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cats-and-cockatiels · 3 years

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come to me now (and relive the past)

It is Gran Torino who calls All Might, and it is All Might who tells Aizawa about the Stain Incident.

“I thought you should know,” the Pro Hero tells his coworker. Blood speckles his lips, as it often does in his diminished form, and the taste of electricity is in the air. Rain batters at the windows of the staff lounge, and lightning lances from the boiling clouds, thunder rumbling in contrary reply a few seconds later.

“Thank you,” Aizawa Shouta says. He is staring at All Might without seeing him, his mind spinning, thoughts shattering against each other in haphazard array. He can’t think, can’t concentrate, can’t comprehend what All Might has said—can’t do anything but stare at the wall through All Might’s head, hands clenched into fists in his lap.

“Aizawa,” All Might says, and his voice is stern. “Eraserhead.”

Aizawa blinks—and he feels his Quirk deactivate. He had not even realized he had activated it. All Might offers him a shaky half-grin, then reaches across the table to grip his shoulder. All Might squeezes, and for half a second Aizawa feels reassured.

“I know how you’re feeling,” All Might says. “Trust me. I feel the same way: helpless, anxious, angry.”

Aizawa narrows his eyes at the foremost hero in the world. “Just what does Midoriya mean to you?” he asks. It is a question he has asked before—but All Might has never given him an answer.

He supposes he shouldn’t have expected an answer this time either, Aizawa reasons when All Might stands abruptly, body rippling out into its full, heroic size. All Might smiles, brilliant and blinding, and laughs.

“He is my student!” he exclaims, “just as he is yours.” Then he turns on his heel and strides out of the staff lounge, leaving Aizawa alone with his thoughts.

---

The journey to Hosu takes longer than Aizawa expected. The train reroutes twice, and he is forced to switch trains twice more before he arrives at the Hosu station. When at last he steps onto the platform, however, it is to the smell of smoke still hanging in the air, and to the blare of police whistles and shouts.

He threads his way through the crowd, skirting women holding children, men holding briefcases, children holding stuffed animals to their chests. He is, for once, not dressed in his hero outfit, but in jeans and a plain, grey shirt. His capture weapon, however, is still looped around his neck in the parody of the ever-popular scarf; he hopes no one will recognize it for what it is—though he doubts they will. As an Underground Hero he is rarely, if ever, in the spotlight, and there are very few people who know how to use the kind of capture weapon he utilizes.

With his hands shoved deep into his pockets, a laptop bag slung over one shoulder, his head ducked, and his hair hanging in front of his face, Aizawa hopes that he will blend in with the rest of the crowd—will be nothing more than another citizen aggressively trying to go about his business in the wake of the attack the night before. The subtlety is most likely unnecessary—but Aizawa has not lived as long as he has as an Underground Hero by being careless. He does not know who all is still watching, whether heroes or villains, and he doesn’t want anyone to know he is here.

The city is trashed. Streets are cordoned off every few blocks: red and yellow police tape stretch between orange cones; striped barriers section sidewalks from roads; police officers stand on street corners with whistles, batons, and weapons holstered on their hips. Aizawa sees multiple canine patrols, the dogs on high alert with hackles raised and lips pulled back from fangs, their handlers struggling to keep them under control. They do not, Aizawa supposes, like the scent—or even the memory of the scent—of the nomu.

Buildings are broken, sidewalks are cracked, and char marks litter the concrete and asphalt—Endeavor’s doing, Aizawa assumes. Two of the nomu bodies have already been removed from the public eye, taken to some underground lab deep in the mountains, where they can be dissected and studied—but, Aizawa sees as he walks the city, one has been left where it was embedded in the streets.

He is at the juncture between two residential side streets when he sees the partially dismembered nomu protruding from the ground ten yards away, hidden behind two walls: one of plastic and tape, and one of human flesh. Dogs bark, men shout, and the crack of asphalt smacks through the air with all the alacrity of a gunshot.

Curiosity rises in his chest, choking his lungs and swallowing his heart. It pricks at him, gnaws at him, needles him until his feet move of their own accord toward the dead enemy. A hole has been blasted through its chest, one of its arms has been shredded from its body, and the visible brain is charred black and ashy. It is, quite clearly, dead.

Still, as Aizawa walks towards it, his boots scuffing pebbles and blasted chunks of concrete out of his way, he swears, for just a moment, that he sees the nomu move: a twitch of its fingers, a twitch of its beady eyes, a twitch of its skin.

Adrenaline slams through Aizawa’s body like a knife through flesh, electrifying and enthralling and illuminating. He is moving before he realizes what his body is doing, lunging and reaching for his capture weapon before he can tell himself what he is seeing is not real. The “scarf” comes away in his hands, unspooling around the goggles he always wears around his neck—just in case—and his hair lifts as his Quirk activates.

“Stand back!”

The voice cracks through the adrenaline flooding his blood with fire, through the glass on Aizawa’s eyes, through the fearpanicdesperation pounding in time with his heart. Aizawa sees the wall of police, sees the dogs and the batons and the guns, sees the dead nomu at their feet—and twists his body in on itself, sending himself tucking and rolling onto the ground in a desperate abortion of his attack. He comes up on his knees, one hand propped against the asphalt, his capture weapon falling uselessly to the ground and the red glow leaving his eyes.

“What was that?” he hears one of the police officers mutter, accompanied by an equally confused, “Who is that?”

He straightens, flicking his capture weapon back around his neck, already fishing in his pocket for his wallet.

“My apologies,” he says stiffly, flipping his wallet open and showing the nearest officer his hero’s license. “I thought I saw movement in the nomu.”

The officer’s eyebrows raise. The officer is a young woman, with dark hair and vibrant green eyes that are too bright to be natural. They flick across his license, taking in his hero name—and her eyebrows rise further still.

“Eraserhead,” she says, and it is loud enough for the others to hear her. Aizawa might imagine it, but he thinks, for an instant at least, that a sigh of relief shuffles through the gathered officers.

He hates that the police in a city he has never worked in know his name—hates that anyone knows his name—but after the USJ Incident, he knows his name and face were plastered across every news station for days. It will be years before he will be able to go back undercover as he once could; his face, and his name, are now too well-known in conjunction with UA and the Incident, as he thinks of it still.

Still, though, notoriety may have its perks, he realizes as the officers move aside to allow him closer to the nomu body. It means they do not hinder him, or even speak out when he kneels beside the corpse and reaches out to touch its cold, dead flesh. It means no one questions him, even when his breath quickens in his chest, and his eyes narrow, and his heart pounds, his eyes flickering red, red, red for one heartbeat, then another heartbeat, then another. It means they allow him to leave without demands for answers, or asking him to accompany them to the station.

And if he smells blood in the air, tastes copper in his mouth, and sees the world filtered crimson as he walks away, he says nothing—and neither do they.

----

He eats dinner in a small, out-of-the-way café in a relatively untouched part of the city. He sits alone in the corner, nursing a water with lemon and a cold sandwich, wishing the drink was stronger and the food was warmer. He watches the pedestrians walk past the large windows that fill one full wall of the café, and watches his fellow diners. They are all oblivious—all unaware of the dangers that Aizawa knows lurks in their midst.

The nomu were defeated, yes, and the Hero Killer detained. But the fact that there were three more nomu than Aizawa had thought there were, the fact that the League of Villains was purportedly behind the nomu attack, and that they were also working with Stain all pointed to something very dark and very ominous—even if Aizawa could not put together all of the disparate puzzle pieces just yet.

More than that, though, there was evil in every gathering of humanity. From cutthroats to robbers to worse, Aizawa had seen the darkest dredges of the human soul, and he knew just how far a person could fall—even a seemingly innocent and good-hearted person. There was evil buried in every heart, darkness in every mind. It was only a matter of unlocking it, of watering it, of tending it and letting it grow. Any one of these people could become the next Stain, the next member of the League of Villains, the next one he would have to take down to—

To what? To protect the human race? The notion of good versus evil? The peace of society?

Somehow, none of those things felt particularly right.

Fear, crashing through his chest, echoing between his ribs, sparking against his skull. Anger, threading through his fingertips, igniting in his lungs, pooling in his mouth. Determination, steeling his bones, strengthening his resolve, tearing through his terror.

He could hear his students behind him, 13 hurriedly reassuring them. He could hear the villains below him, laughing raucously and jeering at him, at them, at 13. He could hear the thrum of his own blood in his veins, the breath in his lungs, the beat of his heart in his chest.

He was so, so alive.

Then: pain.

Splinters of bone, and fragments of thought, and droplets of blood. His own voice tearing at his throat as he screamed, screamed, screamed. The taste of copper, of iron, of death in his mouth. The coursing heat of blood, blood, blood on his face, on his arms, in his chest and stomach and mouth.

“You really are so cool, Eraserhead!”

They’re all going to die. They’re all going to die. They’re all going to—

“Sir?”

Aizawa blinks, looks up and to his right, sees the waitress who had been serving him standing at his elbow. She is small, with frizzy, dark hair and dark eyes, a worried frown stamped on her lips and her brow. She is holding the tablet with his check, a stylus in her other hand, her apron an off-white. The air is cold against Aizawa’s skin, the hum of the air conditioning accenting the chatter of the patrons, the clang of pots and pans echoing from the kitchen. The chair is real and solid beneath him, the table’s surface cool under his palm and fingers. The smell of grease and old food and cleaner is stark in his nose, snapping his thoughts away from the artificial smell of recycled air, of long-standing chlorinated water, of man-made mountains.

“Sir,” the waitress says again, then asks, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” says Aizawa. His elbow throbs. His arms twinge. The scar beneath his eye prickles.

“Do I know you?” the waitress asks.

“I doubt it,” Aizawa lies.

“Hm,” says the waitress. Then she shrugs, and offers him the check. “Thanks for coming in,” she says, and then disappears back into the kitchen.

Aizawa pays, then stands and leaves without a glance back. If anyone stares at him—at the scar on his face, at the capture weapon around his neck, at the dark hair that falls into his eyes—he does not care.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

----

He is halfway to the hotel he chose to stay at while in Hosu when he sees him: a tall, broad-shouldered figure cast in shadow by the flames dripping from shoulders and face. Endeavor walks down the street without glancing to either side, his stride purposeful and his footsteps certain, confident that no one will stop or hinder him while he wears his glare.

Aizawa quickens his pace, pulling abreast of the Spotlight Pro, and then falls into step beside him.

“Hello, Endeavor,” he says casually.

Endeavor stops abruptly, whirling with eyes narrowing. He takes in Aizawa’s face, the scar beneath his eye, the capture weapon looped around his neck.

“Eraserhead,” he growls, folding his arms across his chest. “What are you doing here?”

Aizawa shrugs. “I could ask you the same thing,” he says blithely.

“I am here doing hero work,” Endeavor bites out. “I cannot say the same for you.”

Aizawa squints and cants his head to one side, as if he is considering his next words—as if he is considering the man standing before him. The truth is, he already knows what he is going to say, and where he wants this conversation to go; he only wants the façade of stumbling blindly down a dark alleyway in the middle of the night.

“And why is that, Endeavor?” he asks. “Can the Pro who fought the nomu first not take an interest in their continued existence?”

Endeavor frowns. “You nearly died the time you fought them,” he says pointedly. “I wouldn’t think you’d be so keen on repeating the experience.”

“Ah, but the nomu are dead, are they not?” Aizawa points out. “You killed them all, didn’t you?”

Endeavor hesitates. Aizawa waits.

“What do you know?” Endeavor asks, instead of answering Aizawa’s question.

“Only a little,” Aizawa lies.

“Hm,” says Endeavor. Then, “Walk with me.”

He turns and begins down the street again, heading toward the intersection at the end of the road. Aizawa falls in step beside him, shoving his hands into his pockets. He hopes, futilely he suspects, that no one will notice him in Endeavor’s shadow.

“The nomu attacked unexpectedly,” Endeavor says, “and it seems as if they were in league with the Hero Killer.”

“Hmm,” hums Aizawa. “So is that why you were in Hosu City when the nomu attacked? Because of the Hero Killer?”

Endeavor shoots a look down at Aizawa, who keeps his face blank.

“Yes,” says Endeavor. “I was hunting the Hero Killer.”

“And you found him,” Aizawa says. “According to the paper I read this morning—”

“Yes,” says Endeavor brusquely, cutting him off. “I found him, after disposing of the nomu, and defeated him as well.”

“I see,” says Aizawa thoughtfully. He had not truly expected Endeavor to tell him the truth—not without him revealing that he already knew who had really taken down the Hero Killer. To do so would be dangerous, to both Endeavor and to Aizawa’s students. Still, it answers a question Aizawa had wondered about Todoroki’s father.

“So why are you really here, Eraserhead?” Endeavor asks, when Aizawa makes no move to say anything else, but also makes no move to leave Endeavor’s side.

“I told you,” says Aizawa. “I was curious about the nom—”

“I’m not so sure that’s it,” Endeavor cuts in.

“Oh?” Aizawa asks, the faintest hint of a grin curling his lips. “Then why am I here?”

“You’re here to open old wounds.”

Aizawa raises his eyebrows a fraction of an inch. “What old wounds do you speak of?” he asks.

“That scar on your face, for one,” Endeavor says bluntly. “I would think that the one who nearly died when facing the nomu would be less inclined to rush back to face the instrument of his downfall.”

Aizawa grins properly now. “How can the nomu have been my downfall when I am still standing, and it is not?” he asks.

“How indeed,” Endeavor says. He is silent for one step, two, before saying, “Or perhaps you are here for a completely different reason. Perhaps you are here to check on your students.”

Aizawa misses a step, catches himself, walks on. He had not thought that Endeavor would be so intuitive, and he hopes Endeavor did not see his reaction to his words. If he did, however, Endeavor makes no comment on it, and he does not look at him as they reach the corner of the street and the crosswalk there, and at last come to a halt.

“And why do you think I’d be here for that?” Aizawa asks, lacing his voice with just a drop of derision.

Endeavor finally turns and looks at Aizawa properly once more. His expression is stern, his face half bathed in light cast by his flames, half in shadow cast by the angles of his cheekbones, his brow, his chin.

“You fought 50 villains for your students,” Endeavor says, once more crossing his arms over his chest. “You fought 50 villains for your students, and though you did not win—you did not lose, either. It takes a great deal of fortitude—and a great deal of purpose—to achieve something like that.”

Aizawa smiles bitterly. “It depends on your definition of losing, I suppose.” It is more than he meant to betray, though he does not think Endeavor will realize what he has just said. Not, at least, the full implications of it.

“You are still standing,” Endeavor says, echoing what Aizawa had said but a moment before, “and they are not.”

“That’s true,” Aizawa says. He turns, cants his head to one side, looks Endeavor in the eye. “What do you want, Endeavor?”

“I want you to stay away from my son,” Endeavor says.

Aizawa smiles, bitter and broad, and asks, “And how am I supposed to do that, Endeavor? He is in my class, after all.”

“You know what I mean,” Endeavor growls.

“No,” Aizawa replies with a sharp edge of steel at the corners of the word. “I don’t.” He pauses for just a second, a breath, a heartbeat, and then he asks, dangerously soft, “Are you threatening me, Todoroki?”

Endeavor looks as though he’s been slapped in the face with an old dueling glove. “How dare you—” he starts to say, only for Aizawa to activate his quirk. Endeavor’s flames vanish from his face, leaving him looking suddenly pale and small. He twitches, takes half a step back as if Aizawa had slapped him again, looks around at the small group of onlookers that has gathered since they began their conversation.

“I don’t take well or kindly to threats,” Aizawa says softly, eyes glaring red. “Especially when they are threats that involve my students.”

Endeavor glares in return, takes a step back forward. “And what are you to your students?” he sneers, pitching his voice low. “Their father?”

Aizawa blinks and turns away. Endeavor’s fires flicker back into existence.

“I’m their homeroom teacher,” Aizawa says simply. He hesitates, then turns back to Endeavor and says with a carefully controlled smile, “And I daresay that’s a little more than what you can say.”

With that, he strides away, pushing his way through the gathering of onlookers. They give way before him, startled and almost-afraid—almost-afraid of the man who could silence Endeavor, the Number 2 Hero; almost-afraid of the man who could extinguish Endeavor’s flames. Their eyes follow him, and their shoulders turn to face him, as he threads his way through the crowd. He ducks his head as phone cameras click, and he wonders if he did the right thing by challenging Endeavor out in the open as he did.

Too late for regrets now, he thinks, and tucking his hands into his pockets, he leaves the crowd behind.

----

Aizawa spends the night in a run-down hotel in the middle of the city, some two blocks away from Hosu’s hospital. He doesn’t touch the lumpy bed, instead electing to sit at the pitted and stained table with his laptop, which glows blue against the darkness permeating the room. Aizawa leaves the lights off, but a sharp, yellow glow sneaks in through the cracks in the curtains, lining the thinly carpeted floor with footprints of light. The chair is squeaky and flat and even more uncomfortable than he assumes the bed would be, but Aizawa ignores the discomfort, instead slumping over the table with his chin resting on his folded hands, his elbows splayed out, his mouth flattened into a thin line.

He reads article after article about the Stain Incident, but none of them line up with what Aizawa knows to be the truth. Each paints a different picture—of Endeavor the hero, of Endeavor the villain—but few of them mention the students involved, and none of them, of course, give the students the credit for Stain’s capture. By the time the glow of a grey sunrise begins to creep through the yellow footprints on the floor, Aizawa’s eyes are gritty and tired, and all he wants is to lay down and go to sleep.

He doesn’t. Instead, he closes his laptop, packs it away, changes his shirt and loops his capture scarf around his neck, and leaves the room, locking it behind him.

Aizawa walks the two blocks to the hospital through a fine, misty rain, shoulders slouched and hair dripping. He walks in through the sliding double doors, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and meanders his way up to the main desk situated on the far end of the main foyer.

“Hi there,” the nearest woman behind the desk says, looking up at Aizawa. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m here to get some information on a few of your patients,” Aizawa says.

The woman frowns. “I’m sorry, sir,” she says, sounding put out, “but I’m afraid I can’t give any patient information to you, unless you are a direct relative or have jurisdictional relevance, such as being a pro hero involved in an on-going investigation.”

Aizawa looks at her, then says, “Lucky for me, I am a pro hero, and this has to do with my jurisdiction.” He pulls his wallet out of his pocket, flips it open, and shows the woman his hero license. “I’m running a tangential investigation into the Stain Incident, and I would like information on the three students who encountered him.”

“Ah,” says the woman, and after inspecting his hero license for a few seconds, nods and turns toward her computer. She taps on her keyboard for a few seconds, then says, “What information do you need?”

“What injuries did they sustain?”

“I don’t have access to that information.”

“Then get me someone who does.”

The woman sighs, taps on her keyboard for another few seconds, then she looks up at Aizawa and says, “I’ll have a nurse come and speak with you. If you’d like to take a seat in the waiting room, they’ll be out shortly.”

Aizawa turns and slouches over to the waiting chairs and takes a seat. He folds his hands in his lap and leans back against the back of the hard-cushioned chair, eyes half-closed and half-hidden behind his hair. He thinks while he waits—thinks of Todoroki, of Iida, of Midoriya. He thinks of revenge, and of pain begat by losing someone loved, and of the wrath and fury birthed by heartache. He thinks of Ingenium, and of a boy named Loud Cloud, and of his three students facing an unspeakable evil in a dark alley, alone.

The door into the back of the hospital opens, and a nurse walks out, looks around, calls, “Eraserhead?”

Aizawa stands and makes his way over to her, hands once more shoved into his pockets. She looks him up and down, then turns and leads the way out of the waiting room.

She takes him to a small office off of the main hallway, and gestures for Aizawa to sit in one of the small, plastic chairs situated across from the desk. He does so, and she brings up the computer sitting on the desk, accessing a set of files in the database.

“Their injuries were relatively minor, all things considered,” she says. “The worst was Iida Tenya, who suffered reparable nerve damage in his hands.”

A shot of ice arcs down Aizawa’s spine. “Nerve damage?” he asks.

“Yes,” says the nurse. She peers at him over the keyboard, then repeats, “It is reparable.”

Aizawa nods, and asks only, “What of Todoroki and Midoriya.”

The nurse tells him about their other, more minor injuries, Aizawa listening intently, and then asks if Aizawa has any other questions.

“What room are they in?” Aizawa asks.

“Room 213,” the nurse says, and closes her files.

“Thanks,” Aizawa says, and stands.

He slouches out of the office, hands once more in his pockets, feeling the nurse’s eyes on his back. He knows what she’s thinking—or, at least, what she’s likely thinking: surprise that he, of all people, is a pro hero, along with wariness and uncertainty about whether or not she just broke any laws by giving him the information she had. Lucky for her he was a pro hero—and one who was used to skirting around the edges of proprietary law, and thus knew what he could and couldn’t get away with.

Aizawa takes the elevator up to the second floor, then counts the doors on his way down the hallway. He reaches 213, and there he hesitates, waits, stops dead still, one hand half-raised as if to reach for the handle.

They don’t want you, a quiet, snide voice whispers in his mind. If they’d wanted you, they would have asked for you, not left it to All Might to tell you what truly happened.

Aizawa’s hand drops to his side.

The door cracks open.

Aizawa spins and turns on his heel, strides away from room 213. He hears footsteps shuffle out of the room behind him, hears a confused exclamation, hears someone call out after him, “Hello? Did you want something?” It is Todoroki.

Aizawa keeps walking, and hopes he is far enough away already that Todoroki does not recognize his capture scarf.

----

“Who was that?” Midoriya asks as Todoroki reenters the room, looking perplexed. His brow is furrowed, his lips flattened into a thin line.

“I don’t know,” Todoroki says. He hesitates, considering, then says, “But it looked like Mr. Aizawa.”

“Mr. Aizawa?” Iida repeats.

Todoroki nods.

Iida looks thoughtful.

“Why didn’t he come in?” Midoriya wonders. “Is he angry with us for going up against Stain ourselves? But if he was, wouldn’t he have come in to lecture us? Then again, perhaps he is waiting until we are back at school to give us the lecture—”

“Why would he care?” Todoroki asks, cutting Midoriya’s rambling off. “I mean, sure, he’s our teacher, but would he really come all the way out to Hosu City for us?”

“He did fight 50 villains for us,” Iida points out softly.

That kills the conversation. It is hard for any of them to talk about the USJ Incident, even now.

Finally, though, Midoriya says, “We could always ask him when we get back.”

“If he had a reason for not coming into the room—which I assume he does, because he never does anything without having a reason,” Iida says, “then he won’t tell us the truth.”

“How can you be certain?” Midoriya asks.

Iida smiles, but it is not a happy expression. “I know Mr. Aizawa,” he says.

“Don’t we all?” Todoroki asks.

But Iida shakes his head. “I’ve known him since I was a kid,” he admits to them softly.

“What?” Midoriya asks, shocked. “You mean to say—”

“My brother, Tensei, is good friends with him,” Iida confesses.

“Oh,” says Todoroki.

“Yeah,” says Iida. He shrugs then, and settles his shaking hands into his lap. “I’m not surprised he didn’t come in,” he says, but no matter how hard the other two press him, Iida refuses to explain his statement.

----

Aizawa walks back to his hotel room lost in thought and half-lost in direction.

I wasn’t there for them, he thinks. They needed me, and I wasn’t there.

He hates Stain, he realizes. Hates Stain, and hates the nomu, and hates the League of Villains.

Most of all, though, he hates himself.

I wasn’t there. He grimaces. Even if I had been, though, would I have made a difference?

He thinks of air chlorinated with standing water, thinks of recycled air, thinks of man-made mountains and man-made flames. He remembers the sound and feel of bones shattering in his arms, remembers the taste of blood in his mouth, remembers the crunch of his face impacting concrete not once, not twice, but three times.

What had he done then, but almost die in front of Midoriya, Asui, and Mineta? Nothing. He had accomplished nothing but traumatizing the very students he’d tried so hard to protect.

What good was he, then, if he couldn’t even protect his students from the villains they weren’t yet ready to face? What was he, but a failure?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

He reaches the hotel, climbs the stairs to his room, unlocks his door and steps inside. He looks at the bed. Turns away.

Instead, he goes to the bathroom, turns the shower on. He waits for the water to heat up to unbearably hot, then sheds his clothes like a second skin and steps under the spray. He lets the scalding water wash over his body, lets it burn his self-loathing into his bones with ribbons of red skin. He washes his hair with hotel shampoo—just another way of hating himself—and scrubs his arms and legs and torso until his skin stings from the abrasive washcloth.

He finishes, steps out of the shower, towels himself dry. He brushes his hair, uses the blow-dryer, changes into fresh clothes.

He has one more thing to do in Hosu, and then he can go home.

----

“He’s asleep, but you can come in.”

Aizawa steps into the sterile hospital room after the nurse, who closes the door behind him. She hovers close by as Aizawa pulls a chair up to Iida Tensei’s bedside, then turns and leaves after he sits.

Aizawa settles his masked face in his hands and, for a long time, simply sits there, head buried and eyes closed. Finally, though, he lifts his head and looks at Tensei, still asleep, and says, “You’d be proud of him, Tensei. Angry, probably, but proud.”

He sighs, settles back into his uncomfortable chair, and stares at Tensei. “I don’t even know if you’re going to be given the true story,” he admits softly. “But I hope they do tell you the truth. Even I wasn’t supposed to know, but thankfully All Might ignores rules as often as he ignores his own health, which is to say “he doesn’t care about them at all”.

“He did it, though, Tensei—him and two of his classmates. They avenged you. And I can’t say I’m glad about that, but God, I wish I’d been able to avenge Oboro. I wish there’d been some way for me to avenge him—some way to put the past in the past, and move on. I hope—I hope Tenya was able to do that with this. I hope…” He takes a deep breath, and shakes his head. “And now I’m rambling,” he curses softly.

Tensei stirs, opens his eyes. He turns his head, looks at Aizawa, and crooks a small smile. Aizawa can see it in his eyes.

“Shouta,” Tensei rasps. “So you did come to see me.”

“Hizashi and Nemuri send their love,” Aizawa says. “They’re sorry they can’t get away to come see you themselves. My kids are currently in the middle of internships, so I had some free time.”

“Right,” Tensei says. “How—how’s Tenya?”

Aizawa sighs. “He’s gonna be okay,” he tells Tensei.

“Going to be?” Tensei asks. He looks away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t—”

“No one did,” Aizawa says, cutting him off. “No one blames you either, Tensei.”

“Except me,” Tensei admits bitterly, softly.

Aizawa sighs again. “Except you,” he accedes. “You’re going to have to let this go someday, though,” he says.

“I passed my name on to Tenya,” Tensei says, instead of answering Aizawa’s statement. “I wanted him to be Ingenium.”

Aizawa grimaces, the pieces slotting into place. “I guess that makes more sense now,” he says aloud.

“What?” Tensei asks with a frown.

“Nothing,” Aizawa says with a flap of his hand.

“What?” Tensei asks again.

“They chose their hero names last week,” Aizawa says dismissively. “I was half-asleep for most of it.”

Tensei rolls his eyes. “Right,” he scoffs. He knows better than to think that Aizawa is anything but constantly aware of what is going on around him, no matter if he is feigning sleep or actually asleep. He hesitates then, and then asks, “Is everything okay, Shouta?”

“Yeah,” says Aizawa. “Why?”

Tensei looks at him suspiciously. “I’ve known you a long time,” he says. “I think I know when something is bothering you.”

“Reparable nerve damage.”

“I’m fine,” Aizawa says.

Tensei shakes his head against his pillow. “Look,” he says, and he sounds both tired and weak. “Whenever you say that, you aren’t fine.”

Aizawa rolls his eyes. “This isn’t about me,” he almost snaps. “I came to visit you, who is the one in the hospital for serious injuries.”

Tensei snorts. “Don’t tell me you’re about to start pitying me too.”

“Pity?” Aizawa asks. “When have you known me to ever pity anyone?”

“Fair point,” Tensei replies. “I’m just…tired.”

Aizawa thinks of bandages swathing his body from head to waist, thinks of casts around his arms, things of stitches beneath his eye. “I know,” he says, and the almost-teasing lilt is gone from his voice, leaving it heavy and dry. “It gets better.”

Tensei looks at him, sees the grim knowledge in his eyes and in the cant of his lips. He smiles. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Aizawa says. “Now get some rest. You need your strength.” He stands, and Tensei settles back against his pillows. “I’ll see you later,” Aizawa says, and with that, he leaves the hospital room, and his friend lying in the bed behind him.

----

“Did you get what you were looking for?” Hizashi asks him.

They are sitting at dinner in some fancy restaurant that his friend had wanted to try, cocktails at their elbows and seafood pasta in front of them. Aizawa picks at his noodles, swirling them around the bowl through the sauce, and tries not to think too hard.

“Yes,” he lies.

Hizashi laughs. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“No, I’m not,” Aizawa retorts.

“You are to me,” Hizashi says.

Aizawa rolls his eyes.

Hizashi is quiet for a moment, then he asks, “How’s Tensei?”

“He’s fine,” Aizawa grunts.

Hizashi sighs. “What aren’t you telling me?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Aizawa lies again.

Hizashi puts his fork and spoon down, leans forward over his plate. “You can’t keep holding this in forever,” he tells Aizawa.

“What’s that?”’

“Everything,” Hizashi says, waving a hand through the air to punctuate his point.

“Illuminating,” Aizawa grumbles.

Hizashi smiles. “I know,” he says, and sits back in his chair. “My point stands, though.”

Aizawa shakes his head. “I can,” he says.

“No—”

“Then I will.”

“That’s not how it works,” Hizashi points out.

“It is if I try hard enough.”

Hizashi sighs again, picks up his fork and stabs at his pasta. “Whenever you’re ready to face your problems,” he says, lifting a bite of food toward his mouth, “I’ll be there.”

They finish the rest of the meal in silence.

#aizawa shouta #all might #toshinori yagi #todoroki enji #todoroki shoto #midoriya izuku #iida tenya #iida tensei #yamada hizashi #bnha #my hero academia #fanfic

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cecilspeaks · 4 years

Text

169 - The Whittler

Let us go then, you and I When the evening is spread out Against the sky And pick up some Dell Taco for dinner. Welcome to Night Vale.

Beyond our town, past the Sand Wastes, in the Scrublands, sits the old general store. An oaken cabin style A-frame with boxed windows and a covered patio. On the porch there sits a swinging bench and upon that bench sits an elderly man, his face crumpled like a discarded letter, his eyes like tire tracks hidden beneath the shady brim of a straw cowboy hat. The old man holds a block of Elmwood the size of a potato in his right hand, and in his left, a carving jack. He whittles away at the knot of food, shaving off small corners, making detailed lines and indentations. The wood is all his world. And this world is quiet in his lap, on his bench, on his patio, before his general store amid the Scrublands past the Sand Wastes, which curl about Night Vale like the gentle but calloused hands of a father holding a newborn. As the old man whittles, he whistles sad songs with no words. But all those who hear the notes know they are bout loss. That they are about loneliness. But no one hears those notes. Not yet. No one sees the old whittler, nor his general store far out in an uninhabited stretch of desert. Not yet. If they did, they would wonder how an old general store, which was not there yesterday, was suddenly here today, a shop that by all accounts had weathered decades of abusive heat, wind, and isolation. They would hear his sad song, and the universal language of wistful sorrow would hide from them their understanding of time.

Let’s have a look now at sports. This Saturday night, the Night Vale High School Scorpions basketball team begins the district tournament. The Scorpions, having finished the season 18-2, earned the number 1 seat this year, but face some tough competition in their bracket. In the first round, they must battle another basketball team. This is logical, because most basketball tournaments feature other basketball teams. But the other basketball team is considered weaker than the Night Vale Scorpions, because a series of accumulated numbers indicates this is so. Should the Scorpions make it out of the first round and into the semi-finals, they would likely battle the number 4 seed, Nature. A tougher matchup to be sure, as Nature is unpredictable and ubiquitous. Nature’s style of play is best described as capricious and random, sometimes showcasing an array of flashy skills like sunny days, crystalline lakes, and otters. But Nature is a lockdown defensive force with effective momentum stoppers like lightning, quicksand, and poison ivy.

And in the finals, the favorites to compete for the title are Night Vale High School versus themselves, perhaps the toughest battle of them all, as each player must confront their harmful secrets, painful pasts, and darkest nightmares. Themselves are able to match the pace and power of Night Vale’s offensive and defensive sets, and we expect an excellent game. Good luck, Scorpions!

Most days the Scrublands are absent of humans, unapproachable and hostile. Today is not most days, as a line of Night Vale citizens has formed outside of the general store to see the old whittler and his wood menagerie. Parents ask for photos of their children with his work, and he only whistles and nods nearly imperceptibly. It could almost be interpreted as a slight twitch of the neck, rather than an affirming nod, but interpretations grow liberal when want is high.

Fathers and mothers snap pictures on their phones of children accepting gifts of wood figurines from the old man. The kids stare into the thin black ellipses that pass for his eyes, searching for the charming smile of elderly approval. But instead, seeing every single constellation of the night sky inside slits as thin as thistles and as black as tar. The historic expansion of the universe cannot be fully understood in words or even human thought, but it can be comprehended in the eyes of the tanned, wrinkled stranger.

The old whittler does not charge a penny for any of his work. He does not smile nor accept the many thank-yous coaxed out of the young ones by their manner-minded handlers. Nor does he accept requests. Children have many mascots, heroes, and cartoons that they love to possess via keepsake totems, and they repeatedly ask the old man for whittled representations of their favorite things, like Pokemon characters or one of Pixar’s anthropomorphic cars, or even Ted Allen, host of Food Network’s long running cooking competition “Chopped”. But the old whittler only carves what he carves. And he carves tiny horses, little cowboys, old-timey wagons, armadillos, tigers, tractors, almost anything you can think of. He finishes his sculpture of a koala bear and hands it to Amber Akinyi, who looks at her husband Wilson Levy, who is holding their sobbing, screaming 16-month-old baby Flora. The couple smiles together, never knowing that this balsa koala is everything they could have ever wanted beyond a loving family. Wilson begins to cry at the simple beauty of this craft. Amber begins to cry at the feeling of being understood, and young Flora stops crying as she fawns over the 6-inch tall antipodean marsupial, cartoonishly gnawing on a eucalyptus leaf.

The whittler also carves people. Small human figures, yes, like firefighters and ballerinas and clowns, but also actual people. Harrison Kip told the old man he wished to be happier in his own skin, and the old whittler grabbed Harrison’s cheeks and brought Harrison’s round, soft face before his own crinkled countenance, and Harrison screamed. He screamed in fear of what the old man was about to do. He also screamed in joyous anticipation, and the two screams were discordant like adjacent keys pressed simultaneously on a church organ. The old whittler pressed his knife against Harrison’s chin and began to pull the blade back, using the force of his thumb and the trunk of his forefinger. He repeated throughout Harrison’s assenting and defiant shouts, and after a few moments, Harrison stopped yelling and stood. His jaw squarer, his nose thinner and longer, his shoulders broader. And Harrison smiled.

Soon, the whittler began carving houses, roads, and city buildings. They were larger than the koala, much larger, for they were full-sized renditions of these things. He sliced and sawed away at block after block of red oak, hackberry and peachwood, forming new arteries of city travel, whole blocks of residences, and even cultural landmarks and venues. And the town of Night Vale, in a single late morning, began to expand into the distant and uninhabitable Scrublands of our desert.

Let’s have a look now at horoscopes. Gemini. Bury yourself in your work today, Gemini. Pile that garbage high and rest your weary head beneath its odorous, but comforting weight. Cancer. No more Mr. Nice Guy, Cancer. Today you are Mrs. Disinterested Lady. Get out there and be uninvolved in everything. Leo. You’re the talk of the town, Leo. Word after word is about you, and it is juicy! Like a rare steak, like a blood orange. Juicy like 2008 coutoure. Whew! You should hear what they’re saying. Virgo. You are not what you seem to be, Virgo. You seem to be a blackberry shrub, overreaching and prickly. But really you are a human, squishy and small. Continue to be the thorny fruit-bearing bush, though. Libra. You seek balance, Libra, but you are as lopsided as wealth disparity graph in an economist’s classroom. Share your worth, distribute your value fairly and compassionately, Libra, for the villagers are sharpening their tools. Scorpio. Hey Steve, love you pal!

Sagittarius. Your (-) [0:10:42] in relationships is going to be your downfall, Sagittarius. You’re an obsidian monolith, towering over everyone, absorbing all light, except the faint reflection of those who want to know what glows inside your stony façade. You don’t have to be a diamond, Sagittarius, or even quartz. Just try for salt lick, OK? I think you can achieve that.

Capricorn. Oh the games you play, Capricorn, you wicked little sea goat! You naughty caprine ocean dweller with your horns and scales, vexing us with your riddles and labyrinthian logic! The stars offer no advice for you, Capricorn, only envious praise. Aquarius. Put your money where your mouth is, but wash that money first, Aquarius. It’s been in so many other people’s mouths, ever since we added Jolly Ranchers as legal currency. Pisces. You’re swimming upstream, Pisces. Figuratively speaking, of course. I mean you are a human who does not need to actually swim upstream for food or a mate. Get out of the metaphorical stream and avoid the damage you’re going to do to your body and soul. Except for you, Tim. You’re a woodchuck, who is literally swimming upstream. I don’t like you, Tim, because you are eating my tulips. You can drown. Aries. Fake it til you pretend to make it, Aries. Taurus. Don’t hide your feelings, Taurus! Frame them! Display them ostentatiously on the wall. Mount them on plinths behind velvet robed (-) [0:12:33]. Curate an exhibit of your feelings, Taurus. Charge admission.

And now the news. The Night Vale City Council deliberated today on whether the old whittler in front of the old general store in the Scrublands was friend or foe to our town. Those voices arguing in favor of the old man celebrated the huge municipal expansion he was creating so quickly onto undeveloped land.

“This new infrastructure would have taken us dozens of years and millions of dollars to deploy, and he has accomplished it all in half day!” these voices said in unison. “Plus,” they added, “he whittled a little army man for my kid, a bracelet for my wife, and a sweater for our cat. It’s everything we ever wanted!”

The dissenting voices, and they were few, could only argue that he failed to acquire proper permits for any of this construction, let alone an outdoor vendor’s license which is mandatory even for giveaways. Excepting restaurant samples, marketing promotions, and military dispersion of chemtrails. The many-voiced, uni-bodied creature that is the City Council, huffed in nearly unanimous support for this old man. His sad whistling, his prolific whittling, and his beneficence to our city. “Did you see?” said there of the voices, “that inside the general store there’s everything you could ever need. Cans, boxes, shelves, counters! Walls. It’s amazing. Everything is craved from a single block of wood, and it’s all connected! No glue or bolts or rivets anywhere.” “He’s a deft hand,” concurred four other voices. “How does he even find single blocks of wood that huge?” wondered a solo voice aloud. “Whatever!” the entire City Council roared in unison. “That old man is a superb whittler!”

And now financial news. [hysterical laughter Ha ha hahahaha hahaha every-everything’s fine! It’s just dandy! Uh, thank you for asking.

And now back to our top story. Out in the Scrublands, an entire wooden suburb has grown from the withered hands and sharp knife of the old whittler, who has for the first time today, moved from the porch of his general store. He stands now upon a stage, a round platform on the center of a great amphitheater, which he personally carved deep into the cracked, red rock of the desert floor. The people of Night Vale gather and sit on wood plank rows, which curve in a semi-circle around the old man on the stage. Each person in attendance holds in their hands a whittled object given to them as they entered the audience space. The items are all different, esoteric, and unique, each item and unexpected gift of the whittler. Each item the very thing they have always wanted, even if it was never what they thought they wanted. They hold gently their presents, protecting them with their very lives. The whittler, with his straw hat still shading his keyhole eyes and riverbend mouth, stands before the people of Night Vale who sit in an arena of his own making, each cradling a beloved statuette of his own making. The old man reaches out and takes the hand of his bride. She, of course, is of his own making as well. She is craved of weeping cedar. Her veil, though entirely wood, is somehow translucent, and her sorrowful eyes are faintly visible behind the intricate work of the whittler’s blade. The old man whistles once again, and the crowd whistles along with him. They know the song now. It lives in them like longing, like blood. Like a soul. They know every word of the wordless (-) [0:16:51], and the notes of loneliness spread across the Scrublands to the mountains’ edge and echo back in the key of hope, with a lilt of contentment and satisfaction. They will only be happy when he is happy and he is, indeed, happy. As the whittler clutches the hand of his newly carved betrothed, the clouds part, revealing the happiest thing of all: The weather.

[“Embroidery Stars” by Carrie Elkin http://carrieelkin.com/]

Into the Scrublands I went, myself already as happy as I could ever be for I was with my own true love, my husband. I journeyed to see the whittler for myself, as an effort of journalism, a chronicler of interesting events. I wanted for nothing. My happiness cannot be improved. Or so I believed.

When I arrived, the whittler more than 100 feet a way, and through a mass of thousands, greeted me with a nod so unobtrusive, I believed it to be a trick of the eye. But from the distance, I could see the whole of the universe in those dark eyes under dark shadow, behind the final violet of sunset. I knew he meant me.

Carlos and I stepped to the podium, and the old man opened his palm to reveal an original carving just for me. I had hoped it was a Nintendo Switch, but it was a [sea plane] [0:23:05]. Carlos, like a child on Santa’s lap, cooed and asked the old man for a superconductive supercollider. And the old whittler, his burlap cheeks heavy with gravity and history, reached into the breast pocket of his (-) shirt and handed Carlos a tiny wooden rose. Carlos hugged his rose to his chest, and I my (sea plane). The whittler took the hand again off his bride and gazed upon her, her veiled eyes met by his boundless stare. They stood like that for more than an hour, not speaking. The only sounds were the cicadas chirping and the crowd whistling.

But the tune faded, and soon only the cicadas cut through the silence of a still desert twilight. And one of us, Larry Leroy, stood and walked on to the stage. He touched the old man’s shoulder. The old man did not turn. He did not speak. He collapsed into black ash. Then his bride, then the seats beneath us, it all gave way to crumbling nothing. Then the buildings and roads and even the general store turned into ash. Finally, every one of our object dissipated, like Eurydice almost free from Hades. A gentle cool breeze arrived to sweep our hope away.

We returned home, wordless, with occasional whistles of the whittler’s tune, once again in a sad and lonesome key. Our cherished gifts, we told ourselves, were nothing more than baubles, ephemera, however blessed or magical. They were mere things, not love, not family, not true love, they were objects, toys. Props. Distractions. They were everything we have ever wanted, because we could hold them, see them, touch them. We can no longer do that, but we can remember what it was like. The rough of the wood against the soft of our hand.

Stay tuned next for our new game show: “Name all the nouns!”

And as always, good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Give a man and a fish and he’ll wonder what your deal is. Teach a man to fish and he’ll ask you once again to please leave him alone.

#welcome to night vale #wtnv #wtnv transcripts #episode 169 #the whittler

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ua-list · 5 years

Text

HISTORY - MAJOR EVENTS

YEAR ONE:

RAVE NIGHT

... don’t ask

ERI’S KIDNAPPING

A long, miserable period caused by the first of many, many alternates to be introduced into the world. A villain version of Deku captures Eri and pulls her into the League. Unable to save her in time, the heroes are forced to witness her eventually being dumped, seemingly abandoned by the League. In actuality, an attempt at brainwashing the young girl was made to try and force her to become a double agent, one of the few that end up working for the villains.

THE MULTIVERSE

Inexplicably, different versions of characters from different universes start to appear. Most notably, alternates from a fantasy world, as well as ones from a world dubbed the prototype world, start to appear and assimilate with their counterparts.

HANAHAKI STRIKES

General Studies student Ayameko spreads an infection of Hanahaki Disease with her quirk to the following: Iida, Monoma, Kaminari, Kamakiri, Bakugou and Inasa, resulting in multiple hospitalizations and a whole lotta trauma.

COMPRESS’ MISTAKE

After a drunken attempt to get close to the students, Mr. Compress reveals himself and the League’s hidden whereabouts to the heroes. He is arrested while the rest of the League is forced to scatter. Victorious, the heroes try and get through to the man, who is encouraged to rehabilitate and rejoin society.

THE TRAITOR PLOT

Uraraka Ochako, out of her desperation to help her family, begins to fall to darkness as she helps assist the League by leaking information for monetary gain. Similarly, Monoma Neito is slowly manipulated into a dependance on the villains intruding on his life. The two are later forced to assist in one of the biggest villain attacks against UA thus far.

HALLOWEEN

UA hosts a Halloween Carnival followed closely by a Ball, courtesy of All Might and Vlad King! The celebration itself (along with all the after parties) sparks a whole lot of drama between the classes. In the midst of all the chaos, the League advances their plot against the heroes.

Blueprints of the school’s pipe system are stolen and, as a result, a serum to cause quirklessness is slipped into the water supply of the school by Toga. Any and all food and drink was contaminated, causing anyone to consume them to lose their quirk.

QUIRKLESS WEEK

The week after the Halloween attack. The students and heroes inside struggle with the loss of their quirks. Halfway through, All Might and Present Mic are contacted by the anonymous villain Mystery. While Present Mic is only forced to select one of his students for an unknown role in a future plot, All Might is threatened into handing over brief control of the security system. Blackmailed with the threat of an unknown amount of casualties on the school, All Might surrenders briefly to Mystery’s will.

Upon agreeing, he is gifted with the captured Toga, who Mystery was using to ransom. As it appears, Mystery and their associates has begun to wage a war against the League, taking over their plot for their own purposes.

All Might is allowed 24 hours to warn the students of what’s coming, attempting to get as many as possible to temporarily leave the school. The rest, after the day is over, is trapped inside as the school goes under lockdown, entry or exit completely and totally banned until further notice.

LOCKDOWN:

Two days into lockdown, Mystery and their partner Himi attack and terrorize the trapped students of UA. Upon waking, students find themselves handcuffed to their beds with no choice but to await their fates as the two villains pick them off, one by one. While most of the students actually manage to escape and save each other, the following victims were still left badly wounded:

Deku and Bakugou kidnapped, drugged, and attacked to the point of near death

Todoroki is rendered quirkless for an indefinite amount of time

Tetsutetsu stabbed multiple times, resulting in a long medical leave to recover

The Iida brothers both suffer near-fatal injuries, forcing them both into long periods of recovery. Iida Tenya himself has his legs so badly mangledthat the use of his quirk is permanently altered, forcing him into a long leave from school as he attempts therapy to rectify the damage

Shinsou is fatally poisoned, though saved in enough time to prevent any long-term damage

Kirishima is fatally bled out. While saved, a morbid interest in him is described by the two villains, who vow to drag him down later

Monoma and Momo both receive special treatment from one of either attackers, taunted with their moral failures rather than brutalized like their friends

Notably, Kaminari Denki is actually tasked with the objective to save his classmates. A result of Present Mic’s choice, he wakes up to a ring of keys that easily opens the handcuffs his classmates are under the mercy of.

The lockdown officially ends with the combined efforts of Tokoyami and Satou. The two successfully contact the outside, bringing in heroes and paramedics to the scene. Satou breaks through the security using his quirk to allow them inside.

Mystery and Himi both manage to escape unscathed. Additionally, Toga earns her own freedom after helping manipulate and guide All Might into saving the Wonder Duo’s lives.

Lockdown in its entierty can be read here: [link]

WINTER

A long and depressing period of recovery. As the students regain their health, doubt in the hero system and their ability to keep each other safe starts to spread.

THE LEAGUE VIDEO

Shigaraki and the League release footage of the horrors of Lockdown to the public. Along with the stolen security footage, a video of the villain Deku torturing Hawks’ villainous counterpart is also shown, Hawks being made to reveal and denounce his past involvement with Mystery. The videos are sent to the phone of every citizen in Japan, sparking outrage and disgust amongst the citizens about what is allowed to happen.

Notably, Monoma’s guardian decides to use the opportunity for clout. His grandfather, Monoma Naito, gently coerces him to appear on a number of TV interviews to further explain what’s happened.

The affair is violently stopped by Vlad King and Midnight, who burst in during one of the interviews to save their student. The entire event is televised via a live broadcast, only encouraging more questions from the public.

THE PRESS CONFERENCE

After a long period of avoiding the issue isolating themselves, All Might and the rest of the Heroes and teachers of UA come forward in a long, long, long press conference. During it, Lockdown, the League’s video and intentions, and all the other events of the pass are discussed by the pros.

... A lot happens.

SPRING

A much needed period of peace! The students resume with school, start to patch up their friendships, start up a few romances (👀) and work through any old drama.

DABI’S FALL

Spurred on by the continued war between Mystery and the League, Dabi is attacked, fatally poisoned, and rushed to the hospital after a brief, staged arrest by Hawks. This is later revealed to be the result of Mystery coming in contact with the #2 hero, who is still in the process of being ‘recruited’ into the League. While being saved only strengthens Dabi’s belief in Hawks’ resolve, the rest of the League is skeptical and consider the two’s... suspicious... relationship to be a detriment.

Later, Shigaraki and v-Hawks attack the pro. The two lose the fight, and a violent falling out begins.

V-DEKU’S DEFEAT

Another blow for the League. Following a series of banter between the two villain leaders, Mystery aims for Shigaraki’s heart yet again by attacking another one of his most trusted. v-Deku is found in one of his most secret labs by Shigaraki and v-Hawks, bleeding to death.

More drama within the League is sparked, Dabi and v-Hawks quickly taken advantage of v-Deku’s defeated state.

SUMMER OF LOV (PART 1)

The League slowly but surely grows in numbers, and in power. The battered remains of the Yakuza is taken up and recruited in, Chronostasis most notably forced to denounce the Yakuza in favor of his new handlers.

THE SUMMER INTERNSHIP PROGRAM

The Hero Commission suddenly starts a new system of internships, allowing anyone who signs up to it to be paired with a hero. This is met with the utmost excitement until the actual start of the internships, which quickly ends in disaster:

ORIENTATION (AKA THE DEATH GAMES)

The Orientation for the Summer Internships. The Commission’s original idea was to host a staged attack on the students under the guise of an introductionary meeting for the program. Morbidly so, the attack is modeled both after past attacks that the students have gone through (Mystery’s lockdown attack, specifically) as well as past exams, such as the Licensing Exam and the Sports Festival.

During the meeting, the students were all put to sleep, entering a dream-like dimension of reality dubbed a ‘simulation’. Within the simulation, they were made to duke it out in a horrific game based off the infamous trolley question. Would you kill to save the people around you?

However, the game quickly spiraled out of control. All simulated pain seemed real, and very real mental breaks occured all throughout the student body as casualties and murders started and continued throughout the game. In fact, it grew so out of control, the game actually started to glitch and break around the people inside. Semi-Finalists Bakugou, Mina, Monoma, Momo and Bondou all suffer the worse of it, Inasa even becoming his own glitch within the game during the grand finale. The game ends with Finalists Momo and Monoma facing off against each other. Monoma wins.

Back in reality, the pros suffer for their involvement in the game’s creation. The Commission later reassures and excuses the events of the game by claiming the worst parts of it were the affects of a stray villain, the conspiracy helped along by Hawks. However, the excuse is not easily taken by those around them. While they recover, Camie especially revolts against the Commission, making a deal with Mystery to try and get revenge.

Orientation Link coming soon... :

#history #uarp #mod ricky #[[ god i love this rp... GOD a LOT happened- ]]

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raptorsandpoultry · 5 years

Photo

Disclaimer: I made this avian body condition score chart based on a similar one I illustrated for my raptor center. While I have been working closely with birds for years and years and just started veterinary med school, I have another 3.5 years to go before I am a full, licensed veterinarian, let alone one who is specialized to see avian patients. And even if I was, it would still be unsafe, inappropriate and illegal for me to give medical advice about your pet over the Internet, so if you have a medical concern about your bird (be it raptor, chicken, parrot, or otherwise), please do the right thing and take it to your veterinarian. He/she has years (at least 7) of education, training, and experience that you will not get from Dr. Google. Diagnoses can not, and should never, be made by asking your tumblr followers for their opinions, googling, etc. Please make the right decisions for your fur/feather/scale child!

An avian patient’s general body condition can be evaluated by palpating, or thoroughly feeling, its breast (pectoral) muscles. This will help subjectively determine the ratio of muscle mass to the sternum or keel (breast) bone that these muscles attach to. If a bit of a depression isn’t felt on either side (i.e. the breast is very rounded), the bird is likely overweight; alternatively, if there is an extreme depression (such that the keel bone feels “sharp”), the bird is underweight. In addition, the bone should be straight, and any deviations (e.g. bends/abnormal shapes, cracks, etc.) suggest improper nutrition during the bird’s early life, or a previous traumatic injury that has healed. Keel bone deviations are found in the majority of commercial laying hens, especially due to collisions and falls that occur in “enriched” cages.

Some veterinarians may use a 9-point scale system during a physical exam instead, but the same ideas still apply. As I said above, I use this 5-point system with the raptors I work with at my facility. To minimize stress, part of the preliminary training we do with each of our raptors when they first arrive, after learning to stand on a glove, is to remain calm and still while its handler palpates its keel. This eliminates the need for stressfully restraining the bird, so that it can participate in its own health check process by allowing its handler to touch it (wild raptors are not social, and do NOT enjoy human contact), and receive a food reward in the process. Most parrot owners will train this behaviour as well for appointments with their veterinarian, and I have actually trained my chickens to stand still while I palpate their keel too! No chasing/catching and towel-wrapping necessary. It’s a pretty fun and very useful behaviour to train - the borbs get food just for letting you poke them!

Please do not use or re-post without permission.

References:

Avian Medicine: Principles and Applications - by Ritchie, Harrison and Harrison (1994)

https://www.wsava.org/WSAVA/media/Arpita-and-Emma-editorial/Body-Condition-Score-Dog.pdf

https://www.wsava.org/WSAVA/media/PDF_old/Body-condition-score-chart-cats.pdf

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jashasedai · 4 years

Note

Omg omg #2 for the fic ask with Accommodate!!!!

Hospitality

Alternate Universe- Tame Racing Drivers

Part 21- HOS

Fandom- MotoGP, Motocross

In an AU where a secret species is used as Racing Drivers, the first Racing Riders have few peers, and Rasoio decides to broaden his horizons of friendship.

Colin Edwards is surprised to be invited into the fold.

Tags: MotoGP, Motocross, Valentino Rossi, Colin Edwards, Nicky Hayden, Casey Stoner, Ricky Carmichael, Alternate Universe, Slavery

Hospitality

The Ranch

The Ranch was in Vale's name and it was bought with his portion of Rasoio's winnings. He was well paid for being such a good handler that he could keep a champion racing so well. He used it as an annex of the World Motorcycle Center, and it was a great place to invite the bond pairs without Trainer's licenses, to get their Riders out of the stable for awhile.

He crossed the parking lot to the truck that had pulled up. It had a dirt bike on the back. Colin Edwards got out. He held his hand out to Vale, but Rasoio pushed past him and hugged the human, kissing both his cheeks and patting him firmly on the back.

Colin smiled in confusion at Rasoio, and looked at Vale. "I was surprised you invited me. I know that mostly these parties are just your guys."

"Rasoio invited you. He has been asking me, but you have only recently signed the papers for grade 2 Double Oh status. So this is the first time I could."

Colin hadn't really realized that his updated paperwork allowed him to be around Racers off track, until Vale called.

Rasoio smiled at him. [I really want to talk to you about Laguna Seca. How did you find the...excuse me....!]

The gestures were meaningless hand waving to Colin, he knew the Riders communicated with sign language, but he didn't understand anything Rasoio was saying, so he turned away and looked at Vale, talking over Rasoio's gestures, "I don't know what he's saying."

"He say 'I very much want to discuss with you the Laguna Seca Circuit.' Then he say "excuse me," because it is polite to look when he speaks. It is him speaking, not me." Valentino directed him back to Rasoio.

"Well what does he want to say about Laguna Seca?" Colin turned back to Valentino to say this and was turned back towards Rasoio.

"Look when you ask him."

"Uh...What do you want to say about Laguna Seca?" Colin put his hands in his pockets.

[How did you find the faster line on the track? The day we raced you kept cutting the laps shorter.] Rasoio turned back towards the house as he walked, Vale following off to their side so he could see the gestures and translate. [Come along, you like tuna salad? Please, sit down.]

Rasoio sat Colin down on one of the patio couches. He went and got him a plate from the table with sandwiches on it, brought it to him and sat beside him. Vale sat in one of the other patio chairs and translated. Gradually, the other matches filtered in. Nicky and Toni came together and Nicky and Valentino disappeared into the house. Toni sat and translated for Rasoio and Colin, joining in the conversation occasionally himself.

Nicky and Valentino came back with Nicky's lookalike, who was wearing identical clothes to Nicky's, and Toni's and two that looked like Casey and Alvaro. They all waved at Colin and helped themselves to the food. Colin noticed none of them are sandwiches or chips, they all stuck to protein and vegetables.

By this time Rasoio was sitting shoulder to shoulder with him, and telling stories that Valentino would elaborate with sound effects that were not in the original telling, and skipping incredibly realistic engine noises Rasoio was making. They all stood and had a round of greetings when Alvaro and then Casey came in. After the final two humans had eaten, Rasoio grabbed Colin's hand and pulled him up.

[Come on, time to play!] He didn't let go of Colin's hand while they walked and Colin looked down at it. He looked around, none of them were looking askance at this, Alvaro's Racing Driver was holding hands with Toni and Nicky, or was that Nicky's partner?, Casey's had his arm around whichever other Nicky that was, and Toni's Racing Rider was holding hands with Valentino.

Rasoio practically dragged Colin to the garage where the dirt bikes waited. He showed Colin his bike, proudly pointing out details, his gestures translated seamlessly by various matches who had moments free in between getting themselves and their Riders ready.

He showed Rasoio his dirt bike, in return. The translating went on in about the same way. Colin looked around for Valentino. He was over with Alvaro and...was it Bad Boy? Or was it Break. No, Casey's was Break.

They all went and rode the track. Colin watched as the humans, riding in a more leisurely and haphazard fashion, almost immediately fell behind. In fact, most of the young riders fell behind as well. Casey kept up with the young riders but Colin and Rasoio had left them all behind.

It was fun riding with just Rasoio, with no pressure, just playing. They passed each other, fell back, played chase. He could hear Rasoio's laughter over the different noise of the dirt bike. Did he laugh during races, or was he being too professional and serious?

The humans all had good technique, he could see that, but they didn't have the reaction times, the instinctive understanding of the machines.

"Do you guys ever ride in the races?" He asked Casey at one of the breaks.

Casey was breathless with unaccustomed effort. "I used to, and I was competitive, and Toni rode a little, but the rest of the guys just started riding to set up their guys' careers."

"What about Valentino, is he playing with us by letting us all pass him?" Colin poured water into his mouth.

"Vale?" The younger man laughed. "He only rides as well as he does because Rasoio has coached him. He never competed at all, that was always Rasoio."

They looked out to where Rasoio was riding alongside Valentino, holding his hand, bike just ahead as though he were leading the human along. He was looking back at his partner, controlling the bike with his legs.

"Why don't you ride competetively? You kept up with the Riders," Colin asked. "It's not like the other motorsports where humans can't hope to keep up. We can obviously keep up."

There was pitying amusement in the young man's blue eyes when he looked at Colin. He pursed his lips. "Well, I have a contract that he," he pointed at Break, "Gets to race using my name, so it's not in the cards for me, but," he shrugged and didn't finish.

Was he really that impressed with the Racing Riders? He thought a talented guy like him had no chance to compete with them? Sounded like he'd been reading the propoganda brochures.

He watched Rasoio a little more closely after that, though, and he could see the ease with which the Rider matched Colin's efforts. Valentino might not be playing with them, but was Rasoio?

As the sun dropped, they went in for dinner, cooked cooperatively by the matches, with a little help from the Racers. Rasoio brought Colin a plate and sat beside him chatting interestedly while he, himself, shared a plate with Valentino.

"Rasoio," Colin leaned close and lowered his voice, at the end of the meal, so Valentino could hear, but Toni, who was on the other side of Justice who was seated on Colin's left, couldn't. "You're an even better rider than you let on, aren't you? You were just playing with me out there?" He grinned and nodded at the Rider to be honest.

Rasoio glanced at Valentino for the translation and his eyes went wide. He glanced at Colin with a questioning expression.

"Are you serious?" Valentino translated.

Colin nodded.

Rasoio blushed and looked down. His hands made small motions over his plate, [You are a very skilled rider, too Colin.] He stood, suddenly and picked up the empty plate and glass.

Valentino tapped him and pointed to Colin's empty plate and glass. "Colin is our guest, it is polite to take his dishes as well," he said, for Colin's benefit. Rasoio, his eyes flicking from the dishes to his guest's face and back, picked up the plate and fork and then turned and fled into the kitchen.

"Come on, we'll have a fire outside," This was the first time Valentino had initiated any contact with him, since he'd come to greet him when he'd arrived. There was a firepit on the deck with wood and kindling already laid in it. He knelt and set the match to it.

Colin settled in a deck chair. He glanced back at the house, where the younger men and riders were visible still at the table. Rasoio was in the kitchen doing dishes. "Valentino, what team does he play for?"

He looked up from beside the fireplace, confusion on his face. "Honda. He will ride for Honda next year as well."

"I mean..." He nearly asked what side of the street he drove on, but that would REALLY confuse the issue. "He keeps hanging on to me. Is he...does he like girls? or boys?"

"Oh." He looked down at the infant fire. Poked it with a stick. Then he rolled to his feet and sat in the chair beside Colin. "Because he touches?"

"Yeah, I mean I'm not grossed out by it or anything, I just, don't want him to get the wrong idea."

"Racing Riders aren't men, Colin, not human. They look like us, but they are made differently. They have bodies that are like human bodies, but they don't think of their bodies. They think of who they are and how they use their bodies. Riders are not attracted to pretty or hansome, they don't think of tall or dark hair or blue eyes, they see ability. When you ask Rasoio if he is a better rider than he shows, it is like if you tell a woman she is beautiful with no makeup."

"We can't even talk without a translator, why would he...there must be plenty of great Racing Riders who would tell him he's beautiful." Colin looked down at the arm of his chair.

Valentino pointed at the window. Justice, Kentucky, Break and Bad Boy were clearing away the remains of the dishes. "Those and 4 in Motocross are all the adult Racing Riders in the world. There are also 3 females, but none of them has ever competed at all. They are all like children to him."

"So when he told me I'm a good rider, he was flirting. Does he want to sleep with me?" His breath was getting hard to draw. He didn't want to hurt Rasoio, but he obviously wasn't understanding that Colin wasn't an appropriate choice for a mate, either. How was he going to react when he got rejected, it wasn't as though a rebound were an option. How was it even possible there were only a dozen adults of the entire species. Wait, they were just Racing Drivers who liked bikes, right?

"He will not ever do anything you do not want him to do, including asking. He wants to be your FRIEND, Colin. There are not many who can understand him, he has no peers. He will be alone until a Rider is fast enough to catch him, and that is not yet, not for years."

What did that say about those young riders in the kitchen? What did that say about the humans' chances, if none of those riders, who were beating the competition so soundly, were no more competition for Rasoio than children?

"He can still make friends. You would not turn down a beautiful woman's friendship just because she was not interested in sleeping with you, would you?" Vale spoke to Colin but his eyes, bright in the firelight, were still on the house and it's occupants. The legacy being cultivated.

"No, I wouldn't. I will be his friend. He will understand if that is all?"

"As you would understand," Valentino's eyes were beyond Colin, now, and his hands were moving with his words.

Colin turned and looked as Rasoio sat beside him. The other guys were only a few moments behind him. It would present no difficulty, everyone treated him like he belonged there. Everything was comfortable.

Colin was Rasoio's friend and he had made him feel very welcome.

—

Boot Camp

Texas Tornado Boot Camp- 2017

The Texas Tornado Boot Camp was back open for their fourth season in business. Colin Edwards had started the camp to train motorcycle riders. His professional career had ended and he'd hired a couple of retired Racing Riders and their matches, Shea, Jake and Cory, and some human riders and faculty. Last November they'd all been taken into protective custody, where they'd stayed over the winter.

"There's my friends!" He nudged Jake, who was standing closest, hard enough to make him step to the side.

"Yeah, we all met them last time they were here," Jake said. Jake's Rider, Flash, waved brightly at Rasoio.

Colin looked down at Jake and put his arm around him. "And I'm going to be excited every time they are."

He had been glad Jake had come back, and Cory and Shea and Sheila and all the rest of the boot camp's faculty. He'd been worried when the camp had been raided and the Riders and matches taken, that it would be the end.

The unmatched humans had been released long before the bond pairs. Colin had come home and wandered around the empty camp, forlornly. Not knowing if he was ever going to see Shea and Cory and Jake again, if he was going to see any of the Riders again.

They had come back, though, one after another after their release, and they were starting the camp up again.

Now, he was having their first guests. He waved as Rasoio and Valentino got out of the car. This time Colin was the host.

Ricky and Ratchet got out of the next car and Shea's rider, also Flash, but a Red instead of an Orange and signed with a different gesture, gasped, rose up on his toes and waved to the full extension of his arm. Ratchet was about 10 feet away, which was an uncomfortably close distance for such enthusiastic waving.

The other guests were a mix of humans and bond pairs, one of whom were a Driving pair, and one Racing Rider who'd signed up to come on his own. They quickly got over the urge to stare and whisper about the presence of the big stallions, and everyone went inside for orientation.

Colin walked with an arm around Rasoio's waist. He still could barely gesture, but the noises Rasoio made were more intelligible to him than they were, apparently to the matches, who had no deep intuitive understanding of motorcycles. It caused some of the humans to raise their eyes at him as he and Rasoio trailed behind everyone, speaking in revs and grunts. It wasn't sophisticated, but Valentino and the others would be there to translate anything more complicated.

Remembering clearly the hospitality Rasoio had shown him when Colin was his guest at the ranch, he fixed a plate and brought it to Rasoio at dinner, sat beside him and listened in fascination to his adventures of the winter in the Ferrari refugee camp. Rasoio was telling the story of how Ralf Schumacher's Racing Driver had crashed one of the big practice bikes because he'd been told the big bikes were for taller riders and the small bikes were for shorter riders.

"Duende did that..." Colin said.

[Yes. I had to put 6 stitches in his leg,] Rasoio sighed.

Most of the table was leaning in, listening and watching. "Who's Rider is Duende?" Shea loud whispered to Colin, whose right eye was squinched up.

"Dani Pedrosa's, he's a little land mine," Colin whispered back.

[Rex is sitting on the exam table, and Ralf is there, holding his hand, because it hurts him a great deal, and he tells me, "He said bikes were easier," and Ralf says to him, "You never learn your lesson about believing Ferrari's, do you not recall the fence?" Then he stops, but now I very much want to know what is the story of the fence,] Rasoio took a bite of his dinner.

Valentino took the opportunity to take a drink.

[I ask him, "You have problems with Ferrari's before?" They look at me as if I am leaking fuel, and ask, "Have you ever met Michael and Shoe?" I say, "Yes." Ralf tells me, "One day, Shoe decides it is funny to tell little brother that when there is frost, it tastes like sugar. The next time there is frost at the stable, Rex sneaks a lick on the cyclone fence."]

There was a smatter of laughter among the humans.

[When a Racer puts his wet tongue on frozen metal, it freezes the wet of his tongue, and he sticks,] Valentino explained for the benefit of those Racers not familiar with the phenomenon. There were gasps, and then another smatter of laughter.

[So when Duende tells you it is easier to ride bikes, "You should not have believed him," I tell Rex. He frowned and said, "He seems so nice, and is not Red." I say, "No, he is Orange, so when he sets out to trick you he can plan,"]

Ricky laughed from further down the table.

[Rex tells me, "Shoe can do both." Then Ralf rolls his eyes and says, "Shoe is a creature that is different from all others and comes from the stars."] There was another smattering of laughter and Ricky began to tell a story. Colin stood and took Rasoio's plate towards the kitchen. Rasoio picked up Valentino's plate and the glasses and followed him.

Colin had considered what he wanted to say for a long time. He set the dishes down in the sink and turned and took Rasoio's hands. Colin had been in a safe location, with other unmatched humans, not one of the refugee camps where the Racers were.

He'd heard the news, days after the Grand Tour had been broadcast, about what had been found in the basements of the Williams' stable. He'd had no idea where the bond pairs he'd been on the grid with, gotten to know so well, had been, until one day a group of people with cameras arrived at the Ferrari refugee camp, and the Drivers the Italian fans loved so much had come out to stand guard between the police who'd arrived to turn them out of the Ferrari building, and the unmatched Racers within, who had no where else to go.

The cameras had captured the crowds standing with the Racing Drivers and turning back the police from a wall of Ferrari Champions at the doors of the stable.

As each Champion Driver and his man had come through the doors to protect their brothers, a scream had gone up from the Tifosi. The Drivers from other teams and the Riders hadn't elicited as much of a reaction. But when Casey Stoner and Break, Ducati Champions, and Italian heroes in their own right, had stepped out, a scream had risen.

When another Italian Champion pair came out, they'd done so with their arms in the air, demanding the screams they'd earned on every platform for nearly 20 years. There were many Tifosi in the Yellow Army. Italians loved Valentino. They loved Rasoio. The TV cameras panned the screaming crowd, the cross armed men and Racers, the angry, outnumbered police officers.

Colin had to watch the tension raise, watch his friends standing against the threat of riot.

He'd been afraid.

He'd asked Jake to teach him some gestures for this. He put his hands out palms down, then touched his heart and smiled, [I'm glad you are safe.]

Rasoio repeated the gesture back to him and hugged him.

All the bad things that could have happened, hadn't happened. His friends were still safe. They'd come back, like Shea and Jake and the Flashes and Cory and Devildog. Now they were all free, to go where they wanted, and they had come here, because they wanted to.

#au tame racing drivers #fanfic #motogp fanfic #motocross fanfic

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totallyrhettro · 6 years

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Territorial, chapter 1

Word Count: 2077 Rating: This chapter: PG; overall story rating: Explicit Warnings: kissing Summary: After finally realizing their shared love for one another, all internetainers Rhett and Link had to do was live happily ever after. Unfortunately, as it turns out, that's a lot harder to do in a world of werewolves.

Notes: Takes place 1 year after Animalistic began. Still no wives; Rhett and Link are in an established relationship. This is a sequel to that fic. You don't have to read that first, but it is highly recommended. (Photo source X)

Also available on a03

The ten acre plot of land used to be a horse farm. Stables and a large barn still stood on the premises, though they both looked like the next wind could knock them both right over. The short, wooden fence that lined the property was in a similar condition, but at least it still marked the border alright. It had to be replaced, especially if was going to keep people away from a couple of werewolves roaming around thirty-six nights out of the year.

“Maybe we should add barb wire,” Link suggested, wiping sweat from his forehead. It wasn't a particularly hot summer day, but he and Rhett had been hard at work all morning putting up a chain link fence.

“We don't want anybody hurting themselves on this fence,” Rhett told him, choosing to ignore his companion’s mispronunciation of barbed wire. “We just want them to know this is private property.” He checked the time on his phone. “What do you say we break for lunch? I think we got a lot of fence up so far today.”

They had purchased this land a few weeks ago and together with their friend, Theo, they had been busy fixing it up. That is, making sure it was secure. It didn't need to look pretty, it just had to be private and undisturbed. It was in the middle of nowhere, California. Away from prying eyes and electronic surveillance. There wasn't another home for miles. It was as good a place as any for them to spend time in wolf form.

Rhett had been a werewolf for many months now; Link only a few. They both had been learning what it meant and how to survive their new double life from Theo. The bushy-haired bartender who had, in contrast, been a werewolf for years was more than willing to help out the newly bitten. It wasn't all for kindness, however, but necessity. Werewolves couldn't be left to their own devices, unchecked, uneducated. Rogue werewolves not only could kill innocent humans, they would reveal the existence of werewolves around the world and that could lead to wolf hunts, or worse.

Even though Theo wasn't being exactly charitable with his actions, Rhett wholeheartedly agreed with his reasons. The existence of werewolves needed to be kept a secret, for everyone's sake. Of course, that didn't mean they couldn't have a life. He and Link kept up with their normal day things: filming for their YouTube channels, running a business, having a social life. As far as they could tell, no one at mythical internetainment knew that their bosses weren't entirely human. They may have picked up on their employers’ other secret, though.

“I am hungry,” Link noted, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. “But not just for food.” Rhett raised a single eyebrow as he smirked, knowingly.

“Yeah?” He put his arms around the shorter man. “What are you hungry for?”

“You look tasty,” he replied, coyly.

“Oh I am, babe.” Link stuck his tongue out with an audible mocking sound before pulling the man’s head down to lick his nose. Rhett giggled. “See?”

“Not bad.” The brunet gave another, brief lick before locking their lips. Rhett did taste good, even though he was just as sweaty as Link. It didn't matter. He felt amazing too; his lips soft and tender nestled in a thick, dirty blond beard. Link knew he would never tire of the sensation, or the many others they could experience when they were alone. Sometimes he wished the two of them had realized their shared affection for one another much earlier. He thought about the wasted years not knowing they were both in love. Those times he would vow to himself not to waste the time they now had, the years ahead of them they could now spend together. “I love you,” he muttered, moving away just enough to speak.

“I love you too, Link.” Rhett leaned his sweaty forehead against Link’s, closing his eyes. After a moment, he sighed contently then pulled away and looked down into Link’s face. “Can we eat now?”

“Fiiine.” Link rolled his eyes, but never dropped his smile. He wasn't mad, not really. He was hungry too, when he thought about it. Besides, he knew his boyfriend all too well. When Rhett said he was hungry, he meant it. The man had been often hungry before becoming a werewolf. Now, as the full moon grew closer, his appetites were almost insatiable. All of them. Not that Link complained, mind you. He definitely enjoyed satiating those appetites whenever he could. After all, he felt exactly the same way. Especially right before they turned.

Packing up the leftover nails and bits for the fence into the trailer of their ATV, they got on with Rhett behind Link, and drove off towards the main building. An old farmhouse, the building was actually in remarkable condition considering the rest of the buildings’ state. It was a classic, three story with a wrap-around porch and a sloped roof. It used to be yellow from what they could tell of the faded paint, but Theo and his friend Max were busy giving it a fresh coat of blue to spruce it up. It was coming along nicely.

Link gave the two men a friendly wave as he and Rhett got closer. Rhett just nodded, not wanting to let go of Link’s waist, lest he fall. They pulled up just to the front door and Theo put down his brush, wiping his hands as he came down to greet them. Max was close behind. The muscular man with a perfectly shaved head wasn't just a friend. He worked as Theo’s bouncer in the bar he ran downtown. He was also the Theo’s ‘handler’ meaning he watched him during his moons to make sure he was safe and kept out of trouble. Unlike the other three men here, he wasn't a werewolf, but he was a rare breed. He was the only human Theo trusted and so Rhett and Link trusted him as well.

“How'd it go?” he asked, casually. Rhett hopped off the four-wheeler and gestured towards the trailer, and the rolled up fence inside.

“I think we're almost done. Just a few more hundred feet.” Theo nodded.

“It won't exactly be Fort Knox,” he noted, coming down to join them. “But it should keep out the unwary hiker.” He nodded towards the house. “I got some t-bone’s in the cooler I can grill up. You boys hungry at all?”

“I could eat a horse,” Link joked, sparing a glance towards Rhett. The taller man pretended not to notice but nodded enthusiastically in agreement. Theo chuckled.

“Well let's get you full of cow so you won't have to.” The four of them started making their way inside when three of them suddenly stopped and turned. Even though they weren't in wolf form, their senses were more acute than their unbitten friend. They looked at each other for answers, but no one was expecting anyone else to show up to the farm today. Max eventually heard the noise they were so interested in as well. A large, red truck was coming down the dusty road towards the house. It had a California license plate, but they didn't recognize it. It pulled to a stop just beside the ATV.

Three men got out, all dressed in t-shirts and work jeans. The tallest, a beefy man with a crew cut, looked so cocky Rhett instantly disliked him. The two shorter men had similar expressions as they looked over the farm house with discerning eyes. Obviously from their faces none of them thought much of the place.

“Nice little place you got here,” the tallest stranger began. “So this is where you've been hiding out, Theo.”

“Hello, Seth,” Theo greeted unenthusiastically. “Didn't know you and the boys were in town.”

“Well we've been hearing some very disturbing news from the area and we thought we'd check it out personally.” He looked over at Rhett and Link with more scrutiny than was comfortable. “They the new guys?”

“Rhett, Link, this is Seth, Damian and Caleb Lowell. Their pack roams the woods up north; mostly in Oregon and southern Washington.”

“Pack?” Link asked.

“Wolf pack, buddy,” Caleb clarified. “Has Theo not been teaching you the basics?”

“If you're talking about the rogue mutt down in Los Padres,” Theo explained. “I took care of it.” His faux demure smile faded completely as he remembered that night. With Rhett’s help, Theo had tracked down a werewolf that had been killing hikers in the national forest. That night Rhett was forced to take a life to protect Link. He had saved his best friend and lover, but had failed to keep him from being infected. It was not a night any of them liked to think about.

“Well that's a relief,” Seth grinned, seemingly unaware of the other group’s discomfort. “We were worried something might have happened, like people getting killed or turned.” He turned his eyes pointedly at Rhett and Link. Maybe it was because he was feeling defensive, or these guys were seriously rubbing him the wrong way, but Link felt the need to stick up for his relatively new friend.

“It wasn't his fault. It's not like he’s in charge of every rogue werewolf that goes nuts in California. That’s not his job.” Link glanced up at Rhett. “Is it?” Seth turned to look at him, his expression a bit blank as he sized him up.

“What's your name again?”

“Link.”

“You're right, Link. It's not his job. Nor do we think what happened was his fault. In fact I feel somewhat responsible myself,” he continued, not losing his smile. “I didn't think there were enough mutts around here to present a serious problem but I guess I was wrong. I'm here to rectify that error.”

“How so?” Rhett asked.

“They're here to check up on me,” Theo grumbled. Seth looked hurt, but both Rhett and Link could tell it wasn't quite sincere.

“We're not here to run your life, Theo. Devon was worried so he sent us to help.”

“I don't need your help,” the bartender argued. “There was a problem, but I handled it. It's taken care of.”

“I'm not saying we're not grateful you were able to deal with the mutt, but it's just a symptom of a much bigger problem. Without a pack presence in southern California, rogue mutts are bound to happen again and we don’t want you to have to deal with all of them yourself.” Seth glanced to the two men with him, silently telling them it was time to leave. They started making their way back into the truck. “We’ll be in town for awhile; were staying on up on Big Bear Lake. It was nice seeing you again, Theo.” As he got back into the truck, Caleb sent a grin at the bartender, with a side glance at Rhett and Link.

“Give us a call if you want to spend your next moon with some real wolves for a change,” he offered. “It’ll be just like old times.”

“Bye, Caleb.” Theo gave a short wave as the Lowells’ truck started up. As soon it was out of sight, he sighed and shot a knowing look towards Max. “Fantastic,” he mumbled.

“So, what was that all about?” Link asked. Theo shook his head stepping back into the house without a word. Still confused, Link turned to Max.

“The Lowells are a big family of purebreds from up North,” Max explained. “Theo used to run with them years ago but he moved to Los Angeles to get away from them after….”

“After what?”

“After Theo’s brother died. It's not really my place to talk about it. Let's just say he's not a fan of the pack.” Rhett looked back at the distance road the truck had left on before speaking up.

“Should we be worried?” Rhett wondered. Max sighed.

“I sure hope not. Just… Just steer clear of them. Hopefully they won't be in town very long. Stuck up purebred assholes.” He headed into the house himself, leaving Rhett and Link alone on the porch.

“Why do I feel like I just got involved with a family squabble?” Link murmured.

“That was a bit dramatic.” Rhett patted his boyfriend on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go eat. I’m sure these guys won’t be causing us much trouble.”

Next chapter

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#rhett #link #rhink #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #territorial #werewolves #established relationship

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the-firebird69 · 3 years

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2019 Toyota Corolla LE

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We're taking them over but he says every single car is false advertised and for one car you can lose your dealership license but with all of them you can lose whatever license you have and you can go to court and you can go to jail because it's a scheme and it's an evil scheme usually involves killing people this is what the more likes are doing right now all over the globe so actually mostly Max and we're going after them we're tracing them down and grabbing their whole ring

Thor Freya

We need to do this on a few other things other than just the cars and one of them is food distribution they're starting to attack and come into your trucks and they're starting to try and overrun them and they're also trying to take things from grocery stores that have been put there and mass quantities of it too and they have been trying to raid with fully automatic weapons and some locations it's time to go after these people seriously and we're going to take over all of the milk areas and just sit there and pick you off and use it to attract you and say things like none for you like you know babies do. We're also blaming it squarely on Trump and Veep go around saying that their AI boy they don't care about their own people so they're trying to steam without losing it. I'm taking everything they own but really there are several programs that I'm going to put together and get going cuz it takes personal detail he said he has to tell me that every time there's no one knows if anyone's doing anything. He says the food distribution is a matter of security details and he's going to ask Thor and Thor will assign people to scrutinize it today right now he's doing it and the grocery store the same thing and he's assigning one person to each grocery store on Earth minimum to be there 24/7 in other words you in front of shift and you have someone there 24/7 some goes in another one goes out and someone's working there or someone's monitoring it right there from the parking lot or store next door or from right below or from a fast food place one person 24/7 at the store and Thor's issuing the order and we are to be stockable is and we have to meet people who are doing the deli we are people who are doing security and we're going to be greeters and we're going to be food handlers because we have to see the test all the time every grocery store make sure they're not poison people we saw here recently

Hera Zues

We do this now especially the one person for grocery store and have at least one spy in each grocery store even the little teeny shops and close them down if they can't handle it if the people who are spying on can't handle it

Thor Freya

We proceeded in enact now I'm tired of hearing you you're stupid little s*** your dumbass crap all day long every single place on Earth I'm touching it and that. We touch you if you start up with it

Olympus

0 notes

hikingmysteries · 3 years

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Up in Smoke

This account comes from the Strange Outdoors website, originally published October 27, 2017 and updated May, 2020. Edited for length.

On Friday, September 25, 1981, 58-year-old, Thelma Pauline Melton, often called “Polly”, was hiking with two of her friends, Red and Trula, on the Deep Creek trail near the North Carolina side of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. They started their hike around 3 pm.

It was an easy, well maintained trail on gravel that Polly had been hiking for 20 years and she knew the area well. The Deep Creek Trail, began close to the group’s campgrounds and continues into the National Park. About a quarter of a mile inside the park, the trail splits. The right side leads to a picnic area and campground and the left side of the trail continues into the forest.

That day the picnic area and campsite inside the park was busy, with around fifty cars in the parking lot. There were many people hiking, fishing, camping and riding horseback that day. Polly, Red and Trula walked more than a mile past the picnic area and the fork in the trail. They stopped at a turn around and Polly smoked a cigarette. The conversation amongst the friends was positive and lighthearted.

As they headed back to the trailhead at around 4 pm, one hour into their walk, Polly suddenly picked up her pace and began putting distance between the two other women. Red and Trula were not sure what had gotten into Polly, with Red calling out, “I wouldn’t want to be in a foot race with you, Polly.” Polly looked back and laughed, but she kept up the pace until she was out of sight. Red and Trula kept expecting to round a bend or top a hill and find Polly waiting for them. They knew she would need rest and couldn’t keep up that fast pace.

But the friends weren’t able to catch up and did not find Polly waiting on them. Although it was strange, they weren’t worried as Polly knew the trail well. They arrived back at the campsite at around 4.30 pm and went straight to Polly’s trailer. But Polly had not returned. Confused, they began asking everyone else at the campsite. No one had seen Polly.

Red and Trula never saw Polly again. She had vanished without a trace.

Polly and her husband, Bob (78 years of age), spent the fall living in an Airstream trailer at the base of the Great Smoky Mountains, in the Deep Creek Campground. She’d been calling that area her second home for more than 20 years. Polly, Bob and their friends stayed there several months of each year, before returning to their Jacksonville home. The campsite was private with about 10 other couples. The others on the site were close-knit and no newcomers could join the campsite without unanimous approval from the rest of the group.

Polly was on her third marriage to Bob with no children. They had married 6 years before in 1975, and Bob’s health was declining. Bob had two adult sons from a previous marriage.

As she grew older, Polly struggled with her weight and her health. At the time of her disappearance she was 5'11" and weighed about 180 lbs. She had high blood pressure and suffered from nausea. She took medication for both conditions. She smoked two packs of Virginia Slims cigarettes a day. She did not drive in the summer of 1981, as she’d temporarily lost her license due to her medical issues.

Polly had also suffered from several episodes of depression. For example, when her mother died in 1978, Polly fell into a deep depression. She told her pastor that she wanted to go to heaven to be with her mom. During this conversation with her pastor, she made comments that led him to believe she may have had an extra marital affair that she felt very guilty about. In 1979 she was again depressed and revealed to her pastor she was a heavy user of Valium. However, things seemed to improve, and by 1981, the pastor said she was in a much better place mentally. Polly’s father visited her and Bob in early September of 1981. He and Polly had grown very close in the priory years and he stated she seemed normal during his visit.

On the day she disappeared she was wearing a white and pink sleeveless striped blouse, tan polyester pants, size 8 ½ shoes with crepe soles and glasses. She also had a diamond studded white gold wristwatch and a wedding band.

Bob was not physically able to search for his wife, but began calling everyone he could think of to see if they’d given Polly a ride. Trula, Red, and two other friends headed back to the park and checked the picnic area and parking lot. They hiked the trail again and began asking other hikers if they’d seen a woman matching Polly’s description.

At 6 pm, Trula, Red and Bob reported Polly missing to a park ranger and a large search was launched involving around 25 people. They began searching the trail and picnic area, including the creek that ran parallel to the trail.

Polly was terrified of snakes and her friends said she would not go off trail. Furthermore, there was thick vegetation on both sides and it would be easy to spot any disturbance. There were several forks along the path, but they were all marked.

Many of the park rangers knew her and described her as intelligent and strong. They stated she was very familiar with the area and they didn’t believe she could have gotten lost.

Over 150 people searched for Polly over the next week. Nine search dogs were brought out and the trail was closed. One of those dogs alerted on a downed tree near the creek. The handler believes Polly must have rested on the tree, but none of the other dogs detected her scent. Rangers posted pictures and spoke with many campers, hikers and fishermen to no avail.

Since Polly suffered from high blood pressure and nausea it seemed unlikely she could have got a long way in a short time. Her medical problems had caused her to lose her driving licence and she did not have any car keys with her.

Authorities were unable to even get a good set of tracks to follow, which would have made things easier considering Melton’s left shoe had apparently had a noticeable crack in the sole which would have made her tracks easy to differentiate from those of other hikers.

Bob Melton was so distressed that he was admitted to the hospital the night Polly went missing. The following year his sons helped him sell the Airstream and he moved into a nursing home. Bob’s sons refused to speak to the media. One son did comment that his only interest was the impact on his father. According to the Meltons’ pastor, Bob later realized his bottle of Valium was missing from the Airstream. Polly’s nausea and blood pressure medications were untouched.

One theory is that Polly ran off with a secret lover. She volunteered at a Presbyterian Nutritional Center during the times she lived in North Carolina. For the previous four years, she had been serving food to the elderly at the Center. At the end of a shift, the volunteers would write down the next day that they would be in. Polly always worked on Fridays, but on Thursday, September 24 she did not write down that she’d be returning the following day, as was her habit.

The center’s supervisor later revealed something else that was outside of the norm that day. Polly had never before asked to use the facility’s phone. But on her last day she asked to use the phone several times. The supervisor did not hear the conversations and no long distance charges were on the phone bill. Authorities were unable to trace the phone calls.

Perhaps Polly arranged for someone to pick her up whilst on her hike, to make it look like she was lost in the woods, thinking that this way would be easier on her husband, rather than him knowing she left him for somebody else. This is postulated as a reason why she picked up her pace and moved ahead of her companions on the trail.

Months after Polly disappeared, in April 1982, a check was cashed in her name in Birmingham, Alabama. The check was for interest due on a bank certificate. Investigators followed up on the lead, but it led nowhere as they could not prove if it was her handwriting. The teller later had no recollection of who cashed the check.

No trace of Polly Melton has ever been found and she remains missing.

#trekkers #hiking #hikers #hikingmysteries #mystery #trails #missing

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dailykhaleej · 4 years

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Coronavirus UAE: Is your food safe after supermarket disinfection?

Disinfection drive at supermarkets and bakeries Picture Credit score: Provided

Dubai: Is it safe to devour food merchandise after a disinfection drive inside supermarkets and different food shops? DailyKhaleej requested Dubai authorities and retailers and that is what they stated.

Based on a Dubai Municipality official, all merchandise utilized in disinfection and sterilisation within the emirate are evaluated and registered within the “Montaji” system and app.

“They contain the same active substances mentioned in the lists approved by the US Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) and the Centre for Antibacterial Chemicals (CBC). These are the same materials recommended by the World Health Organisation (WHO) as active ingredients during sterilisation processes,” the civic authority stated in a press release to DailyKhaleej.

Ought to I sanitise or discard packing containers/packages?

Dubai Well being Authority (DHA), additionally not too long ago launched pointers for safe buying. The authority suggested shoppers to sanitise all purchases and get rid of buying luggage to keep away from the unfold of germs.

“Residents must wash their hands properly after that,” the authority stated.

Based on the Food Security Division of Dubai Municipality, the most important danger of contamination in shops stays contact with different individuals and “high-touch” surfaces like weighing scales, buying carts and elevator buttons.

Folks must comply with the protection precautions for buying [see the box on guidelines] and be sure that they wash their arms earlier than consuming any food, the municipality stated.

The division has additionally assured that ordering food is safe. “People just have to assure washing hands after receiving the delivery and before consuming the food.” [See the box on guidelines for online delivery].

The Food Security Division is consistently visiting all food premises in Dubai to guarantee the compliance of security and hygiene necessities, the municipality stated.

It additionally assured the implementation of primary private hygiene necessities and practices corresponding to sanitising arms continuously and avoiding face touching by food handlers.

Retail chains converse

Main retail chains have additionally assured that they’re utilizing merchandise which might be licensed and innocent for people inside their shops.

Based on a Dubai Municipality official, all merchandise utilized in disinfection and sterilisation within the emirate are evaluated and registered within the “Montaji” system and app Picture Credit score: Provided

“The products and process of disinfection inside our premises are done totally as per the standards and guidelines set by relevant authorities. They are safe to use on packaged products,” V. Nandakumar, chief communications officer, Lulu Group, instructed DailyKhaleej.

Nandakumar clarified that disinfectants are usually not used on bakery objects and different ready-to-use food merchandise.

“We have strict hygiene practices for our staff and premises and we would always recommend our customers to follow necessary safety precautions while shopping inside the stores and while receiving delivery.”

Dr. Suhail Al-Bastaki, director of Happiness and Advertising Division at Union Coop stated the chain is pursuing extra measures in circumstances of residence supply, to make sure security and safety of shoppers.

“[This is] by including the provision of appropriate transportation based on the requirements of a specific product, thereby conforming to the food safety system, routinely cleaning the interior and exterior parts of food storage and transport units comprehensively and also the areas that come in human contact by using disinfectants approved by Dubai Municipality.”

Moreover, he stated the supply officer is dedicated to taking enough well being precautions always, which incorporates ‘immediate work stoppage’ in case of signs of flu corresponding to fever, cough or another signs, routine hand-washing with water, cleaning soap or authorized sterilisation disinfectants earlier than and after every operation.

“All the staff have been briefed and trained to avoid contact with face, nose, mouth, eyes and use masks, gloves and take other necessary safety measures to ensure product safety and security,” stated Al Bastaki.

A number of retailers are additionally providing contactless supply choices to boost security of supply service.

Your bread is safe to eat

Precautions are being taken to make sure bakery showrooms are disinfected.

Take the case of the UAE’s largest bread producer, Trendy Bakery. The bakery – which produces 90 per cent of bread to UAE, KSA and Oman – not too long ago carried out an intensive sterilisation drive in its Hamdan showroom in Abu Dhabi. “We have a responsibility to our consumers and we did not want to waste any time undertaking the sterilisation drive,” stated Ismail Mohammed, Senior Manufacturing Supervisor at Trendy Bakery which additionally produces 30 to 40 tonnes of flour every day.

“The best thing is that we did not have to close down our showroom after the disinfection. It is a very practical solution indeed. The entire process took 45 minutes to be completed. Owing to the sensitivity of the situation and the easy application involved, we requested the company we hired for the job to bring limited people for doing the job. We wanted to lower the risk of COVID-19 spread,” stated Mohmmed.

Your bread is safe to eat Picture Credit score: Provided

What did the sterilisation contain?

Duncan Pearce, Managing Companion HPL Pest Management Providers LLC which did the sterilisation at Trendy Bakery defined: “A disinfectant called Anolyte was placed inside a misting machine, used to spray the showroom. Every corner of the showroom was covered including packed food items. The disinfectant is approved by the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), an independent agency, of USA. It is produced on site with an Electro-chemically activated (ECA) machine.”

Sterilisation drive at Trendy Bakery

How safe is it?

“The disinfectant we used is extremely safe as it is made of 98.8 per cent water. It is safe for humans to handle it as well as safe to be used on packed food. After the sanitisation of the bakery, it was business as usual. There was no need to shut the shop so it is a very safe option?”

“The concept of Anolyte has been around since the 1800’s. It was used during the second world war battle fields to combat infections on wounded soldiers. It is nothing but water mixed with salt to make a brine then electrical current is passed through to produce Anolyte – an eco-friendly disinfectant,” stated Pearce.

Particular eco-friendly disinfectant getting used at Trendy Bakery Picture Credit score: Provided

How lengthy lasting is it?

“It depends on how many people use the area. It is a bit like sanitising your hands. If you keep using your hands then the sanitizer will become less effective. But usually it lasts up to a month.”

Pointers for safe buying (Supply DHA and DM)

Use on-line supply companies wherever doable

Strictly keep away from grocery buying in case you are sick

Solely exit to purchase important provides

Select the proper time to buy

Go alone for buying

Keep away from peak and crowded instances

Observe all security precautions earlier than leaving the home

Put on gloves and a face masks.

When buying in a retailer, sanitise the deal with of buying cart or buying basket, after which sanitise your arms

Be affected person and keep in line to get food objects

Preserve a safe distance (not lower than two meters) from others

Keep away from touching your face, nostril, and mouth earlier than washing your arms.

Keep away from utilizing banknotes, as a substitute use credit score/debit playing cards

Sanitise the cardboard and arms after making funds.

Disposing of the buying luggage to keep away from the unfold of germs

Sanitise all packaged purchases after reaching residence

Wash arms for 20 seconds with cleaning soap and water each after returning residence from the supermarket and after dealing with bought objects

Pointers for on-line food supply (Supply DM)

Select e-payment

If e-payment is unavailable, use card fee as a substitute of money fee

Keep away from receiving orders instantly

Ask supply service to go away it on the door

Eliminate the covers and outer packing containers

Wash arms with cleaning soap and water for 20 seconds after receiving the order and earlier than consuming

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savvyherb · 5 years

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‘Cannabis oasis’: Los Angeles cafe first in the US to offer dine-and-dab service

In some parts of America, hundreds of thousands of people are arrested each year for marijuana.

In West Hollywood, it’s on the dinner menu.

Lowell Cafe, opening next month in Los Angeles, is the country’s first legal cannabis restaurant, meaning the first business in the US licensed to serve meals with both food and weed. Inside the marijuana restaurant and lounge, “budtenders” will greet patrons and help them navigate menus of joints, bong service, dab rigs and other cannabis treats that they can then consume inside the cafe, alongside farm-to-table dishes.

Cannabis entrepreneurs in California see this new business as a next big step toward the “end of prohibition” in America, and a major turning point in the continuing effort to legalize marijuana for recreational and social use.

“Cannabis consumers have had to kind of be closeted,” said the chef, Andrea Drummer, standing inside the Lowell kitchen on a recent afternoon while perfecting a mascarpone-filled crepe with peaches for the dessert menu. “To be able to engage in and consume in a space with like-minded people and not have it be secret and not feel judged, I think it’s an exceptional concept.”

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A billboard announces the opening of Lowell Cafe in West Hollywood. Photograph: Dan Tuffs/The Guardian

It’s been a long journey to get to 1 October, Lowell’s grand opening. The much-hyped restaurant is breaking ground at a time in which marijuana is still considered an illegal drug in many parts of the US, a country where more than one person is arrested for cannabis every minute.

California has consistently led the way on marijuana reform, becoming the first state to approve medical cannabis over two decades ago. The state officially legalized recreational pot in 2016, but it’s been a slow process to establish regulations that allow entrepreneurs to take advantage of the new law.

It’s also still illegal to smoke weed in public in California, and while there are some “lounges” and clubs where people can gather and smoke, there have been no businesses that operate like traditional restaurants. The city of West Hollywood, a major LA nightlife hub, wanted to change that, and recently created a licensing process, drawing hundreds of applicants.

“This is a really, really big moment,” said Jackie Subeck, a local cannabis consultant and advocate who won one of the recent West Hollywood licenses and plans to open a cannabis spa and cafe in the city. “This doesn’t exist anywhere … We’re building the plane while flying it.”

West Hollywood officials have helped Lowell navigate conflicting and confusing state and local regulations, though there are some challenges they haven’t yet been able to resolve. Lowell so far has not sorted out a way to legally serve fresh food that is actually infused with cannabis, since there is no state health regulation permitting it. But the cafe did find a way to secure approvals for both food and weed consumption in one location.

“It’s a fun opportunity, because it’s so unknown,” said Kevin Brady, the restaurant’s director, as he stood at the site of the cafe, which is still under construction. “Being the first, we want to make sure we set the benchmark very high.”

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At Lowell, guests will have the option of renting a bong or pipe, rolling their own joints or allowing a “flower host” to roll for them. Photograph: Dan Tuffs/The Guardian

Brady has been working to build a restaurant that he said would feel like a “light, bright airy oasis of a space that people can consume cannabis” and would defy stoner stereotypes – no lava lamps, black lights, Led Zeppelin posters or beanbag chairs. “It’s not the college, Dave Matthews Band kind of vibe. It’s this really elegant place.”

This summer, a rabbi from a synagogue across the street expressed concerns about the smell of marijuana, but Brady said the restaurant would have an advanced air filtration system that would ensure it doesn’t reek outside or inside.

The cafe, which has an outdoor patio, will be open from 10am to 10pm and has already started taking reservations, he said, including from people as far away as Japan and Russia, who have said they are traveling to LA to visit the restaurant.

On the cannabis menu, Lowell will offer flower and smoking options and guests can rent pipes or bongs, roll their own joints, or have “flower hosts” roll for them.

The staff will function like wine sommeliers, Brady said, asking guests about their experiences and interests: “How familiar are you with cannabis? What are you looking for? Are you Snoop Dogg or have you not smoked since high school?”

Drummer, who is heading the kitchen, has built a reputation for herself as a cannabis chef, notably preparing a cannabis-infused meal for Chelsea Handler on her show Chelsea Does and working with other celebrity clients and private companies.

“Food and cannabis are both very communal experiences, so to bring them together … is still very fascinating for me,” she said. She’s still finalizing the menu, which will have traditionally healthy dishes like baby kale salad, along with “foods that one would love to indulge in, if they are elevated”, she said. That includes mac and cheese bites, a grilled cheese sandwich, fried chicken, and a “sweet FL(HIGH)T” dessert plate featuring caramel popcorn, ice cream sandwich, bacon, s’mores and other sweets.

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Andrea Drummer is the executive chef at Lowell Cafe and has built a reputation as a cannabis chef. Photograph: Dan Tuffs/The Guardian

The cafe says “all menu items are meant to complement the heightened senses from THC consumption”.

Brady said he expected the business would attract a wide range of customers, including tourists, celebrities and Hollywood screenwriters. His sister, who has two young children, “wants to bring all her PTA mom friends”, he said. “She sees this as a social communal environment that won’t impact the ability to wake up in the morning and take the kids to school or go to yoga and pilates.”

Even in progressive states like California, the cannabis industry has continued to be dominated by white entrepreneurs and excluded communities that have long suffered and continue to suffer from criminalization and the war on drugs.

Roughly 8% of the workforce of Lowell Herb Co, the company behind the cafe, are people with previous cannabis infractions on their record, said Sean Black, a co-founder, adding that this was a priority in hiring for the cafe.

“There is nothing that will make up for the wrongs that were done,” he said. “There are people in other states who are in jail while we are serving fancy meals. It’s inherently unfair.”

The cafe, he hoped, would help tackle remaining stigmas around cannabis consumption: “We want it to have the same respect as fine wine … Cannabis can be a fun recreational part of society, like alcohol, without being dangerous.”

Advocates said they expected this type of business would spread in California and other states, and Drummer said she was aware that people would be paying attention to what happens at Lowell.

“That is a huge deal, and I want to do it justice,” she said.

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poubelle-squelette · 7 years

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Do you have any cute squish and sans headcanons?

omg

like. so many?

so these are things that mostly happen in the years after getting together

- they eventually get their lady and the tramp moment

- one summer, the air conditioning in their house goes out so they spend the whole season lying naked on the tile floor or lying naked in a kiddie pool in the kitchen in order to stay cool

- every year, on the anniversary of their meeting, sans&co throw a party (as it’s also the anniversary of monsters’ freedom) and sans always, without fail, asks squish how she knows papyrus and squish always answers with an exaggerated sigh and says “I’m dating his brother.” and sans always says “i know, i’m just messin’ with you” and then laughs like it’s the funniest thing ever, even though the whole thing isn’t really a joke

- squish and sans will go on a tv binge on a semi-frequent basis. they both get upset when the other watches ahead

- squish eventually convinces sans to go back to school, and he goes off to learn how to be an automotive mechanic. he does that for a while and then gets bored so he gets his food handler’s license and opens a bakery. then he gets bored again and continues to job hop. sans is still not one for settling in one job for too long.

- sans has a fondness for jazz and so one year squish gifts him with a record player and some old vinyls. they try to dance to the music and totally fail so it turns to swaying, but it’s still really nice

- papyrus is totally in charge of their floral arrangements when they eventually get married and he seriously goes so overboard. poor squish barely gets through the vows without a buttload of pollen getting in her nose

- sans and squish never have kids, but they still have a very fulfilling life. sans was kind of worried about this, since both humans and monsters both have similar idealized visions of the future and for most that means children. but like he said, he likes kids but doesn’t want to have them. he really hoped that wasn’t a deal breaker for squish, and luckily - it isn’t! (although, i realize that x reader fics are supposed to be like. you can see yourself in squish’s position so. this may not apply to everyone reading)

- they travel a lot and see the world they both never imagined they would get to see and are always looking to try new stuff with each other. plus, once sans has been somewhere once, he can travel there whenever. imagine waking up going “i’m feeling like paris today” and BOOM you’re at a cafe in the heart of France. Truly magical.

- when sans gets sick for the first time around squish, she has no idea what to do and actually acts a lot like papyrus - looking up the monster version of webMD to try and figure it out but really, it’s like. the monster version of a cold. LOL

- sans’s jacket (the blue one, not the galaxy one) ends up getting pretty thrashed over the years. papyrus tries his best to mend it, but there are so many stitches and patches in it, the whole thing is pretty much falling apart at the seams. squish feels really bad about it, even tho sans doesn’t mind. she folds it up and keeps it in a box for sentimental reasons. she pulls it out after they have a huge fight or whenever she feels like she needs a little extra comfort. it becomes a security blanket.

UM. that’s currently all i can think of right now :)

THANK YOU FOR THE ASK. i love answering headcanon shit like this

#headcanon #sans #squish #Anonymous

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onlinedogtrainercourse-blog · 5 years

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How to train a Chihuahua – Your Chihuahua Training Guide

The Chihuahuas have been a beloved race for thousands of years, maybe even more, but the most common question the new owners ask is how to train a Chihuahua.

The race celebrates a rich history that is not entirely clear to the experts in reproduction.

However, one thing that can not be denied is that Chihuahuas are one of the most popular races in the world.

How to train a chihuahua As the smallest breed in the world, they have a perfect pocket size and are a fun companion, especially when you learn to train a Chihuahua to do cute tricks!

Its popularity has grown even more in the last 20 years thanks to so many celebrities who have made mini-me celebrities with their cheeky Chihuahuas.

However, if you are considering purchasing a Chihuahua, it is important to get a complete picture of your training requirements to avoid addressing some of the common complaints about the breed.

If you conducted a survey among Chihuahua owners, dog handlers and breeders, you may get several contradictory answers to the question "Are the Chihuahuas hard to train?"

There are many Chihuahuas in competitive sports, shows and movies, which shows that they can be trained for advanced levels.

There are also many owners and coaches who struggle with basic behavior problems with their dogs.

These puppies have a reputation among some for being fighters, agile, difficult to train and noisy.

So, what is the reality?

Both, in fact.

That's because individuals differ significantly from each other within the race. Let's see a little more this question:

Are the Chihuahuas difficult to train? The Chihuahua Club of America describes this breed as having a terrier-like temperament.

The small terriers originally got up to dive without fear in the burrows of the animals while hunting, so it is understandable to have a "combative" and combative personality.

Chihuahuas are also very similar to terriers, since they have a large crust and are not afraid to use them.

In fact, one of the most common questions from annoying owners is how to train a Chihuahua to stop barking when they are alone at home.

However, the Chihuahuas were not bred for hunting, but for the company.

Lap dogs and companion pets Therefore, most expect the breed to be more affectionate and gentle for dogs that love dogs.

A side effect of being raised as devoted companions is the tendency to protect and attack aggression.

Stopping this behavior is the second most frequent question about chihuahua training.

A study revealed that the Chihuahuas were at the top of the races prone to aggression, being able to attack strangers and members of their own family.

That is why they are not recommended for homes with small children.

The third most important question about how to train a chihuahua is related to toilet training.

Recommended Reading: Theonlinedogtrainer. com review

How to train a chihuahua to urinate outdoors. Owners who have purchased a puppy that comes from substandard housing circumstances, or owners who have adopted older chihuahuas tend to have difficulties in this area.

Once a chihuahua has established bad training routines to go to the bathroom, urinate or defecate at home or in his own bed, for example, it is very difficult to retrain them to enter the bathroom.

That's why today we will go into detail on how to train your Chihuahua puppy from the beginning.

Our Chihuahua training tips will help you avoid some of these common frustrations with race.

How to train a chihuahua using positive reinforcement. We are always advocates of positive training methods, and chihuahua training is no exception.

Positive reinforcement uses rewards to encourage "good" behaviors.

For example, if you want to teach your dog to sit, reward him when he sits down.

The goal is for your dog to repeat the behaviors that give him rewards, such as treats or affection.

Rewards can include food, special treats, congratulations and caresses, playing with a favorite toy, etc.

Remember, Chihuahua are so small dogs, sweets must be extra small and should be used sparingly so as not to cause obesity.

We therefore recommend that you familiarize yourself with positive reinforcement techniques when training in Chihuahua or using a local trainer.

How to train a chihuahua puppy The first two components of your chihuahua puppy training should be a deep socialization and a workout in the bathroom to avoid the main complaints about the behavior of Chihuahua.

Socialization not only means bringing your puppy together with other puppies.

Socialization is actually exposure to a variety of situations and people.

For these little dogs it is important that your chihuahua are regularly presented to larger dogs that are very soft to leave a lasting impression on your puppy, because tall does not mean anxious.

It's about being surrounded by many different people, including children.

While your puppy is always impressive and curious, present it to your friends, neighbors and strangers.

Provide the children with detailed instructions to keep them calm, moving slowly, and gently caressing.

Be careful with it. Children have a natural inability to regulate their intake until they are 7 years old. Do not let small children hold their puppy, otherwise they could hold on to it and frighten or hurt.

Being manipulated by other people is essential to socializing your puppy.

Your dog should be socialized for gentle and careful handling, brushing teeth, contact with ears, legs and tail.

This facilitates the visit to the vet and hairdresser considerably.

Since these dogs are so small even in adulthood, they are likely to be transported and walk from person to person.

It is very important that your puppy is not afraid to be treated, otherwise it could bite someone in the face.

Tips for Chihuahua Nursing Training The first of our training tips in Chihuahua is to prioritize the right workout for the bathroom.

Avoid using pads that are supposed to train puppies and difficult dogs.

Most Chihuahua owners say that once they start to pee, they can no longer be admitted to a normal outdoor bath routine.

If you are uncomfortable with urine-soaked electrodes that smell bad all over the house and you take them with you when traveling, I recommend that you do not use them.

How to train chihuahua in everyday life. Instead, start building a daily routine immediately.

You could look something like this:

- Wake up - go to the designated area to bring relief to the bathroom season - Breakfast - It remains to go to the bathroom - Play alone while mom gets ready for work / school - The last break of the morning - In the box or on the limited playground while mom is at work / school - Rest of the bathroom at noon