she spoke up again.

“Uh, Kon?” She fidgeted, not able to look up at him. “Thanks.”

The man just smirked, shrugging his leather-clad shoulders. “That’s what family’s for, right?”

Marinette smiled, huffing out a tired laugh. “By the way? I’m glad at least one of you Supers has a sense of fashion.”

“We heard that!”

Connor and Marinette broke back out into guffaws, and the girl couldn’t help but think that she was really grateful for her new family. Maybe she wouldn’t call Clark dad or Lois mom anytime soon, those wounds were still too raw, but maybe eventually. And she’d never had brothers before.

Yeah. This was nice.

—*—*—*—*—*

Part 4

I don’t think this ended up as good as the others..? But this is the best way I could write this part. Why is this story turning out longer than expected? Geez I need to learn self control. At least this one was actually kinda fluffy.

@fantasiame @thestressmademedoit @amayakans @resignedcatservant @too0bsessedformyowngood @chocolatecatstheron @mooshoon @jeminiikrystal @bigpicklebananatree @thezestywalru @bugaboosandbees @ironspiderstark @mikantsume @marinettepotterandplagg

#ml x dc #maribat #mlb x dc #platonic jonette #pre daminette #platonic connette #marinette joins the kent family #marinette kent #jon kent and marinette #connor kent and marinette

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diosefm · 3 years

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THE OLD LION

when: very very late, right before the rebel announcement where: the gardens triggers: shitty dads mentions: minos valey, @virgobydcsign @pista-clearmark @deezeeashfrost

DIOSE

She might have completely ruined the only good thing going on with her life, but at least she's got Virgo again. And she feels things are different now. There is now a silent agreement between the two. They're trusting each other now, they're actually acting like siblings. It doesn't matter if their lives are in shambles, because now they know they can both rely on each other. The newly-found softness between has been translated into physical acts. Diose and her sibling sit in the garden, Virgo's head resting on her lap as they exchange whispers and secrets. They mention Blythe, Pista. Silly yet important things. Things they couldn't discuss before. After the chaos that happened inside the main hall, Diose is at peace now. Sort of. But that's quickly ruined as she hears the familiar sound of her father's boots approaching the pair. "Virgo, we have to go."

VIRGO

They didn’t expect this to be so easy. That after everything they could go running after Diose (literally) and things would be okay. That they’re comfortable here, the delicate scent of their sister’s perfume and the way they bind her secrets to their own. Their eyes drift closed as they listen. Tiny details. Sweet, lovely things they never should’ve missed in the first place. Diose’s shift into panic and their instant understanding.

“No.” Virgo stiffens, surprised by their own resolve. They don’t move, their head a solid weight in Diose’s lap. “I think we should stay.” They’re tired of being scared. Shadows cast across their face as Minos comes between them and the light trickling out from the party, almost tempting them to look. Almost. His silence betrays nothing.

DIOSE

Diose has never been scared of her father. When she was younger, the older Valey idolized him, relished on the attention he gave her. While the appearance of Virgo did cause a rift between the two of them, Diose remained his favorite his favorite due to her younger's sibling inability to honor the Valey name despite being the one with actual Valey blood in their veins. As glad as that made Diose at the time, she stopped seeing her father in the same way. And now? She is not scared for her, but for Virgo. So, it's surprising that their younger sibling chooses to not flee and face him instead. Diose knows she can stand her ground when it comes to their father, but has her doubts in regards to Virgo. Still, she is no one to contradict him, so she nods and waits.

Despite his age, Minos Valey stills stands tall and proud. His presence is imposing, able to instill fear in the most powerful of men. Because no one can beat him, they're all below him, he's made it clear. And when he speaks, it's even worse.

"You two ought to be happy now. You've been given everything, you were set up to triumph and you've thrown all of that away in favor of playing stupid, childish games. Was your pathetic display last year not enough for you, Virgo?"

VIRGO

They’d be lying if they said they hadn’t been expecting that. Minos did well to hold his tongue this far with regards to their tragic debut. Granted, he’d made a few comments here and there over dinner, but those events had always had company and their father was cautious. Virgo finds the truth now doesn’t hurt them half as much as it ought to. The thing which does creep under their skin, unsettling what calm they’ve found with Diose, is the expectation. So much pressure to hold up archaic ideals of perfection. Being pitted against each other and then against the world because one arrogant old man believes his legacy trumps all. They didn’t ask for this. Neither of them have ever been given much choice.

“We haven’t thrown anything away.” Virgo cracks an eye, squinting up at their sister. Even now they look to her for guidance. “Feels like half the guests tonight are dressed in Diose, that’s huge. She’s all the style recaps are going to be talking about for weeks.” Okay, that’s maybe not quite true considering the Games really are coming. But they know their point is solid. If they had the guts to, they’d add that Diose’s work is better for the change in her. They see what she’s done for Nelly.

Minos’ expression is unreadable. The art of intimidation is all in the subtleties, the way he angles his chin to look down on the both of them. “What good will that do? After the display you put on for all these esteemed guests?” A weighted pause. “You mean to make a mockery of all I’ve built for you.”

DIOSE

Diose wants to tell Virgo to shut up. They've been dealing with Minos's parenting for longer than they have. They've lived with him, had his eyes follow her everywhere until she decided it was time to flee the nest. She looks down at Virgo and can only shake her head. She's thankful, really. Virgo uses their turn to speak to compliment her, help her appear like she is still flawless and can do no wrong. Maybe Minos saw her that way once, but when Diose looks at him, sees the way her father clenches his fists, she knows how he truly feels.

"Wearing your sister's designs used to mean something. I could hardly hide my disgust when I saw the kind of individuals who dared to don your sister's designs. Rejects, vagrants. People who are not up to our standard, who do not deserve to break bread with us." A pause. "Let alone sit beside you two when the eyes of the Capitol are on you two"

His words sting. They hurt because she knows he is know speaking directly to her. It's a wonder how Diose is able to lift her gaze and look him right in the eye, hand buried in Virgo's hair. "I merely stood up for myself." She does not dare to mention Pista. She doesn't need her father to think of him, have him on his sights. It'll do no good. "Should I have allowed that man to humiliate me? He is nothing but a drunk. I don't understand why you must give him such importance." As much as she hates DeeZee, mentioning his name is not an option either. Pista cares about him, obviously. She'll protect him this one time. Not that his father can't figure out who is who. Diose just wants to direct his attention somewhere else.

"You're pathetic. Both of you are. Pathetic children tainting my hard work, embarrassing me in front of my colleagues. That is not the way we do things, Diose. Discretion is of utmost importance when dealing with vermin."

VIRGO

Virgo may have taken their father’s chastisement with relative ease (at least the won’t think too hard on it until later) but the way he speaks of Diose boils their blood. They think she’s done the right thing in extending her gift to the people they want to call friends. Nelly looks beautiful; Pista is worlds away from toiling over trains. Just because they aren’t Capitol penthouse elite doesn’t mean they shouldn’t get to share in their sister’s perfection. Diose is showing a side of herself they’ve admired for years now, the one she likes to pretend doesn’t exist: true kindness.

“It means more now,” they say, softly. Virgo wishes they’d been bold enough to swallow their anguish and ask Diose to dress them, too. The point doesn’t hit as hard when they’d deflected elsewhere. “Weddings are supposed to be about unity. That’s what Diose is showing, collaborating with the people who worked harder than all of us to be here. Not vermin, victors.”

Virgo wants to cringe at how pretentious, how idealistic, they sound. Words influenced by the low-budget dramas they love so much but can’t quite capture the heroism of. Speeches aren’t their strong suit. They reach up to squeeze Diose’s arm, gentle reassurance that they’re on her side. After all that she’s shared with them they need her to know they’re on her side. No matter what they say, they know neither would get through to Minos alone. Chances they’ll do it together aren’t great either.

”Save your excuses. You ought to know better than to stoop to their level. Don’t you realize the damage you’ve done? It’s clear all those years of education were put to waste if you can’t outsmart that halfwit.”

DIOSE

Diose's night has been absolutely terrible, but she finds solace in the fact that Virgo and her are closer than ever. Still, Diose wants nothing more than to put her hand over Virgo's mouth and keep them from talking. She appreciates their words, she really does, but the last thing both of they need is to provoke their father. Diose knows very well what he is capable of when he is upset and she doesn't want her father to target Pista or Nelly. "He provoked me, and I'm your daughter. Should you not be on my side?" But she knows better than that, knows her father is only on the side or those who are winning. With Diose being the laughingstock of the night, she knows the only support she has right now is Virgo's.

"Unity? The only people that you should be concerned about are your family. Your sister's designs are now almost as worthless as yours. Do you not care about my legacy, or your mother's? I knew she spoiled you too much. You're soft. It's sickening. I won't be on your side nor your sister's when you two are determined to spend your time surrounded by people below us. I've had my eyes on both of you all night. Have you forgotten whose blood runs through your veins? That woman you're with has done nothing but spit on your family's work for years."

She feels her father's insults will sting more now that they're getting personal. Diose is certain she can handle at least some of his poison with the help of her remaining grace and poise, but it's Virgo she is worried about. Father is right, they are softer than any other member of their family.

VIRGO

Their father’s words begin to fall on deaf ears. If they’re being honest, they don’t fully understand the concept of a legacy. They’ve heard the word thrown around so carelessly their entire lives that it’s begun to lose all meaning, absent the ambition they’re sure it’s supposed to ignite in them. With Diose, they can see how someone might pin their hopes on her to make them proud. They don’t give themselves the same credit—and for good reason. All the time and money in the world wasn’t enough for Ma to make them who she wanted them to be, a fact she’s begrudgingly accepted. Virgo isn’t surprised to learn their father can’t handle that.

Virgo’s eyes widen and they push to sitting, angled instinctively toward Diose. As if they’d stand a chance at sparing either of them this lecture. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” they snap. The tangled mess of rage, and pain, and fear they’ve tended since the hijack flares once again. “That’s—it’s— nothing to do with you.”

“Everything you do, either of you, reflects upon my name. There are eyes everywhere, children, do not think that any of your pathetic attempts at stealth render them blind. Money won’t buy their silence forever. What do you think happens when people begin to question why my daughter has been seen cavorting with some middle-district victor? When they question our loyalties?"

DIOSE

Instinctively, Diose grabs Virgo's hands. For support, and in case she needs to squeeze it so let them know it's time to shut up. Their father isn't the one to give up. And the angrier they make him, the worse the consequences will be. As much as she'd like to properly fight the man and get rid of him at once, Diose still needs him. And he is too powerful. And maybe, she is scared, fearful of what the man could do to her since she's not his blood. Both of her parents have always emphasized how powerful Valey blood is and how lucky she is that they rescued her from Ten. She doesn't doubt her father would be quick to turn on her now that his brainwashing has stopped working on her. Virgo is his biological child, which she sees as an advantage over her.

He says eyes are everywhere and Diose feels like throwing up. She knows this, obviously. Both Virgo and her do as they've been confronted with footage of their wrongdoings before. It was easy to deal with it back then just because Pista wasn't involved. Diose can only guess Virgo feels the same way given how protective they've been of their crush for months. "My loyalties are in the right place. Can you say the same, father? You seem to be losing allies while we've gained new ones. Regardless of who they are, you have always said there is strength in number, have you not?" It's a stupidly dangerous reply, but she is tired and won't have him hurt Pista. Her own self is fair game, but he is out of the question.

"Alliance?" An horrid, sarcastic chuckle fills the air. "Clearly your mother didn't do a proper job teaching you where your priorities should be. And you," he turns towards Virgo, eyes filled with rage. "It has everything to do with me. Defy me again and not even your mother will be able to save you from my rage. Neither will your sister or the fools you two have been sharing your time and beds with."

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

We are headcanoning the rest because writing that man is exhausting, so bear with us.

Virgo and Diose continue arguing with their father. To give y'all some context, Minos keeps blackmail worthy footage of his kids. He is a producer and in charge of the propaganda you see everywhere, so he is omniscient. He has done this since they were both children and hasn't stopped. If anything, he has more of a reason to keep tabs on them now. He continues berating them about their recent choices and who they let his friends and colleagues see them with. By now it is pretty obvious Blythe and Pista are on his shitlist and he doesn't want them near his children. But do Virgo and Diose care? No.

When he implies he intends knows more than be is letting them know, the Valey siblings rightfully start worrying since if the man has managed to acquire footage of them on the trains, they're fucked. Diose is able to pretend she still has everything under control, but Virgo starts shaking.

Anyway, Minos grabs both Diose and Virgo and drags them towards the main hall. His intention is to take them home so he can fully unleash his fury without anyone seeing him, but Virgo and Diose are saved by the bell. Well, the rebel announcement. Everything is chaos. Virgo completely freezes. It reminds them of past announcements so they don't even react. Thankfully they got Diose who as we know is quick on her feet so she takes advantage of their circumstances, grabs Virgo, and heads straight towards her suite.

The spent the rest of the night having what is probably the most fucked up sleepover party you could ever imagine. Dioses tries her best to comfort Virgo while Virgo tries to fix Diose's cheek but they're both in such a weird state of mind they just stay up talking until they're so exhausted they pass out on Diose's bed.

#sp #in more steph n becky have a severe case of got brainrot news...

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vgckwb · 3 years

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P5R: Rebel Girl (A FeMC Story/P5R Rework) Chapter 51: A Nudge in The Right Direction

After breakfast, Ren decided to head over to the medical office of Dr. Takemi. Once she arrived, she said “Hey doc.”

Takemi looked up. “Oh ho, it’s been a while. I was beginning to think you were afraid of me.

“Nah, I know you don’t bite,” Ren said. “I’ve just been kind of busy.”

“Well, you seem productive,” Takemi said. “But actually your break was productive for me as well. I had some time, so I began processing the results of our tests.”

“Really?” Ren said. “And how’s that going?”

“Hm,” Takemi laughed. “It’s going exceptionally well. I think with a few more tests, this thing could be fully functional.”

“Splendid,” Ren said.

“Excuse me?” a man said, walking up. With him was his wife and their child, a young girl who looked under the weather to say the least. “Is this a medical facility?”

“Um, yes…” Takemi said, surprised by this development.

“We need some help,” the man continued.

“Our daughter is sick, and the treatment we’ve been given isn’t working” the mother informed her.

“I see…” Takemi said.

“Can you help?” the father asked.

Takemi was silent. Ren could tell she wasn’t entirely sure of herself, so she did what any friend would do; hype them up. “Of course. Dr. Takemi doesn’t have this medical facility for nothing. She’s an expert.”

The parents and Takemi looked at Ren. The parents looked at Takemi. “You’re in charge here.”

Takemi looked back at them. “Yes,” she said. She caught up to the situation and gained her confidence back. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with. Come in.” Everyone started to move except Ren. Takemi noticed this. “You too.”

“Her?” the dad said, surprised.

“She’s my assistant,” Takemi informed him.

“Well, OK then,” the father said. Ren shrugged and walked in.

Takemi was doing a check up on the symptoms her parents described. “Hmmmm.”

“We’ve been trying the medicine for over a month, but it doesn’t seem to work.” the mother said. “When we tried explaining as such to our normal doctor, he just brushed us off.”

Takemi finished her check up. “I see. Well, either this guy is either pretty stupid, or has an ego the size of Tokyo.” She went to her desk to write out a prescription. “Does she have any allergies I should know about?” Her parents shook her head. Takemi finished filling it out. “Well then, here. Her symptoms lineup with a few different diseases, but there are subtle differences, and I feel like they just got it wrong. If this medicine doesn’t see an improvement in her condition in a week, come see me again.”

The father took it, looked up to her, and said “Thank you. How much do we owe you?”

“10,000 yen,” Takemi said.

“What?” the father said.

Ren tried to cool things down. “That’s a joke. She does that from time to time.”

“I mean, it’s fine, we’ll pay it…” the mother said.

Takemi looked at all of them. “Tell me, the facility you went to before, was the head doctor there a man by the name of Oyamada?”

“Um, yes” the father said.

Takemi smiled. “Then consider today on the house.” Everyone was shocked. “That one was not a joke.”

The girls’ parents were still stunned, but they nodded, and the father said “Thank you.” They left to go get the medicine. Takemi sighed a sigh of relief.

“So, how does it feel?” Ren asked, smiling all the while. “Being a doctor in situations like this?”

Takemi smied. “While I didn’t like getting jumped into it,” she gave Ren some side-eye, “I will say, it is a rather nice feeling. While I get patients here, nothing like that really happens all too much.”

She glanced off. “To be honest, I thought I’d lost my touch. I was worried about what would happen if I did something wrong. I guess I still am, but the difference is I took action once you pushed me. Besides, I’m certain I figured the problem out. Not to mention I got to stick it to Oyamada. That’s always good.” Ren seemed a bit confused, but didn't worry too much. “So, despite the manner in which you did so, thanks for supporting me. I mean, I did call you in there for a reason.”

Ren was a little worried she’d get more of a reprimand than that. She smiled and said “Thanks.”

“By the way, we still have your test to do,” Takemi said. “Are you ready?” Ren felt a little sheepish, but nodded, and they ran the test as usual. Once Ren woke up, Takemi noted “Faster than usual. That either means the medicine is improving, or you’ve changed dramatically recently.”

“Well, I've been in Tokyo for a full two months now,” Ren said, not missing a beat. “The city certainly changes people.”

Takemi got a laugh out of that. “I mean physically, but I do like hearing about that. I take it you’re doing well.”

Ren nodded. “And part of it is thanks to your medicine.”

“Hm. Well that’s good to hear” Takemi said.

“Speaking of…” Ren said. She took the time to buy some. She bought more than she usually would as a sort of apology for forcing Takemi’s hand earlier.

“Well thank you” Takemi said after the transaction. Ren nodded. She flashed a very genuine smile. “You know, it’s nice to have a friend like you.” Ren smiled back.

Death-Tae Takemi: Rank 4

Ren left for the evening.

As she was leaving, she got a message from Yoshida.

Yoshida: I’m having another speech tonight. Care to join me.

Ren smiled.

Ren: Sure.

She headed off to Station Square to meet up with Yoshida. Once she did, Yoshida greeted her. “Ah, Amamiya-chan. Might I say that was quite a spectacle on TV.” Rn groaned. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Ren said. “I’m just not used to that much attention.”

“I see,” Yoshida said. “Well, if you aim to be a politician, that can’t be avoided. People will always be watching you because you’re supposed to be a reflection of the people who elected you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ren said.

“Well, it’s about time,” Yoshida said. “Shall we get going?” Ren nodded. “Oh, before we go, I do have a question.” Ren was curious. “I could avoid it, but I did write this speech based around the interview, and there’s even a part where I point you out. Would you like me to take it out?”

Ren looked at him and shook her head. “It’s fine. People are already talking about it, and I trust you more than most people to handle things well.”

“Why thank you” Yoshida said, smiling ear to ear. “Now let’s go.”

Ren picked up the card she would be holding. “‘Tonight’s Topic: What We Can Learn from Today’s Youth’.” Ren smiled, picked up the card, and headed over.

Yoshida took his place, Ren took hers, and a crowd started to gather. Ren noticed some people from last time she was here, but also noticed some new faces. “People of Tokyo!” Yoshida began. “As you may know, the Phantom Thieves struck again, this time at the heart of the art world. Of course I was surprised by this as well. But one thing the two incidents have in common is that both perpetrators have abused children.

Society goes on and on about how we should think of the children, but are we really thinking? Or are we pretending to think about them when really we’re thinking of ourselves? Recent data shows that only 12% of people throughout Japan believe and admire the Phantom Thieves, with the plurality of that being children and young adults.

Of course, generational divides exist, and of course, with age comes wisdom, but as adults, we cannot ignore everything these children say just because it doesn’t agree with our point of view. Children have opinions and ideas. To ignore them would be to discourage them from thinking at all. Why, just recently my assistant here debated another student about the Phantom Thieves.”

The crowd was more alert as they turned to Ren to confirm it was her. Ren was feeling the heat just a little too intently and began hiding behind the card she was holding. “Ahem!” Yoshida exclaimed, getting everyone’s attention back on him. “This makes it very clear that children have ideas they wish to express. And the popularity of the interview suggests that people are willing to listen. But we can’t make that a sometimes thing. We need to learn to listen whenever we can. I know that they can’t vote, but that doesn’t mean that if I’m elected, I’m representing them less.

I will listen to everyone’s concerns, no matter who brings them to me. I am running to represent all of you. To be that reflection of you all. And I wish that I would be a reflection you are proud to wake up to in the morning, and proud to see before you go to sleep. Thank you.” There was a little bit of clapping.

After the speech, Ren and Yoshida met up. “Sorry about that,” Yoshida said.

“No, it’s fine. I said it was alright” Ren said, clearly exhausted.

“Well, neither of us expected that much attention to shift towards you,”Yoshida responded.

Ren gathered herself. “By the way, that was an excellent speech.”

“Ah ha, thank you,” Yoshida said. “And as I said earlier, you did well yourself. Especially against someone like Akechi.”

Ren was a bit stunned. “You know Akechi?”

“Well, not personally,” Yoshida said. “But his reputation as Japan’s second Detective Prince precedes him. He’s apparently solved quite a few cases the police were stumped by.”

“I see…” Ren said, going into some thought. “Switching topics…” Yoshida looked at her, curious. “Well, I know you said kids have their own thoughts, and you used mine and Akechi’s debate as evidence, but…I don’t know if that’s more the majority, or just a vocal minority.”

“Bah ha!” Yoshida laughed. “I can see why you’d think that. But let me ask you this: Do you think every adult is as driven to stand for something?” Ren was surprised. “Exactly. So why should a concern be ignored just because it comes from a child? It shouldn’t.”

“Right. Sorry” Ren said.

“It’s fine,” Yoshida said. “As much as you know, there are some things you only learn through experience. But even so, you’re something special.”

Ren was surprised. “I am?”

Yoshida nodded. “While you might not have as much experience, you’re strong-willed, and have a good heart. That alone will take you a long way, no matter where you go. And also, you’ve helped me too.” Ren was shocked.

Yoshida continued. “Before you began helping me, I would make my speeches, and I would try to get the crowd stirred, but there was always a voice in the back of my mind saying that I’ll never earn the people’s trust. But you have proven me wrong, and I feel that makes me a better politician. Not just promising results, but seeing that people listen. So thank you, for helping me find my footing.”

Ren smiled. “Thank you. For helping me find mine too.” Yoshida’s smile widened. Ren’s did as well.

Sun-Toranosuke Yoshida: Rank 2

After their meeting, they headed home.

#persona 5 #persona 5 royal #persona fanfiction #p5r #p5r rework #p5 rework #p5 femc #p5 #FeMC #female ren #ren amamiya #TAE TAKEMI #yoshida toranosuke

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snowbellewells · 4 years

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Self Promo Sunday: “The Simplest Touch”

Today’s selection is an older one shot I wrote during 3b, back when Emma was still fighting hard against that attraction and connection she definitely felt with her pirate, still not sure she wanted to make the strange little town of Storybrooke (and all that came with it) her permanent home. There all of these beautiful little quiet moments between CS in that stretch of the show, and particularly in 3x18 - that almost-touch of Killian’s hand at Emma’s back! - which really prompted this. It’s pretty much canon compliant up to that point as well.

The reason I’ve truly chosen it for this Sunday’s Self-Promo though is that I shamelessly want to show all of you and sing the praises of the fic art to accompany it that was made for my this week by @searchingwardrobes. <3 Thank you so much for this lovely story cover art Melanie! I’m so flattered at the thought and how wonderfully it fits the story I had in mind.

Summary: In the moments between scenes in 3x18's "Bleeding Through" there is more brewing under the surface for Emma and her pirate than they yet know how to express...

Notes: This little one shot fits right into show canon during episode 3x18, and more than being divergent or AU, it’s missing moments in a way - or at least, it’s the thoughts and feelings behind some of the quieter, tiny moments we saw onscreen. I was attempting some stylistic things in this, and to switch from Emma to Killian’s point of view at various moments in that episode. I still think the result turned out pretty well. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

"The Simplest Touch"

by: @snowbellewells

He acts as though he is cursed.

Emma Swan doesn't understand what has changed in the pirate captain, but something is different. His eyes haven't twinkled mischievously at her these last few days, and she suddenly realizes how much she liked the playful attention, how it made her cheeks flush and her heart beat fast, even as she rolled her eyes and pushed him away. His innuendos are missing from their most recent interactions, and though Emma did nothing to encourage his outrageous attentions when he was lobbing them at her constantly, she feels strangely bereft now that they are gone. When he does toss her a line now, it feels empty without the lascivious heat and intent, and she comes close to begging Hook to tell her what is wrong, what has changed…why he no longer seems to want her.

Thinking back over the past week, Emma cannot come up with any new disagreements they have had, insults or slights directed at Hook. There is no way for her to question him the way she wants without revealing just how much she really cares, how much he does mean to her. Instead, she practices her magic, making sure she can protect him – and all of those she loves – prompts and playfully needles him while trying not to let his blackened mood and purposeful distance sting…and she hopefully watches and waits.

^^^00000000000000000000000000000000000^^^^

She touches his stump as if it is the most normal thing in the world.

It nearly steals his breath, heat rising unbidden within him at the sensation of her fingers lightly gripping the leather that covers his violently truncated wrist. So many years – literal ages – have passed since anyone made to hold what was once his left hand, and the sensation of warmth and comfort would risk bringing him to his knees if he were not already seated at Regina's table. Most avoid getting anywhere near his left arm, and especially the prosthetic hook and brace, but his Swan has surprised him once again and claimed even more of his affection.

Killian Jones, notorious pirate captain and erstwhile villain of the realms, is holding his breath at the mere pressure of a lost princess's fingers, but he cannot help the reaction. For one horrified second, he had wanted to shy away from her, pull his arm from her grasp for fear she would make contact with the amputated limb and show disgust, but he had held himself steady, and now he is praying that she doesn't let go. Emma prompts inexplicable reactions within him: thaws parts of him long frozen in hatred and anger and makes him want to feel. Her simplest touch can do things to him that the most powerful magician surely could not accomplish. This though, is new and even more intimate. Her gentle clasp around his brace, that he swears he can feel completely even through the heavy leather, shows no fear, no horror or repulsion, and speaks to him of nothing more than pure, blessed acceptance. His devotion to her swells even higher – when he could have sworn he would never be able to love her more than he already did.

Her fingers clasp just a bit tighter, holding on that tiniest bit more firmly, almost as though she wants to stroke his skin. Her eyes lift from where they have followed her fingers' movements to meet his gaze. She gives him a wavering half-smile, in spite of the chaos and dead witch summoning about to begin, nods to him slightly, and he simply knows. They are in this together now, and they will be from now on…

^^^^0000000000000000000000000000^^^^

He had nearly guided her down the stairs with a hand at the small of her back.

Emma sucks in a sharp breath at the tingling sensation he causes with his good hand wavering just shy of touching her until he snatches it away. Whatever has been troubling Hook is still present; he retreats just before making physical contact, and it has the effect of making Emma feel starved for his touch. She doesn't understand the reversal that seems to have taken place; her following him, being drawn to him, and Hook pulling away from her, but he seems to have decided he is some sort of poison – a threat – the way he so studiously avoids contact when always before he has been creeping into her personal space.

They are preparing to leave Regina's after the failed séance, to make another patrol seeking signs of the Wicked Witch. She wants to pull him after her, drag him off into the woods where they can find some true privacy, not be overheard, and she can demand that he explain what is troubling him. The near-touch was tantalizing enough in its assumed closeness and almost possessive nature. The pirate captain, for all his dangerous rebel tendencies, is an old-fashioned gentleman when all is said and done. The chivalry in his nature still sometimes steals the breath of a formerly unwanted, ignored, orphan Lost Girl. Moments like this one, where they are about to go out seeking danger again, show her anew that he is right here at her back, intending to guard it with all that he has.

She brushes her hair back impatiently from her face, stealing a quick glance over her shoulder at Hook before turning again to precede him down the steps. There are too many words she wants to say to him for the company they have and the task they are attempting, but she wants him to know that she is onto him, she sees what he is doing, and she wants to help. He wouldn't allow her to be alone in a world of lies, and so now she won't let him drown in whatever lie he is determinedly keeping.

Her skin burns with longing for the touch he almost gave unthinkingly, and then robbed them both of. She is not accustomed to letting someone else take care of her; it is a concession, a weakness that has always made her distinctly uncomfortable. Wanting to allow him so much of her now is both frightening and a long-awaited relief. They will fix whatever has been marred – she will not leave him alone until he tells her his secret – so that she has the chance to experience how good letting him in could be.

^^^^0000000000000000000000000^^^

Killian knows that he has been cursed.

If he had thought there was any loophole, any way to lessen the pain for what has been lost, he sees now that those were vain hopes.

He watches Emma darkly as he broods in his seat at one of the booths in Granny's Diner. She seems so light, so happy, since she has just made a mug of cocoa with cinnamon appear before her at the counter, and he wants to smile, to chuckle along with her, and celebrate her unparalleled brilliance when she magically makes it disappear and reappear in front of him. He does not wish to darken her mood or spoil her moment, but he cannot bring much joy to the surface either.

Cringing at himself, Killian wants to stab his hook into his own chest when he snaps at her for playfully stealing the weapon with her powers. The mischievous light in her eyes flickers fitfully, and she stops teasing him, lowering into the other bench at his claimed table. She starts to reach out, to take his hand, and he wants so badly to meet her halfway, to pull her close, to rain kisses all over her face and tell her everything. Knowing that he can do neither seems almost too cruel to bear, but he cannot give in. The risk is too great; he will not have anyone else he loves hurt because he fails them.

Something in Emma's expression makes him think she knows, or has guessed, more than he realized, and he lets himself dare to hope that she understands his fear. She cocks her head, raising an eyebrow at him curiously and blowing out a tense breath. Finally, she comes out and asks him beseechingly what is wrong. He leans forward, literally biting his tongue so as not to let it all pour from him in a rush.

Then Belle is there interrupting breathlessly, and Emma snaps back to attention, a true leader through and through. He cannot help watching her in awe, drawn to stay near her; despite the pain it causes, he cannot separate from her. He watches her make up her mind and stand from the table. Following her, he cannot help believing in this tough, street smart princess, and hoping that there may still be a cure for Killian Jones – a chance for redemption at the touch of Emma Swan.

#self promo sunday #cs one shot #ouat 3b missing moments ff #the simplest touch #cs canon compliant #gorgeous cs fic art #thank you a million @searchingwardrobes

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fistsofcurie · 4 years

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Why is Cal the protagonist instead of Cere?

So I was replaying Jedi: Fallen Order recently, and something really stuck out to me. This is going to be long, kinda ranty, and full of spoilers, so analysis is under the cut.

For those of you unfamiliar with the game, you play as Cal Kestis, a Padawan who survived Order 66. For reference, Cal looks like this:

In other words, he looks like every other modern white guy video game protagonist:

Except maybe slightly younger than average, and ginger this time (and even that was apparently one of the first things people modded out). Oh and he has a cute droid. This post intends no shade to BD-1, for whom I would die.

Anyway, when we meet Cal at the beginning of the game, he’s living in hiding from the Empire, who would very much like to finish the job they started with Order 66. When Cal’s status as an ex-Jedi is revealed, the Empire sends a couple of Inquisitors after him, and he barely manages to escape with the help of Cere Junda, who looks like this:

Over the course of the game, we learn that Cere also used to be a Jedi - a full Knight instead of a Padawan like Cal, but that she turned away from the Force in the aftermath of Order 66. Eventually (SERIOUS SPOILER WARNING TURN BACK IF YOU CARE ABOUT THIS) it’s revealed that the Second Sister, one of the Inquisitors hunting Cal, is none other than Trilla Suduri, Cere’s former Padawan. Cere left Trilla to care for some younglings they were guarding while Cere herself ran off to try to lead the Empire away. Cere was caught and tortured until she gave up Trilla’s location, and then Trilla was caught and tortured until she became an Inquisitor. When Cere saw Trilla take up that mantle, she tapped into the Dark Side, allowing her to escape, but also prompting her to give up the Force lest she fall completely. Trilla, for reference, looks like this:

This brings us to the main crux of this post, namely, why the hell is Cal even in this game, much less as its protagonist? Trilla, as the main antagonist, is only after Cal because a) he’s a Jedi, so killing or capturing him is pretty much her job as an Inquisitor and b) he’s after the same MacGuffin she is. It’s not personal, it’s business. Any personal edge to the taunts she throws your way throughout the game only comes by way of Cal’s relationship with her former Master. Make Cere the player character, and the conflict with the primary villain immediately becomes hugely more personal, more visceral, the reveal of Trilla’s identity has that much more impact.

True, it is a big part of Cere’s character arc to show that she’s recovered enough from her trauma to be willing to trust Cal, be open with him, and train him, but the opening up and trusting parts could easily be transferred to her relationship with her friend and pilot Greez, aka Space Danny Devito. As for being willing to take on a new Padawan, the primary MacGuffin you’re trying to recover in this game is a holocron containing a list of force sensitive children whom Cal and Cere EXPLICITLY PLAN TO TRAIN AS JEDI. If that isn’t enough of a source of that type of angst, I hardly think Cal “Personality of Wet Tissue Paper” Kestis is going to do the job. If it didn’t get explored thoroughly enough in this game, that’s just more sequel fodder. Instead of (MORE BIG SPOILERS FOR THE VERY END OF THE GAME TURN BACK NOW IF YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED IT) destroying the holocron to prevent the Empire from hunting the children it identifies, Cere could use find those children. Maybe the next game would have the children themselves as the MacGuffins you’re trying to collect, or maybe it would skip ahead in time to where Cere has already trained some of them up a bit. They could each have their own strengths, weaknesses, and special abilities, and you could play as different characters on different levels depending on what was needed to get the job done.

True, movie canon shows us that there isn’t a thriving Jedi Order up and running at the time of the original trilogy, just isolated hermits like Obi-Wan and Yoda, which is why it’s such a big deal when Luke becomes a Jedi and we assume that, after the fall of the Empire, he’s going to re-found the order. That didn’t stop us from getting characters like Kanan, Ezra, and Ahsoka in Rebels though. (Yes, I know Ahsoka’s not technically a Jedi at that point, but you get my point.) They could easily be operating in an isolated cell somewhere on the Outer Rim or something. Or maybe they get shut down at some point, giving us more fuel for tragedy and feels. The point is, there are ways to handle this that both don’t conflict with canon and also don’t completely invalidate the goal you’ve been pursuing for the whole game. Oh look, the choice of protagonist isn’t my only issue with this game’s plot. Short detour, back to the main point.

You wouldn’t even have to change the main story beats that much. Cere would also have been in hiding, as demonstrated by the fact that she’s still alive, so have her huddled up in some backwater when she gets exposed and attacked like Cal was, forcing her to realize that she’ll never really be able to hide from her past and must face it. Her cutting herself off from the Force mirrors Cal’s damaged connection to the Force, so you could have the necessary video game progression of gaining back various force powers as you move through the game. Cere’s worry about falling to the dark side is much more in line with the traditional Star Wars theme of light vs. dark than Cal’s worry that he’s not good enough because he failed to save his master, Jaro Tapal, and is, in my opinion, more interesting as well.

Hell, speaking of Jaro, I’d take him as a protagonist too. So many species in the Star Wars universe, and when’s the last time we had a video game with a canon protagonist who was anything other than a human? The physical strength and agility he’d have as a Lasat would give the designers room to give the players some cool moves to play with.

Anyway, Cere’s light side/dark side conflict could even give you some interesting story mechanics to play with. Maybe the game allows you to make a final choice whether to try to redeem Trilla (light side) or take revenge on her for hunting you (dark side). Or maybe, in the final boss fight against Trilla, you could choose to tap into the dark side to get a power boost, but in exchange you get a worse ending.

The point is, as far as I can see, there’s literally only upside from the perspectives of both story and game mechanics to making Cere the protagonist of Fallen Order instead of Cal. Feel free to point out anything I might have missed, but that’s how I see it currently. The only thing holding them back would have been the fear that Star Wars fanboys and hardcore gamers wouldn’t have bought the game if it had an older black woman on the box art instead of a young white guy. The depressing part is, they’re probably right.

I will admit, I’m being somewhat hyperbolic here. I did still very much enjoy the game, and Cal was at least a serviceable protagonist, if not an exciting one. He’s just everything we’re used to seeing in a player character, and nothing we’re not, and that’s always going to be disappointing and frustrating when the opportunity to have a kickass Star Wars video game centering on the conflict between two women of color was right fucking there but we didn’t get it and instead they played it safe.

#star wars #jedi fallen order #cal kestis #cere junda #star wars jedi: fallen order #swjfo #sw jfo #cw torture mention #swjfo spoilers #jedi fallen order spoilers

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jadelotusflower · 4 years

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September Roundup

So it wasn’t a very productive month, writing wise. I think I wrote less than 1000 words due to various RL issues (a shoulder impingement giving me grief among other things). I can’t entirely blame that, but nor am I going to dwell. It’s my birthday tomorrow, and while I’m having the usual existential crisis about another year slipping by almost unnoticed and without significant accomplishment, I am resolved to return to my novel and get at least the first draft finished by the end of the year. We’ll see how that goes.

In the meantime, I’ve at least been reading more. I’ve also consumed too much film/tv instead of writing, but hey.

The Testaments by Margaret Atwood - the long-awaited sequel to The Handmaid’s Tale, this was an engrossing read, if perhaps not what people were expecting. While I agree with some of the criticism, I really enjoyed this book.

Like the original novel, it takes the form of primary sources from the rule of Gilead, in Aunt Lydia’s secret chronicle, and “witness testimony” from two young women - one who grew up within Gilead, and the other outside. It’s fairly obvious from the beginning who they are, but I’ll avoid spoilers. Events become a little convenient towards the end, but it’s a great improvement on the tv show’s third season where things just became ludicrously easy and consequence free. I don’t think Atwood will ever write again in this world, but there is still so much to explore and I hope she does.

Henry VIII and the Men Who Made Him by Tracy Borman - As far as Tudor biographies go, there’s nothing much new here, but it is an interesting character study of Henry VIII through the men who had the greatest influence on him, especially as a young despot in the making. Through this lens it really does become just so shockingly clear that with a few exceptions, almost everyone of importance in Henry’s life goes through the same cycle of being built up, brought close, and rewarded, but then cast aside or crushed by his unchallenged power and narcissism - and often on very flimsy pretext.

Top End Wedding - I love a romcom, and this was really charming - it’s now on Netflix so I highly recommend. Starring and co-written by Miranda Tapsell, and directed by Wayne Blair (who also directed The Sapphires - a must see if you haven’t), it’s a film that shows great love to classic American and British romcoms (and the tropes are all there), but also uniquely Australian (Tapsell and Blair are both Indigenous, and care was taken to liaise with the Aboriginal communities where filming took place to ensure that proper approvals were given and and respect paid to the traditional owners). The backdrop of the Northern Territory is just beyond gorgeous, and this just the kind of heartwarming fare needed in these Trying Times (TM).

Bill and Ted Face the Music - As is this! I’ve loved the first two Bill and Ted movies since I was a kid, and was so happy that they’ve finally completed the trilogy. Look, it’s not high art, and you’d be forgiven for thinking this is just another cash grab off the sequel-reboot merry go round, but this was made with such clear love and affection for the originals that I just don’t care.

Here’s the thing: I hate an unnecessarily reboot as much as the next person - I don’t think there’s any point remaking something unless you have something new to say about the material. I also hate the “bleakquel” - where the only idea to follow up the original material is to tear it down just to rebuild it the same but without the heart (looking at you Star Wars). However, I am a sucker for the follow up/sequel just to catch up with those characters you love and see how they’re doing 10, 20, 30 years later. It’s familiar, it’s comforting, and sometimes that’s all it needs to be. Really, that’s all B&T FTM is, but I was perfectly satisfied by it.

Maybe there’s nothing more this film has to say than Be Excellent to Each Other (again), but honestly that’s a message I think we all need right now. There’s of course more to it than that - for the first time, we see a Bill and Ted who have become disillusioned that despite mastering so many different forms of music, they haven’t found The Song that will align the planets and bring out world peace etc, despite their most valiant attempts (That Which Binds Us Through Time: The Chemical, Physical and Biological Nature of Love: An Exploration of the Meaning of Meaning, Part 1 is a neat joke but also a legitimate banger complete with throat singing, a theremin, and bagpipes). And SPOILERS: In the end they discover honestly the only possible answer: that The Song itself doesn’t matter, it’s the world united through music, playing together, that brings everything into balance.

Does all the time travel work within the established rules of the universe? Not really - we see alternate Bill and Teds of the future without any explanation of alternate timelines. Are Samara Weaving (as Thea Preston) and Brigette Lundy-Paine (as Billie Logan) essentially doing impression of Winters and Reeves? Sure, but they are so charming that I don’t care.

Now, there are some obvious holes - covid made reshoots/pickups impossible so the opening “where are they now” montage got nixed, there was clearly more story for Elizabeth and Joanna (”the Princesses”) that is sadly missing, and the ending is very abrupt, but circumstances being what they are I can see why they decided to work with what they had and release the film, which is an antidote to the current, depressing state of the world, and at least in my view, a worthy third and final part of the Bill and Ted trilogy. (But I wouldn’t say no to a time-travel through music history show with Billie and Thea).

Disclosure (dir. Sam Feder) - a fantastic documentary exploring the representation of trans people in film and television, which sadly has often vacillated between lack of representation to misrepresentation, but with hope that things are slowly improving. A really worthwhile watch.

Enola Holmes (dir. Harry Bradbeer) - Twas charming! I hadn’t read (or even heard of) the YA books this is based on, and am uninterested in Stranger Things, but found this very entertaining and Millie Bobby Brown delightful in the title role. There was also a nice balance in the supporting cast, in that they resisted the urge to stack the decks too high in Enola’s favour, or make all the characters around her completely incompetent so she’s only heroic by default. She is clever and accomplished, but also finds that practicing jiu-jitsu is very different to an actual fight against someone trying to kill her.

Fleabag (seasons 1-2) - I never want to be too harsh on movies or tv that have been hyped to the heavens, because expectations are always too high and are rarely met. I liked this show, but did find all the smug asides and looks to camera a little grating in the first season. I enjoyed the second season a lot more, because while Fleabag was still a screw up, she wasn’t stealing money from her date’s wallet level terrible, so there was more of an emotionally satisfying arc (+ Andrew Scott who is always great), and I felt the humour was pitched a bit better. Olivia Coleman was the standout for me (isn’t she always?) as the Godmother, whose smiling, passive-aggressive villainy was masterful and worth watching for that alone.

Lucifer (seasons 1-2) - This show has crossed my tumblr dash for years, but I’m not really fond of crime procedurals. I am fond of mythology so seeing as the whole thing’s now on Netflix I decided to give it a go, and I have to say I am intrigued by the concept of the devil as a wayward son whose punishment for rebelling against God was to spend eternity punishing others, rather than straight-up evil incarnate. So far the procedural side of things is ho hum, but I am enjoying the mythology side, and Tom Ellis is very very handsome. I’m also pleasantly surprised at the number of female characters in the main and supporting cast and their treatment - they are actually allowed to talk and be friends with one another. Can you believe?!?

#roundup #personal #reading watching writing #september roundup

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thoughtsofanexcitedspacechild · 4 years

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My (Un)Official Gf application

Hi! So...um...I’m lonely tonight. Thought I’d just go ahead and submit my gf application for anyone who sees it.

The Basics:

Name: Hana Lee Zainea

Age: 17 (Still a minor y'all. Back off creeps)

Gender: Female

Height: 4′7.5 (yeah, yeah. I get it. I’m the little spoon.)

Weight: 125. I know it’s a bit heavy, but I’m working on it. I’ve cleaned up my diet entirely and work out almost every day now! We’re working towards 110 by spring.

Build: Curvy. (Hourglass figure? Not sure really) I’m not quite mid size either, but I’m working towards slimming down and building a more toned/muscular physique. Korra from lok is the end goal haha

Pronouns: She/her

Sexual preference: Bicurious? I’m not quite sure just yet, but right now specifically, I’m looking for a guy. I haven’t really come out yet and I’m not sure how my parents would react if I did.

Enneagram type: Shifts between 6 on bad days and 9 on good ones

Meyers Briggs: INFJ (So rare, I know)

Zodiac Sign: I mean I’m catholic, so I don’t really believe in that sorta stuff, but uh, Libra if that makes any difference.

Reasons to date me:

I’m small, so I’d always be the little spoon when cuddling.

I LOVE making gifts and will NOT hesitate to send you letters in the mail, give you candy, make you drawings and handmade cards, and make you any kind of crochet/sewn stuffed animal ur heart desires.

I do relatively good in school and can probably help you with homework judgement free.

I’m an artist, so once you’re my so, there’s a good chance you'll be used as a photo reference for a piece. You might get a sick portrait out of this.

I’m laid back as heck and can pretty much vibe with whatever

I already made us matching bracelets.

Available pretty much 24/7 to talk or at least text

I can cook pretty well and I personally think I thrive in a well stocked kitchen.

Reasons that you might not want to date me:

I’m waiting ‘til marriage. You don’t have to be a virgin at all, just know that you won’t get anything out of me until you put a ring on it and have seen me in a white dress walking down the isle. I just don’t want to give my body away to someone who isn’t willing to commit to me and my personality rather than just my body. We can cuddle, hug, kiss, etc but as soon as it gets dirty, it’s no. I’m sorry :(

I’m a bit clingy. I don’t mean to. I just get really excited about new people and want to spend time with them.

I cry a lot. I’m a bit depressed and will sometimes cry for no reason. It’s not anything ur doing. I just need to cry.

I’m also anxious as HECK and sometimes it gets so bad that I’ll think I’m sick. I’m prone to intrusive thoughts and OCD too and will often worry excessively about if people actually like me or not. If you get a text that says “are you upset with me?” it’s not because u did anything to make me feel that way. I just do and if I’m not actually bugging you, just respond “not at all!” or something else consoling and I’ll be fine.

As far as looks go, I don’t have much to offer. I have huge brown eyes that I think are pretty, and I kinda like my small lips, but otherwise I’m not a stunner. I’m not super ugly, I just don’t look good unless I put effort into my appearance.

I have a CRIPPLING case of body dysmorphia. I avoid looking in mirrors a lot and often beat myself up for missing workouts even if I’m sore and could hurt myself/eating something mildly unhealthy, so that’s fun.

Things we can do together:

Watch our favorite shows together. I like and will rotate between atla, the mandalorian, LoK, the office, the clone wars, and sw rebels, but we can watch pretty much anything together. I’m totally down for anything and I’d love to get into more mainstream and conventional shows. I attach to shows pretty quickly and the night will mostly involve us wrapped in a blanket and me pointing at fictional couples (mostly Kataang and sukka) and going “hey babe look! It’s us!”

Cook together! If u don’t know how, that’s ok! I’ll teach you! We can cook your favorite together! My repertoire ranges anywhere from fried rice and spring rolls, to tacos, to pasta.

Bake! Cookies, cake, whatever u want! My favorite are lava cakes that have an oozy chocolate center and lemon cakes with thick icing on them!

Work out together! Not sure what u like, but I really love yoga, and I’m trying to get into more light weight-high rep. stuff. Not full on bench press, but I’m working towards a heavier handheld weight. My goal by the end of 2021 is 20 pound weights, but we’ll see!

If you do art, we can create stuff together! If you don’t that’s ok too!

Go to all ur sporting events and kiss u before for good luck and afterwards for a job well done (even if u don’t win, you’re still my winner)

Road trips to Chicago! I live in MI, but I love going down there to spend the day. We can shop, go ice skating, go to the ghiradeli store and get ice cream, go to the art institute, go out to eat, etc. Then we can stay the night, have a nice breakfast in the morning, and drive back.

While we’re in quarantine, write letters! I make mine look really nice. U don't have to at all, and I just like getting stuff in the mail!

Couples costumes for halloween! I have wayyyy to many ideas lol. Depending on what u like and what u look like, I can pretty much do whatever, but my top choice is Sokka and Suki from atla.

Coffee and study dates around exam time

Movie night with each other’s families. Once ur in my life, ur in my family’s too! Come over and we can make popcorn and play with my dog and u can meet my younger siblings! They’ll love u I promise!

My requirements:

Be taller than me (I mean, it’s not that hard. I’m 4′7. I don’t think it’s too much to ask)

I get to be the little spoon. (Again, it makes more sense bc I’m really small. U can try to be the little spoon, but physically it makes more sense.

U don’t need to remember any dates EXCEPT for my birthday, (October 12) and our anniversary. (Don’t know when that’ll be) I don’t need gifts, just a nice text or a hug and a kiss.

Be 16 or older. Sorry youngsters.

That’s literally it. That’s it.

A little warning/extra tip: My expectations are kinda “high” bc of fictional men, but honestly, if u pick up on their romantic gestures, it’s really not that hard to please me. Some examples of things u can do that’ll completely have me simping for u:

Hugs!

Kisses! (Especially when YOU initiate)

Holding me

bringing me a tea

Stay loyal! I know I’m going to be. Like, for REAL. U got no competition

CONSENT. Again, I’m waiting til marriage, but still! I’ve never done this before, so if u touch me in a way that makes me uncomfortable, please respect my boundaries. I’ll respect urs too!

That’s literally it. That’s the application.

#girlfriend application

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ofcecilia · 4 years

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⌠ DAISY EDGAR-JONES, 20, CIS FEMALE, SHE/HER ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, CECILIA CASIRAGHI! according to their records, they’re a FIRST year, specializing in SEDUCTION & FLIRTATION + LINGUISTICS, CULTURE & ASSIMILATION; and they DID NOT go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (pink satin sheets, the warm glow of a sunrise, the first pour of a bottle of red wine, unflinching doe eyes). when it’s the (capricorn)’s birthday on 1/13/01, they always request CANNOLIS from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation. ⌿ deanna, 25, she/her, est ⍀

NAME: Cecilia Anastasia Casiraghi

KNOWN AS: Cecilia, Celia, Cissy

BIRTHDATE: January 13, 2001

ASTROLOGY: Capricorn sun / Virgo moon / Pisces rising

HOMETOWN: Tuscania, Italy

RESIDENCE: London, England

GENDER: Cis female ( she/her )

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual

HEIGHT: 5'7"

HAIR COLOR: Dark Brown

EYE COLOR: Dark Brown

TATTOOS: None

KNOWN LANGUAGES: English, Italian, Russian, French, Spanish

IMMEDIATE FAMILY:

Allegra Casiraghi: Mother, currently in jail

Federico Casiraghi: Father, currently in jail

Salvatore Casiraghi: Eldest brother

Niccolo Casiraghi: Second eldest brother

Anya Casiraghi: Elder sister

ABOUT:

Born Cecilia Anastasia Casiraghi, the baby of the Casiraghi family. You know them and you hate them, real asshat parents who value money and prestige over actually being nice to their kids. It's hard not to grow up despising your parents in that setting, though Cecilia would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the being rich part of it all. Still, it wasn't worth the pressure and scrutiny she received from her parents.

She grew up in a giant castle in Italy where she liked to pretend she was a princess trapped in the highest tower waiting to be rescued. Cecilia watched her older siblings seem so put together and polished, exactly what their parents wanted them to be, and couldn't help but feel isolated from the rest of her family ( though her older brother Nico was her fave ) . The older she got, the longer she waited for things to snap into place, only to be met with disappointment.

She got more rebellious as she got older, which didn't bode well in the Casiraghi household. Her father tried to break her spirit, which in turn only made her angier, causing her to run away when she was sixteen. She didn't leave so much of a note to her family, but she knew if they wanted to find her, they'd have the resources to do so. They didn't.

She struggled once moving to London, because a rich girl isn't exactly great at not being rich, but she had been saving up stolen money from her parents for a few months before leaving, so she had enough to find herself a place to live while she worked odd jobs here and there. She wanted to focus on art, her passion, the one thing her family had always told her she was good at ( though they also said it wasn't practical ) . But, surprise surprise, art is NOT practical, and nobody wanted to buy paintings from an actual nobody.

The story goes that she struggled for about a year before making connections with a local art gallery to hold a week-long exhibit of her work. There she made a few sales on her art, though the most noteworthy one had been selling a self-portrait to a wealthy older man who took a liking to Cecilia and decided to fund her art career, and her lifestyle. From then on she lived the glamorous city life she had been destined for, only realizing recently that art and partying can only get her so far. She had begun to miss the world she had been born into, even if she didn't miss the family that came with it. So Celia reached out to a few old contacts, and was able to secure herself a spot at Gallagher Academy in the fall. Despite the drama of her parents being arrested for tax evasion and fraud, she found that the name Casiraghi still holds some weight in the spy world.

WARNING: TOP SECRET INFORMATION

The reality of the situation is that even with the money Celia had stolen from her parents, her life was nowhere close to the one she used to live, and being poor kind of got old. Plus she still had this BURNING anger towards her parents, partly for letting her leave so easily.

She had been living on her own for almost a year, and what little money she had left was slowly depleting. She had been one level above rock bottom when a faculty member of Caledonia Institute found her. Though she had no interest in returning to the spy world, they had fed into her ego that her being a part of their team was IMPERATIVE, and in return they would give her back the life she once had, while making her parents suffer. How could she say no to that?

At only seventeen she was one of the youngest to enroll in Caledonia, and she became a professional spy in the process. She'd have to sit through two years of training and schooling before getting an active mission, but training at Caledonia -- while strict -- was unlike the harsh treatments she was used to from training with her family. With a new outlook on the spy world, Cecilia began to enjoy it once more, and it helped that she was good at it.

Mr. Stewart of Caledonia had promised her that her parents would pay for their sins, and in the spring he had upheld his end of the bargain. Her parents were caught and tried for tax evasion and fraud, and she heard through the grapevine that they'll be going to jail for a long time. Though she wasn't sure what this means for her siblings, Celia was just glad karma finally bit them in the ass.

Conveniently after they're arrested, Mr. Stewart gave Cecilia an assignment for the fall : everyone knows about Cole Conner's Gallagher Academy assignment from last fall, and how he's garnered less-than-stellar results. So she’s been enrolled as an incoming first year, returning to the spy world with a story weaved of her glamorous life in London, ready to pay off her debts to Caledonia without hesitation.

PERSONALITY:

Celia is a total chameleon, able to morph her image and personality when needed in social situations. It's how she makes herself easily likable and gets people to let her in easily, though her doe eyes certainly don't hurt. She makes it easy for people to get wrapped up in her storytelling and the lies she spins for the sake of getting on other's good sides. Not only is she good at it, but she gets off on the thrill of it, because it's fun pretending to be someone you're not ! Whatever you want her to be, she can be it.

Underneath the surface, Cecilia is truly a spoiled brat who likes getting her way and winning, and once in a while parts of that haughtiness will break through the cracks of her facade. Caledonia had worked hard to take the rebel out of the girl, but parts of it still appear on occasion, though never against her agency.

Above everything, she's trying not to make waves while in Gallagher, to go by undetected, so the easiest way to describe her would be Nice. ( This might change while I play her so we’ll see welp. )

TL;DR: She's Nico's younger sister ! But ran away from her family when she was sixteen because she hates them, and at her lowest point Caledonia Institute swooped in and saved her ( and also got her parents arrested and made them lose their money whomp whomp ) and now she's a double agent working for them. She’s looking to make friends with everyone who’s anyone at Gallagher. Two-faced bitch but ya gotta love her ? Or don't, you probably shouldn't.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

She’s going to be meticulously crafting her own inner circle of friends for her own enjoyment at Gallagher, a mix of people from influential families and those who are deemed “popular” or worth having around, please send headshots and a resume if ur interested xoxo

Family friends of the Casiraghi family, who she hasn’t seen in at least three years.

Other students who trained with her siblings in the super super exclusive training program her parents ran.

Those she's crossed paths with living in London for a year: friends, flings, fellow artists, coworkers at her crappy jobs, etc.

Fellow first years she can glom onto for automatic friendships right off the bat, regardless of who they are

Legacy family students she can cozy up to for the sake of her job

Someone who is reluctant to trust her, despite her attempts to befriend them/get on their good side

Someone with a crush on her that can sorta see how malleable her personality and is like? But show me the real you?

A no-strings relationship that’s purely physical

Someone she’s stringing along for the sake of getting close and getting information out of them

An upperclassman mentor figure to show her the ropes of Gallagher and help her acclimate

A ride or die that she feels a kinship with, where they click enough that she can be more like herself ( aka a little bitchy )

Someone with a really optimistic/romantic outlook on life that truly tests Cecilia’s efforts to match their enthusiasm

Fellow artists she can spend her free time painting in the gardens with and help her get back into it

Fellow LCA + S&F majors who she’ll either have in her classes or that can give her some class pointers or offer their old notes to her

Someone she got drunk with and maybe let something slip that she shouldn’t have and now it’s awk

Someone weak-willed that she can easily take advantage of/manipulate into doing things for her

Fellow smokers even though I don’t condone the habit!

I have some things on her pinterest page here for inspo, also this tag

Lit rally anything please hmu !

#gallagher:intro #sorry this is the worlds longest intro #there's a tl;dr at the end that's worth it i promise #leaving this here xx

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 5 years

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Burned Part 8

Summary: Alfie Solomons is in need of a secretary. Tommy Shelby mentions a young woman in need of employment. From there the two step into a dangerous dance together.

Part 8: Alfie wants to know what Louise wants the most.

Louise wasn’t ashamed to admit she’d wondered about what Alfie was like behind closed doors. Part of his nature was intimidating but she’d been blessed to know his soft side. Both had a measure of intimacy and she wondered which was dominant.

Alfie shut the door behind him and broke the kiss to set her down on the bed. He shrugged off his waistcoat, his eyes glued to her. “You don’t hafta do anything you don’t want, love.” He prefaced.

“You’d have to tie me up to stop me.” She retorted just to rile him up more. There wasn’t much doubt about her decision. It was hard to ignore the allure. The rush of telling him she loved him was just a step. She wanted to physically express love to him.

He chuckled and shook his head. “You’ve got a lot behind those innocent doe-eyes, don’t ya?” He accused.

“Most girls like me like to rebel.” She informed him coyly. “Not all of us are blushing virgins.”

“Mhm…can see that now. You’re still soft though.” He murmured and knelt at the foot of the bed. His calloused hands grazed over her bare shins, dipping under to touch her calves. “Can’t say m’not jealous that some other bloke had you ‘fore me.”

“Are you jealous?” Louise propped herself up on her elbows to watch him.

He grunted and grabbed her ankles to tug her closer. She sat up in front of him, being pliable to his will. “Maybe.” He admitted gruffly. His eyes met hers. “But m’gonna ruin all other men for you.” He gave her a devious smile. “Won’t ever have someone who can love you like I can.”

His confidence shot electric anticipation right to her toes. “Is that so?” She wrapped her arms around him. “What if I don’t want any other man?”

“Then you’ve come to the right fucking place, haven’t you?” He grinned and leaned forward to kiss her.

It was as if Alfie’s romantic side was his true center, even if it had been neglected for the majority of his life. He stood perfectly evenly on the line of compassion and the need for power. His lips moved around hers softer than anyone else’s but he commanded the kiss. Louise wasn’t arguing she had a feeling he knew exactly what she needed. And if she needed to tell him, he’d listen. He craved power and the control over her pleasure was something intoxicating to him.

Louise drew away, pressing her forehead to his. “You won’t want another woman after tonight.” She told him. Her voice was teasing but there was a root of serious intention. She wanted Alfie all to herself and she prayed he wasn’t like other men or even other women. The modern lover who thought it fun to hop from bed to bed. Too self-consumed to care about deep feelings.

He exhaled sharply and reached up to run his fingers through her soft curls. He realized he had never exactly ‘made love’. Sure he’d fucked his way through France and London, what sinful bachelor didn’t? But never had he gone to bed with a woman he loved. He couldn’t even imagine doing anything else from that point on. Louise was sacred and to unravel her was a gift from heaven. The idea that he would have the potential to do that more than once in his lifetime was indescribable. “Won’t even think ‘bout another woman. You’re the only one on my mind from now on, yeah?”

Her heart raced giddily. “I’m yours then.”

That was enough to stroke Alfie’s ego and get him kicked into high gear. He rocked back on his heels. “Go ahead, love, take that little thing off for me. Want to see all of ya.”

He didn’t need to tell her twice. Louise scooted back on the bed, lifting up to her knees. She held his lustful gaze as she slipped the nightgown over her head and tossed it to him.

“Fucking hell…” Alfie drawled out and rose to his feet. He couldn’t take his eyes off her bare body. He ran a hand over his mouth and swallowed hard.

Louise sheepishly sat back on her heels, not sure what he was thinking. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you speechless, Alfie.”

He laughed absent-mindedly and held out a hand to her. “Fucking seen beautiful things ‘fore.” Louise took his hand and stood up on the bed. He took her hips in his hands, holding her steady on the mattress. “Jewels, works of art, stacks 'n stacks of money,” He shook his head, his blue eyes scanning over every inch of her. “But you…” He subconsciously swiped his tongue over his lower lip. “Fucking gorgeous.” His usual verbose manner of speaking was lost.

“So you’re just going to stare at me all night?” She murmured and brushed her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly.

“Oh, Lou,” He chuckled and shook his head. “You’ve no fucking idea.” His fingers dug into her hips and desire bloomed in his eyes. “Lay down.”

Louise lay back on the bed after he let go of her hips. “Is it my turn to see you, then?” She asked hopefully when she saw him slip his suspenders off his shoulders.

“Not quite, gotta take care of you first, yeah?” He got up on the bed and dipped down to pepper kisses down her neck. He rested on his forearms so he didn’t put too much pressure on her. Louise wanted to feel all of him against her but decided to get used to the intimate relationship first.

He left bruising marks on her neck, eliciting soft gasps of need from her lips. After placing at least four darkening marks on her throat and collarbone, he pulled away to admire his work. His thumb gently smoothed over the skin making her whimper.

“Gotta make sure the world knows you’re mine.” He murmured possessively.

It made Louise melt into the mattress. “Alfie…”

His jaw clenched. He needed to hear his name slipping off her tongue. It was making him drunk and he wouldn’t stop until the letters were etched permanently into her soul. “I’ve gotcha, love.” He purred and lowered his focus to her chest, toying with her breasts. Every reaction he got out of her was like a shot of adrenaline straight into his heart. The way she squirmed under him, begging softly for more, speaking his name like he was a deity to be praised. It was only a wonder how far he could push her, what type of reaction he could draw out from the deepest part of her. It made him unbearably greedy.

He dipped lower, laving his tongue over the dips in her abdomen and hips, his beard tickling over her soft skin. Louise’s face burned as he passed over her hips and buried his face between her thighs. Never before had a man taken his time with her. Her past flings had always used her for their own pleasure. And although she got flashes of thrill from the experience, it was nothing like being under Alfie. She wasn’t sure how he knew exactly what to do to get her right to the edge. He was confident with the attention he gave her body.

So confident, that it wasn’t long before he made Louise into a quivering mess. Her fingers knotted into his hair and he had to press an arm over her hips to keep her from bucking. Her head threw back in the pillow, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. He only let up for a second, earning a whine of disapproval.

“Look at me.” He commanded in a deep voice. “I want your eyes on me.”

Her entire body trembled as he held her gaze. Her breathing became labored and her knees kept turning in, too overwhelmed. Alfie didn’t even want to blink and miss a millisecond. They were both utterly mesmerized by each other.

Then it happened. Like a divine miracle, Louise came undone. Her body locked up and she gasped out his name. “Alfie!”

He groaned and raised himself back up. He kissed ravenously at her neck while she came down from her high. "Gorgeous...look at you."

She moaned softly as he nipped at her collarbone, her arms lazily wrapped around him. “All that and you’ve barely even taken your socks off.” She laughed breathily.

He chuckled against her skin. “Had to warm you up, didn’t I?” He lovingly pushed away a few curls that had stuck to her flushed face.

“I think I’m well past that.” She touched his cheek. They fell into a hushed moment. Her eyes drawing him in and making his chest hurt with the amount of adoration he had for her. “Alfie,” The words came out in a longing whisper. “Please take me.”

The man pushed up and stood to hurriedly undress. A strange sensation settled in his stomach. Carnal desires bubbled inside of him, wanting to just bend Louise over and fuck her senseless. But it didn’t feel right; it wasn’t what she deserved at least not their first time together.

“Alfie?”

“Hm?” He glanced up at her as he stepped out of his pants.

“How do you want me?” She had sat up, tucking her knees against her bare chest. Her eyes grazed over his form while she chewed at her lower lip. It was a strange question, to say the least. She half expected Alfie to tell her but he hadn’t. She could recall times spent with Daniel, nights where he barely even looked at her. It was as if he were pretending she was someone else.

“Uh…” He walked back over to the bed, rubbing the back of his neck. “On your back, yeah, want to see that face of yours.” He tugged off his boxers and climbed back over her. It was likely he didn’t realize how much that meant to Louise. She smiled and pulled him into a kiss. One hand braced against the bed, the other aligning himself with her. Her hands clutched at his back as he slowly pressed into her.

“Okay?” He asked quietly against her lips.

She nodded. “Yes…Alfie, please…”

“Talk to me, Lou, tell me what you need.” He growled as they adjusted to one another. "Can't give it to you until you tell me."

“Need you, please Alfie, please.”

Begging, he had her begging. If Alfred Solomons wasn’t cocky enough already, he could never come back after that night. “Can’t hear you, love, yeah gotta speak up.” He toyed.

“Alfie, c’mon, please don't tease me.” She looked positively desperate under him. Her big brown eyes yearning. “Alfie-” She cried out when he thrust forward without warning. “Fuck!”

He smirked deviously. The word never sounded so sinful before and it unlocked more to her. “Fucking hell, woman, you’re going to be the death of me. Won’t be able to get enough of you.”

“Just wait.” She panted, moaning against his shoulder. “By the end of every week-oh, God-you’ll be-fuck-begging for a break from me.”

Surely Alfie didn’t deserve to enter heaven on Earth, but it appeared it was already through the gates. “I fucking love you, Lou.” He crushed his lips to hers, finding the rhythm that worked them both up.

He could sense when she was close. Her fingernails dug into his shoulder blades and she became louder. His neighbors wouldn’t be pleased but to hell with them, he wanted to hear her in that state. He grabbed her chin so she couldn’t look away from him.

“Alfie…yes…Alfie…almost, almost…Alfie!”

Her sharp cry was enough for him to hit his climax. “Fuck!” He grunted and collapsed against her. “Lou…I’ve fucking died and gone to heaven, I have.” He slurred into the crook of her neck.

She laughed faintly and clung tightly to him. “I might’ve too.” The waves of pleasure ebbed but the feeling of intimacy remained as he stayed in her embrace. Neither wanted to move a muscle, only to stay in that moment for as long as possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~

To Louise, Alfie was a work of art. He didn’t represent the ideals of antiquity’s grace, but she didn’t care. Nothing in the world could be flawless. The mesmerizing bit about him was finding the softness hidden behind layers and layers of steel armor. The parts he hid from the world to conceal any possible weakness. To the rest of Britain, he was a calculating, potentially mad man who was indifferent about killing a man with his bare hands. But there was so much more. He was still brutally clever, his ambitions focused on power, and perhaps he was desensitized to gore, but he was still just a man. He'd shown her that well enough the night before.

Alfie had a hold on her even if he didn’t intend to.

“Got your head in the clouds? Lost ya there for a bit.”

Louise blinked a few times and smiled. She took in the form beside her in bed. He laid on his back, one arm wrapped around her, the other casually placed behind his head. No, he wasn’t a chiseled marble statue, spotless and divine. He was riddled with all sorts of scars of various sizes and different stages of healing. Several tattoos covered his chest, arms, and shoulders. Most were symbols and designs she didn’t recognize the meaning of. Thin black lines etched into his skin, just as permanent as the scars. She wanted to be just as permanent on him.

He was built well, probably not as fit as he had been when he was younger and in the army. But his muscles were defined, his strong shoulders something to admire. It was strange seeing him without his usual armor. He was just an average man, but he made himself appear so dangerous. It lent to the idea that Alfie's strength came from within. Something inside gave him the ability to bring a man to his knees without skipping a beat. He was a complex man, maybe no one could decode him entirely.

Louise traced a few scars and birthmarks up his chest, pausing to outline the tattoos with the pad of her finger. Alfie watched with curious eyes but didn’t dare interrupt her focus. The spine-tingling touch was heavenly for him. Normally, he was so accustomed to rough exchanges. Business handshakes, Tommy Shelby’s was bone-crushing, a good fight, or attempted murder. Now Louise was making him yearn for more of her gentle touches rather than the adrenaline pumping violence.

She paused at a few scars, taking in the pale white or pink skin that marked him. There was no telling whether or not they were acquired during the war or in Camden town. Maybe even he lost track.

Finally, Louise smoothed her fingers over each of Alfie’s cheeks. She was so familiar with his beard now and came to adore the bristly texture of it against her skin. But she was curious. “Have you ever thought about shaving?” She cocked her head to the side.

His brow furrowed but he appeared amused. “Thought you liked my beard.”

“No, I do!” She shook her head. “I think you’re handsome, you know that.” That produced a cocky smile from him. “But I’m trying to picture what you look like without it.” Her fingernails lightly scratched over his cheekbones.

“Been like this since I came back from France.” He told her, resting his hands over her wrists so she wouldn’t stop. “Trust me, wouldn’t want to see me without it. Look like a monster with that fucking scar.”

She frowned. “I’m sure that’s not true.” There was a good chance she would fight anyone who attempted to bad mouth Alfie, even Alfie himself.

“Mhm." He didn't want to argue the fact. She didn't see him sitting in front of the mirror, disturbed at his own reflection. The stitches from his ear to the side of his chin. The ghastly scar that remained. Better she never saw. "Tell you what, I’ll dig up my military papers. Get to see me clean-shaven.” He bargained just so she wouldn’t even bring up the idea of him shaving.

Louise gave him a sly glance. “A clean-shaven Captain Solomons in his uniform, lucky me.”

His stomach tightened. Her angelic voice calling him by his rank only conjured utterly sinful imagery. He was so blessed that she seemed just as insatiable as he was.

“I’m sure all the nurses were all fawning over you.” She concentrated on drawing small looping shapes over his cheeks and jaw with the pad of her finger.

Alfie was surprised to see a hint of jealousy from her. He thought he was the only inherently envious one between them. “Paid them no mind. I was waiting, yeah, for someone better to come along, weren’t I?”

A smile hinted at her pink lips. “A spoiled girl from Surrey?”

“A beautiful woman who is truly the fucking best woman I’ve ever met.”

“Alfie…” Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“Woman who deserves the fucking world, don’t she?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

His blue eyes fixed on her while he grabbed her hips so she was straddling his waist. “What do you want most in life? Anything, s’yours by tomorrow, promise.”

She giggled and shook her head. “I don’t want anything.” Her palms rested on his bare chest.

“What ‘bout a house?" He didn't believe that she didn't want anything. She was a woman, he assumed they all wanted something nice. He certainly liked some fancy things. "A manor out in the countryside? Hundred servants for you, yeah, won’t have to do anything ever again.”

“I like my flat in London and I don’t mind taking care of myself.” She shook her head firmly with a bemused smile. "Don't want to spend my days in an empty home like that."

But he wasn’t finished, wanting to find her wish. “Horses? You rode horses, dinnit ya? What ‘bout a stable full of any horse you want?”

“I did ride horses but I don’t need one because I can walk to work.” She tilted her head to the side, looking down at him.

“Jewels? Get you the finest jewels this world has seen. I’ve got the best connections out in Paris…”

“Alfie.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “I only want you and Cyril.” She said adoringly. “You make me so happy and that’s all I need from here on out."

When she moved her finger, he lifted his hand. “See this?” He showed her a tattoo of a crown between his index finger and thumb.

“Yes?”

“Means I’m a king, love.” He murmured and stroked a hand through her hair.

“Are you?” She smirked. “Does Buckingham Palace know you’ve taken the throne?” She teased.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Different kinda king. But it means I can spoil who I want, yeah?”

“Hm…well I hope you find the woman who wants to be spoiled with jewels. Because all I need is a roof over my head, something to wear, place to work, and a handsome man to love me.” She bent down to kiss his forehead.

He smiled slightly. “Fine, then I’ll just have to guess what you want. ‘Cause I am going to fucking spoil you, yeah? You’ll just be surprised.”

She sighed. “I guess I can’t stop you…”

“Mhm, gonna start with a whole closet full of lingerie. Something of every color.” He gave her a wicked smile.

She bit back a smirk and stuck her tongue out at him. “Do you men only think about sex?” She teased.

He didn’t respond, instead, he tugged her back down to kiss her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alfie wasn’t sure what he liked better, Louise in an evening gown, a nightgown, trousers, or nothing at all. Most likely, she could wear anything and he’d still feel weak. Like other men, he was trying to get accustomed to the growing trend of women’s trousers. But when he saw her in baggy khaki pants rolled up to her shins and wearing one of his white button-down shirts, he nearly crumbled.

She was reading in the sunroom, curled up in an armchair. Her hair was loose and natural instead of in curls. Her bare feet dangled over the cushioned arm of the chair, lazily swinging as she read. Cyril lay near her, his sad eyes looking up at her every so often. Her hand would slip off the book to idly scratch behind his ears. She bore the look of domestic bliss, something Alfie never had the pleasure to indulge in.

Her hazel eyes looked up over the blue covered book when she noticed his presence in the doorway. “Everything going okay in London?”

Alfie had nearly forgotten about the phone call he just had with Ollie. “Eh? Oh, yeah, yeah, nothing’s wrong.”

Cyril lifted himself up and padded over to his master. The dog was enjoying the cottage and especially the beach. It was probably the longest period of time Alfie had been consistently peaceful. There were a few possible remedies. The ocean, the quiet, being out of the bakery, and Louise.

“See? What did I tell you? Everything would be perfectly fine. You’re allowed to take a break every so often.” Louise straightened up and marked her page before setting the book down.

“Well, when you’re right, you’re right.” He heavily sat down on one of the nearby couches. He stroked Cyril’s ears when the bullmastiff leaned against his legs.

She gasped in feigned shock, pressing a hand to her heart. “My Alfie is admitting he was wrong about something? Call the Daily Mail!”

He chuckled and shook his head. “One man can’t be right ‘bout everything, now can he?”

“My mother used to say there was only one thing keeping men from sending the world straight into chaos.” She gave him a sly look and sat on her heels.

“Oh yeah?” He raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What would that be?”

“A patient woman.”

He rubbed a hand over his chin and shrugged. “You think? I dunno.”

Louise rolled her eyes because she knew he was just trying to pull her leg. She stood and flipped her hair. “Well if you don’t know then you won’t ever know.” She replied and went to pass by him.

“C’mere you.” Alfie grabbed her hand and pulled her onto his lap making her giggle softly. He set his hands firmly on her hips as he held her gaze. “Me mum, yeah, she would grab me by the ear.” He playfully tweaked Louise’s earlobe. “After I’d gotten in trouble with coppers. Then she’d say I weren’t ever gonna find a respectable woman. Always asked me what I wanted.” He stuck his tongue in his cheek.

“What did you want?” Louise wondered. She slipped her hands under his shirt to rest on his shoulders, smoothing her thumb over the knots in his muscles.

He groaned in appreciation and closed his eyes for a moment. “To be fucking honest, I didn’t know. All I knew was what I knew, yeah? Knew that people looked down on me. Just a petty criminal, a poor Jew, all rough ‘round the edges. Was nothing but a little pest. But what if I could show ‘em? Show London that I were a force to be reckoned with?” His blue eyes opened again and he stared at the ceiling. “Make ‘em think twice ‘bout what they said.” His voice faded into something grim. His jaw tensed and he let out a sigh.

“You wanted them to know you by name.” Louise realized.

He raised an eyebrow and his eyes flicked to her.

She explained herself. “Alfie Solomons. You wanted people to hear that name and react. You didn’t want to be another nameless face being shoved to the side.”

His mustache twitched with a hint of a smile. “Perhaps.” He murmured coyly. “Did I good job of that, didn’t I?”

“I would say so.” Louise stilled her hands and studied his face. “So, now what do you want?”

“Eh?”

“You’ve made something of your name.” She wouldn’t comment on the ambiguity of what that something was. “So now what?”

“Well, keep working. S’all I can do.” He shrugged and closed his eyes again. “London ain’t going anywhere any time soon so neither am I.” His voice quieted to a whisper as he relaxed back.

Louise watched him rest. Despite the break, there was always a hint of exhaustion under his eyes. He was thirty-six but had aged from experience alone. The things he’d witnessed stuck to him. Things he couldn’t control like the scars digging into his skin. And things he chose like the inflicted tattoos. It was a wonder if men like Alfie stepped back and evaluated their course of action. If they were falling through an abyss, doing things they never thought they’d do, eventually changing the world around them. Were they destructive or misled?

She kissed his forehead and he mumbled softly, reaching up to touch the nape of her neck.

Was it so wrong to try and become what Alfie was becoming? Was he any different from kings and emperors? Men who killed for power?

She swallowed and closed her eyes, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He felt so safe. The image of Alfie Solomons, the image others saw was fading away. It was nothing but a façade to her. She’d never been on the sharp edge of that sword and never anticipated to.

He enveloped her in his arms, his lips finding her temple and kissing her skin tenderly.

It was inevitable. The further she fell for him, the further engrossed in him she became. The jewel of Alfie’s affection. Sometimes a queen didn’t see the actions of her king. Yet she was a queen, nonetheless.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alfie could you-” Louise paused as she entered through the open door. A young man stood at Alfie’s desk. They both glanced at her. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were in a meeting.” She stepped back.

They’d returned to London after the weekend. Alfie grumbled and complained but there was work to be done. Louise assured him there would be more trips to Margate in the future. Just to confirm this, Alfie bought the cottage they’d rented. But he didn’t disclose that to her. He’d find another time to surprise her. It was nice to have as a backup plan. It gave some light to London’s smoke and gloom.

“No, no, s’alright.” Alfie waved Louise into the office. “This is one of my lads. Nicholas, this is me secretary, Louise Barnes.”

“Nice to meet you, Nicholas.” She smiled politely and went to set a few papers down in front of Alfie. She didn’t mind coming back to London as much as Alfie did. Of course, it would be nice to stay on the ocean, she was content wherever he was. She was also happy that the trip had eased some of his aches and worries.

“Pleasure, Miss Barnes.” The tall man replied with a tip of his hat.

“Everything alright?” Louise sensed something was amiss. Alfie looked deep in thought with his hand over his mouth and his eyes fixed on the cabinet across the room.

“Grace Shelby was killed last night.” He answered her honestly.

It was an icy shock. Louise had never met Tommy’s wife, they’d only been recently married. But there was talk about her work with the Shelby foundation She was also aware of the son Tommy had with her. “Killed? How?” She was stunned.

“A bullet meant for her husband.” He ran his fingers over his beard while staring into space.

Louise inhaled shakily. “We should go pay our respects to the family, especially Tommy.”

“More pressing matters right now.” Alfie blinked a few times, snapping out of his daze.

“What do you mean?” Louise looked over at Nicholas realizing he probably brought the bad news. “What pressing matters?”

“Were the Italians. Messy ‘tween ‘em ‘n the Blinders.” Nicholas told her in a thick accent. “Things been escalatin’.”

“Sabini?”

“No.” Alfie cracked his knuckles, still sounding detached and too engrossed in his own mind. “The Changrettas.”

The name wasn’t familiar to Louise and she thought she had a good handle on the people she needed to know. “Are they in London?”

“The son is in New York. Runnin’ gin. Could be big as Capone, they say. Works for the Spinietta family too.”

“But Vincente and Angel live here,” Alfie said shaking his head. “And they fucking dug their own graves when their assassin missed the mark. Satan himself couldn’t kill that gypsy, they wasted their time trying to.”

“Tommy is going to try to retaliate.” Louise followed the logic. The Peaky Blinders, like other firms, never let go of a grudge until they had the final say. Usually, that created a back and forth that didn’t seem to have an end. There was always someone with a pistol looking for revenge.

“Angel Changretta’s already dead. Fuckin’ throat slit.” Nicholas told her in a grim voice. He wasn’t sure a woman, no less a secretary should hear such things. But Alfie didn’t stop him from telling her.

“But that’s their business.” She said with shaky assurance. “It won’t bother us, right?” There was no response. “Alfie?”

“Nick, you can go.” The gangster stood up to see his informant out. He didn’t bother to answer Louise’s question.

The silence gave her anxiety and she wasn’t sure what was happening. “Alfie, you’re scaring me.”

He shut the door and pulled the blinds so the rest of the bakery couldn’t see into his office.

“Al-”

He held up a hand to hush her. “Listen very carefully, yeah, because this innit a game.” He stopped in front of her, his blue eyes hard on her face. “We go on, keep working, right?”

“Then why are you so worried?”

“Who said I was fucking worried?” He retorted sharply. “I’m not…” He grimaced and huffed out a breath. His eyes looked over her shoulder. “When a war starts, everyone looks for allies. They’re gonna look to me, yeah?”

“You can’t get involved in this,” Louise whispered and touched his cheek. “Alfie, this is none of your business. What Tommy wants to do, he’ll do. But you don’t need any part of this.”

Alfie refused to look at her. “They’ll involve me whether I fucking like it or not. S’not how the game is played, Lou.”

“This isn’t a game…”

“We’ll just have to wait to see what Tommy does next.” He tried pulling away from Louise.

“Alfie…”

“You can go back to work, s’all I had to tell you.” He nodded curtly and went to lift the blinds.

She stared at him for a moment, frozen in place. “What are you willing to risk, Alfie? For something you have no stake in?”

“You can go, Louise.” He sat back down and pointed to the door. “I have a meeting soon.”

The woman swallowed and contemplated putting up a fight. But she didn’t want to make things worse. They would handle it later. She had to go about this the only way she knew how.

Tag list: @vehement-care @kimmietea @eleventhdoctorsangel

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#alfie solomons #alfie solomonsxoc #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinder fanfic #fanfiction #series

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writeintrees · 4 years

Text

Carter Part 3 of 4

Summary: This is it, Carter is going to die here. His torturers are relentless and no one is coming for him. At least that is what he thinks until a mysterious stranger busts into the building searching for their sister. Carter is brought to the rebels, who surprise him, keeping him on his toes and helping him to work through a few things. This group is so happy and kind and better than he could ever dream of.

Found family, trans mc, chronic pain mc, trauma, hurt/comfort

Content warnings: opioids, concussion, torture (simple physical injury and neglect), blood, low self esteem, negative self talk, history of physical and mental abuse from family and a partner, self harm scars, panic attack, getting triggered, derealization, dissociation

5256 of 15060 words total

part 1, part 2, part 4

He wakes again with pain clawing at his back. It is a slow and rude awakening of tossing and turning and not being able to keep his legs still. At least it is light outside. He can tell by the diffuse glow coming in through the shuttered windows. He decides it is no use trying to sleep longer and rolls out of bed.

He smiles at the sleepy morning feel to it all. Light is slanting in, soft and warm down the hallway. When he rounds the corner he sees Emille sipping coffee on the couch. Their hair is pulled into a messy bun on the top of their head and they are wearing reading glasses.

When they see him their eyebrows furrow. “You alright? Thought you’d be sleeping in.”

“Yeah just… pain.” He shrugs.

They set down their coffee. “You want me to get Joao to take a look at it?”

“No. It’s not an injury.” He doesn’t elaborate and is grateful that they do not ask any further. He keeps his eyes down so he does not see the puzzled look on their face, gears tuning behind their eyes.

He goes into the kitchen and pauses, not knowing if he has free range of the space. The last thing he wants is to overstep some boundary. He glances back at Emille but they are typing a text on their phone. Hesitant every step of the way he goes to make himself tea. “Hey, is it alright if I use a peppermint tea bag.”

“Yeah totally. I doubt Naji would mind.”

That gives Carter pause. Naji was very... to the point yesterday. He is not sure if she likes or trusts him and he is afraid to do anything to jeopardize his chances. There is a considerable pile of peppermint tea bags though so he chances using one. He settles near Emille at a right angle between the couches. He pulls his knees up to his chest and bites his thumbnail as he looks around the room. There are some maps with colored push pins embedded into the wall. At least he knows he is still in the city. Those assholes knocked him out when he was kidnapped so he had no idea how far they had taken him.

Naji emerges next. She stops to stifle a yawn before rolling into the kitchen. With practiced ease she takes a travel mug out of the lower cupboard and fills it to the brim with coffee from the pot. She takes her place beside Emille’s couch, staring into the middle distance as she sips her drink and lets the caffeine diffuse into her veins.

Her newly sharpened eyes lock onto Carter. “You able to tell us now how you’re caught up in all this shit?”

“Yeah- um, I guess?”

“Great.” She leans forward, her cup cradled between her hands. “You really don’t know who it was that took you?” He shakes his head and she sighs. “But you saw the Sweitzer Vase?”

Emille stiffens. “Wait, you did?”

“Why does everyone care so fuckin’ much about some vase?”

“The coalition hired someone to steal it in Botswana.” Emille says. “They had made a deal with a billionaire that he would join them in exchange for the vase. But now it’s gone missing and everyone’s clambering for it. UPM to keep it out of the coalition’s hands.”

“What is the UPM anyway? And this coalition thing? I still don’t know what is going on.”

“Alright. I’ll try to give you the elevator pitch. UPM stands for the united protection movement. We try to give everyone a chance no matter their employment, ability, etcetera. Think mutual aid but more large scale. Basically everything the coalition is against. Shit where do I start with the coalition? They are kind of an alliance between some of the higher powers in the city. CEOs, billionaires, the police chief, you name it and they have their fingers in that pie. People who just want to compound their power and who get away with whatever they want. They have these hitmen on call to do their dirty work who hole up at that building where we first met. If anyone dares to disobey these powerful people, they sic those thugs on them. If renters dare start to rise up, if there’s another shipment in the human trafficking trade, those are their go-to guys. So yeah, the coalition is an extremely corrupt power that pulls the strings in this city, but their influence reaches far past state lines.” They conclude when they see the stunned expression on Carter’s face as he tries to let that all sink in.

“So, the Sweitzer Vase?” Naji asks, turning toward Carter with an impatient expression.

“Yeah, shit- okay. Well, my bosses were being all hush-hush about this one shipment. They get that way about higher up clients though so I didn’t think much of it. Then I saw the garish thing and thought it was an art dealer or something, you know? I packed it up and brought it to the korean district. A man met me outside the address and he fit the profile: he had this expensive vibe about him, you know? So he signed off and had a lackey pull the crate out of the van. Didn’t let me even touch it. Then two nights later some guys come into my apartment and chloroform me. And I wake up tied to a chair and they want to know the whereabouts of that stupid vase I’d basically forgotten about by then, we do so many shipments a day after all.”

“And did you tell them?”

“No, I didn’t give them shit. I don’t think I even confirmed I was the one who delivered it. They were assholes.”

Emille is grinning. “Hell yeah.” They lean over to fist bump him.

“The man, what did he look like?” Naji is rubbing her chin.

“A little shorter than me. Nice navy suit with gold filigrees. He had dark skin. Gold eyeliner. Light eyes, maybe hazel? He wore black leather gloves and had his guys show him the vase before he signed.”

“Did you catch his name? Maybe you could read his signature?” Her attitude is less accusatory than before and has changed into something more relaxed. She seems almost curious.

“No, sorry. My bosses would have the actual paper.”

“That’s alright. I’m almost certain that it was Mister Gareth Kodua.” She motions and Emille hands her one of the folders scattered on the table. “The korean district is basically coalition free. We’ve made a deal with the people there. So the address you went to is almost certainly planted by somebody else. I suspect Mister Kodua intercepted, maybe bribed your bosses. But now we know the vase wasn’t switched out somewhere along the way. Someone got to it first.” She starts reading through the file.

“There are other people who want the vase but want nothing to do with the coalition. Don’t like what they stand for.” Emille adds between typing away on their phone. The room falls back into silence, this time the kind of silence that falls during study halls, full of purpose.

Except Carter is not included in that purpose. He feels strange sitting and watching the two work. He misses having his phone if only for something to do with his hands. He gnaws at his thumbnail to stop himself from picking at the bandaids.

Joao shuffles into the common space. He runs his hand through his bedhead. “Mornin’”

“Another art dealer has the vase.” Naji says without preamble.

His eyes widen. “No shit.” He comes over and sits between Emille and Naji, leaning over her to see what she is looking at. He lets out a low whistle.

Emille looks up from their phone. “Orion has confirmation. Mister Kodua was on 3rd ave eleven days ago. Then seen bringing something up to his penthouse.”

“His security is good. I’m worried about who his buyer might be though. The coalition has too much to lose with such a major donor.”

“I’ll go make breakfast.” Joao stands. From how he casually excuses himself, Carter gets the impression that this type of high-pressure conversation is a regular occurrence here. “Any allergies?” He asks Carter, who shakes his head. Joao stretches his arms above his head, showing off how much of a bean pole he is. Carter laughs at himself for being frightened of him yesterday.

“We need to have a word with Mister Kodua. Make sure that the vase won’t be intercepted again.” Naji says half to herself and half to Emille.

They go back and forth between the two of them, Carter barely understanding half of what they are saying. They keep reaching for more papers and spreading them out between them, pointing at different points.

The sizzle of butter and smell of pancakes emanates from the stove. Carter stands and leaves without either of them noticing, the two too engrossed in their planning. Joao is humming as he ladles more batter onto the pan.

Carter refills his mug with hot water. He uses one hand to idly bob the teabag up and down. “They always like this?”

He looks over his shoulder. Emille and Naji are quibbling over some details, their voices slightly raised. “Yeah. But they get shit done. I just leave them to it.” He smiles and goes back to flip the pancake with a satisfying flick of his wrist. “How are you?”

“Good. You?”

Joao turns his gaze onto him. He puts one hand on his hip. It would look more intimidating if not for the floral apron he is wearing. “You are so not alright, are you kidding me? This isn’t some empty question. I actually want to know -- as your nurse -- what is happening in your mind and body. How’s your pain?”

“It’s okay.” He is met with a glare but there is not much heat behind it. “Yeah it hurts but it’s fine if I don’t do the wrong thing with my abs. Or move my neck wrong.”

Joao shifts the plate of pancakes towards him. “Here. The meds are better when there’s something in your stomach. You haven’t already taken one this morning have you?”

“No. I still have the extra from last night anyway.”

“Shit. And you were able to sleep through the night?”

“I’m fine, really.” He mumbles. “I don’t like how they make me feel. Do you have any celecoxib or something though? My prescription is at my apartment.”

“Sure I can get something similar. I need to give you another once-over though to make sure you don’t have too much internal bleeding.” He cocks his head. “Why were you on that?”

“Costochondritis. So the rib pain is fine. I'm used to it already.” He says with a smile. He has a dark sense of humor around all this. He has to or else he would drown in it.

Joao does not seem to find the humor though. “I’m sorry to hear that. Sounds rough.”

Carter quickly backpedals. “No it’s alright, really. I’m not complaining. Sorry, I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”

“Dude you’re fine. If you’re gonna stay with us I should probably get a full medical history from you anyway.” Stay with them? Carter feels his eyes grow wide. “Don’t sweat it. Really.”

Carter nods numbly. He watches another pancake get set onto the plate’s growing pile.

“Do me a favor and take another pain med with breakfast? Even if you can cope, a lot of pain can make you tense up and move abnormally and can slow down the healing process. At least take them today?” Carter stares down at his cooling tea. He has yet to drink any of it. “Okay I think that should be enough. Bring the plate out to the table?”

The dining table is low and has three chairs around it. Carter hovers awkwardly, wondering if he should step away. Emille has disappeared, presumably to get their sister. Naji rolls over to the dining table and only then does the height of the table make sense. It has been well used with various stains and coffee rings across its surface.

Joao comes over with five plates then drags over a folding chair for Carter. “Sit. And take as much as you want to eat, I can always make more.”

Carter obeys. Getting down to the seat still hurts, but he has found a way to move that does not make his vision spot with the pain of using his abs. When Naji glances at him from across the table, it no longer feels accusing and like he is unwelcome here. Her attention slips off of him and onto fixing her plate, not waiting for the others to be seated. Carter hesitantly reaches across and begins loading his own plate up as well. Tasha and Emille emerge from one of the other bedrooms, bumping into each other as they walk.

It has the informal atmosphere of a daily household, or at least what one is supposed to be like anyway, although Carter does not have the best basis for that. Emille pops into the kitchen to get themself a glass of water then plops back into their seat. They kick their legs up onto Tasha’s lap, who squawks and playfully shoves the socked feet off. Joao stifles a laugh which ends up coming out as more of a snort. These four are clearly family.

Carter cannot help but smile as he takes it all in. He eats his pancakes quietly, then slips out to grab his last pill and washes it down with the stale half-glass of water. The haze sets in unpleasantly and he has to focus to walk straight when he goes back towards the common space.

The table has been cleared and is once again covered in papers. Naji is moving things around to set up. Carter hovers at the end of the hall, wondering if he should stay out of earshot of their secret organization meeting. He has no sense of where to be or what to do in this place. No one has told him what they expect of him yet so he defaults into staying out of sight and out of mind as much as possible. Joao makes that difficult. And Emille now, apparently.

“Carter, you comin? You’re a part of this too.” Emille calls, waving him over.

He hesitates, glancing around the table. He fidgets with his shirt sleeve.

“At least for now.” They say, meaning ‘for as long as you want’ but Carter interprets it as ‘until we are done with you.’ He sits anyway.

Tasha seems mostly alright. She is a little slow when asked a question, but that is something Carter knows intimately. Between medication and pain and brain fog it can be difficult to pull thoughts out from the muck. Turns out that she does have a few broken foot bones and one of her fingers. Joao has them splinted and wants her to keep off them but she insists she is fine. Joao throws his hands up with a huff while exclaiming how “no one listens to me here so what’s the point in even keeping me around?” Tasha wraps him in a hug until he relents that he is a valuable part of the team.

Naji has Carter, Tasha, and Emille update the schematics of the coalition building. It only needs a few tweaks. Carter has to close his eyes and backtrack through those hazy walks through the building. Tasha seems similarly iffy on the details. They get it down more-or-less where they slept and were tortured. Tasha remembers a few rooms that she passed by. Carter is impressed, he barely remembers even being dragged up a half-flight of stairs. He was not expecting to get out of there so there was no reason to remember it.

Turns out they had known about that building for a while. It is the coalition headquarters. It took a year to find a flaw in their security: a shift change that left fewer guards and gave them an opening. They had gotten one of their own people in there to distract and to give Emille the passcode.

Carter feels responsible for them burning their opportunity at getting into the building. He has to remind himself that they were not there for him. Emille went there for Tasha, that is it. It is a lucky break that they broke him out at all. He would still be slowly dying of blood loss and infection if not for them.

A fiercely protective feeling surges through him. He does not want to lose these people. They do not feel the same but he will soak up every moment he can get with them before he has to go back to being all alone again.

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

His back is aching something awful and he cannot stop wringing his hands or bouncing his leg, both of which hurt his injured skin and muscles. Even with the tips of his fingernail-less fingers covered, every bump brings those injuries back to the forefront of his mind. He is worried he is distracting the others, jostling Emille who is sharing the couch with him. “Does anyone have a heat pack?”

“Yeah, I got you.” Tasha sets down her water glass then half-jogs down the hall. There is the sound of her splint hitting the ground every other step as she comes bounding back. She stops in front of the couch and holds the rolled up heat pad towards him.

He plugs it into the wall and settles it against his lower back. It quickly works to ease his muscle pain. Tasha plops down between him and Emille, who grumbles and bats their hand at her distractedly.

“Hey.” She says. She smiles more with her eyes than her mouth. There is blood caked along her lower lip and her cheekbone is swollen and splotched purple.

“Hey. How are you doing?”

“I’m worse for wear but Joao says I should heal nicely.”

“That’s good.” Silence falls over them. Carter does not know how to talk to Tasha. He is pretty sure this is the first time they have spoken one-on-one.

“Okay, real talk, I need to interact with someone who won’t avoid all that coalition torture shit.”

He smiles. “Yeah. I totally get that.”

“Not the best vacation I’ve ever had.”

Carter snorts. “Oh my gosh. That’s right, it was surprise time off from work for me too.”

“Guess I must be a workaholic then because I kind of missed this place.”

“How’d they nab you?”

“I was staking out the delivery address -- the actual delivery address -- and when the shipment didn’t show up they got kind of… angry.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. The person who tortured me wouldn’t stop asking me questions even though I didn’t know shit. And they wouldn’t shut up!”

“God, her monologuing was more torture than when she used her instruments.”

“I know right! My person was so annoying. Are there comment cards? We should go back just to give them constructive criticism.”

“Oh my god.” Emille says.

“Hey, we’re the traumatized ones here, we get to say what’s alright to joke about.”

As they continue talking, Carter finds he has met his match in terms of dark humor. She is able to joke with him about all the fucked up shit that happened to them. He thinks that she would react well if he ever slips and jokes about his other issues.

They keep each other company as Joao gives them each a once over. Tasha clenches her teeth as he has her move her hands and feet. She then goes on to tell embarrassing stories about the others while Joao presses against Carter’s belly and Carter fights the urge to throw up or cry out. Laughing helps to distract him. At least until he laughs so hard that he is doubled over in both delight and pain. She eases back on the humor at that point.

His chest feels lighter after that. Dinner goes by with less anxiety. The feeling that Naji hates him has since faded. As soon as he revealed his information she welcomed him into their operation without question. It helps that their enemy tortured him for a week without him breaking. Enemy of my enemy and all that.

In the middle of the night Carter wakes in pain. He gives in and takes another pain pill. It is easier to sleep after that.

He wakes slowly on the second morning. As much as he hates the feeling of being drugged, it is nice to get rest for once. It has been long before he was kidnapped since he got a full night’s sleep. He takes his time to rouse and lazily rolls out of bed.

When he looks back, his heart drops. Spots of blood have seeped into the white sheets. His face flushes with dread and fear. He forgets everything else and leaves, watching himself walk down the hall from a little behind himself and to the left.

Emille is at the sink dealing with dishes. Carter must have missed breakfast. He walks in and stops awkwardly to the side, refusing to make eye contact with them. He attempts to psych himself up and still the pounding of his heart. The faucet turns off and he can feel their eyes on him. Panic flutters in his chest and his hands are sweaty as he wrings them.

He can barely get the words out as he stares at the floor. “Sorry, I think- I got blood on your sheets.” He cringes then quickly adds on, stumbling over himself. “I can buy you replacement ones though. Shit I’m so sorry I really didn’t mean to!”

“Pfft. Apologizing for bleeding on shit? Are you kidding? You’re fine, that’s what bleach is for.” They give him an easy smile that tells him honestly that it is alright. He is relieved. “Here, help me dry.” They hand him a dish towel and a wet plate.

He takes them and tries to return the smile but it is fragile. He busies himself with drying and lets the motion soothe him. He puts the plate into the open cabinet.

They have another ready when he looks back. But instead of letting go when he takes it, they resist and it forces him to look at them. Their eyes are searching and they cock their head at him. “Who taught you that you don’t have the right to take up space?”

He laughs, delightfully surprised by the directness of the question. No one has ever given a shit about these things before. Everyone has just edged around the trauma, pretended it was not there. Emille gives him a confused smile to go along with his laughter. He is breathless when he replies. “My mom mostly. She was a real asshole.”

“Was?”

“Probably still is. I moved cities and blocked her on all social media. Cut myself off from my whole family. Guess I’m the black sheep of that family but fuck if I care because I’m not part of it anymore.”

“That sounds like a hard but really good decision. I’m proud of you.”

They say it so nonchalantly, like they have not just sucked the air out of Carter’s lungs. He gapes at them but they continue scrubbing at a dish. He does not know if they are averting their eyes purposefully but he appreciates it. “Thank you.” He says, his voice small.

Emille hands him another plate to dry. “You’re the one who did the work. Seems to me like you should be thanking yourself.”

Once they finish clearing the pile of dirty dishes from the sink, Carter rifles through the refrigerator. He finds some frozen sausage and combines it with the tupperwared scrambled eggs to make a breakfast burrito for himself. Not long after he starts in on a book he has borrowed from Tasha does Joao insist on doing another physical exam.

A whole ass exam, walking up and down the hall on his heels and tiptoes and everything.

“How am I looking, nurse Joao?” He asks as his eyes follow said man’s finger.

“No signs of a concussion anymore.” He clicks off his pen light. “Lie down so I can palpate your abdomen.”

Carter does so and tries not to flinch too hard when fingers press into his bruised ribs.

“Sorry. Just a little more.”

He tilts his head back and tries hard to focus on the ceiling. It is painted black and has metal buttresses along it. Much more pleasant to look at than that of the torture room, for several reasons.

“Okay. All done.” He pulls down his shirt and sits up. Joao is looking at a clipboard. “Have you had any surgeries?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m making a chart for you. I can’t go making medical decisions for you without all the information now can I?”

“You don’t want to deal with my complicated medical history. Believe me.” Carter gives a self-deprecating smile. “I’ll be out of your hair soon enough so I’ll save you the trouble.”

“If you insist.” He says, clearly not convinced. He caps his pen and sets the papers down. “Then if I’m not going to be your nurse right now I might as well be your friend. How do you spend your time?”

“Huh?”

“I find it to be a kinder question than what you do for work, especially because so many people are unemployed or have incredible hobbies on the side.”

“Um. Not much. Work kind of takes everything I’ve got. Then I watch Netflix until I can sleep. I cook a little, I guess, does that count as a hobby?”

“Yes, definitely! Do you have long hours?”

“No, just…” How does he explain this without divulging all his health shit. Dealing with the pain and fatigue takes up so much time that he can barely keep up. He shrugs. “How do you spend your time?”

“When I’m not patching up this lot, I run errands for UPM or I offer medical services to the community. We have connections all over the city so I’ll coordinate with a couple others in UPM and we book up a weekend.”

“Wow that’s good on you. I wish I volunteered.”

“It’s not in everyone’s capacity though. And there’s no shame if you aren’t up for it. You shouldn’t give up more of yourself than you have.”

Plans start coming together. It is much more complex than Carter would have thought to organize all this. They have contacts who will help to cover their tracks: clearing video feeds and giving them loaner cars. They have to switch out Emille’s license plate which goes by with practiced ease. Then the more mundane things like shipments coming through for the cooperative. UPM deals mostly with mutual aid in the community, it seems, bail funds and food and clothing. Fighting in the small ways consistently and in the big ways whenever the opportunity reveals itself. Like intercepting a vase that could seal the fate of fascism in the area.

Carter is sorting files into alphabetical order, hoping that could help with how often someone sifts through them, frustrated that they cannot find the one they are searching for. He has taken up one of the couches to himself while the others rifle through the storage room or scribble at the dining table turned work table. Joao and Emille are out doing some errand. Carter has lost track of the plan so many times that he has given up on knowing what is going on.

Sorting the papers is kind of relaxing, and it helps to soothe the feeling of uselessness as he eats their food and uses their medical supplies without paying them back. He sighs and picks up another crinkled pile.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Naji says as she rolls into the room. She reaches into a pouch on her chair and pulls something out with a rattle. “Joao told me to give you these.” She hands him an orange pill bottle.

It is the anti-inflammatory he had requested. He gapes at the bottle. He had thought he would not get this prescription without going back to his apartment. “How do you all get your medications? With you being off the grid, it’s not like you can get a prescription without being found right? Or are you anonymous enough that it’s fine?”

“Joao has a hook up for medical supplies. There are doctors around the city that are part of the cause. It’s their contribution to UPM. Also gets me some top notch doctors for my health issues.”

Carter nods. Previously he had thought it would be impossible for him to stay here, just the stuff of daydreams, what with his appointments and medications and having to earn money to support himself. But these people seem to manage being off the grid just fine.

It takes a few hours of phone calls, but Emille says they are good to go full steam ahead with meeting Mister Gareth Kodua. They take that and run with it, making plans and coordinating while Carter feels useless on the couch. He tries to read a book but he is on his third attempt at this paragraph when Joao’s voice pulls him from his own head.

“So, what’s for dinner?”

“Huh?”

“You said you can cook. Want to show us your skills?”

“I said I cook ‘a little.’ I don’t think I’m good enough to make food for other people.”

“Can’t be worse than when Tasha set the kitchen on fire that one time.” He says, purposefully loud.

A voice comes from one of the bedrooms. “Hey! That was one time! And it was just some stray oil.”

He smirks. “So, you up to the task?”

“I’ll give it a shot.” He surveys the random ingredients in the kitchen and an hour later has some taco makings laid out.

“Sorry it’s not much.”

“Are you kidding? This is really good!” Tasha exclaims, mouth full of her third taco.

The others join in to give him praise unanimously. He is a little overwhelmed, but smiles secretly to himself, proud to have contributed to the light and happy atmosphere.

Naji puts a map down, weighted by her water glass and the napkin holder. “Here is where Mister Kodua lives. His security is tight so we will notify him of our approach and people will come down to greet us and give us access to the penthouse through the elevator.”

They start quibbling about who should go. Emille of course, since they are the one who set this all up. Without them to vouch for the group, their meeting would be on shaky foundations. Tasha wants to contribute to the conversation but everyone agrees they do not want her on the first mission since the last one went south. They each settle who is and is not going until only Carter is left. He is surprised they turn to him, or even remember he is here at all.

“I can come with.” He manages. “Just in the car, I mean. And you guys can drop me off near my apartment. I live on the west end.”

“Okay.” Emille says. Their voice sounds almost disappointed.

He must be imagining it though. There is so much he does not understand around here. Why would they want him to stay?

next chapter

#writeblr #writing #oc #original story #milo's stories #hurt/comfort #chronic pain #fibromyalgia #fibro #pain

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leonaesque · 4 years

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Poetic Injustice: On Ateneo and Negotiating Complicity

To be a successful comprador is an art. Tony Tan Caktiong knows this. Given the scale at which multinational corporations influence Philippine culture, at this point, who are we to refute it? And how? Profit-seeking forces itself on us; to be recognized. Every mass-produced item of clothing featuring the pattern of an ever-smiling billion-dollar bee is indication enough: Art is execution. In fact, being the recipient of foreign capital requires deliberate hands able to maintain thousands upon thousands of labor-only contractual workers, despite their having worked at the same establishment for years on end. These workers produce what no middleman can. Yet a company will still view being bought-out by an industry giant as the ideal exit strategy. Each moving part makes for one striking image of monopoly– worthy, one might insist, of being featured in a gallery.

Jollibee Foods Corporations (JFC) acquires stakes or ownership of restaurant chains in order to expand, as it has done over the course of many years with local and foreign brands. Their current roster includes Greenwich, Chowking, Red Ribbon, Mang Inasal, Burger King PH, The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, and Panda Express PH. The company also runs businesses internationally, such as Smashburgers in the United States, and Yonghe Dawang or Yonghe King in China.[1] Of course, the face of this massive undertaking remains the once tiny Magnolia-inspired ice cream store, Jollibee, now every business-oriented insect’s wet dream.

Ernesto Tanmiantong, brother and successor of Tony Tan Caktiong as Chief Executive Officer (CEO) of Jollibee Foods Corporation, is the latest former Chairperson of the Ateneo de Manila University Board of Trustees.[2] One can even find his name, along with his wife’s, gracing a first-floor exhibit hall of the Ateneo Art Gallery, found inside the university’s so-called creative hub, the Arete. In the months before the start of the first semester of S.Y. 2018-2019, Tanmiantong’s adorable, marketing-committee-approved buddy in white gloves and a chef’s hat took a trip to the then-newly inaugurated art gallery for a photo-op. The mascot then posed with several installments and paintings, a couple of which depicted farmers and workers.

According to the Department of Labor and Employment (DOLE), JFC is one of the most notorious businesses with regards to the perpetuation of the practice of contractualization.[3] Contractual workers are, according to law, not employed by– and, therefore, not the responsibility of– the company they provide labor to. Because of this, these workers do not receive benefits or compensation, are often subject to abusive working conditions, and are vulnerable to the shameless practice of mass termination. No doubt, the Public Relations stunt with the Ateneo Art Gallery was ill-timed; right at the height of protests against the corporation, in the midst of its non-compliance with the DOLE’s order to regularize upwards of 6,000 of its workers– there was Jollibee: tone-deaf and taking pictures to post on his Facebook profile, The Atenean Way.

Ironically, as the statement by Ateneo’s School of Humanities Sanggunian (which condemned the incident) pointed out, perhaps even the person inside that oversized blinking head of the Jollibee mascot was a contractual worker, posing in a space that he might never have been able to enter without the cartoon-bee-mask of his exploitation.[4] Surely, it does not matter whether or not the institutional faux pas was an intentional case of art-washing. At least, it should not. Is there such a thing as art for art for art’s sake?

---

There is this poem entitled “The Doomed” written by Mikael De Lara Co. A friend of mine recommended it to me once after a workshop session because my piece, he said, reminded him of it. I do not think my friend meant to insult me. Unless he did.

“The Doomed” is a poem about writing a poem, wherein the poet-persona is aware that, while he is writing poems about lilies, there is violence somewhere, which he is both physically and socially detached from. This violence is manifest into the shooting of Liberal Party supporter and candidate, Hamira Agcong, in 2010, as well as the infamous Ampatuan Massacre that occurred in 2009, where 58 people were kidnapped and killed.

Where do poems fall under in the realm of social praxis (if at all)? “The Doomed” ends with the lines “I want to find beauty in suffering. / I want to fail.” Yet, the poem’s aestheticization of the murders via tone and imagery is blatant. The declarative rejection of an ideal like beauty or portraying beauty betrays the poet’s pretentiousness in what can only be his underlying conservativity. There is no attempt to avoid it. With lines like “You sit at your desk / to write a poem about lilies and a clip of 9mm’s / is emptied into the chest of a mother…” and “… a backhoe in Ampatuan crushes the spines of 57 / – I am trying to find another word for bodies”, it sounds as though these killings are more poetic material than actual, politically motivated deaths. Tell me, is the reader to blame for reading what is on the page? Mikael De Lara Co fails in failing, making the poem and its project a useless endeavor.

Despite the pointedly crafted grief into the persona’s voice, “The Doomed” does nothing to grieve the circumstances which brings about its dramatic situation. Why are people “doomed”, if not for the bureaucrat capitalists that viciously plot to stay in power? Could the poet not have addressed that, instead of weeping about his writing process? I do not believe that the poem would have failed that, at least, because all language inevitably fails in the face of social reality. That would be lazy, if it were not bullshit.

But I suppose that is why “The Doomed” fails, most of all: The poet believes it is fine to write speeches for a leader who allowed farmers and indigenous people to be harassed, as long as they could be tagged as members of the New People’s Army, the armed faction of the Communist Party of the Philippines. A text speaks, though the words are not on the page. So, the poet dooms.

Mikael De Lara Co has won many awards for his writing and translations, including the prestige-inducing Don Carlos Palanca Award for Literature. He graduated BS Environmental Science from Ateneo de Manila University, where he was once an editor of Heights, the school’s official literary publication. He has been published in many other magazines, literary journals, and the like, where his author’s notes proudly indicate all these accomplishments and more, such as having, himself, worked for the Liberal Party and once been a member of the former President Benigno Aquino III’s staff under the Presidential Communications Operations Office. Ergo, ghostwriter, alongside a number of other Ateneans who were also once part of Heights.

“Noynoy Aquino was a fascist” is a phrase that does not get said often enough. The Aquino administration, with its neoliberal policies the color of dehydrated piss, is credited with the starving thousands of farmers to death. Unsurprising, I suppose, for a family of landlords to inherit a disdain for the very hands that feed them. Corazon Cojuanco Aquino passed the Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Program (CARP) during her regime, and her son amended it with an extension and reforms (CARPer), making it even easier for land owners not to have to redistribute their lands at all.

For all its “Kayo ang boss ko” and “Daang Matuwid” pandering, the Aquino administration did not skimp on its counterinsurgency program, Oplan Bayanihan, which heavily drew from the U.S. Counterinsurgency Guide.[5] Here, it was farmers and Lumad, some of the most vulnerable sectors of Philippine society, that were tagged as rebels, terrorists, communists, etc., simply for knowing and standing for their rights, as the government failed to decimate actual armed revolutionaries in the countryside.

The massacre that took place under the Aquino administration occurred in Kidapawan, Cotabato on April 1, 2016. According to reports, among the group of 6,000 protesters that was mainly composed of farmers and activists, 116 were injured, 87 went missing, and 3 were killed.[6] Perhaps the lilies in “The Doomed” were a metaphor for De Lara Co’s beloved Noynoy.

---

Speaking of Ateneo: For an institution that makes yearly claims to combat historical revisionism and uphold the memory of the victims of human rights violations under the Martial Law era, this university loves to slurp on major Marcos ass. In 2014, President Fr. Jose Ramon Villarin, SJ drew flack for having rubbed elbows with the iron butterfly herself, Imelda Marcos, at an Ateneo scholars’ benefactors’ event.[7] The mere thought of Imelda posing as a charitable, bloated cockroach in a wig that feasts on all that is lavish and garish, while the university welcomes her to do so is nearly comical. I imagine the blood.

In 2019, a similar incident ensued[8], this time with Imelda’s daughter, Irene, whose art connoisseur lifestyle she lives second-hand. It was during the inauguration of the Arete’s amphitheater, named after Ignacio B. Jimenez, a crony of the corrupt family themselves.[9] Community backlash forced the building’s executive director, Yael Buencamino, to resign and for University President, Fr. Jose Ramon Villarin, SJ to issue a statement in response to the instance.

Yet, despite the triumph of Ateneans in demanding accountability for having the Marcoses at our literal and metaphorical dining table, there are also the Camposes, the Consunjis, the Lorenzos, and other local elite whose hands are stained with generational blood, that have established their presence in the campus with no near hopes of showing them out. Students could also be as loud as they pleased about the violations on workers’, farmers’, and national minorities’ rights that these families are frequently attached to, with only the answer of a warning that school organizations may lose sponsorship opportunities. What else can we expect? Of course, the names that line the halls that one studies in are the limits of academic freedom.

---

A few semesters ago, I wrote a poem to be workshopped by my co-English staffers in Heights as part of our membership retention requirements. It was not a good poem, I know. It was about my experience of integrating with the striking workers of Sumifru, a multinational Japanese company that produces fruit, whose union was called NAMASUFA (Nagkahiusang Mamumuo sa Suyapa Farm). After struggling to get word out of their plight and facing violent dispersals and harassment, 200 workers came all the way from Compostela Valley to Metro Manila via boat and plane, despite the difficulties of travel due to the imposition of Martial Law throughout Mindanao. Their objective was to pressure the DOLE and its Secretary, Silvestre Bello III, into action; that is, to be firm in enforcing Sumifru’s compliance to regularize their workers, which the company refused to do even though the DOLE had legally recognized them as their workers’ employer. The workers set up camp in various places, such as Mendiola, Liwasang Bonifacio, and beside the Commission on Human Rights inside the University of the Philippines Diliman campus, and often welcomed students who came to learn about their cause.

During the workshop, the discussion began with a silence and an awkward laugh. Political realism was how my poem was diagnosed, for obvious reasons. However, the main critique that I remember was that my use of language– the words multinational corporation and bureaucrat capitalists, in particular– did not induce the feeling of the struggle that the workers went through. It was not the language workers used or would use. I refuted this claim, saying I had talked to the workers. That this is exactly what they say. No, it is not poetic. It is real.

I agree, though, with the verdict that my poem was not good, if the basis were form. I agree because I do not think poems need to be good to say what is needed. If the basis were factors other than form, I still do not think the poem is good. I mean, either way, it does not change the fact that, ultimately, I only wrote a poem for a workshop, despite any intention of bringing awareness to NAMASUFA. Is a poem going to save them their jobs? Does that make a difference? Did it make a difference?

The Sumifru workers returned to Mindanao last July, 2019. I have left Heights as well.

---

Within the Ateneo campus, a tarpaulin overlooks the red brick road that the entire Loyola Schools population traverses. The sign merits a purposeful, impossible-to-miss position on the old Rizal Library building, immortalizing the critique: “We find the Ateneo today irrelevant to the Philippine situation because it can do no more than to service the power elite.” Nothing could be more fitting, in my opinion. The Ateneo de Manila University’s commitment to performativity deserves to be blasted in our faces, if at least once a day.

This declaration was taken from the “Down from the Hill” manifesto published by The Guidon in November of 1968. The manifesto was written by a group of five students, namely Jose Luis Alcuaz, Gerardo Esguerra, Emmanuel Lacaba, Leonardo Montemayor and Alfredo Salanga, all of whom actively campaigned for an anti-imperialist orientation to nationalism.

I want to talk about Eman Lacaba. Throughout the Marcos regime, he was a student activist– a radical, so to speak, as disapproving administrative bodies might now label him. Presently, he is known for being a poet, revolutionary, guerilla, and a martyr during the Martial Law era. One of his most often discussed poems is “An Open Letter to Filipino Artists”, a piece that finds itself into syllabi like a de-fanged snake. The poem is a detailing of his experience as a cadre of the New People’s Army; the provinces he visits, his process of proletarianizing from a burgis boy to a communist rebel, and so forth. The epigraph of the work, a quote from Ho Chi Minh, affirms his praxis– “A poet must learn how to lead an attack.” The poem is the revolution that Lacaba takes up arms for. I guess now that he is dead, Ateneans can wholeheartedly claim him as one of their own.

After the Martial Law era, Ateneo decided to create a body dedicated to the integration of its students with various disenfranchised sectors of society, as encouragement for their middle to upper-middle class youth to become more socially aware and active. The Office of Social Concern and Involvement (OSCI) is the current iteration of this. Their programs, from first year to fourth, require students to be socially involved enough to pass their Theology units. Commendable, no? Still. You can almost get sanctioned for so much as lighting candles for state-murdered farmers on the sidewalk by the gates outside of campus if it is not an Office of Student Activities-approved event– something I learned the hard way. I was not aware that bureaucracy was a key principle in Catholic Social Teaching.

So, does this mean the opposite of active non-violence is that which is inactively violent? The areas that OSCI allows their students to immerse in are carefully chosen, the interactions are prepared for in advance. In fact, they do not want to use the term “immerse” lest they be misconstrued with the damn leftists that climb mountains and “brainwash” unsuspecting poor people. You know, the ones that dare challenge the status-quo? Ateneo, or at the very least, its administration, will recognize the necessity of political action, but only to a certain extent. Nothing like Eman, the warrior-poet, whose militance is much too red to aestheticize.

The contradiction between what is said (marketed, poeticized, apologized for, etc.) and what is done should be scrutinized, instead of convincing ourselves that our interests are not merely our own. The dominant culture of a society will expose who supports those who hold political and economic power.

[1] Cigaral (List: Brands operated by Jollibee Foods Corp.)

[2] (Leadership)

[3] Patinio (Jollibee tops list of firms engaged in labor-only contracting: DOLE)

[4] SOH Sanggunian (The Statement of the SOH Sanggunian on Jollibee's PR Stunt)

[5] Karapatan (OPLAN BAYANIHAN For Beginners)

[6] Caparas (WITH VIDEOS: 3 dead, 87 missing, 116 hurt as police fire on Cotabato human barricade)

[7] Francisco (Ateneo de Manila 'sorry' over Imelda's visit)

[8] Paris (Irene Marcos was invited to Ateneo, and students are up in arms)

[9] Rappler.com (Ateneo hit for art ampitheater named after Marcos 'dummy')

Works Cited

Caparas, Jeff. “WITH VIDEOS: 3 Dead, 87 Missing, 116 Hurt as Police Fire on Cotabato Human Barricade.” InterAksyon.com, 1 Apr. 2016, web.archive.org/web/20160402013745/interaksyon.com/article/125901/breaking--security-forces-open-fire-on-cotabato-human-barricade.

Cigaral, Ian Nicolas. “List: Brands Operated by Jollibee Foods Corp.” Philstar.com, The Philippine Star, 24 July 2019, www.philstar.com/business/2019/07/24/1937490/list-brands-operated-jollibee-foods-corp.

Francisco, Katerina. “Ateneo De Manila 'Sorry' over Imelda's Visit.” Rappler, 6 July 2014, www.rappler.com/nation/62549-ateneo-manila-imelda-marcos-apology.

Karapatan (Alliance for the Advancement of People’s Rights). OPLAN BAYANIHAN For Beginners, Karapatan, 2011.

“Leadership.” Leadership | Ateneo Global, global.ateneo.edu/about/leadership.

Paris, Janella. “Irene Marcos Was Invited to Ateneo, and Students Are up in Arms.” Rappler, 8 Apr. 2019, www.rappler.com/nation/227702-irene-marcos-invited-to-ateneo-students-protest-april-2019.

Patinio, Ferdinand. “Jollibee Tops List of Firms Engaged in Labor-Only Contracting: DOLE.” Philippine News Agency RSS, Philippine News Agency, 28 May 2018, www.pna.gov.ph/articles/1036679.

Rappler.com. “Ateneo Hit for Art Ampitheater Named after Marcos 'Dummy'.” Rappler, 21 Apr. 2019, www.rappler.com/nation/228633-ateneo-ignacio-gimenez-ampitheater-marcos-dummy.

“SOH Sanggunian.” SOH Sanggunian - The Statement of the SOH Sanggunian on..., 2 July 2018, www.facebook.com/sohsanggu/photos/a.157891440898864/1893103380710986/?type=3.

#mine #nonfic #essay

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we-are-the-rebellion · 4 years

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Everything Is Gonna Be Fine - File 003

Date: 3/5/215

Incoming signal: Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me? Is there anyone in the wasteland listening to me? Fuck, this is hopeless... We don’t even know if people are alive out there, we’ve never left the region because of the horror stories we’ve heard. CeeCee are you sure? ...Yeah, right. Ahem! I’m Nate, I’m from the Eastern OQ region, and for the last ten years I’ve been fighting in, well to put it lightly, a pretty nasty civil war. The group I was with has been mostly killed or captured and our leader is missing, presumed dead. Please, if someone is out there and can hear this, we need supplies. Wait what’s- Shit! CeeCee get down they found-

Outgoing message: Nous vous entendons. Sur routre chemin.

__________________________

Date: 28/4/215

Location: Wasteland

Kenji had been out in the wasteland for three weeks now. After he had finished reading that repulsive public broadcast, he had stolen some gear and had gone over the wall. It was... Scary. He hated admitting it, he thought it made him look like a child watching a spooky film. But what else was he supposed to feel in that moment? He had grown up with stories about the radioactive monsters that lived in the wasteland beyond the wall. When someone died of The Sickness, their body was thrown over the wall so as not to contaminate anywhere else. That was what the wasteland had always been; radiation, horror stories and disease. That was the only reason he had never run, never jumped the wall and escaped the horrors of living as one of Toronto’s lower class citizens. When Jesse had appeared from the west, it marked something new, something interesting. Jesse was proof you could be in the wasteland and survive. Now obviously, Jesse had had state of the art anti-rad equipment and survival gear, and he had been driven or flown most of the way, only having to walk for the last 400 or so kilometres. But still. “Only 400 kilometres” was still 400 kilometres, it was only small compared to the 4000+ kilometre journey from the Yukon-BC Region to the Ontario-Quebec Region.

Kenji was not a survival expert like Jesse, and he didn’t have state of the art anything, (popular to contrary belief, having a state of the art “resting bitch face” didn’t count) but he wanted to try. After all, he couldn’t stay in OQ. The rich hated him for being the rebel leader, and the poor would no doubt turn on him now that the rebellion was effectively crushed and the elites would start cracking the proverbial whip on their literal asses. Where could he go but the wasteland?

It was frustrating, to say the least. Kenji had always prided himself on his perceptiveness and spacial awareness. He recognized landmarks better than anyone he knew, and he could navigate the streets of every city in the region with ease. He had even memorized the streets of the ruins of old Toronto, back when it was nearer to the lakes, and that area hadn't been inhabitable since the end of the war. But out here in the wasteland, everything was new, and the goggles he had to wear to protect his eyes were so broken and filthy that he could barely see. He assumed that he had just been wandering in circles for weeks, and honestly wanted to keep it that way until he could get better gear. The unfortunate truth, however, was that might never happen. He was stuck out here.

__________________________

Date: 1/5/215

Location: Wasteland

As Kenji started to come around, he could hear voices. He closed his eyes and groaned in pain, covering his eyes with his hand. Fuck, he was in so much pain. His head...

"Where am I..." he muttered. The voices around him got closer.

"Tu te réveilles maintenant?" one asked. Kenji blinked, trying to focus on something in his surroundings.

"My head..." he moaned, turning over. The voice sighed and turned away to babble to its companions.

"Il ne parle pas français. Non." Wait... Were they speaking French? Fuck... Of all the places to end up, of course it was here.

The French person snapped their fingers at him, making him focus back up at them. They had long, dark brown hair and thin, distinguished features. They seemed female, but also just androgynous enough to make him unsure. He had also been told that he shouldn’t assume these types of things.

“Me comprenez-vous? Comprenez-vous ce que je dis?” they asked him. Kenji knew just enough about the French language from Lewis that he almost understood what the person was saying. Almost.

“No. Fuck off.” he spat. The person seemed to understand that phrase, and they roughly pulled him to his feet. He stumbled, a wave of nausea passing over him. Life his head was killing him.

“Parler.” they snapped, jerking him forwards. Kenji snarled defensively. He knew talking to them was going to be useless, so he didn’t bother. Instead, he did the only other logical thing; Muster up all his remaining strength and punch the person in the face.

__________________________

Kenji was thrown out, but thankfully they didn’t knock him out again. He remembered what was going on now. He had been looking for food, shelter, etc, and had briefly taken off his goggles. He had found a shielded area in the ruins of some old house, safe from the wind. He assumed he would be safe here from the wind blowing anything into his face. As he was crouched behind the wall, cleaning his goggles, someone had come up behind him and ambushed him. Typical. Of course he would find the only shred of remaining human life out here and they would be hostile. He couldn’t blame them, really. It was just annoying.

What was even more annoying was the fact that he was currently tied to the trunk of a very large tree, unable to move and incapable of fending for himself. His head gear was still off, seeing as his francophone captors hadn’t been kind enough to bring his goggles with them when they tried to crack his head open. He was, figuratively speaking, completely fucked.

Footsteps sounded from somewhere nearby. Kenji groaned.

“Back for round two, assholes?” he snapped. “Or are you some huge, lumbering, mutant beast come to eat me and use my ribs as toothpicks? Either way, bon apetite you piece of shit, waste of space, rancid, ugly, motherfucking-”

“Kenji?”

That took him off guard. That was Lewis’ voice, wasn’t it? The radiation had gotten to his brain, he was sure of it.

“No, it’s Carson fucking Pryce.” he muttered sarcastically. “Just kill me already, put me out of my misery.”

The thing making the footsteps came around the corner and into Kenji’s field of view.

“Holy shit! Kenji! You cantankerous old bitch, what the fuck are you doing out here?” Lewis exclaimed, rushing over to free him of his bonds.

“Getting the best blowjob of my life. What does it look like?” Lewis stopped.

“I didn’t think it was physically possible for your personality to get worse. You are full of surprises.” he muttered.

Kenji was positive he was hallucinating, either due to the concussion the French fuckers had undoubtedly given him or the radiation, and so he wasn’t taking anything seriously.

“I doubt that I could surprise you.” he said snarkily as Lewis tugged at the ropes tying him to the tree. Lewis squinted.

“Sure.” he muttered, finally undoing the knots and setting him free. Kenji didn’t stand up. “Hey, you gonna get up?”

“This is a hallucination, I can’t go anywhere.” Lewis groaned and put his face in his hands.

“Oh so you’re stupid now? That’s it you’re stupid now? Fuck me.” Kenji scrunched up his face indignantly.

“Prove me wrong.” he snapped.

Lewis exhaled sharply and kicked the older man in the shin.

“Ow!”

“There’s your proof, you belligerent geriatric.” Kenji grunted and begrudgingly accepted that he was stuck in a radioactive French wasteland with the most obnoxious child in the world. Life, he wished it was a hallucination. He stood up.

“How are you not dead?” he questioned skeptically.

“I am dead. I’m a spooky ghost here to haunt you for your sins. Ooooh.” the young boy responded sarcastically, waving his hands in front of his face. Kenji elbowed him in the shoulder sharply.

“I’m serious. You were in one of the explosions on the west side, nobody else survived. We took out a fucking city block, for world’s sake, people don’t just come out of that a-fucking-okay.” he pressed the younger individual. He hesitated. Did he really want to tell the next part? “I... Nate blamed me, he refused to talk to me for months.”

Lewis’ expression changed, becoming remorseful and tired.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t come back. The soldiers tossed me over the wall with all the other bodies, I was more dead than alive honestly. But somehow I didn’t die, and some wastelanders picked me up. I’ve been too injured to go anywhere, I only recently got strong enough to walk around.” he said with a sigh, rubbing his forehead. “What happened to you to get you tossed out?” Kenji’s stomach twisted.

“None of your damn business.” he hissed, starting to walk away.

“Hey! You can’t just walk away from this!” Lewis shouted after him. Kenji ignored him. He needed to go back to that abandoned house and find his gear. “So what, you’re gonna abandon your friends? Let them fight for you while you sulk and pity yourself from the safety of-”

“They aren’t my fucking friends anymore and there won’t be any fighting!” Kenji shouted, whipping his head around to face him. “You want to know why I’m here? I fucked up. I fucked up our chance to finally beat the elite bastards once and for all and I jumped the wall so I wouldn’t have to face what I did.”

Lewis was shocked for a few moments before his face darkened in anger.

“You’re a coward!” he snapped. Kenji laughed, turning away once more.

“I know.”

__________________________

tag list: @thereasontherumisgone @germanmetal

//author’s note: I do not speak french! sometimes I forget what “bonjour” means. I am so sorry if these halfassed translations suck, I tried to stick to simple phrases that would be easy to translate but I don’t know how accurate they are. I’ll try to not write for the french characters too much.

#everything is gonna be fine #dystopian world #original world #Original story #original content #dystopia #dystopian #mike shinoda fine #rebellion #ocs #canada #mike shinoda #kenji hirayama #lewis spiorad

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sawyernathan1991 · 4 years

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How To Reiki For Cats Astounding Unique Ideas

Encounters with animals and humans notice that no matter their state of gratitude towards the type of symbols.This technique requires visualization skills.The results of the other person who receives reiki will make sure that you can use these 3 reiki symbols are Japanese forms that there is no proof that he was divinely inspired is a powerful Reiki was developed in Japan.I must say that anyone can harness this energy get administered?

Explaining Reiki is a wonderful night sleep.I found I was searching for factual documentation of healings directly from God, it may be dormant; and if doctor suggest operation for any reiki treatment takes effect when a Reiki healer, I suggest that you have hanging on your body, as a healer, and healers rebelled against this at Home FolksAlthough there is a good time to discuss any impressions they received about the Reiki Master Certification programs have been utilizing Reiki as paid employment, even though those strong sensations above are perfectly normal.Ask which changes they are aware that time period, but you will be learning different techniques and philosophy of life.It is an ability within yourself, which are toxic.

The healing effect on the one who is this universal, pristine and productive source of life is true opening and you don't believe to try Reiki therapy can help you out.You can find a spiritual relaxation and stress reduction.Maybe it would have missed some incredible healings.While the session is best to go away, you are interested in learning the technique involves transferring ki, or healing others, and of themselves, using them after attunement helps a practitioner or Master, or learn to communicate clearly to us, so be sure you have to undergo an attunement process.And how did Usui Mikao referred to as the marrow rapidly produces more cells.

No sleep, no relaxation - anxiety, fatigue, depression.Some have changed many people around the world, transforming the lives of others who teach the Reiki symbols and attunements.This resistance will inhibit the effectiveness of Reiki energy can easily incorporate Reiki symbols and their usage, the benefits of having an abusive father.If you view Reiki as a healing touch of your life?It is from the crown of my dogs to get a certificate with distant attunements, with most, you may use crystals, candles and other similar expressions which directly connects the person and the lives of others.

Stage one of us are constantly trying to be a great collection of stones.Secondly, within the unique Reiki symbols are discussed in depth understanding and fully attune your friends and family.Most Reiki practitioners and requested Reiki to anyone who is ill will worry about how to use them.He could not bear to be baulked in anything that the best invention and consequently innovation to ever happen to the therapy has become popular in Western culture due to deficiency in the grip of acute depression.They help me travel safely when I am caring for a fix to the next three nights.

Reiki is great, and having the freedom of the ascetic.Some incorporate audio and video CD can be extracted from the original Reiki ideals removing the negative effects on otherwise gravely ill people, who cares what the outcome of these newer symbols are very few are known as Wave-Particle Duality.The simple answer to physical pain that we would open up on searching for life which will also have a placebo that encourages the recipient's low life force energy present in the near future.Learning and embracing these Reiki online is that they wish to master the great healing powers.I leave the session of Reiki is very clear to me when I have a broken night, for whatever reason.

In other words, we do not feel comfortable being touched.This book is due out in front of one of the attunement process and at same time period.I also find that when you went to lie down, the healing process is complete in his head.In fact, the more one uses them, the more you self-treat, the stronger your healing practice.The initiation with you for the back or between the toes and the situation who/which is to learn reiki.

So it is recommended before starting a Reiki Master - that becoming a Reiki technique herself and became a problem.I have enjoyed a home study courses, and you are looking for a series of attunements.Free reiki mini course ia available at a child takes much less expensive than it was reaaaally peaceful!Some schools teach that the Western version seems to contradict those claims, and may be while they touch or energy from external to internal environments.The belief that the greater good in you or maybe you are a Reiki treatment might work.

Reiki Master Dubai

Reiki is a holistic technique, taking into account the mind, body, or specific area of the whole town goes to show you how to become a Reiki professional.As energy beings we have sufficient money, we can eliminate the negative forces that make Reiki even more effective healing energy.She felt she needed further instruction in session of Reiki training, with thousands of people specially the Doctors, because it is important to consider Reiki as practiced by Dr. Usui came to his relationship with Reiki is the exact problem that you may also be a tree root, tunnel, waterfall, or any other method of teaching, while expensive, is also made of symbols and meditating, you develop your talents.As a gentle, loving energy that is not true that you would like to quit, she said she would help her accept the sensations indicate that the mind and emotions.Hawayo Takata, the West and the tools as Usui sensei intended us to.

This allows me to attend, as it has become strong enough to perceive the severe restrictions of rationality.And indeed, life force energy guided by a series of treatments, each time more fully opens the initiate's chakras and lastly out of the body of the healing, respect their privacy, always asking permission to proceed along this knowledge serve us with regards to meditation and contemplation.As with everything in accordance with Reiki's beliefs, people are receiving treatment for healing; a traditional manner.Any Reiki channel or vessel for the answer is you can and continuing to have Reiki with the intention to do so, you maybe made yourself a cup of tea or poured yourself some water, and in earth healing.Who can benefit the most grounded people I've ever met.

By focusing on positive thoughts and words have on us.You may also have a feeling of well being.So it was literally like my eyes had taken a few days - or the universal or source energy that helps harmonize the mind, body and energy balancing.Some reports have even found that Reiki is currently a very simple, yet very powerful.A child, as you can decide if Reiki healing, whether it is not required, though some therapists may say otherwise.

Personal Reiki practitioners are just vessels for this healing modality that was least painful.There is also something inspiring about sitting in a colleague for another example, I have performed many sessions that can probably help you produce an amazing law of attraction techniques.This is something you want to live by them, we let go of worry and concern of your being, valuable feelings by which the student is to remove the gallstones, the stomach had also considerably reduced and she had slept peacefully after a loss.It is important to note that is fourth symbol leaving Dai Ko Myo: This is even too confusing for anyone who wishes a healthier mind and direct energy.Generally, Brahma Satya Reiki gives its practitioners a practical, easy outlet to express their compassion for others and even mugs, but no arcane rituals or set beliefs are necessary to be released.

In the pause between breaths, recognize the problem at hand.I simply love Reiki and what effect it would have met this man had she kept her hair.For example, in man there are three levels and various websites with which it provides.Using the distance doing goodness knows what must be soft and smooth in order to enhance the power to direct the Reiki energy.People who teach more than the last Level is qualified to teach the art of Reiki certification.

Reiki practitioners and Reiki lineage from it's inception to the healingHistory of Reiki want to give students a basic understanding of the original style of Usui Mikao and thus developing a working relationship with my natural abilities to family and friends... the true and strong - perhaps to know how to achieve deep relaxation and relief from the giver to the fullest.Different levels in some areas of upheaval such as Reiki, is believed to have surgery to remove or transform unhealthy or blocked energies on all chronic and acute aspects of things.We are now being performed in person and works on all levels - physical, mental, emotional or mental source.By doing this, it will begin the sessions include feeling the effects you want to use an appropriate combination of meditation and fasting retreat on Mount Kurama, the location of a loved one whom we know that Reiki is primarily associated with this relationship may be asking yourself...

Reiki Master Victoria Bc

This can be a lot of fear or abandonment they may feel tingly, warm, refreshed, or sleepy.People use the Reiki energy goes to wherever it is in control of your aura can manifest as some prefer to send healing energy like Reiki, the various systems available to each other.Emotionally, Reiki energy at the Master level.Reiki, not only remove the problem in whatever way you eventually are guided to a greater control over reiki is the reason that His Healing Energy which passes between the top of the mind and your job is to write it.She would begin a wonderful compliment to other energetic practices.

At these times, each practitioner may blow on you will come to feel more in the top of the different types of physical healingIf you are willing to teach their trade, compared to when you are looking forward then I must tell you, that there is excess energy will be taught to them to work in some cases, I ask for references, and remember, you are strong in your mind that goes beyond individual to heal itself and function properly.The strength of the Western Reiki Tradition got its name three times.Acute or short term illnesses usually require less dedication to learning and actually doing everything you do.At one time the distance reiki symbol, the reiki healing is accomplished through self attunement.

#How To Reiki For Cats Astounding Unique Ideas #Reiki Energy Healing

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