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atomicblasphemy · 3 years

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Blight Industries Board Meeting

I have some thoughts about that EE episode. Being myself I just couldn’t put them out in a sensible fashion, so I put on some crust in my headphones, amped everyone’s cynicism, and here’s the result.

O: Good evening everyone and welcome to the Blight Industries board meeting of number...

Ed and Em shoot glances at each other as confused about how they ended up there as when it happened for the first time.

Al looks longingly at his workshop door.

Amity glares.

Am: Mom, can we try to have dinner like a normal family which, according to Merriam-Webster at least, we technically are? For once at least?

O: That can wait, Mittens. Anyway, I called you all here to announce I shall be making some changes to our company. Namely, I shall change the job titles of the three of you. I’m still CEO, Alador still development, research and, well, the assembly line I suppose. As for you, Emira, Edric, you’re now in charge of security. I don’t want to hear about company secrets leaking out, okay? Mittens, you’re our new marketing department.

Am: Marketing?

Em: Seriously, mom?

Od: Dearests, this is a meeting please use our appropriate titles.

Ed: No no no no. They have a point. Okay, let me see if I understand your thought process. So, you’re the head of a company, right?

Od: I don’t like your tone, Edric. But okay, I’ll humor you. Yes I am, go on.

Ed: And said company essentially sells only guns.

Od: Mhmm, what’s your point?

Ed: And you think that the best way to convey that is by using your local annoyed teenage lesbian that half the time looks like she would be rather doing literally anything else? Is that a correct assessment, ma’am?

Od: Oh, and I suppose you have a better idea?

Em: Yeah, we do. ANYONE ELSE. We *frantically and repeatedly points her finger from herself to Edric* could do this, I mean we tried to leak our sister’s journal just a few weeks ago so we clearly know nothing about keeping secrets. You could do it. I mean, no offense, but putting up a show seems to be your only useful skill because if this your idea of how to run a company, we... aaaaand now I’m suddenly starting to realize where we get our decision making incompetence from. Anyway. This guy *points at Alador* could do it if you just made sure to remind him that that’s what’s funding his little research. Heck, you could hire Luz. She’s pretty charismatic and just took a shot at the Emperor himself. I’m sure having someone like that vouching for our products would do wonders for our business. See? That’s how you make a half-decent marketing strategy. Besides, I hear Luz could use the money and I’m sure Mittens would be happy to have her working here.

Am: Yup, normally I’d have other reasons but honestly I’d just be happy someone else is doing this particular job.

Al: *woop there goes gravity* Why? I told you this wasn’t the best idea. Besides, we agreed, twice at least, that I would take care of the abominations and you’d be in charge of everything else *leans in closer to whisper conspiratorially to Odalia* I don’t like dealing with them *points at their very loving children*.

Ed, Em, and Am: HEY!

Al: *sighs* Listen to your boss, children.

The children huddle closer, they are the conspiratorial ones now.

Am: We’re gonna end up broke and starving, aren’t we?

Em: Yeah, isn’t it weird though? I mean, you’d think they’d have found someone better to... sponsor by now. Apparently that’s not the case. Moreover, why do they, our parents I mean, keeping putting so many resources into product development then? And it’s not even like we’re branching out into new markets, making some groundbreaking products. Nope, just shinier versions of the old stuff.

Am: Hum... Can either of you teach me how to write a resume?

Ed: I... uh... was going to ask you the same thing.

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

Later.

Em: Okay, let’s recap the recent events, shall we?

Odalia and Alador were sat side by side in flimsy wooden chair at the factory’s storage area. Their children loomed over them with stern faces.

Am: First off, you decided to entirely restructure the company, you know, the one with our name in it. And you did so by making all possible wrong choices. Especially putting me as the face and head of marketing.

Ed: Then, secondly, when you realized that wasn’t working due to Mittens, justifiably I might add, wanting to do pretty much anything else with her time. So you two in a strike of parenting brilliance decide that the best way to deal with all of that was not to, oh I don’t know, hire some specialist or anything like that for the position and let her, and us, be teenagers like any normal parent would do. No, instead you think: “Hey, I’ll double down and alienate the one of my children giving me a hard time from the only people she seems to like.”

Al: In our defense...

Em: AND THEN, when one of said people decide to actually do something about, and in a very diplomatic fashion given the circumstances, mind you, you go ahead and try to commit murder in front of a large audience of potential witnesses. Granted, not a particularly morally upstanding audience given the type of products they were trying to buy, but still. Do you have any idea how many people would want a piece of you if you actually hurt the human? You have three of them standing in front of you right now.

Od: Well, Emira dearest, you can’t argue with the numbers. Tonight’s sale was an astounding success.

Am: And she still has her poise despite all the failures... Look, the three of us, we’ve been talking. We somehow are also part of the board, right? Moreover, we are, despite all evidence on the contrary, still employs of this company. So we put things through a vote.

Ed: First off, we’re unionizing. And your first demand is better working conditions...

Od: I’m not putting apple blood fountains in the factory floors. That’s off the table. I already told this Edric. The abominations take a surprising liking to the stuff.

Em: We can discuss the specifics later. We have other topics at hand.

Al: Okay, like what?

Em: You two are out. Actually just you mom. We still need dad for development of new products and stuff.

Od: WHAT? You can’t do this.

Am: Let me rephrase what Emira said: you’re not CEO anymore. She is.

Al and Od: EMIRA?

Ed: Yes, Emira. I’ll be in charge of supply and distribution as well as any other duties dad still had besides research and develop. Mom, you’re the new Mittens. I mean, marketing. You’re in charge of marketing now. Just marketing and literally nothing else. I’m sure we won’t regret giving you this much responsibility. And, by the way. One mistake and we’re hiring Luz for the job. AND we’re giving her enough shares to sit at the board.

Od: *starts chuckling while reaching for a small book in her vest* I can’t say I’m not angry at the three of you, but it is indeed nice to see you trying to take a more active role in the company. But there’s a big flaw to your little coup. You see, according to article 15 of the Blight Industries statute, Alador’s vote, as well as mine...

Al: I’m voting with them, Odalia.

Everyone else turns to look at him, wide eyed.

Al: Look, I’m not ecstatic about this or anything. But at the end of day if Edric is taking half the load off my shoulders then I’ll have the more time in my workshop. And away from them. Odalia, don’t look at me like that, I told you the other day I was wanting us to develop magic powered air fryers. Now I’ll have the time for that. We can tap onto more markets this way, more money.

Od: ... You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.

Al: *sighs* How about Mittens, what will she do now?

Am: Librarian. That’ll be my new job title.

Al: We have no use for a librarian, Amity. You know that, don’t you?

Am: I know. I’m not working here anymore. Gary had been telling me for some time about this internship opening. I start Monday. But don’t go thinking I’ll leave the board. I’m keeping my shares and besides, Ed and Em agreed to keep me as an adviser.

Od: Oh look at our daughter, Alador. Going all out on that daily grind, making the minimum wage. Are you sure you can handle it, Mittens my dear?

Am: Well, you paid me in passive aggressive comments and threats so far. I consider minimum wage a raise if anything.

Od: Whatever you say... In any case. I suppose I’ll now be some sort of glorified secretary then.

Em: What do you mean, mom?

Od: Oh, right. You weren’t there at the time. We struck a big contract, big enough so we won’t need to worry about marketing for the foreseeable future.

Em: What? HOW?

Al: That uhh... That kid, what’s his name again? The new head of the Emperor’s coven. He came in after the sales ended, said we should go around building Frankenstein mercenaries, and that the Emperor would be buying all of our Thanos thingies aaand on top of that the state would fund all our future research.

Ed and Em: Oh... Oh... Ohh Titan... Didn’t he get ahold of Eda’s portal? Mittens, we have to tell Luz.

Am: *chuckles* Yeah, good luck with that, Emperor.

Ed: I... Are you okay? Shouldn’t you be worried?

Am: Eh... I mean... First things first. Yeah, I know he’s building an army to invade the human realm and yeah, I know we’ll be supplying the weaponry and that I should probably give Luz a heads up. But, you know. That’s pretty stupid of him when you think about it.

Ed: What?

Am: I mean, think about it. He is getting a supplier that he knows, for a fact, has a positive connection to his enemies. Meaning it would be in our interest - especially mine, you know, the other Blight with Abomination know how and the one closest to the one human living in the Boiling Isles, as proven today - to put some back doors in all the tech we’ll be selling them. Moreover... Sure humans don’t have magic but they make up for it in other ways. Luz was telling me about her realm the other day and... Well... Let me put it this way: we are not humans, meaning we are not covered by the Geneva convention. Best case scenario once Bellos opens the portal we, not them, become a colony. And humans don’t make a habit of treating their colonies with any decency. So, you know... Anyway. Worst case scenario, they’ll just start pumping napalm, anthrax, mustard gas, and all sorts of fun stuff chemical and biological weapons through the portal. Meaning we’ll die. Painfully. Heck, they can even make good on their anti-nuclear proliferation treaties and just throw it all here and make it go boom. Trust me, that alone will be enough to finish sinking the Titan.

All the other four Blights look at her wide eyed.

Am: Eh... But you know, I’ll go and tell Luz and Eda. Fir witchkind’s sake or whatever. So... See you guys later.

Od: *shaking the shock away from her head* Oh... Quite a hurry to go and see Luz, aren’t we Mittens? *a sly smile forming* I’m sorry... I meant YOUR Luz.

Ed and Em: Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Damn, missed the joke.

Al just nods in agreement.

Am: What are you people talking about?

Od: Oh, it’s nothing really Mittens, my dear child. It’s just that, you seem to be rather attached to her, aren’t you? In a very weird way, but still.

Am: Weird? Weird how? You’re talking non-sense.

Ed: No, Mittens, the lady has a point. I don’t get your thought process tonight either.

Am: I have no idea what...

Ed: No, seriously. I mean, no need to beat around the bush here: you have a gargantuan crush on her. That’s plenty obvious to everyone here.

Am: *blushing* No comments.

Ed: Whatever, I’ll take that to mean you do. So, you see your crush up on the stage. She’s fighting dad’s Thanos thingy. Which, might I add, was being controlled by him. Seriously, what the hell, dude? Is this a way to meet your potential daughter-in-law? Anyway. She’s potentially in mortal danger. And your first thought is: I’m gonna woo her.

Am: That’s... not what I thought...

Em: Yeah, Mittens. Sure. That’s why the first you did was to turn around and start climbing the ladders.

Am: I... They were fighting up there, I wanted to get to close quarters.

Em: Nope. Not buying it.

Ed: We were watching it all unfold Mittens, you started climbing the ladders before, long before, they were up there.

Am: But... the crowd.

Ed: Dispersed pretty quickly, and knowing Abomination magic, as you do, you definitely knew Thanos would have that effect.

Am: I... But... I wanted to fight close quarters... and I wanted... the higher ground.

Em: So... You are up in the pipes, and by then Luz and Thanos are already back in ground level. So you position yourself in the spot with the best lighting and a means for you to quickly climb down - I swear, I’m certain I saw you double checking to make sure you were positioned just right. Then you take your sweet time pulling your hood back up. And finally, then and only then, you go to Luz’s rescue by using your magic. And you do that before you climb down, meaning your magic has enough range, as we’ve all always known, to be effective without the close quarters or the higher.

Ed: Come on, Mittens. Just admit it. You wanted to do a super-hero landing in front of your crush. Come on...

Am: I... Do you think it worked?

Everyone, expect for Amity, looks at Alador.

Al: I dunno, why are you asking me?

Ed: Because somehow out of all of us you’re the one most likely to pick up that sort of stuff.

Al: Right, and I’m also the one least likely to care.

Am: I’M YOUR DAUGHTER.

Em: *taking a deep breath* Okay, lets pause for a second here. Ed, Mittens. Pat yourselves on the back. Come on, do it. Look, I’ll do it too. *begins patting her own back in tandem with her siblings’ more tentative display*

Am: Em... Why are we doing this?

Em: For not succumbing to drugs and alcohol (shrewd ad campaigns on Twitter aside). *Edric and Amity begin patting their backs more enthusiastically, Emira turns to their parents* You know, you two. You should pat yourselves on the back as well. I mean, sure, we’ll need years of therapy to undo all the damage the emotional neglect the both of you show us has caused so far, but no one can say we don’t get plenty of variety.

Al: Are you done being passive aggressive, Emira?

Em: What can I say? I’ve learned from the best. *looks at Odalia, who just rolls her eyes*

Al: *sighing* As for your previous question. The human seemed to be blushing as well. So my best guess is that Amity’s little... spectacle... did work.

Od: See? And you dare say it was a bad idea to put her on marketing.

Am: That’s because I had a reason to care when I was doing all that.

Od: Ohh right, then what do you suggest I had done to make you care about our, emphasis on our, business.

Am, Ed and Em in unison: Pay us for our labor.

Am: I mean, seriously. You guys built a whole business model around Abominations: a.k.a. free labor. Sure you could afford to pay us, a.k.a. self aware creatures that are not (and I’ve checked this) Abominations, something.

Ed: So... again to recap the day. Mom and dad lost their company, Bellos shot himself square in the foot. Hell, even this new coven head pretty much proved his lack of intelligence gathering competence by doing business with us. Today was a failure on every front. Even Luz when you think about it.

Em: Luz?

Ed: Yeah... She trusted... her *points at Odalia*.

Em: Ohh...

Od: HEY! I’m still your mother.

Em: Nominally, maybe. Jury still out on that one. Anyway, that reminds me. I want all our financial books for the past five years i my desk, formerly yours, in two days.

Am: I think my day was pretty successful. I have reason to believe my crush likes me back and I’ll know what a healthy professional and financial life looks like for the first in these 14 groolling and long years of existence. So things are looking up for me. Anyway... Are we done here?

Am: I guess so, why?

Am: Cool. Gonna head out.

Em: Oh, going to let your Luz know of the Emperor’s plan and bask in her presence.

Am: Emira, I swear in the Titan’s name that if you ever address her like that in front of her they will never find your body. But yes, that’s the gist of it.

Em: Fine. Actually, wait up. Lilith is living there now isn’t she? I wanted to talk to her.

Am: Lilith as in Lilith Clawthorne? Eda’s sister? Former head of the Emperor’s Coven? My former mentor? That Lilith?

Em: Yup.

Am: Why, pray tell, do you want to talk to her?

Em: Wanted to hire her. We need a new accountant.

Am: And you thought of her because...?

Em: Lack of options?

Am: I... You know what, fair enough.

Ed: Hold up. I’m coming with. I don’t like being around them *points at Odalia and Alador*.

Am: Sure.

They leaving. Only Odalia and Alador are left in the room.

Al: Wow.

Od: I know.

Al: Just... wow...

Od: I know.

Al: I don’t know how to process any of this. It happened all so fast.

Od: I know.

Al: Like... no sense of pacing at all.

Od: I know, Alador. Titan do I know.

Al: Almost as if everyone’s words were being written by an extra-dimentional entity that reaaally wanted to rant but didn’t want to put out their opinions in a more reasonable manner, and wasn’t even remotely concerned with making it sound like a normal conversation.

Od: I know.

Al: Anyway. We failed as people, didn’t we?

Od: *sighing* I know.

#THE OWL HOUSE #Edric Blight #Luz Noceda #amity blight #odalia blight #emira blight #Alador Blight

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lighdramons · 3 years

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Hi I'm back. I promised awhile ago I’d tell the story of the fucked up digi.mon cult, so I figured that’s a great start for getting back onto this hellsite.

If the read more works, everything will be below the cut and it is a mess. Just a few things before the cut though:

General TW as I will be bringing up some of the bad experiences I had as well as talking about mental illness.

I will not be using names of sites, usernames, etc. I will not answer on specific users either. I’m sure these sites are still operating somewhere privately and back in the day, some of these people were big in the Digi.mon community outside of the sites as well.

If any of the people involved see this, no ill wishes towards you guys, just my take on things.

I quit these sites back in early 2015. I do not know what happened after I quit. I am only still in contact with a few individuals who either quit around the same time as me or long before.

As a general courtesy, some of these sites still exist. Please do not go harass them. A lot of the public sites are just teens trying to figure out themselves.

If you have questions or comments after reading this whole thing, I’m happy to answer any either publicly or privately. And yes, you can reblog this post.

We need to jump back to 2007 to begin with. I was a middle schooler getting back into Digi.mon because I walked into Gamestop and Digi.mon was sitting in the new releases. And I had access to the internet. I did binge S1-5 with subs and watching reruns of the dub on Toon Disney. I spent some time on the big fansite. Great site, just bad experience at the time because I was a teen and probably lied about my age. I didn’t feel like that was the community for me. I do check it every day now for news, just never made a new account cause I don’t even remember what I used back in the day.

By end of 2008/beginning of 2009 I began looking for other sites, stumbled across the digiclipse stuff on the bad encyclopedia site, looked into it, thought it was neat, moved on. Stuck with the big site for now because the only other sites I found were RP sites and not my thing at the time. Got hit hard with depression at the start of 10th grade (late 2010) and found my way back onto the digiclipse stuff. Didn’t really believe most of it, but thought the idea of creating AI Digi.mon was neat. Joined the smaller of the two sites because it felt friendlier and most users seemed my age.

For people who do not know, digiclipse is the act of going outside and holding the toys up hoping to get teleported. Most people by the time I joined thought the people who did this were crazy. Some people liked to do it for the lolz though.

Anyways, most of what happened on the sites was just talking and hanging out in chat rooms about life and other things. It was pretty chill. I can’t speak for everyone on the sites, but for me it was an escapism kind of thing. I was depressed and hated life so pretending that a magical adventure was a possibility gave me some hope. But honestly, got a group of people who were cool to talk with for the most part. There was one older female in her mid 20s that would come in the chat drunk and sexually harass the other female users and tell all the male they should die and are worthless. Nothing was ever done about her. And honestly it was weird having her there when most of the other people on the site were under 18. That was initially my only bad experience on the sites.

At some point during 2011, there were three individuals who claimed to see and speak with their digi.mon partners. And that they could read your aura and tell you exactly your digi.mon partner. And everyone believed this shit, mostly because two of them were prominent members and how could they lie. The process was simple, you would DM them either a creative piece you’ve done (art, writing, etc) or send a photo of yourself and they’d come back in a few days and tell you who your partner was. There was only ever one individual this method of tracking did not work on and that is yours truly. Oh and at the time it hit hard because I had started falling down the rabbit hole. This is the beginning of the cult-ish stuff.

Then the Ouija board happened. I have no issues with what happened during the fucking around with said Ouija board, I have issues with everything that spiraled out of control after. They fucked around with it confirming people’s partners that the others had “found”. And eventually they asked about mine. And then it was basically said, “oh we can’t tell you the results”. I was eventually added to this secret site of “The Chosen”. And basically told, “oh your partner is the offspring/creation of THE BIG BAD” and there were all sorts of debates on what to do about it. I literally thought I was getting punked at first and these people are clearly taking this whole thing too far. No, these people all believed this. Oh and the best part, most of the people involved in this “chosen” group were in their mid 20s. Me being a depressed as fuck 16yo that just wanted something exciting in life ended up eating all this up. I felt special and chosen. I look back on it now and I’m like what a fucking idiot.

We were all taught from the three who could do the stuff I explained earlier how we can also learn to bond and communicate and see our partner. I had absolutely no progress. Eventually this stuff led to everyone in this “chosen” group getting a “special guardian spirit”. Again, I made no progress on this. And to the point where they made me feel special again, I was the only person who had the wrong “guardian spirit” and they eventually found my “real one”, more on this later.

These discussions moved from a forum site to a private skype chat room, and then further smaller private chat rooms. The movement to skype is where I started having some bad experiences. I gave a few of my “close” friends on the site my phone number, soon everyone had my number. And this happened to multiple people over the years. My own stupidity at the time.

This stuff continued as I finished high school. At the time, I still managed to maintain my social life with school friends, keep up my grades, etc. Got into college with a good scholarship in my dream field. And then I started to go downhill once I got to school. The longer this stuff went on, the more you were expected to be involved. Including being on skype calls all night. It slowly began consuming my life. I ended up not only with depression, but ending up with an ED that was tied to anxiety so I’d go days without eating. I was seeing things and hearing voices, which was highly encouraged because it meant things were working. I literally could not tell the difference of when I was asleep or awake. I honestly do not remember the majority of my freshman year of college. I had no real friends and was just barely scraping by grade-wise. And well, the academic year almost ended with me hanging from a pipe in my dorm.

I ended up running the site I started on as an admin after the original admin team left. And it was expected you do not mention any of the “secret” stuff on the main site. Over the years I know it became clear to the users not included that there were secrets in the background. And those who knew stuff would actively fuck with these users. And if I haven’t made it clear yet, there was a hierarchy to this whole secret group. And it was the original three who were mentioned at the beginning that were on top. And what they said was gospel. Whatever they claimed is what happened and whatever rules they had were the rules. But of course certain people could break the rules and get away with it.

This next part happened at some point during my freshman year and will be relevant again later on. This is the biggest TW section so skip if you have to. I had a user dox me. He had my home address and threatened to post it. He had sent it privately to a few other users as well that alerted me of this. His reasoning? I would not date him or say I loved him. He told me that he would come to my house, murder me, r*pe my dead body, because he is the only one who gets to have me. Another user got involved and called the cops. I do not know if anything ever came of this because I never spoke to anyone about it. I at the time had admin privileges on one of the sites so I banned him and blocked his IP and I blocked him on anything I could. And I continued doing this over the years. I was told I was a bad person for doing this because I did not understand him. This lead to a lot of the things in the above paragraph getting worse.

As this all continued, there were battles and casualties and everyone ended up with like 20 partners. And if you haven’t noticed I’ve stopped using the term digi.mon entirely in the past few paragraphs. That’s because oh they weren’t digi.mon. They were spirits/dimensional beings that took on a form we were comfortable with and we formed a bond with. And I kept going along with all of this because I was in too deep at this point. And obviously yes, this all made sense. So at some point during this time, my “spirit” went to sleep and a new one “awakened”. And I of course still went along with all this. The BIG BAD kept mutating into stronger forms and blah blah blah.

During my fall semester sophomore year, I joined theatre at my college and did tech. Honestly, one of the reasons I was able to begin breaking away from this. I started to get an actual friend group and have less time for these sites. But there was always a pull of “you have to be here”. You were expected to be on skype calls and/or active in chat.

Well, that all changed at the start of 2015. They wanted a deletion of all the other sites and they would have one site united under one belief system. I was not a huge fan of this and made this known, but also offered to help in the coding as that was a skill I had that no one else really had. It got out around that I was a cunt and a power hungry bitch and blah blah blah. If it was just that, I would probably not have left. No no no, I was accused of lying about the shit that that user said and did to me. Because he is such a nice guy that could never do that type of stuff. And unless I provided the receipts I was clearly an attention seeking liar that wanted to ruin his life. That was the straw. I fucking blacked out in a rage and attempted to delete some of the different websites, I blasted some of these people on their real facebooks, and then I deleted all of my accounts and blocked everyone and blocked their numbers.

After that, I started talking with other people that quit. I started enjoying my college life. And I tried to act like none of that stuff had happened. I distanced myself from those individuals that were active in the Digi.mon community. I stopped hearing the voices and seeing things. I started going to therapy. My road hasn’t been perfect, but I’ve come a long way since I got out of this stuff. Honestly going to meet up with one old member after covid is all clear cause we’ve known each other for over a decade now and its about time we finally meet in person.

So yeah, that’s my story. I know I jumped around a bit and thoughts might not be too clear, but I wanted to share the fucked up things that happen in the background of the digi.mon community. Did I have good times? Hell yeah. The Olive Garden incident still to this day is iconic. We played d&d oneshots sometimes. We had memes. We all watched xros and hunters together live. And I still have some good friends out of this. The most fascinating thing out of all of this is everyone from the community that I still am either in contact with or see them via social media had admitted over the years to suffer from some kind of mental illness and has come out as part of the LGBTQA+ community. My own conclusion is a lot of us got sucked in due to depression/escapism and just a feeling of not belonging. And being around people of similar age with similar interests just made things more bearable at times. It also made a lot of us very vulnerable to the manipulation that took place, whether it was intentional or just one big group delusion created by multiple mentally ill people. I call it a cult, but I'm sure people will disagree with me. Whatever you want to call it, it wasn't good for my mental health in the long run.

If this shit is still going on, I hope people aren’t letting it consume their lives. And I just wish the best for everyone even if some of the shit hurt me.

As I said up top, if you want me to elaborate on anything or have questions, I’m good with talking about stuff. If you know me IRL and are reading this and are like "RACHEL WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK" I owe you a drink and explanation. And of course it Is okay to reblog. This is one hell of a comeback post on this site, am I right?

#ray's rants #im back on this hellsite and im here to share bullshit

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imjusthereforbatfam · 3 years

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Never-Ending Encore, ch 8

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Chapter Summary: Yes, this is Gotham City but helping people isn’t a CRIME, Red Hood! Eden’s not afraid of some crazy nutzos! Er, well… Okay, maybe she’s a little afraid of some crazy nutzos, but… But that’s not gonna stop her from helping people when she can! 😤

Warnings: minor swearing, very minor mentions of suic*de and previous suic*dal behavior, very minor mentions of previous abuse, abuse forgiven/excused by victim (which I personally don't care for but this is how Eden currently handles/perceives her trauma so...)

---

Eden sat down at the table with a content sigh. The heavenly aroma of homemade garlic bread was more prominent now that the rolls were right in front of her. The scent, mixed with the expectation of company and the eagerness of having some Mad Mountain Fudge chilling in her fridge, made her feel incredibly at-home. Though, to be fair, it was more of a hope for company than an expectation.

Red Hood said he’d try to come this night or the next, but that didn’t necessarily mean he would. Admittedly, Eden's shier half – which vividly recalled Aaron’s earlier, uh… praises toward Red Hood’s… physique – wouldn’t entirely mind waiting a few days to see him. The rest of her was so excited, though, that she had to keep reminding herself it was okay if he didn’t come tonight. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. He was a busy man, after all, saving dumbasses like herself and doing… whatever an ex-mob boss might do to make a place like Gotham better.

Not that any of that stopped her from hoping he would come, of course. Nor would it stop her from being disappointed if he didn’t. Even so, Eden knew she was just one, very small person among a million other very small people in this city. She understood that visiting a random civilian like her, even with the world's greatest fudge in her fridge, couldn't rank very high on Red Hood’s to-do list. Especially in a city like this, filled with a thousand not-so-very-small people — many of whom were quite dangerous.

Still, taking in her surroundings, Eden couldn’t help but smile. She was excited for him to come visit. The entire one-roomed apartment – not just the kitchen space – was clean now. She was back in the habit of making her bed every morning, and— okay, fine, the chair by her closet still held her not-quite-clean clothes, but at least they were folded now! Which was an improvement from the misshapen pile of before!

The once-crowded coffee table had also been improved. Now, it only housed her laptop, headphones, and one book (and notebook) at a time. The rest of her books and notebooks – aside from the pair she kept on the kitchen table – had a new home, piled neatly along the wall dividing the kitchen from the main living/sleeping space. They still needed a proper shelf, but the current setup worked for now.

Two plants with tall, twisting stems stood guard on either side of her slow-growing book collection, while a small, mismatched assortment of baby foliage in tiny, colorful pots sat along the edge of her kitchen table near the window. It wasn’t anything compared to rows and rows of crops back on the farm, nor the nearby woods she dearly missed walking through, but it still felt good to be around some greenery again.

Biting into a roll, Eden continued penning ideas into the notebook she kept on the kitchen table; new ways to make her place even homier, things that needed her attention, different possibilities to look into. Though it was the mortifying thought of Red Hood coming back to her apartment in its previous state that had spurred her into action, Eden now found herself genuinely starting to enjoy the little space.

Now that she was putting in the effort, her apartment was actually starting to feel… pleasant. Welcoming, even. And even though her neighbors were still ridiculously loud at times, Eden was finding herself happy with her little home. Enjoying the fruits of her labor whenever she paused to take it in... It was a very nice feeling.

Eden suddenly stopped writing. Her heart leapt in excitement as she looked to the far window, the one that led to the fire escape. It could be nothing, but she could’ve sworn she’d heard— The soft tapping repeated itself.

Scrambling up from the table, Eden flew to the window – nearly slipping in her socks – and beamed at the sight of Red Hood on the other side. He greeted her with a short wave of his hand.

“Hi there, Mr. Hood!” she greeted the moment she had the window open. “It’s so nice to see you again! How are you? Your fudge is almost ready, but it needs another couple of minutes or so to finish chilling. I hope that’s alright? I remembered you said you might stop by tonight, but I didn’t think it would be until later on so I— oh! Where are my manners?” She moved out of the way, her cheeks warming. “Won’t you come in?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Eden smiled as he deftly climbed inside, pleased to find she could still easily recognize Red Hood’s humored tone.

“Smells good in here,” he said turning toward the kitchen.

She quirked a brow, glancing at his helmet. “You can smell with that thing on?”

“It has an automatic filtration system." He lifted his chin, apparently quite proud of it. "Keeps Fear Gas out, lets good-smelling food in.”

"Really?” She hummed, making a show of looking over his helmet. “It doesn’t look all that fancy to me, Mr. Hood."

He scoffed. “It’s a lot more high-tech than it looks, Cookie Girl.”

“Oh, yeah?” She turned up her nose, grinning, as she led him toward the kitchen table. “What kind of high-tech stuff does it have, then, hotshot?”

“All kinds,” he said unabashedly, not afraid to meet her teasing head-on. “There’s the obvious, like night vision, thermal imaging, incendiary devices, and high-frequency—”

“Hold on, wait.” She turned the words over in her head. “Incendiary devices? Isn’t that just fancy talk for bombs?"

“It might be,” he said confidently.

"You have a bomb in your helmet?" She made a humored face. “That doesn’t sound very high-tech, Mr. Hood. Or obvious.”

He hummed, leaning forward slightly, resting his hands on his hips. “You don’t believe me?” Eden could imagine him grinning at her.

She crossed her arms playfully. “No way. You’re just trying to get a rise out of me. There’s no way you have an actual bomb that close to your head. You’re not that crazy, Mr. Hood.”

He made an amused sound, tilting his head to one side.

Eden opened her mouth, then shut it. She looked him up and down, faltering. “Are… Are you? Mr. Hood, do you really have— Are you— Please tell me you’re joking. That’s— Do you?”

“Relax, Ede.” He said it comfortably, as if he called her that all the time. Eden blinked, trying to remember if he’d ever called her that before — or anything other than Cookie Girl. “It’s just for absolutely fucked situations where I don’t have any other options.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait— You don’t mean— You don’t mean—” She jabbed at her temples frantically, trying to sputter something out.

Red Hood watched her struggle until what she was trying to say finally clicked.

He jerked forward, his hands up. “Shit, not like that! It’s an escape thing, not a kill myself thing,” he explained. “I take it off and throw it like a grenade.”

“Oh. Cool. Okay. A grenade. That’s cool.”

“Breathe, Cookie Girl," he reminded her.

“I’m breathing! Totally breathing!” She took a huge breath for good measure. Then another. “Sorry, I just—” She shook her head, plopping into her seat. She looked at him, then, in realization, jolted right back up again. “Oh, sorry! Please,” she gestured to the spare chair in front of him, “have a seat.”

“I’m alright.” Red Hood leaned onto its back, watching her sit down again. Her face was red hot. “You okay?”

“Yes, fine, thank you.” She took a few slow breaths, her brows pulled together with worry. “Do you… end up in situations like that a lot? Where you have to blow up your helmet to get away?”

Just a few nights ago, there’d been an explosion on the Westward Bridge. One of her coworkers said a friend spotted Red Hood escaping the scene afterwards. Eden, becoming more accustomed to Gotham’s shenanigans than she cared to admit, hadn’t worried about him too much when she’d heard. In fact, oddly enough, she’d felt a bit proud. But maybe she shouldn’t have.

Maybe she was wrong to have assumed he was okay. Maybe he’d been in serious trouble. Maybe he’d needed help. Maybe she should’ve done something. Maybe she should’ve—

“Not really,” Red Hood answered, breaking her dizzying thoughts with a casual shrug. “It’s the last of my last resorts, and it’s pretty rare for me to be so off my game.”

“Oh. Oh, good. That's...” She sighed in relief, then smiled up at him. “I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Hood.”

Of course. What in the world was she thinking? Red Hood wasn’t some small-time, stumbling wannabe. Unlike her pitiful attempts at playing hero, he actually knew what he was doing. If she ever showed up to one of his firefights, she’d probably just end up causing him trouble and end up staggering home with a plethora of healing bullet holes and another encore under her belt. (Maybe two, if she was particularly unlucky.)

Red Hood pulled out his chair and turned it so that its back was nearly up against the wall beside them. When he sat down, angled the way he was, he had a clear line of sight of the entire apartment.

The move was familiar to Eden, but it surprised her to see it done so precisely and naturally. The only other person she’d seen do that – and do it like that – was Mama.

Mama always had to have an eye on her surroundings, so she rarely took a seat without her back against a wall or being tucked in a corner. The habit was one of many from her life before "Louanne Smith". They were so far ingrained into her psyche that if she ever tried to go against them the struggle was obvious to even the blindest fool. Though she feigned ignorance at having ever lived such a life, it had obviously taught her all the skills she now used to keep their “cousins” safe: how to observe and analyze even the smallest detail, how to fight and defend unflinchingly, how to disappear without a trace, how to… make other people disappear.

It made Eden curious to see Red Hood with a habit like that. On the bright side, it probably meant she didn’t have to worry about him the way she had been. If he was even half as capable as Mama was, chances were he could handle just about anything thrown at him — even in a place like Gotham.

But… on the not-so-bright side, she had to wonder...

Red Hood tilted his head slowly. “What?”

“Hm?” Eden blinked and realized she been staring. “Oh, sorry! I was just remembering my, uh… um… well, it doesn’t really matter, I guess. I just got lost in thought. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“Right, sor— I mean, uh, thank you. I guess.” Cheeks warm, she glanced around quickly for something else to talk about. “Um, would you like some garlic rolls, Mr. Hood?” She picked up the plate and offered it to him. “They’re stuffed with cheese.”

He leaned closer to the food, inhaling it. “So that’s what smells so good.”

She smiled. “Try some!”

He started to grab one when his head turned toward the kitchen. He looked into it a moment then lowered his hand, sat back, and said, “On second thought, I’m okay.”

Eden lowered the plate slightly, surprised. She glanced into her kitchen, wondering what he’d seen to change his mind. The space was perfectly clean and tidy, as she always kept it. The only thing “out of place” was the baking sheet cooling on her stovetop. Any other dishes were already drying in the sink wrack.

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind… I’m happy to share.”

“I’m not interested in stealing your dinner. Besides,” he added in a lighter tone, “I need to save room for the fudge.”

Eden nodded slowly and set the plate down. Glancing toward the kitchen again, she wondered what had tipped him off that the rolls were her meal for the night. The empty baking sheet? The drying dishes?

Always have more than you think you’ll need, she remembered. That was a tried-and-true rule on the farm. They never knew when they were going to have company, so there was always more of things than Eden’s family could ever go through on their own — more blankets, more clothes, more toiletries, more food. Especially food. If there were seven people in the house, they made enough food for ten, and those extra servings came in handy more often than not.

“Can I get you something to drink, then, Mr. Hood?” she asked, picked up her pen and writing the old rule into her notebook. “I have sweet tea, orange juice… uh, water…” She paused, thinking. “Milk?”

He snorted. “I’m good.”

She quirked an impish brow. “Does your fancy, high-tech helmet even have a way for you to drink things? Some built-in twisty-straw component or something?”

He shook his head, edging forward. “Nope. Sorry. No twisty-straws.”

“Your helmet can be an emergency grenade, but it has no cool twisty-straw thingy?” She tsk-tsked, trading her pen for a roll. “I’m disappointed, Mr. Hood. It’s like you’re not even trying to impress me.”

He chuckled. “I’ll get right on that, Cookie Girl,” he assured, a smirk-like quality to his voice.

Eden shook her head at him, trying to hide her grin behind the roll.

He nodded to the notebook in front of her. “What are you working on?”

“Oh, just some ideas.” She pushed it toward him, inviting him to look. “I haven’t been treating this place right,” she explained, pulling apart the roll. “Acting like it’s a prison when it’s a home in need of as much tender loving care as any other.”

Red Hood hummed, going over her lists. “Hard to make a home in a neighborhood like this,” he muttered.

“Doesn’t mean I need to let it sit and rot like I was. It’s nice to have a place you’re at least a little proud of.”

He gave a half-shrug and nodded.

He flipped to a previous page in the notebook, glancing up to see if she minded. Eden shrugged, knowing most of the pages were haphazardly filled with everyday nonsense that likely wouldn’t mean much to him. He looked them over while she ate and she looked over him, a little embarrassed when he started reading out random thoughts.

“‘Mary: Superfluous, plain but extra, well-meaning but unaware’?”

“Uh, that’s a… That’s a thing for work.”

“What do you do for work? Evaluate assholes?”

She laughed. “No, no, I’m a…" She fixed her posture, feeling a bit proud. "I’m an actress, actually."

“A professional liar? Great.”

“Wha—? No! Lying and acting are two very different skill sets, Mr. Hood!”

“Uh-huh. Sure, Cookie Girl. Whatever you say.”

“No really! I’ll have you know I’m an awful liar but a really great— er, uh, well, okay, maybe not a really great actor— I mean, maybe not a great actor either, but, you know, I— Well, actually—”

He snickered, then moved on to the next blurb he could tease her with.

“Are all your notebooks filled like this?” he eventually asked, glancing at her collection against the wall.

She gave a half-shrug as she finished the last roll. “Some are more coherent. This one’s mostly for stuff that pops in my head while I’m eating or in the kitchen. It’s easier to have my thoughts written down where I can see them instead of fighting through them all in my head.”

“Makes sense.” He leaned forward brazenly. “Am I in any of those thoughts?”

“Not any of the written down ones,” she said with a laugh, assuming that was the real question. “I’m not that dumb, Mr. Hood.”

“Good to know,” he said with a nod. “Speaking of dumb, though…” He leaned back in his chair and fished out a cell phone from inside his leather jacket. “I was wondering if you could help me connect some dots here.”

“Me? I don’t know what you could possibly need my help sorting out, Mr. Hood," aside from an urgent, impromptu lesson on goat milking perhaps, "but I’ll certainly try.”

“Oh, you can help a lot more than you think, Edie.” Red Hood set the phone down on the table and pushed it toward her.

Eden blinked again at his sudden use of one of her everyday nicknames, suddenly nervous. She looked down at the phone, at the picture on its screen, and her brows lifted in surprise. She immediately recognized the sleek, minimalist decor of Café Très Boissons and the slightly hunched, unassuming man who’d been taking her picture earlier that day. But more than that, she recognized the angle the picture had been taken from.

Turning to Red Hood, wide-eyed, she faintly recalled the faces of the boys in the corner booth. The younger two were obviously out of the running, but between the smiling one and the one in the red hoodie… It wasn’t exactly a hard leap to make.

“Wait, were you the guy—?”

“I have contacts all over this city,” he told her. “They keep me informed.”

Eden’s brow furrowed. She worked her mouth to say something, not really sure she believed him, but he leaned over the table and swiped the screen to the right, moving the conversation forward before she could. The new picture was taken closer to the scout and clearer than the first, better showing his face and overall frame.

“So imagine my surprise,” Red Hood went on, “when I learn a small-time heiress has a look-alike who can clock up a potential threat in a heartbeat, and it turns out that look-alike—” he swiped right again, this time to a grainy, blown-up picture of Eden, Veronica, and Aaron crossing the street “—is you.”

Eden stared at the picture: she and Veronica arm-in-arm, Veronica’s purse over her shoulder, a flippant expression on her face that didn’t seem to fit quite right. The picture was from an entirely different viewpoint, somewhere up in the air looking down on them, and of a far poorer quality than the first two.

“Security camera?” she guessed glancing up at him. His permeating stare was hard to meet through the angry “eyes” of his helmet.

“Traffic cam.”

Eden sank a little lower. “You’re making me feel like I’m in trouble here, Mr. Hood,” she mumbled.

“Aren’t you?” he accused. “You’ve practically got a flashing neon sign on your forehead that says In Deep Shit.”

“No, I—!” She huffed and moved some hair out of her face. “I do not. I meant trouble like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar.”

“Funny.” He moved to rest his jaw on his fist. “I didn’t.”

Eden lowered her gaze, unable to meet the unbreakable scrutiny of his “eyes”. “I’m not in any trouble,” she muttered, rubbing her socked feet together under the table. “Not like that, anyway. I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Y’know,” he half-teased, “I think I’m starting to understand what you meant about being able to lie and being able to act.”

She struggled with a response to that. “What… What even makes you think I’m in that kind of trouble anyhow?”

“You want the short list or the long?”

She stared at him. His certainty was unshakable.

There’s no way it was that obvious she was in trouble… But it wasn’t deep trouble like he seemed to think. Just… ankle-deep trouble. That she was slowly sinking in. No big deal.

Besides, it wasn’t any of his business. Her “trouble” was just between her and her parents. And her siblings, sort of. And… probably the people Frank worked with... and for… But, like, at its core, it was mostly just her and her parents.

“It’s nothing big,” she promised. “Nothing vigilante worthy, anyway.”

Red Hood tilted his head, silently encouraging her to continue regardless.

“It’s just… family stuff.”

Just a looming fight between divorced parents; their adult child stuck in the middle and trying to put out the fire before it sparked. A totally normal thing for a totally normal "family".

Only, like… kicked up to a ten because Eden was a metahuman, her father was a superhero-obsessed farmer-turned-geneticist who basically stole samples of her DNA, and her mother was not afraid to get her hands dirty. Especially if she perceived something as a threat to her daughter’s well-being — which Frank’s recent work and actions could definitely be perceived as.

Plus, everyone in that facility seemed to know about her powers. Mama would not like that. That Eden regretted helping them – that she’d tried to rescind her consent, been denied, and her DNA taken anyway – just made the whole thing even messier.

The only way to hide any of it from her mother was to literally take the money Frank gave her for her "donation", run off, and hide away while she tried to string everything together. Because once Mama knew, Frank was a dead man. Unless Eden could figure out some way to cushion the information and keep her from digging deeper, there was no doubt in her mind that Mama would wipe every last trace of him – and his colleagues – off the face of the earth.

And Eden… Eden didn’t want that.

Despite everything he’d done and put her through, despite all the hurt and tears, part of her still thought of Frank as her father. As the man who read her stories every night and taught her to ride a bike and a horse. The one who called her “Champ” and always carried her up on his shoulders when they went into town. Who told her she was meant for great things, encouraged her compassion, always put her back on her feet… told her he loved her every morning and every night when she was young…

They were both older now, and him colder. He’d abused her trust and love in pursuit of his own goals. Again. This time with intent. But he was still the man who, above all else, wanted to help others. Eden knew that. He just… didn’t seem to mind hurting her in the process. And a part of her hated him for it, but she still loved him, too. She couldn't stand the thought of him getting hurt, or worse.

Which, you know, with her mama a hairpin trigger away from… removing him… sorta left Eden caught between a rock and a hard place. But, again, that wasn’t any of Red Hood’s business.

“It’s not that big a deal,” she stressed. “And anyway, Veronica’s the one with the scout right now, not me.” She swiped back to the picture of the man in the suit and pointed to him firmly. “He cared about getting her picture, not mine. Even if he mixed us up, it still means she’s the one in real trouble here.”

Red Hood hummed. The disharmony was hard to interpret, but she was willing to bet he was neither fooled by nor satisfied with her answer.

“What?” she shot back, crossing her arms, acting defensive to force the conversation forward. “It’s not my fault he confused me for Veronica.”

“No, but you wanted to keep him confused. In fact,” he reached over and swiped back to the traffic cam picture, “you did everything you could to make sure he thought he had the right girl.”

Eden lifted her chin, waiting for the real question. Red Hood studied her, possibly waiting to see if she’d answer it herself. Maybe blubber out something as she was wont to do. But she was determined to keep her mouth shut this time.

She tipped her head, politely prompting him to continue. When he didn’t, she huffed.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hood,” she said rubbing her forehead, “but I really don’t know what you’re trying to ask me here. I’m not a mind reader.”

He stayed quiet for a few more beats. His consideration shifted from her to the picture on his phone. “For now, I guess my biggest questions are why and how.”

Eden sat up a little. “Why?” she repeated, not sure she understood.

“Yeah. According to my source,” he said slowly, “you two,” he nodded toward her and Aaron in the picture, “figured out the scout was there for Veronica before she’d even entered the building and that he’d mixed the two of you up.”

“Right,” she agreed cautiously. “And?”

“And?” He gestured in front of him as though he’d clearly laid everything out on the table itself. “Didn’t it occur to you that if he saw the real Veronica, the scout would’ve pieced it all together and left you alone?”

Had that occurred to her? She couldn’t remember. Probably not.

But even if it had, Eden wouldn’t have wanted him to leave her alone if it meant throwing Veronica under the bus like that. Eden at least knew how she was supposed to act in that kind of situation, which was more than Veronica could probably say. And besides, no matter what might’ve happened, she would’ve been fine in the end. Veronica didn’t have that guarantee. Nobody did. Except Eden.

“It was better for him to bother me than her,” she said firmly. “At the very least it threw them off her scent for a bit. Hopefully, she can get some sort of security team or something before they get too wise.”

“They?”

“Whoever wanted those pictures in the first place,” she explained. “I seriously doubt that scout was taking them for his own sake, or he would’ve left the moment “Veronica” started noticing him.” She tilted her head at Red Hood and gave him a wicked smile. “Or did your source not mention that part of my theory?”

“He did,” he said simply. “All the more reason to want to stick your head in the sand, though, don’t you think? It’s what anyone else would’ve done.”

She frowned, finally realizing what he was saying. “You Gothamites are so weird. I’d have thought a vigilante would at least understand..."

“Uh, rude?”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be, but… It’s just I think I figured out what you’re really asking me, and Aaron and Veronica asked me the same thing earlier, too, and it’s just…" She shook her head, finding it hard to wrap her brain around. "Y’all…” She huffed. “Y’all’re just so weird to me.”

Red Hood didn’t say anything.

“Sorry,” she said again, more genuinely. “But you’re asking me why I helped her, right? Even if it wasn’t… oh, how did Veronica say it?” She turned her head, trying to remember. “Wasn’t my problem, I think? Something like that…” She refocused on him. “Anyway, my answer to you is the same as it was for them: because it was the right thing to do.”

Red Hood made a short, unamused noise. “The right thing was pretending to be that girl? Putting yourself in danger?"

“The right thing was helping her,” she corrected. “And that scout had already taken my picture anyway, so…” She swiped between the pictures. “At least I stopped him from taking the real Veronica’s picture, too.”

“But now he’s got your picture.” He sat back and crossed his arms. “Which means his employer’s going to have your picture. If they don’t already.”

“Which they probably do, since he was using a cell phone," she pointed out.

He threw his hands in the air. “Exactly! And he could be some sick, psycho fuck!"

"Well—"

"This is Gotham, Ede," he went on, imploring her to listen. "Even if they know you're not Veronica, they'll know you tried to fuck with their plans for her, whatever they are. People get themselves killed for way less here. You know that, right?”

“No, I... I guess I hadn’t really…”

So that was why a lot of Gothamites didn’t go out of their way to help others! Of course! There was no guarantee offering their hand to one person wouldn't put a huge target on their back with another. And nobody in their right mind would want to risk gaining the attention of one of Gotham’s scarier characters. It all made perfect sense now. Gothamites kept their heads down and only focused on their own problems because they had to. If they didn't, they could very well be signing their life away. And when people asked her why she was helping others, they weren't really asking her that; they were asking her why she was so willing to put her own life in danger for someone else.

But Eden wasn't like them. No matter what happened or what anyone did to her, she would be fine. She was always fine. It didn’t mean she had to throw on a cape and go looking for trouble every day like Frank had wanted her to, but it also meant she didn’t have the same excuse as everyone else. If she could step in and help somebody, she should. She was one of the few in this town who probably could. And, most importantly, she wanted to.

“I still would’ve helped her,” she decided. “Even if someone scary thinks I’m her for a little while, or gets mad at me, at least Veronica is safe for now.”

Red Hood stared at her, unmoving. It wasn’t clear what he was thinking or feeling, but Eden could imagine he might not like what he was hearing. After all, as far as he knew, Eden was just a totally normal, would-die-and-stay-dead civilian.

“I mean, if they have any brain cells at all, they should realize pretty quickly “Veronica” doesn’t look like she should, right?” she said trying to reassure him. “And even if they don’t, all they have to do is follow me home once and they’ll realize they’ve got the wrong girl.” She pointed out the window. “Even a total rock-for-brains moron would start scratching their head if Veronica Bradford came to a neighborhood like this.”

He followed her finger, seeming to consider her words. “Maybe,” he acknowledged. “But they’d probably just say fuck it and stick around anyway. Especially if it was some goon following orders.”

Eden bobbed her head from side to side, agreeing with the possibility. “They’d still figure it out eventually, though. Veronica’s a socialite. And I’m definitely not. Eventually, she’d post a Snapstagram story or go somewhere fancy while I’m hanging about here and things wouldn’t add up. And if they were still convinced I’m Veronica after something like that, then I don’t think they’re smart enough to be considered much of a threat to anybody but themselves.”

“Everybody is a threat in this city,” he warned her. “And the last thing you want is some twisted mother fucker knowing where you live. Especially if they think you messed with them.”

“I’d rather someone like that know where I live and make my life difficult than let someone else get hurt or killed because I didn’t help them,” she said stubbornly.

Red Hood let out a gruff, half-groaning sound as he sat back to stare up at the ceiling. "Of course you would," he grumbled. He stayed like that for a minute, perhaps trying to gauge how serious she was. He sighed, apparently finding his answer. "I don't get you. You freak out when a stranger shows up to warn you inside, but the idea of some asshole coming here and actually trying to fuck with you? That doesn't scare you?"

"In my defense, this is the ninth floor and it was my private fire escape. I had every right to freak out when some big stranger with guns and a mean-faced helmet suddenly showed up out of nowhere."

He huffed.

"And I'm not completely helpless, Mr. Hood," she told him. "I have a little fighting know-how under my belt."

"Uh-huh, yeah, sure. And how's your neck, again?"

"My...?" She blinked at him, then remembered the healed cut and frowned. "Hey, I'll have you know I was doing very well for myself until I got stabbed!" she said pointing at him.

He looked up again, this time as if asking a higher power for help. “So if someone broke in here with a gun or another knife, you think you'd be able to fight them off?"

“I'd be fine."

"So you do think you could."

"Not really, no."

He stared at her. “Y'know... a little lie might be nice right about now.”

"I could 100% fight them off no problem, Mr. Hood."

He groaned, covering his eyes. "God, you are an awful liar."

Eden tried very hard to suppress her giggles. “If it makes you feel any better," she offered, "I wasn’t planning on it. Pretending to be Veronica, I mean."

Red Hood sighed, but he lowered his hand and gave her his attention anyway.

"Veronica’s not very… Well, let’s say she’s not the most observant person around. And I know my foresight’s not exactly great in the heat of the moment, and I might end up paying for it eventually, but… I couldn’t just... not do something when that scout noticed her, you know? She needed someone to help her and she didn't even know it. So I just… did.”

Red Hood let out a sharp laugh, which sounded sharper with the distortion. He looked away, subtly shaking his head. “So you just did,” he muttered to himself. He turned to her again. “Didn’t you agree not to do anything stupid before I came by again, Cookie Girl?” he teased.

Eden smiled apologetically, then turned coy. “I did try, Mr. Hood,” she said sweetly. “And I promise that that was the stupidest of the stupid things I did. Which I’m willing to bet is still a million times better than the craziest thing you’ve done since the last time I saw you.”

He put a hand on his chest. “Who me? Do something crazy? Never.”

“Uh-huh. You sure about that? Because I’m pretty sure I heard someone say something about a red vigilante being involved with that big explosion Friday night.”

“Nope. Wasn’t me. Must’ve been Red Robin. I’m completely innocent.”

Eden nodded along, not admitting she only knew of the other vigilante because she’d thought Red Robin was just another of Red Hood’s names until somebody corrected her.

“Oh, completely innocent, I’m sure,” she goaded. “And what was it that you were doing oh-so-innocently while the bridge was blowing sky high, Mr. Hood?”

“Hey, the bridge is still standing, isn’t it? He made sure there wouldn’t be any structural damage. Just a little mess of things. He knows what he’s doing with shit like that.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah. I sure hope he does. Especially if he also has a helmet full of explosives.”

“Not to worry, Ede," he assured her. "I’m the crazy Red.”

“Oh. Good. I feel so much better now. Thanks."

He laughed.

“Wait.” She pointed at him. “Do you both go by Red?”

“We do," he nodded, "but Double R’s usually Red if we’re using shorthand,” he said crossing his arms. “They call me Hood to keep it simple.”

“Oh, well, that’s not confusing at all. Though I suppose y’all can’t exactly call him Robin. That’d be even more confusing.”

Red Hood scoffed. “Demon Spawn would have an absolute fit if we did that.” He looked to the side. “Then again…” He rubbed his chin, seeming to consider it.

“Um,” Eden lifted a tentative finger to catch his attention. “I’m sorry, but this is Gotham City, so I’m gonna need you to clarify: do you mean, like… a real demon spawn or…?”

“I mean I think he is,” Red Hood joked, “but, no, not really. That’s just what I call Robin ‘cause he’s a little shit.”

She perked up. “You mean Robin like… Batman's Robin?” He nodded and Eden scoffed with certainty. “Well, he can’t be that bad, then.”

Red Hood let out a short, sharp laugh. Something about it a bit painful. “Are you an expert on Robins now, Ede?”

“Well… no,” she mumbled, a little embarrassed. “But if he’s a Robin then… I dunno. He can’t be all that bad.”

“Have you ever met the brat?”

Eden shook her head slowly, fighting the urge to scowl.

No, she hadn’t met the boy Red Hood was talking about… But she’d met one of his predecessors. And that Robin? He’d saved her life. Not just from a fight or another encore. She could handle those things on her own. Poorly, sure. But she could.

No, what he’d saved her from was a life full of fights and encores. And pain. Endless, endless cycles of pain.

Without him, who knows where she’d be today. Who she’d be. Certainly not the person she was. Not the civilian trying to make the best of an awful situation by following her theatrical dreams. If he hadn’t knocked some sense into her, she would probably be what Frank wanted her to be. A… A hero. A constantly struggling, hurting, dying, pitiful attempt of a superhero.

Robin saved her from that. From a life of wishing every day, every death, would be her last.

As far as she was concerned, she owed that boy every good goddamn thing in her life. So to hear Red Hood call her hero a brat or a demon spawn, even if it was a completely different boy, even if Red Hood obviously knew him a thousand times better than Eden knew the one she’d met… Well, it upset her. In her heart, “Robin” was still the boy from her childhood.

Though, even she could admit it was hard to remember him clearly after so many years. She could remember the way he’d spoken to her and how it had impacted her, but not most of what he’d actually said. She could remember him joking and laughing with her, but not the way it sounded. She could remember the way he’d smiled and offered his hand before lifting her up into the air, but the scene was fuzzy.

“Sorry,” Red Hood grumbled, rubbing the jawline of his helmet. “I guess you’re more of a Gothamite than we thought.”

“Huh?” She squinted at him, confused. “No, I’m not. What do you mean?”

“Well...” He leaned back, spreading out slightly. “People these days tend to be pretty protective of their Robins. Even when this one first started out and was swinging his sword everywhere—”

“This one’s got a sword?” she blurted out, shocked.

“Yeah, a katana. He hacked up a couple of goons pretty good with it, too. Which I thought was great,” he said gesturing to himself, “but B didn’t.”

“B? As in… Batman?” she whispered.

He snorted at her. “He’s not the boogeyman, Ede. He’s not gonna jump out of your closet if you say his name too loud." Despite saying this, he was clearly doing a quick survey of her apartment.

“Wow. I feel so reassured,” she droned. “Anyway, no, I should be the one apologizing. You clearly know this Robin well, so if you think he’s a—” her mouth twitched slightly “—a brat then... you… probably have your reasons for it. I suppose. And I should... respect that,” she half-snarled.

Red Hood clapped slowly. “Wow. What a beautiful performance, Edie. How’s it feel to be such a great actor?”

“Oh—” she reached over the table and shoved him “—shut it, you!”

He just laughed her off.

“You better start being nice to me, Hood," she said standing and moving toward the fridge.

“Or what?” he asked confidently.

She grinned at him. “Or you’re not getting any Mad Mountain Fudge,” she teased right back.

---

Feedback always loved and appreciated! 🥰💕🥰

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#jason todd #red hood #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x oc #red hood x reader #red hood fanfiction #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff #silly #fluff #Never-Ending Encore #chapter 8 #oc: Eden Smith #red hood x oc #cross posted on ao3

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years

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Once Bitten, Twice Stupid

Pairing: Klance: Keith Kogane/Lance Mcclain

Summary: Lance has lived a pretty simple life since being turned into a vampire. He’s got his house, his cat, and his two besties that have no idea he’s a vampire thanks to his awesome acting skills... He thought he was happy, that things were fine, that he wasn’t drawing too much attention to himself... and then he met Keith.Big, dumb, hot, emo, stupid Keith. Keith that went and flipped his life upside down, because, seriously, Keith really was a special kind of stupid.Vampire Lance x Vampire Hunter Keith

READ ON AO3

People sucked. People truly, madly, unequivocally, completely and totally sucked. That’s why Lance had brought his farmhouse outside a the tiny speck of a town barely found on most maps. He hadn’t lead a particularly long life, at least not when compared to others suffering from the same condition as he had, yet in his short time, he’d come to hate people. Don’t get him wrong, he didn’t hate everyone. He had two best friends that meant the world to him, Pidge and Hunk. Both paranormal investigators, and both blind to his unusualness. No. What Lance held issue with was the continued hunting of his kind by the Vatican. His “ancestors” may have bathed in blood, and sacrificed virgins, all that kind of hooky-huha that one reads in scary stories, but before he’d been made a vampire, he liked to think he’d been a happy enough well liked kid, and he liked to think that even these days he still carried an air of that charm whenever he was forced from his home.

Garrison was a tiny town 50kms away from Platt City, founded during the Third World War, the city held plenty of ghostly secrets which had drawn both Hunk and Pidge to the area. Boasting a single Main Street, the highlights of the town were limited to tourist traps and three pubs on the Main Street. It was while studying at Platt University that he’d met both his best friends, twenty years his juniors, yet thanks to his unwanted immortality his body had stopped maturing roughly around the age of 18, making it easy to join the crowded university with a few falsified papers. His intention was to refresh his legal skills in order to keep up with the time’s. With the help of his Mami, he’d moved somewhere small and private, to a dead beat town that accepted weirdness as an everyday occurrence thanks to the tourists that came to see the ghosts of soldiers passed. When he’d been a kid, he’d always dreamed of being an astronaut, yet had chosen law to help those less fortunate in some kind of redemption for his condition. Being immortal meant keeping up with the times, though his house retained much of its old “Victorian” charm. Plus, with Platt being so close, it made for an easy drive up there every three weeks to pick up new blood bags. He was in no way a stereotypical vampire other than his need for blood. He wore glasses, because his eyesight was so good his mind couldn’t process everything he was seeing. This came with the unfortunate side effect of being clumsy as hell. He’d come from a Catholic family, meaning he believed in the presence of God. He’d also never drunk from a human, and never taken a human as pet or a lover like some did. When he wasn’t tagging along with Pidge and Hunk to ensure they didn’t accidentally summon something nasty, most of his time was devoted to providing low cost family legal advise.

Perhaps because he hadn’t been born a vampire, he’d retained many of his human ways. Sunlight didn’t turn him to ashes. Garlic gave him pretty bad stomach cramps and indigestion, which could be fobbed off with the excuse of an allergy. Silver gave him hives, again, something that could be passed off as an allergic reaction. He refused to harm animals for blood. He refused to bite another human, despite the fact a bite wouldn’t turn one anyway. They needed to be drinking his blood for that to happen, and after how he’d been turned, there was no way he’d ever do that to a mortal. He showed up in photographs, though his eyes always came out red instead of their usual bright blue. Mirrors weren’t exactly his friend, but not because he couldn’t see himself, instead because he hated seeing himself. They didn’t magically show his “vampire face”, instead they reminded him he’d never grow old. At the ripe age of 44 he looked 18. Even when he turned 100, he’d still look 18. It was thoroughly depressing. Unlike some vampires he didn’t have a coven, or a pack. His house only held him and his cat Blue, who he’d found as a tiny kitten under the steps leading up to the porch. She’s was black, fluffy, and an absolute princess in his eyes. Other than the general upkeep of his house, blood costs and the very occasional splurge on new clothes, most of the money he made went to spoiling his little princess. He wasn’t sure if Blue was part vampire, her teeth had always been sharp, as kitten he’d dug her out by the scruff of the neck, her tiny little teeth were far too cute as they buried themselves into his hand. She’d never acted like she was, but she also preferred to stay inside and had a personality that rivalled some of the most twisted “Queen” vamps he’d met. Then again, everyone knew cats were temperamental arseholes, so maybe Blue was simply being the snobby cow she was born to be.

All in all, Lance had nothing to complain about in his life. He was happy, content, safe in the knowledge no one about to ruin that anytime soon.

Pulling into the parking lot of their usual dive, Sal’s burgers wasn’t the most popular place in town, making it the perfect place to hang out. Located 10kms out of town on the road to Platt City, seemingly an inconvenience the locals, most of Sal’s customers came from tourists needing to stop because their kids needed the toilet. A few of the older locals had dedicated seats at the service bar, and maybe one or twice a week people spiced it up from their usual coffee shops on Main Street, but all in all, the lack of customers is what Lance loved about it. The whole place looked as if the 50’s had left it behind, from its pastel pink exterior to the cheesy green and silver breakfast stools at the c go heck board service bar. From his parking space he could already see Pidge and Hunk waiting for him in their usual booth. Hunk’s head thrown back as he laughed at something, probably at Pidge’s expense.

Cutting the engine, Lance grabbed up his wallet, phone, and gloves. He wasn’t exactly the warmest of people to begin with, but this freezing weather was likely to turn him into an undead popsicle. Already dressed in his favourite khaki jacket, Lance did a quick double check pat down before climbing out his battered blue four wheel drive. She was old, had one too many rust spots and didn’t like starting on days like today, but he’d had her since he’d graduated college the first time around. His Mami was always nagging at him to get rid of her, to use some of his money to buy something better, something that didn’t have roll down windows and a dodgy CD player. His first car was his first real taste of freedom after being turned. They’d been through a lot together, leaving him unable to say goodbye to her. That’d be like cutting him own arm off.

Sal gave him a wave as Lance walked in, the man was a teddy bear under his perpetual 5 o’clock shadow and greasy apron. His policy seemed to be that if someone couldn’t respect him like this, they weren’t worth his respect in return

“Hey’a there, Lance. Pull up a seat and I’ll bring your usual over”

“Thanks, Sal. You’re the best!”

Sal grumbled, Lance pretending he didn’t hear every low word about him. Bringing up that Sal secretly liked him well enough would only leave the old man flustered. For the sake of their “friendship”, he played along with Sal’s mumbling translating into how much of a pain he was. With a bounce in his step, Lance headed over to Pidge and Hunk, throwing himself into the booth as he wrapped his arms around Hunk

“Lance!”

“It’s soooo cold! Warm me up!”

Hunk hugged him back

“I’ve got you, bro! You’re freezing...”

“And you’re late. You were supposed to be here half an hour ago”

Lance sighed dramatically as he rolled his eyes at his favourite tech gremlin

“You know how she gets in cold weather”

“Who? There better not be anything and wrong with my Princess”

“Pidge, you should know by now that when Lance talks like that, he’s talking about his car... right?”

Lance grinned

“Of course I’m talking about my girl. And my Princess is perfectly happy. Blue was curled up under my blankets when I left”

Pidge pouted at him

“You could have brought her with you. I miss my Blue cuddles”

“You could try coming by the house. She was in a mood when I left”

Lance had a backpack carrier for her, but Blue would have frozen her perfect little toe beans out in the weather today. He’d left the heated blanket on a timer for her, unable to keep from spoiling his princess. Pidge’s hand left her laptop keyboard to grab her mug of coffee

“But your house is soooo far away. Anyway, we’re here to talk about work. I was on this forum last night, and someone swore they met a werewolf. Can you imagine? Hunk told me to stop scaring him”

Hunk... Hunk was the biggest ray of sunshine Lance had ever met. The poor man got every single form of motion sickness know, but that never once stopped him. He was terrified of ghost stories, not the best constitution to have when one is a ghost hunter... No, paranormal investigator. He’d been told there was a difference, but honestly it all sounded the same. People loved to think of the unknown, that world existing just out of their everyday mundane lives. Having been in that world for as long as he had been, Lance would happily pay for a boring mundane life

“I wasn’t scared... I’m... cautious”

Pidge clucked at Hunk, Hunk flipping her off. Laughing at him, Pidge wasn’t easily swayed

“You’re a chicken. What about you, Lance? Do you believe in werewolves?”

Werewolves were dicks. He’d bumped into a few over the years, and they’d done nothing to persuade him that they weren’t. The only thing they had going for them was their commitment to their mates and family, other than that, they were testosterone filled morons with claws.

“I don’t know... I feel like they’d all be too stupid to hide their existence”

“Wolves are incredibly smart... Fine, let’s put that one the back burner. Now, about work, there’s a group of tourists that want to come through the old hospital. The visitors centre in town gave me a call about it. Apparently they pay reeeeeeally well”

They’d have to. The old hospital was “cursed”. It’d been converted into a professional centre, but three years after the renovations they closed the building down thanks to the high number of injuries. If there were ghosts there, it was doubtful they’d care to bother with the employees. They all had their own issues. Lance held the opinion it was more a spate of psychosomatic symptoms resulting from the first accident. The building had been handed back over to the town, where it’d sat empty until it reopened as a military museum. With a bored sigh, Lance resigned himself to the fact that Pidge had already gone ahead and decided this was happening. Patting Hunk on the arm, the big man let him go

“When is this all supposed to be happening?”

Pidge’s eyes twinkled with mischief. Lance loved that about her. The top of her head barely came to his chin, but her pint sized stature didn’t stop her. She was always up for a laugh, and frightfully adapt with all things technology based. One of their first conversations came about because Lance had dropped his phone down the stairwell, smashing the screen as it bounced. Seeing her notice pinned up at the campuses cafe, he’d reached out to her with no idea they’d still be besties so many years later. From memory she had an older brother who was as much of a nerd as she was, while her mother and her father both worked in some private sector. He’d met them once over a family dinner Pidge dragged him to, seen them half a dozen times on their front steps as Pidge fled from their parental yelling, and finally been stuck in a very awkward conversation with Pidge’s father, Sam, when he’d found Bae-Bae, the missing family dog who Pidge had brought along on one of their ghost hunts

“Tonight. We’ve got permission to start once the museum shuts for the day. The tour starts at 8, so we’ll go in, set up, have something to eat, then scare the shit out of them at 8”

“You didn’t tell me it’s tonight!”

Poor Hunk. His poor heart had no time to come to terms with this. His worrying only made Pidge smile wider

“Relax, it’ll be fiiiine. Lance is coming with us. He’ll protect you from anything spooky”

“Why do I have to protect you? What are you going to do? Sue the ghosts for giving you the heebie-jeebies? Sorry, that’s not my specialty”

Pidge slid her glasses down to the tip of her nose as she puffed her chest out

“Ha, he, ho, I’m Lance and I have a fancy law degree! Those ghosts better think twice before looking at me”

Lance laughed way too hard, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes, his black frame glasses nearly falling off. Pidge pushing her glasses back into place as Sal brought over Lance’s pancakes and coffee. The man simply placing them down before backing away without a word

“Oh my god, Pidge. That was awful”

“It wasn’t that awful. So, Hunk, you’re in snacks for the night. Lance is in charge of driving, and I’m in charge of the tech. What are we forgetting?”

“That we value our lives and don’t really want to do this?”

Pidge sank lower in her seat, a soft thud coming as Hunk gasped in pain

“What was that for?!”

“Being a chicken”

“I’m not a chicken”

“Are too...”

Picking up his fork, Lance calmly cut in on their fight

“Children, don’t make me seperate the pair of you. Hunk, you’re big, brave, and very manly. Pidge, you’re so fucking short you couldn’t even covertly kick him under the table. If we’re going out, I need to stop by home on the way. Blue needs her wet food for the night, and no, she’s not coming tonight. It’s going to storm as it is”

Crossing her arms, Pidge slumped back in her seat

“You just want to keep my Princess all to yourself. Hunk can leave his car here and we’ll take yours”

“I thought my house was too far away to visit?”

“It’s not when you’re the one driving. Hurry up and finish your pancakes, I wanna go already”

Lance looked down at the forkful he’d been about to load in his mouth, purposely cutting the stack in half to annoy Pidge. Scoffing down Sal’s pancakes was an insult to the man who’d made cigarette ash in pancakes edible. The lack of hygiene may have been another reason why the locals stayed away, but when you’re immortal, standards kind of went out the window

“Laaaaance. Nooo. What are you doing?”

“Enjoying my breakfast. Order another coffee... actually, order some warm milk, I can see you practically vibrating from the amount of caffeine in our bloodstream”

“I’ll have you know that the level of blood in my caffeine stream is just fine. Plus, you’re like the only person in the world who enjoys Sal’s pancakes!”

“Oi! I heard that, Katie Holt!”

Pidge ducked down further in her seat at Sal’s voice. A couple of regulars laughing at her embarrassment, as Pidge blushed

“Now look what you’ve done”

“Not my problem, Pidgeroonie”

“Watch your back, I’m going to get you tonight, then steal away Blue”

Lance shrugged, unfazed by her threat. Tonight would be another lame arse tour under the belt, the most exciting thing they could expect was some jump scare.

#accidentally started a new fic #klance #bottom Lance #mpreg #voltron

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route22ny · 4 years

Photo

New York Unmasked

by Harry Siegel

Imagining our city, for worse and for better, after the coronavirus pandemic

The city that never sleeps is taking a nap now, and it’s going to be a very different place when it finally wakes up.

Not long after the World Trade Center was destroyed on Sept. 11, 2001, and again after Lehman Brothers collapsed on Sept. 15, 2008, there was a lot of talk about how New York wouldn’t be the same. Both times, reports of our collective demise proved to be greatly exaggerated as the city quickly recovered, economically speaking, and resumed the upward path — ever more prosperous, populated and pricey — it’s remained on for at least the last quarter-century.

This time is different.

Any remaining vision of the city somehow picking up more or less where things had been left off went away with the decision to start shutting down the trains for four hours each night. That’s a huge though supposedly temporary shift for a system that’s run 24 hours a day for over a century with only the briefest of interruptions — until now the only one in the country that doesn’t turn off, as I’ve been shocked to re-learn every time I make the mistake of visiting another city. As with many of the decisions New York and the nation have made in this plague year, it will be much more difficult to turn things back on than it was to turn them off.

Already, the devastation is staggering. In less than eight weeks, the 13,168 (as of Friday night) confirmed coronavirus deaths here have exceeded the total number of murder victims, 12,509, over the past two decades — and that’s counting the 2,977 victims of 9/11.

New York managed to keep the death count down to 13,168 at the cost of putting the city and its economy in the equivalent of a medically induced coma, and with no assurances at all that a second wave of infections won’t be coming despite that.

While putting New York under helped keep the first wave from completely overwhelming the medical system here, as happened in Italy, “the point where we can really start at reopening…obviously is a few months away at minimum,” Mayor de Blasio said Friday.

Even at that point, whenever we finally get there, it’s hard to see everyone just getting back on the train for a crushed morning commute to the office, or servers returning to packed restaurants and bars and theaters and nightspots. Forget about tourists flying in to burn dollars; it’s an open question how many of the generally better-off New Yorkers who’ve left in the course of this will return here, or how many families will borrow or pay now so students can have the city as their campus — or if there will be a campus at all this fall.

This is all surreal. While some people talk about how the virus ravaging New York compares to 9/11, Donald Trump — who claims he lost hundreds of friends on 9/11, though he’s never named a single one of them — dispatches fighter planes to fly low over the city as a tribute to first responders.

While we still don’t know why New York was hit so hard by the virus, it’s clear that density — in places from the Meatpacking District here to the meatpacking plants in the Midwest — plays a big role in spreading it. And this is a place built on density, by far the densest big city in America as well as the biggest.

So this witchy hour we’re in is looking less like a PAUSE than a painful and fundamental shift in how the city functions and what it means to be a New Yorker.

To get through it, many people need to keep looking ahead and, I hope, looking at what New Yorkers can do in their own lives and demand from their politicians to see the city finally emerge as a fairer and more resilient one . I was born in New York City just ahead of the blackout babies, in November of 1977 — the month that Ed Koch was elected mayor and started to set the city on the path it’s mostly remained on until the virus — and I’ve remained here pretty much since. My dad grew up here, and his dad , and me and my brother are both raising our daughters here now, walking distance from each other and Rosie and Zadie.

I’m committed to the city for a lot of reasons, in addition to my family here: I own a house (or at least the bank lets me live in it), and one that’s bizarrely worth much more than I bought it for, at least if I was to sell it. My kids have a couple hundred square feet of their own outside as we shelter in place. And I know a bit and write a lot about New York, which really isn’t a skill set that travels.

But the truth is that the city of the past two decades has felt less and less like home, and more and more like the parts of Manhattan I try to avoid. I’ve spent too much of my adult life railing against the hipsters, gentrifiers, trustafarians and yuppies who didn’t have the good taste to spend their money here and then leave but instead “discovered” neighborhoods and remade them in their images, often to be priced out in time by new “discoverers.” I saved a bit of spleen for the people who rail against those people, rather than do something more productive with their time.

New York has become a city of increasingly sterile retail, one where internet listings have made real estate a more transparent and internationally accessible marketplace for foreign capital to reshape neighborhoods that preserve less and less of their old characters — for better and for worse.

It’s a corporate town, full of semi-interesting hustlers and characters along with its steady share of the depraved, the doomed, the damned and the dull. I’ve seen enough and read enough to know that none of that is new. But it’s metastasized over decades of financialized and increasingly monopolized and VC-fueled growth to swallow other values and ways of life. It’s hard to swim against a tide of money, and it takes a certain mania to even try.

Some of this is selfish, for sure. I preferred the waterfront of my youth, when the piers were barren and all but off-limits but for the bold and the desperate. No one with means would walk there, let alone live there, since it still had the taint of not so long ago shipping and industry and the rougher trades that lived by the waterfront, when the High Line was just a long-abandoned elevated track west of the projects that you could break into and walk on.

That all became part of the steel-and-glass luxury city that Mike Bloomberg described, one here for companies that can afford the best and priciest, and the people who draw incomes from those companies, directly or by providing services for their FIRE (that’s finance, insurance and real estate) workers who live in The City while firefighters commute in from Westchester and Long Island, or by constructing the buildings these people live in, or from the bloated government that services the “other” people who need help to stay here at all. A city that’s priced hospital beds out of big swathes of Manhattan and Brooklyn to clear space for luxury housing.

For years, I’ve been anticipating a reset as office space declines in importance with the rise of remote work, and that in turn brings down commercial and residential prices; hoping for a different, sturdier and livelier New York that exists for and better reflects the people who live here rather than serving as a clearinghouse for the world’s money. Over my adult life I’ve read endless warnings — including in this paper — about the return of the “bad old days” that are long gone for most New Yorkers, if they were here for those days at all. Now, we’re about to get a real taste of what a sharp downturn, along with a hostile federal government, feels like: “Drop Dead.” Now they’re looming as trading floors are vacant along with everything else that isn’t actually essential, and much of what’s abruptly left won’t soon return or the money that they brought in and splashed around.

This will be painful, but New York has always found ways to make new uses of what’s here. The same way that small and sturdy Brooklyn rowhouses built for the burgeoning middle class woke up one day as $2 million “townhouses,” and Single Residence Occupancies that single men depended on to maintain lives here, such as those were, become mansions with enough money and time, office spaces can become creative spaces like warehouses became artist’s lofts. Finally, housing prices, and everything else, should relate to the incomes of the bulk of the people working here. Right now, they relate to the vagaries of the global markets.

I’ll repeat that: The size of our economy, and real estate prices, should relate to the value of the goods and services people here actually produce. That will hurt a lot of New Yorkers who’ve invested in the city, including me, as property values and rents flatten or even go down, but some of that pain is needed. A city that’s too expensive for gas stations or grocery stores — looking at you, Manhattan — is too expensive for most people.

I hope we’re becoming a city that gives a proper Bronx cheer to Airbnb and Seamless and Uber and WeWork and all the venture capital-funded wannabe monopoly “tech” companies looking to “disrupt” fundamental aspects of our life by losing money for long enough to drive their competitors out of business altogether. That resists the convenience of Amazon and its ilk to support our local grocery and book and hardware stores, so that those are still there when we really need them.

A city that knows better than to cut off its nose to spite its face, now that we know better than to touch our faces. If New York has to sleep now to survive, it’s the perfect time to dream.

[email protected]

***

This essay appeared in the New York Daily News, May 3, 2020.

Photo via ShutterStock

#NYC #Covid19 #pandemic recovery #a city's identity #Harry Siegel

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mab1905 · 4 years

Text

84 Questions

original:

https://fuckyeahsurveys.tumblr.com/post/61049002526/84-questions

1. Put your music player of choice on shuffle and list the first 10 songs

Someone New (Hozier)

Cactus Tree (Joni Mitchell)

Budapest (George Ezra)

And Dream Of Sheep (Kate Bush)

Nancy Mulligan (Ed Sheeran)

And Then She Kissed Me (St. Vincent)

Level of Concern (Twenty One Pilots)

Lovefool (The Cardigans)

Best For Last (Adele)

Video Killed The Radio Star (The Buggles)

2. If you could spend a week anywhere in the world, where would it be and why? Would you take anyone with you?

Japan. I travel a lot and it’s been on my list for a while, I would really want to go to the Hayao Miyazaki/Studio Ghibli theme park, if it ever opens that is. I would bring my best friend, Layla. I also would love to go to Amsterdam again.

3. What is your preferred writing implement? (eg. Blue pen, pencil, green pen)

My ink nib cartooning pen (similar to a quill, but without the feather)

4. Favourite month and why?

October, not too hot, not too cold, and of course, Halloween!

5. Do you have connections to any celebrities (even minor)? List them.

Nope, met several, got to true connections though.

6. Name 3 items you could pick up from where you are.

My iPad, my Leatherman Multitool, my collection of David Bowie postcards.

7. What brand logo is closest to you currently?

The Apple logo

8. Do you ever play board games or other non-computer games? Got any favourites?

Chess. Card games like Solitaire, Black-Jack, and Castle. A game that I can’t remember the name of but it’s essentially a board-game version of Capture The Flag. Mostly Chess.

9. A musical artist you love that isn’t well known

St. Vincent? I’m not sure if she’s well known or not.

10. A musical artist you love that is well known

David Bowie.

11. What is your desktop background currently?

A picture of Apollo 11 accompanied by the words “It won’t fail because of me”

12. Last person you talked to, and through what you talked to them

My best friend Layla, through the iMessage app.

13. First colour name you can think of that isn’t in the rainbow

Salmon

14. What timekeeping devices are in the room you are currently in?

My iPad, my computer, my collection of vintage stopwatches

15. What kind of headphones do you use?

Sony, wireless, noise canceling, over-the ear

16. What musical artists have you seen perform live?

Twenty One Pilots, Sylvan Esso

17. Does virginity matter to you?

I guess? I think it’s important, it’s certainly some kind of ‘milestone,’ but I don’t think it should be treated like the scale of a persons ‘purity.’ It’s important because it’s sex, and (hopefully) that means that you’re sharing a consensual, intimate experience that feels fucking great for both (or all, if it’s more then two) participants.

18. What gaming consoles do you or your family own?

Z e r o, although I’m hoping to buy a PS4 at some point so I can play Detroit Become Human.

19. What pets do you have? What are their names?

Juno is my cat, she is an adorable grey tiger-striped shorthair. She’s got little white mitten-paws and it’s absolutely ridiculous.

20. What’s the best job you’ve ever had?

Doing tech at a local theater

21. What’s the worst job you’ve ever had?

Teaching art to little kids (I like kids but it was just exhausting)

22. What magazines do you read, if any?

The New Yorker, and the National Geo if I’m like, waiting in my doctor’s office or something.

23. Inspiration behind your URL?

It’s just my initials and a year from the Edwardian era

24. Inspiration behind your blog title?

It’s just my initials

25. Favourite item of clothing?

My reddish-brown knit sweater vest and my floral bow-tie (often paired together)

26. Are you friends with any exes?

I made a very conscious effort to cut my exe out of my life… we were not happy for a very long time to say the least

27. Name at least one book you loved as a child.

Strega Nona, it’s about an Italian witch that makes great pasta in a magic pasta pot. My dad would read it to me and my sibling in Italian.

28. What’s your native language? If that language has distinct regional variations, which variation? (eg. AU English, US English)

US English

29. What email service do you use?

Gmail

30. Is there anything hanging on the walls of the room you are currently in?

So many things. Here's the list:

A giant David Bowie poster, a plaque that says “David Bowie IS,” five David Bowie postcards, a giant Abbey Road poster, all of my patches from summer camp, polaroids of me, my friends, and my family (including my cat), ticket stubs from concerts and plays, two trail markers that I took off of fallen trees on two important cross-country backpacking trips I went on, playbills from a bunch of broadway shows I’ve seen, a poster that says “Stonewall was a riot,” a DC Comics poster, a Pink Floyd poster, a few paintings of mine, and a painting that I got for free from a street artist I befriended in Rome when I was twelve

31. What’s your favourite number, and why?

16, 24, 21, and 8, some numbers make me uncomfortable, but these are just very soft and light and nice

32. Earliest moment in your life you can remember?

A rocking chair with fruits painted on it sitting in a dark room and my great grandfathers brown leather loafers (I remember early early stuff in just images or stills, not full moments)

33. What did you have for dinner yesterday?

Pasta with shrimp

34. How often do you brush your teeth?

Usually twice a day, but I’ve been waking up later and later and sometimes forget in the mornings

35. What’s your favourite candy/chocolate?

I don’t know the name of it but it’s this chocolate bar that is stuffed with caramel, hot chili flakes, and crunchy bits of baked tortilla. It's one of the greatest things I’ve ever tasted.

36. Have you had other blogs on Tumblr? Do you have any other blogs currently?

I used to have one but I deleted it because I never used it

37. If you were suddenly really hungry, what would you choose to eat?

I would probably walk into the kitchen, realize that too eat something I would have to muster the effort to cook something instead, and then decide to just have a glass of milk instead.

38. What fandoms would you consider yourself a part of?

Downton Abbey (primarily Thommy)

Chernobyl HBO (as well as the Leonid Toptunov/Sasha Akimov subfandom)

Lord of The Rings and The Hobbit (books and movies)

CrankGamePlays

Buzzfeed Unsolved

Star Trek TOS

Philosophy Tube

The Dark Crystal and The Dark Crystal: Age Of Resistance

39. If you could study anything, what would it be?

If I had the energy to fully wrench my life in a completely different direction I would like to become a professional scuba diver and study the ocean. I already am a scuba diver, but it’s a hobby and not something I’m able to do very often at all.

40. Do you use anything on your lips? (eg. Chapstick, gloss, balm, lipstick)

I’ll wear chapstick if I have a cold

41. How would you describe your sense of humour?

Intellectual and dry

42. What things annoy you more than anything else?

People who think they’re better than everyone else and people who recognize a fault in themselves and then refuse to work to change it

43. What kind of position are you in at the moment?

I’m laying on my bed, hunched over my laptop

44. Do you wear much jewellery?

Occasionally I’ll wear a necklace or a few rings. I have a lot of non-traditional bracelets (I literally just have pieces of canvas and industrial tie-line wrapped around my wrist). I’m a gay guy and I like to sort-a walk the line between feminine and masculine (often leaning more towards the masc side), so it really depends on my mood.

45. Who is the leader of your country, currently? Any other levels of government with leaders? (State, region, province, county, district, municipality, etc)

A cheese-pizza flavored pringle is currently POTUS and every day the thought of that tears away at a piece of my soul.

46. Last 3 blogs on your dashboard, not including any of your own

@shochmonster @velvet-of-the-night @panicsheerbloodypanic

47. What do you carry your money in?

My pocket, I have a wallet and I don’t use it

48. Do you enjoy driving? Why or why not?

It’s fine, don’t love it don’t hate it

49. Longest drive you have ever been on?

Three days

50. Furthest away from home you have ever been?

Went on a trip to Switzerland to visit family, I think that’s the farthest but I’m not entirely sure.

51. How many times have you moved house?

Twice

52. What is on the floor of the room you’re currently in, not including furniture?

Five paintings, stacks and stacks of books, boxes filled with stuff (mostly more books), plates, glasses, cutlery, clothes

53. How many devices do you own which can access the internet?

2, and iPad and a computer

54. Is there is anything that is guaranteed to always make you happy?

Listening to music

55. Is there anything that always makes you sad?

Thinking about my past for too long

56. What programs do you currently have open?

Google drive, I’m writing

57. What do you associate the colour red with?

Blood and fire

58. Last strong smell you can remember smelling?

Shrimp and butter

59. Last healthy thing you ate?

Three green olives and a handful of bean sprouts

60. Do you drink tea or coffee, and how much per day?

Used to drink coffee like it was life support (which it essentially was), now I’ll have the occasional cup of tea.

61. What do you associate the colour blue with?

Birds and rain

62. How long is the closest ruler you can find?

I don’t think I own one

63. What colour pants/skirt/etc are you currently wearing?

I am wearing olive green corduroy slacks

64. When was the last time you drank water?

30 minutes ago?

65. How often do you clear your browser history?

Never

66. Do you believe nude photos can be artistic, rather than erotic?

Nude anything can be artistic, it can also just be normal, eroticism is in the eye of the beholder.

67. Ever written fanfiction for anything?

Yes dear god so much fanfiction.

68. Last formal event you attended

I genuinely can’t remember, I am have extreme social anxiety and don’t go to events like that unless I absolutely have too

69. If you had to move your birthday to another date, which one would you choose and why?

I don’t care about birthdays

70. Would you prefer to be at a beach or in the countryside?

Beach, I love to swim, I’m also a surfer

71. Roughly how many people live in your town?

Uhm… eight times the number of people who live in the state of Montana and that doesn’t count daily commuters and tourists (New York City is essentially just a tin of sardines, except inside are 8.399 million sardines)

72. Do you know anyone with the same birthday as you?

No, but three of my friends were born on the day just after my birthday.

73. Favourite place to shop? Can be a certain store or a place where there are multiple stores

The Strand Bookstore, L Train Vintage, any antique shops in the town of Hudson, New York

74. Do you have a smartphone? What kind? If you don’t, do you want one?

I used to have an iPhone 5SE but then it stopped working after a few weeks of quarantine and I haven’t gotten a new one (I’ve had it for about 5-6 years so it makes sense)

75. What is your least favourite colour, and why?

I don’t have a least favorite color, but my favorite color is prussian blue

76. How do you spell grey/gray?

Grey

77. Go to your dashboard and describe the image shown in the radar section (below the “Find blogs” link)

It’s anime fanart for a show I’ve never heard of

78. What difference is there between how many followers you have, and the number of blogs you follow?

79. How many posts do you have?

219

80. How many posts have you liked?

619

81. Do you post mainly reblogs, or your own content?

Mostly reblogs but I do my own content as well

82. Do you track any tags?

No, just blogs

83. What time is it currently?

10:39

84. Is there anything you should be doing right now?

writing

I’m not quite sure who to tag so it’s just open to anyone I guess?

#i love questionaires #they're so much fun

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fullmetalscullyy · 4 years

Text

a conspiracy theory - chapter 8

co-written by @snowdog49 and @jeanhaavoc

summary: Detective Roy takes on a challenging task… To find Olivier Armstrong’s sword. However, he has a beautiful woman to distract him along the way. Will he, Jean, and Ed be able to find the sword in time, or will they succumb to the conspiracy?

warning: graphic depictions of violence

tags: conspiracy, pining, unresolved sexual tension, private detective au, royai, havolina, mystery, violence, modern au, coffee shops

rated: m | words: 3535

read on ao3

Monday morning came too soon. Sunday didn’t feel like it even existed. He’d been too caught up in thinking over this case that he didn’t manage to do much else. Not that Roy had much in the way of a social life in the first place, but most of the time at the weekend he could at least turn his brain off and unwind for a little bit.

This weekend was different. The realization that this case of a stolen sword ran deeper than they all thought was weighing on him. He couldn’t dismiss that thought from his mind no matter how much he tried to, or how much he wanted to. Too many things were being connected with his red strings, and it was looking like it would turn into a full-blown headache for him. Where had the easy job that was extremely well paid gone? Something as bizarre as a sword was breaking down his reputation, and it just made him even more determined and eager to find the damn thing.

It would have been easy for Roy to have called Rebecca and told her that Jean needed to do some investigating on his behalf so he could sleep, but it wouldn’t do him any good. It hadn’t left him alone yesterday, so anticipated it wouldn’t leave him be today either. If he was going to lose more sleep anyway, he may as well be productive with his time. Plus, he’d still be awake wondering what was going on at the office. As Jean said, he was married to his work. The blonde co-worker couldn’t be more right.

Roy’s hand hovered over his cup of coffee, staring at his computer. His baggy eyes blinked as they tried to make sense of what was on the screen. Jean was typing away as if Mondays didn’t bother him in the slightest. When he’d walked in with Rebecca earlier, he certainly looked like the cat had gotten the cream. Someone had a good weekend. Roy rolled his eye when he remembered how he and Rebecca talked about “later” when they were telling him about the dinner.

Rebecca was scrolling through what was on her screen, checking a piece of paper beside her as she went. Every now and then she’d note something down, and Roy observed her for a second, wishing he had that same level of productivity in his tired brain at that moment.

Then there was Edward, sat in his seat, with his feet on the desk and a newspaper in hand. The young man was reading away, concentrating intently on the words. His eyebrows had pulled together the more he read, developing into a deep frown. Whatever it was, Roy determined he didn’t like reading about it. And Roy never would have thought a tech-guy would like a physical paper so much, but Ed was always reading it.

Roy wanted to say something about the feet on the desk but wasn’t in the mood for an argument, and he was sure Rebecca was going to correct it once she noticed it. He sipped his coffee and leaned over his desk. “We need a napping room,” he mumbled.

“I’ve been saying that for years,” Jean added.

“No,” Rebecca corrected. “You said we needed a dark room.” She never once looked away from her computer screen.

“For pictures?” Ed peeked from behind the paper. He flicked the corner down so he could see over the top.

“Hangovers,” all three of them said in unison.

Ed nodded and went back to reading. “Not a bad idea,” he shrugged.

Roy put his coffee down and turned to look at his pictures. “I’m beginning to think that this is a joke on me somehow. That there was never a sword to begin with.” He sighed loudly and leaned back in his chair. “It’s got to be about blackmailing... a hostage… I don’t know.” He took another sip of his coffee. “What does the Armstrong family know that they don’t want us to know?” He rubbed his unshaven chin. “Why would they bother hiring me if they didn’t want to tell me everything?” he muttered darkly.

“Did you read this,” Ed yelled out, breaking the attention of everyone. “Fuckers are corrupt as all hell!”

Roy turned to get after him about his language but Ed dropped his feet to the ground, dropping the paper to his desk and pointed at it.

“There has been no mention of this passing until now,” Ed continued to rage. “They are just now putting it through the final voting stages to ratify it. The public needs to have some kind of knowledge of what’s going on! I swear that there is some freaking conspiracy behind this!” He hit the paper with the back of his hand.

Jean started to laugh in the background.

“Indoor voice, Edward,” Roy warned, but it fell on deaf ears.

“I’m serious,” Ed insisted loudly. “They are ratifying that this large plot of land can be sold for developing. It’s not like our country is going to be benefiting from the sale. It will go for base value, and that’s cheap compared to what private property sells for! But I swear that King Bradley is going to buy it up.” Ed shook his finger at the paper.

“You read the news?” Jean blinked, stopping typing. “You’re a kid.”

“Hey! I have to know what’s going on!” Edward protested.

“You could get it like the rest of the world and get online.” Jean pointed to his computer.

“Then why do we even get a physical paper delivered here?” he spat back.

“Who is selling the land?” Roy asked tiredly, interrupting their bickering. He was already annoyed by Edward’s loud outrage. Roy looked over to silently ask Jean if he knew anything about what Ed was talking about, but he just shrugged at Roy’s helpless and exasperated look. It was probably better they let Ed ride out his yelling.

“And what makes you think Bradley is going to snap it up?” Jean raised an eyebrow.

“This land was set aside years ago for the natural park system.” Ed was much calmer now as he began to explain, but the anger was still clear on his face. “But in the last year, they’ve been moving to say that it has potential resources on it,” he added, shooting the three of them a look. Even Rebecca had stopped typing now to listen to what Ed was saying.

“That rings a bell,” Jean muttered to himself, leaning back in his chair. It tipped back with him as he brought a hand to his chin in thought. He moved his head to study the ceiling as Ed continued to talk.

“The only resource I can even credit it being used for would be water,” Ed continued. “But no one has even mentioned that. If there were water on it, it wouldn’t be sold, it would have been absorbed into the government’s control. They like to have control over things like that.” Ed pointed to the paper. “Then this says that Senator Raven has been discussing the potential of the land! What do you want to bet that there have seen surveyors and geologists all over that area? Bradley is going to mine the fuck out of it!” he accused loudly.

“Calm down,” Roy lowered his hand. He took another drink. Maybe he needed a bit of whiskey in it. Ed was making good points but there should be a rule in the office that there was no politics talk until after noon. Especially on a Monday morning.

“They’re all thieves!” Ed sat back in his seat, crossing his arms. “I swear that Bradley is buying the senate. He’s got the money. He owns enough land and has the assets to buy the entire government.”

“So what,” Jean shrugged. His hand left his chin and his chair tipped back up. “He’s a businessman.” This was an obvious conclusion to all of them.

“That’s what lobbyists do.” Rebecca chipped in, agreeing with Jean.

“But that’s the thing,” Ed pointed to the paper. “Senator Raven has been pushing this bill really hard. Listen to this, ‘Senator Raven has firmly stood on the ground that the resources of the land could benefit not only the country but for private businesses as well.’” Ed panned his finger across the pages. “Then here it says, ‘Senator Raven has always been an advocate for private allotments of land to encourage the economic growth of this country.’ It says that Raven said, ‘The private property and small businesses is what makes this country prosper. If this land is to aid in the economic growth of Amestris, there should be no argument on publicizing it.’ Why would he be saying that? He’s not even saying what the land is being, or could be, used for. He’s avoiding that whole discussion. If he said it’s going to open up for water, or it has potential for residential growth, it’d be one thing, but there’s no point in selling the land if there’s no need for its use.”

“If it’s going residential, Yoki’s retail business could definitely thrive,” Jean rubbed his chin.

Ed shook his head adamantly. “It’s King Bradley. He’s donated so much money to Raven and his little followers that there’s no way that it’s not going to him. And Senator Raven just needs just a few more votes to get it through, but it looks like, according to the article, that Senator Marcoh has been opposing it. I bet it’s only an amount of time before the Bradley Empire gets to Marcoh too.” Ed chewed on his lip.

“When I talked to Marcoh at the party,” Jean remembered. “He was very adamant about the protection of government lands. It might be more about that than just the industrialization of some areas.”

Roy looked back up at the pictures. That was interesting. He stood, catching the red string attached to Marcoh’s name. It had been dangling free for a few days, unattached to anything. Glancing between Marcoh and Bradley’s photograph, Roy twirled the string in his fingers in contemplation. “Is there anything in there about the Armstrongs?”

Ed shook his head. “I hardly ever see that family in the news. They’re pretty private.”

“How would any of this even pertain to the case then?” Roy grumped.

Rebecca tutted and shook her head at his tone, but Roy ignored it. Maybe he needed more coffee.

"Why does this have to pertain to the case at all?" Jean looked over his shoulder at the standing Roy. "You're obsessing over this. Not everything in the world is tied into that damn case."

Roy muttered something back at him, staring at Marcoh's photo.

Ed shook the paper in front of Jean. “Look, there is a scandal here! Why are you guys not in an uproar?”

Roy scratched his unshaven cheek and stared at the pictures. He dropped Marcoh’s red string for now. “Who else is in the mining business? Is there anything else that the land has value in?”

“Marcoh pointed out that the soil would be very good for farming,” Jean interjected. “Something about the type of soil rivals the quality of the soil in the east, and a lot of people forget about that. Agriculture would certainly benefit the people of the country more, as well as our country’s trading. However, he’s more concerned about the land in general.”

Edward nodded. “Apart from that… No. It’s mostly hiking areas. It’s not far from town. The paper almost glorifies it, saying that it will bring jobs, but mining kills water sources. It shouldn’t even be done close to human habitation.”

“How do you know all this stuff?” Jean frowned.

“How do you not?” Edward bit back.

Roy waved his hand irritably at the two. He sighed and gnawed on his lip.

There was a quiet pause before Edward spoke again. “You guys have heard about the conspiracy of their little boy’s club, right?” His tone was hushed as if he was sharing a deep secret.

Jean’s chair whined as he leaned forward in it. “There’s always word about that with any powerful group of people,” he dismissed, flicking his wrist in the air.

“No,” Ed shook his head. “There’s this private association that’s part of the elite of this country. They run the country behind the scenes.”

Roy didn’t stop looking at his pictures. It was all talk at this point and it had nothing to do with the case. He’d just go back to overthinking and wishing he was having better coffee with a certain lady rather than being in the office.

“It’s members are people like most of the senators, leaders of the country, and even big businessmen like Bradley.” Ed sat up in his chair and started to use his hands to talk. “There’s this building on the corner of Benson and 77th. Rumor is that’s the building they congregate in. They have evil worshipping ceremonies there, even dark magic has been speculated.”

Jean laughed. “Now it’s getting ridiculous.”

“Ed, come on now.” Rebecca was completely doubtful. “You’re a smart kid, then you come out with that?”

Ed didn't let up. “It gets mail, but no one knows what it is. Not even the mailman knows what it’s for.” Ed’s voice rose. “Why would it get mail if nothing was going on with it? Roy, let me go steal -”

“No,” he cut him off. “That doesn’t pertain to any of this. We’ve already discussed the legality of this company.”

Ed huffed and leaned back in his chair. “Supposedly this association was built by the Armstrongs. Do you think that it has anything to do with this?”

Jean and Rebecca looked at Roy. It sounded like he was trying to get Roy’s attention, and Roy wasn’t going to give it to him. “What would it have to do with the sword?” Roy asked, sounding bored of his conspiracy talk. One potential conspiracy was enough for Roy right now. He didn’t need two.

“It’s just a conspiracy, Kid.” Jean shrugged. “There’s always been talk, and there always will be. There’s no proof, and we have to have evidence to prove something one way or another.”

“I want to prove it,” Ed volunteered as he raised his hand. “It would open up questions and concerns about this country’s government that needed to be addressed years ago.”

“I’m going to need more coffee,” Roy rubbed his brow and stood up to go to the coffee pot.

Jean leaned on his arms on his desk. “You sure want to be a whistleblower? Do you know what happens to whistleblowers?” He drew his finger across his throat.

“Stop it,” Rebecca glared at Jean. “Ed’s not going to get killed for thinking that there's some conspiracy.”

“He will if he gets caught knowing things he shouldn’t know!” Jean quickly retorted.

“Look, while I was hanging out with Ling, even he said it was a thing,” Ed persisted. “He said that everyone is telling him to grow up but they won’t let him join their order.”

“He’s too young to be getting into that kind of politics,” Roy added. “That’s why they’re not letting him get involved.”

Ed scrunched his nose. “Come on, Roy, I’m bored. Let me investigate this, just for fun.”

Roy seriously debated it as he sat down heavily in his desk chair. He stared at the papers in front of him, weighing the pros and cons. It’d get Edward out and doing things. It wasn’t like he could get any real information on it anyway. “Okay,” he mumbled. “But no stealing mail,” he added sharply.

“I’m so going through the trash bin,” he grinned. Ed’s face lit up, just like it had when he saw Ling’s jet ski.

“Now that’s good detective work,” Jean complimented. “Do you know how many love letters I found doing that?”

Ed puffed out his chest, excited at his new task.

“You’re on your own,” Roy flicked his hand and like that Ed jumped up and marched out the door. “That was easy,” he groaned. He got up from his chair and looked at Yoki’s photo. “Olivier is already pissed off it’s taken this long. My reputation is slipping.”

Rebecca walked up behind him and patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, Hun. Maybe you’re thinking too hard. Maybe you need to take a step back?”

Roy shook his head. He needed it to be Wednesday. He needed better coffee. He wanted a distraction. His eyes looked back at the sword. The sheath was black, with golden bands and the Armstrong emblem… “Wait. That doesn’t look right.”

Roy turned quickly, slamming down in his seat and nearly spilling his cup of coffee.

Rebecca jumped at the sudden movement and shot Jean a surprised look. They both shrugged, and Roy heard Jean mutter something about ‘a beautiful mind is not always a sane one’. Roy didn’t care.

“Whatcha got there?” Rebecca inquired lightly, seemingly afraid of the box she was opening.

Roy scrolled through page after page of the Armstrong website, looking at the Armstrong crest. He got up, pulling the picture off the wall with force, popping the pin out of the board, letting it fall to roll back and forth on the ground. Collapsing back into his chair, his eyes darted from the pictures online to the picture of the sword. “They aren’t the same.” Roy turned violently to Jean, pointing to the sword. “This is not the crest of the Armstrong family.”

Jean got up to look over his shoulder. “Yeah, you’re right. Maybe you’re not looking for her sword but another?”

Heart hammering inside of his chest, Roy’s eyes snapped back and forth. His gaze scrutinized every little detail, making sure he was correct. “I’m right,” he muttered to himself in disbelief. His heart leaped inside his chest. Adrenaline was coursing through him, excited at the prospect of finding something.

“What does that mean though?” Rebecca asked gently. Roy heard Jean nudge her behind him. “What?” she whispered defensively.

“No,” Roy interrupted them, reassuring Rebecca. “No, this is something. I’m sure it is.”

“Okay…” Rebecca’s voice was soothing and slow, sounding slightly concerned.

“Okay, what then?” Jean asked.

“I…” Roy bit his lip. There was something right on the top of his tongue, right on the edge of his mind, but it was just out of reach. He couldn’t get it out. “If this is not the Armstrong crest, it belongs to something or someone,” he reasoned. “If I do this....” He trailed off, muttering to himself.

Jean and Rebecca walked out from behind his desk, leaving Roy to mutter to himself as his mind whirred at a million miles a second.

The office and the outside world didn’t matter to Roy right now. He grabbed the photo he’d saved of the lost sword from the files on his computer. Opening the search engine, he reverse picture searched for it, hoping something may come up. If it didn’t appear, that didn’t matter. It may actually add to the theory forming in his mind…

No search results. Roy’s shoulders still slumped, but he threw them back not a moment later. Straightening his spine, he searched for the address Edward had given them for this “secret order”. It was listed as a derelict building. No name was attached to it. Why would a derelict building get mail?

Roy spun back around in his chair, eyeing photographs of each candidate for a possible suspect. They were headshots but showed the candidate sitting from the waist up, their hands folded upon their lap. He scanned their suits, looking for any kind of crest. The ties were all plain, so nothing on there. Governor Kremlin wore a pin, but it didn’t match the crest on Olivier’s sword. Squinting, Roy eyed each of their hands. Olivier wore no jewelry. Roy paused after his eyes moved over Bradley and Raven. They both wore rings. There was a clear crest on Raven’s ring, but Bradley’s was turned away from the camera. Marcoh had no ring, but Roy could see a pin on the lapel of his jacket. It had the same crest. Grabbing the photo of the sword, Roy confirmed that the crests were the same.

“Get Ed on the phone,” Roy called to the room.

“Any particular reason why?” Rebecca asked, phone already in her hand. “He’s not going to be pleased about being taken off his new job so soon.”

“He can keep digging through trash if that’s what his heart truly desires,” Roy dismissed, waving his hand as he scribbled his thoughts down on a scrap piece of paper. “I need him to meet up with Ling.”

“What have you got?” Jean asked knowingly.

“That’s definitely not the Armstrong crest on the sword,” Roy grinned at him. “But it does match a crest on a ring that Senator Raven is wearing. Considering how they’re best buds, I would bet Bradley’s ring has the same one on it too.”

Jean broke out into a wide smile.

“Get Edward and tell him to meet with Ling as soon as possible. He needs to speak to him about this.”

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai au #snowdog49 #a conspiracy theory #emma writes #collab fic

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slippinmickeys · 5 years

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Release Valve (6/10): The In-Between

She knew he was miserable. Depression seemed to radiate off of him in waves, like strong cologne. One breath of it and you started feeling it, too. They were forever getting doors slammed into their faces when it came to their work – evidence gone or stolen, the ship ascending into the clouds before anyone could take a picture, witnesses no longer willing to talk, memory wipes and bad intent. The werewolf turned back into the man. But young girls, missing girls who seemed to slip from his grasp were the Achilles heel of Mulder’s psyche. He stood in their office with the Vermilion Parish file in front of him, holding a picture of Marcie Vincent. Scully knew he saw Samantha when he looked at it. He considered it a minute and then pinned the picture to a bulletin board near his desk, then closed the file and deposited it in their shiny new file cabinets. The drawer seemed to shut with terminality. She heard the elevator doors before Stone came in. His face was grim, the rhathymia of his bearing from a week ago gone. Isaacs came in a few minutes later, her countenance a mirror of his. This is not how Scully would have chosen to end their first case. Stone did perk up a bit when he got to his desk to find the box with his new computer waiting for him, and the room was soon filled with the cheery crinkling of bubble wrap and packing tape, everyone’s quiet misery from moments before lightening with the happy affirmation of consumerism. “What’s with the Monster Machine?” Isaacs asked when he finally had it on his desk, the sound of her voice jarring the room a bit – none of the four adults in it had said a word all morning. “This,” said Stone, inching out from under the desk where he’d been sorting and plumbing the rhumba of computer cords, “is the cyber security hub of the X-Files. The tech department if you will, and I, your humble technician.” “Great,” said Isaacs, “maybe you can fix my printer when you’re done.” “You get Solitaire on that thing?” Asked Mulder. “Laugh it up,” said Stone, not seeming to be bothered by the ribbing. “Boys and their toys,” Scully said, shaking her head. She stood to go. “I’ve got to get to Quantico.” She realized when she was halfway to Mulder’s chair that she’d been about to caress his head in a show of sympathetic solidarity as she normally would in their office of two, and instead gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder. “Dinner tonight?” She asked him, trying to cover for it. Mulder looked a little surprised, but pleased. “Yeah, that would be great,” he said. “I’ll call you,” she said, as she made her way out the door, throwing a little wave toward Stone and Isaacs who both returned the gesture. This was going to take some getting used to.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“How are your classes going?” Mulder asked her. It had been three weeks since they’d been back from Louisiana, and Scully had been overly careful with him. They’d had dinner a couple of times, as they were now, but that was it. She’d been at Quantico every day and when they had seen each other, she’d shown no inclination for affection, and he didn’t want to push her.

“Good,�� she said, without elaborating. She pushed the spring vegetables around on her plate. “Let me know if you want me to come in and do a guest lecture,” he said, “I’m putting together a spiel about the Loveland Frogmen.” “I don’t know if I’ll be able to find enough chairs,” she said, joking without much enthusiasm. “Would you prefer one on the Shunka Warakin?” He asked. “Do I want to know?” “Large predatory wolf-hybrid in Montana.” “Now you’re talking.” “You’re right. Who wants to go to Ohio, anyway?” Mulder reached across the table and gave her hand a brief squeeze. That seemed to snap her out of her reverie. “Anything new from Vermilion Parish?” She asked him. “More of the same,” he answered. “The scorched ATV they recovered from the fire site matches the general description of the one missing from the Vincent residence, but the final report came back – no serial numbers to be found. All physical evidence remains inconclusive.” They’d chased leads with nothing panning out, and the latest ones had trickled in. The case was drying up. “We’ll find her, Mulder.” She said, trying to get a look at his eyes. He let her. “I hope so.” “Do you ever wonder what would have happened,” she said then, as if she’d been waiting to say it all night, “if I’d gone to Salt Lake City?” Whatever lighthearted mood he’d tried to retain earlier in the evening left him then. “I try not to,” he said. Scully considered him for a moment. “I wonder sometimes if you’d have found someone else,” she said, “if I would have.” Mulder felt his heart slow, like it was thinking of going dead. “But I think,” she went on, “that I would have sat around pining for you. Miserable and trying to pretend that I was okay.” And just like that, a lightness filled him. For as honest as a woman as Dana Scully was, she was not exactly forthright when it came to matters of the heart. “There is no one else for me, Scully,” he said, then. “Don’t you understand? There is no me without you.” XxXxXxXxX They walked down the sidewalk toward his apartment, holding hands. She hadn’t meant for it happen, but he’d given her a hand getting up from their table after dinner and just hadn’t let go. A car rumbled by, the bass rattling the car’s windows, dispersing a draft of sound, sending a low vibration though both of them. It was busy in Old Town, fall coming on and people were out, happy to escape the oppressive confines of their air-conditioned world. A group of co-eds were coming at them, taking up most of the sidewalk, their heads together like a coven. Scully felt a momentary self-consciousness in their presence, a throwback to her adolescent id, and as if sensing it, Mulder pulled her into an alleyway. “Shortcut,” he whispered into her ear, though there was no one there to hear. They entered his apartment building through the front, without discussion. Mulder would ask her to come up and she would say yes – they both knew it and so bypassed the moment. The elevator ride should have been awkward, but wasn’t. Mulder and Scully knew how to be quiet together – stakeout quiet, desktop sharing quiet, companionable silence that came from days and years together. They were through Mulder’s door before she knew it and suddenly she was pressed up against it, the peephole above her head, his lips on her neck, his hands in her hair. She felt lush, then. Concupiscent and feminine; as powerful as a goddess. She scraped her nails along his scalp and gave as good as she got. He pulled her along, not moving his lips from hers and she sensed a slight change in the pressure of the air around them. She leaned back, their lips smacking as they parted and she glanced around the room they’d just entered. “Mulder,” she said, surprised. “You have a bed?” XxXxXxXxX He’d cleaned out his bedroom special, just for her. The inevitability of their coupling like a Viking ship on the horizon, he’d taken about thirteen trips to the dump and had considered buying an SUV. The bed had fresh sheets and the room still smelled like Pledge. He would probably associate the artificial lemony scent with sex for the rest of his life. “Uh-huh,” he said, nipping at her lips. He wasn’t going to let her distract him.

He grabbed her by the hand and led her to the bed. There should have been that first-time maladroitness – bumping heads, not sure what to do with hands – but there wasn’t. Scully didn’t need to know what Mulder liked – he just liked her. There was a moment right before flashpoint, before he lost himself completely in the cradle of her hips, her breath soft and hot against his cheek, when he flashed on the fact that he wasn’t wearing a condom, and he thought ‘what if?’ But then the moment was gone, and so was he, and Scully pulled him down with her, both lost. Some things you don’t need to think about. Some things you just need to feel. XxXxXxXxX He lay back on his pillow, his breath slowing. Scully had pulled the sheet up over her chest and had her eyes closed, a Mona Lisa smile on her face. “I think I should let you call me Fox now,” he said, trying to gauge her mood. Scully could be repressed, could turn inward if he let her. He didn’t want to let her. She crinkled her nose at that. “Mulder,” she said, pulling out the ‘r’ at the end of his name, affectionately. He stopped worrying. “You don’t think it’s a little weird?” He said, rolling over on his side to look at her. “Me calling you Scully in the sack?” She chuffed out a laugh and opened her eyes, rolling toward him as well. “Call me Dana,” she said. “Right now.” “Dana.” “How did it feel?” “A little weird, actually.” “Then there you go,” she said, her voice turning quieter. He felt her leg move toward him on the bed, her toes coming to rest on his shin. She breathed out a contented sigh and then was asleep. Mulder didn’t sleep for a long time. The moon moved through the sky, scattering shadows panning around the room, and he lay there watching her, wondering at what love was. XxXxXxXxX

Monday roared in like a Nor’easter, the X-Files picking up two cases concurrently – a first. Skinner needed Scully to consult on a case in North Carolina and had long ago accepted that Mulder came along as a package deal. Mulder sent Isaacs and Stone to California to investigate what he thought might be a series of psychic killings. While in North Carolina, Mulder and Scully came to an agreement that they would remain professional while out in the field – keep separate hotel rooms and use them – but that anything in DC was up for grabs, so to speak. They agreed to be discreet, but not secretive. After all, as Mulder had pointed out, since Scully was technically stationed at Quantico, it wasn’t fraternization, and as Scully rather colorfully pointed out one night post-coital, everyone already assumed they were fucking. Days turned to weeks and weeks to months. Isaacs and Stone seemed to fall into an easy partnership, investigating cases on their own and concurrently with Mulder and Scully. Mulder, for the first time in his life, felt content. It was hard not to wait for the other shoe to drop. The shoe came, in early June, in the form of a grainy photograph of a girl that bore a striking resemblance to Marcie Vincent, leaving a convenience store in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. With reports of a UFO sighting nearby the week before, the entire X-Files unit headed to the North Woods. They were on their second connection of the day, Detroit to Marquette, the plane a small one. Isaacs wasn’t totally convinced they wouldn’t land on a dirt airstrip instead of a tarmac. Talk about East Bumfuck, she thought. Stone reached across the aisle and handed her a printout of the picture from the convenience store camera. “I cleaned it up,” he said, “and ran it through the Bureau's face recognition software. The markers are a match. I think this might be her.” Isaacs handed the photo to Mulder and Scully sitting in the row behind them. “Who’s she with?” Isaacs asked. There was a hand holding the door open for the girl, their foot walking out as well, but the face remained hidden. “Can’t tell. This is all we got.” “Who sent it?” “Came in anonymously.” Isaacs made a face. “I don’t like that.” “Me neither,” said Stone. Their time with the X-Files had made them appropriately paranoid. “The kids are growing up,” said Mulder to Scully, faking a misty eye. When they deplaned, Mulder had Isaacs and Stone get a rental car, while he and Scully took another – those two cars representing half the fleet at the local rental company – and split up. Isaacs and Stone were to interview the UFO witness, Mulder and Scully headed to the convenience store. The convenience store was located off of US-41 south of Marquette, on a desolate stretch of road lined with only trees and the occasional moose crossing sign. There were no other businesses nearby. It had two old fashioned gas pumps, restrooms around the back, and not much else. The bell above the door rang when they entered. The clerk behind the counter, an older man in a faded flannel shirt and a Cabela’s hat, looked as if the bell had just woken him up. “You guys lost?” He said, taking in their business apparel. “I got a couple of maps.” Mulder flashed him his badge and the man’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “We wanted to ask you about a person that was picked up on your security camera a few days ago,” Mulder said, pocketing his badge. “I got a security camera?” The man asked, confused. “Don’t you?” Asked Scully. “Not as far as I know,” he said, “I been running this place for the last fifteen years. It’s not exactly a hotbed of crime, you know. Mostly I just sell gas and beer to hunters and fishermen. They’re in and out.” Mulder pulled the picture of Marcie Vincent out and slid it across the countertop. “Is this a picture of your store?” The man considered it. “Yeah, looks like mine.” All three of them went out the front and looked to where the camera should be. Sure enough, there was a small camera mounted on a utility pole. “Huh,” the clerk said, “the utility company was working out here last week. Must be theirs.” “Do you recognize the girl in the photo, sir?” Scully asked. The man considered the picture again. “Yeah, I do,” he said, “she in some kind of trouble?” “At this point we’re just trying to verify her identity,” Mulder said. “Don’t know her name,” he went on, “she was with a guy. She was quiet, didn’t say much. Kinda weird, actually.” “Weird how?” Mulder asked. “She never blinked,” the man said. “Damndest thing.”

Mulder and Scully exchanged a look. “And the man she was with?” Scully asked. “Older guy,” he said, “paid in cash.” “What did they buy?” “Gas,” he said. “Oh, and a pack of Morleys.”

#the x-files #fanfic #fanfiction #msr #Release Valve #Chapter Six #my fic

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jacksonsdead · 5 years

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FALLOUT OC INTERVIEW

Tagged by both @robobrainmurdermysterytheatre and @ticktockthem Thank you! Rules:

1. Choose an OC.

2. Answer them as that OC.

3. Tag 5 people to do the same. I’m choosing my courier!

(Also some of the answers feature Jack, who belongs to @robobrainmurdermysterytheatre ) Callie and Desmond are my other OCs ;)

What is your name? Haley

How old are you? Late twenties? Hard to keep track out here

What do you look like? Blonde, been told by plenty of people that I’m pretty, unfortunately...that’s not always an advantage.

Where are you from? Where do you live now? I’m from Nevada, lived in a little community just outside of West Vegas when I was a kid. Now I mostly still travel but the boyfriend has a house just outside of Freeside so I guess that’s what I’d consider home.

What was your childhood like? Not...great...Don’t really remember much of my parents, just flashes. They were apparently pretty famous singers/performers but they died when I was still really young. I was raised by my older sister and most of my memories of her are good, which... makes dealing with things harder considering how she died. And after she died? Well...I was 17 and stupid and I’m not getting into the rest.

What groups are you friendly with? Are you allied with any factions? I don’t consider myself ‘aligned’ with any factions but there are some I’m on good terms with, honestly I try to keep my nose out of things entirely but...well you have to draw a line sometimes. I respect the hell out of the Followers of the Apocalypse, one of the few factions I’d go out of my way to help out. And the Kings? I like their leader a lot, seems level-headed and pragmatic. And have you seen the way they dress? Every member of the Kings is attractive as hell.

Tell me about your best friend. Don’t have that many but my closest are probably Callista, Cass and Jack. Callie’s running New Vegas now, was always ambitious as hell, no one I’d trust more to get shit done and done right. Plus we’ve been looking out for each other since we were kids.

Cass is the type of friend who is going to tell it to you straight--she doesn’t mince words, doesn’t bother with niceties, and honestly, there’s something refreshing about that. Really fun to drink with too.

And Jack? Jack is...well he’s way more than just my best friend, more on that later.

Do you have a family? Tell me about them! I have a daughter, didn’t know about her until a few months ago. Basically one day this 12-year-old kid shows up and introduces herself. We’re still getting to know each other at this point, but she’s sharp; really clever and funny.

What about a partner or partners? ...I could have you sitting here all day but I’ll only mention the ones that matter. There’s Manny, Desmond and Jack.

Manny is an ex but when we were together? He was just, such a genuine person; authentic and honest. I knew pretty much *right* away that he was way too good for me, but it was hard to not want that, to not want someone just...nice? But he was still so obviously in love with someone else so I ended things and maybe that wasn’t fair; I honestly hope him and Boone work out.

Desmond...well the way we met isn’t exactly the type of story you tell the family. Thought he’d just be another in the line of feeling-sorry-for-myself-late-night-mistakes. But he ended up being one of the most decent people I’ve ever met, quit the raiders for me and buy a house kind of decent--didn’t think I’d ever find something like that. He’s also really good with the kid so, think I’ll stick around.

And finally, Jack.

(screenshot courtesy of @robobrainmurdermysterytheatre )

I met Jack when I left Nevada for a while--took the first caravan I could find going the furthest away and eventually made it to Boston. I was...not ok. I’d had one foot off the edge of a cliff for a while at that point, ready to fall, just waiting for a push. Turns out Jack was too--and I think we both felt that instinctually, that connection. We had a lot in common, that disregard for our own lives, that recklessness born of misery and through it all, somehow, we each became the one thing keeping the other from drowning. And man, we had fun too. I can honestly say there’s no one that *gets* me like Jack, knows how to have a good time. Some of my fondest memories are my time with him; Sometimes I wonder why I even left Boston at all. We still talk, and he visits in the winter, wish he could visit more though, I miss him all the time. Who are your enemies, and why? The Omertas and I have history and no, I don’t want to talk about it. All I’ll say is that if you go into Gomorrah knowing that they get teenagers hooked on chems and then force them into prostitution to pay back their debt, then fuck you.

Have you ever heard of The Brotherhood of Steel? What do you think about them? They’re kind of assholes right? I mean, you fly around on airships with prewar tech that could be used to help, I don’t know, the world, but instead you use it to grind people under your heel, to “civilize” and then you take any prewar tech they may have away for yourselves. Not a huge fan of them honestly, don’t trust them...but the power armor and airships are pretty cool, I’ll admit. And to be fair, there are a few individuals in the brotherhood that seem pretty decent, I’m just not a real fan of organized militaristic factions as a whole.

What about The Enclave? Don’t really know very much about them but the propaganda spewing fascist patriotism is annoying as hell.

How do you feel about Super Mutants? Hate fighting them, try to keep my distance; there’s just something viscerally terrifying about mutated GIANT used-to-be-people that turns my stomach and gets the fight-or-flight response going. Granted, the friendly ones are fine, but there’s also something so sad about them too, makes you sick to your stomach knowing that they used to...not be that way.

What’s the craziest fight you’ve ever been in? The entirety of my time in the Sierra Madre Casino was just one awful clusterfuck that’d I’d rather forget.

Have you ever fought a Deathclaw? Unfortunately, and I have the scars to prove it. I typically try to avoid them or snipe them from a distance. Better make your shots count though, cause once they see you, it’s over.

Do you like fighting? To be honest, most times I try to talk my way out of it, but sometimes there’s nothing that you can do to avoid them. And then? Well sometimes there’s stress that nothing but a good fight can ease. What’s your weapon of choice? Prefer to keep things at a distance, typically use a Anti-Material rifle. But if things get close a .45 pistol or That Gun is my next choice.

How do you survive? Your wits, your charm, your skills, brute force, some combination? (a.k.a. what’s your S.P.E.C.I.A.L?) Half the time? Spite. Spite and instinct. Charm can usually get me out of most situations, or into them depending. And usually if you’re stuck, hacking a terminal or two can get you all the information you need.

Have you ever been in a vault? What do you think about them?

👏I👏Hate👏Vaults👏

How do you beat all the radiation around here? Has it affected you? I carry a lot of Rad-X and try to filter my own water whenever I can. I have no issue with ghouls but I don’t want to be one.

What’s your favorite wasteland critter? I know that they’re dangerous but NightStalkers are just cool.

What’s your least favorite wasteland critter? MOTHERFUCKING CAZADORS. You see one set of wings? Don’t worry there’s 50 more nearby AT LEAST. How do you feel about robots? Robots are honestly fascinating, Jack taught me a lot about programming them. And I’d do anything for ED-E, they’re my favorite to travel with.

How many caps do you have on you right now? Doesn’t matter how many I have, if I need more I’ll just play a few hands of Caravan or Black Jack.

Nuka Cola or Sunset Sarsaparilla? I like both honestly (especially Quantums) but out of the two I’d take a Sunset Sarsaparilla, way more refreshing in the desert heat.

Do you do chems? Used to be a Med-X junkie when I was a teenager, try to stay away from it now but it’s hard not to use when they’re such a tactical advantage. I keep chems on me for battles and occasionally for recreation even though it’s probably not a great idea. Used to do drug runs for the Great Khans too.

Do you ever think about the Pre-War world? I hack a lot of terminals and read a lot of emails and it really does get me curious. Trying to imagine a world that I only have the skeletons of to use as a frame of reference? A lot of the stories Jack tells me seem impossible, but the evidence is all around us if you know where to look. It’s honestly fascinating to learn about.

What’s your deepest regret? What would you do differently? My sister shouldn’t have died, I should have stopped them or, hell, I should have been the one to...It just shouldn’t have happened.

What’s your biggest achievement? Or what do you hope to achieve? I’d say that being a courier and going to all these places that most people have never seen or heard of or imagined is definitely a big accomplishment. I’d like to see more.

What do you want for the future? For yourself? Your friends? The world? I could try and say I have lofty, big goals for the world, that I look at the big picture but honestly? I just want to find peace for myself. To not wake up already tired. I want my kid to be happy and provided for and never go through anything I went through. I want to see Jack.

I TAG: @undeadcourier and @courierspikeee

#fallout new vegas #fallout #new vegas #courier six #courier 6 #haley #long post

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thequalityproblem · 4 years

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Ugh. The Understaffing Issue

“Understaffing” is a term often used in the hospital to describe a whole host of issues, including:

Not having enough nurses to staff the UNIT appropriately.

Basically, each nurse has to suck it up and take on more patients.

Not having enough nurses to staff the HOSPITAL appropriately.

Some nurses will have to suck it up and work on a unit they are not familiar with

Having enough nurses but not having enough support.

Nurses are having to do their own job plus someone else’s (like being charge nurse or being a tech/nurse’s aide)

Having enough nurses and enough support, but the patients are high acuity.

The patients are sicker and/or require more resources which means more time is spent in the patient’s room, which means less time for the other patients.

Generally, understaffing is a topic that I try to avoid at all costs. It always feels like a lose-lose situation.

From the point of view of the hospital administrator, its a barrier that I have no control over, but it constantly impedes all my genius (yep, I said it) ideas about how to meet the goals I was hired to meet.

From the nurse’s point of view, this is the hard stop. The most basic element to providing good patient care is to have an appropriate number of patients to care for, and if the hospital can’t do that for me, I’m not doing shit for them.

Pardon me for a moment while I trail off into a weird discussion about Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Remember this thing? We learned about it in school? Ringing any bells?

Basically what good ol’ Mr. Maslow was getting at is that, as a human, we have basic, primal needs that must be met (like shelter, air, water) in order to achieve the next level of motivation. I’d like to point out that this just a theory and there are a lot people out there who are smarter than me who like to argue the validity of this pyramid, but understand that I am using this as a METAPHOR for this whole understaffing thing.

If you look at this from the perspective of the nurse, the most basic needs are the things that provide career stability. Patients to care for, supplies to do that, support departments to make sure everything runs smoothly.

Here’s the part that is going to be a bit hard to swallow if you’re a hospital administrator: all those quality initiatives and metrics that teams of people have been hired to implement and improve upon - as the RN, those are at that highest level of the pyramid. Not to say the RN doesn’t care, I don’t know very many nurses to want to INCREASE your CAUTI rate, the problem is that it’s not even on their radar because they constantly feel like they are trying to make it to the end of the shift alive.

The hardest need to satisfy for nursing is safety. Nurses need to feel safe taking care of patients. Literally, the hospital’s most elemental task is to keep people alive. So if the nurse isn’t confident he/she can do that, you need to find a way to fix it.

Okay, but how do I fix it?

Well, that’s a little bit difficult. In fact, its an elephant... and the only way to eat an elephant is to take it one bite at a time. (I’m actually not really a huge fan of this saying, but you get the point. I’d much rather compare this task to Bruce Bogtrotter having to eat the entire chocolate cake in Matilda - I was pretty emotionally invested in that scene - also disgusted and proud - just a swirl of emotions, really.)

The best way to start the understaffing conversation with staff is to be as honest and transparent as possible. And I don’t mean explaining budget constraints and quarterly projections... I mean something like this:

Establish a staffing grid

Determine what your “hard line” is and put together a risk assessment and detailed plan for the different scenarios you will encounter.

Example: at what point do you pull nurses to other units? What about techs? What is the magic number for allowing a unit to stop taking admissions? At what point does the hospital go to an “all-hands-on-deck” approach where all licensed staff are required to assist?

This is the point where the conversation usually stops. The grids are developed, the numbers are put into a policy or an operating directive where they hide in the nursing office and the poor bastards who are in charge of staffing and supervising take the brunt of the resistance when staff are upset about the situation.

In order to make a meaningful impact on staffing issues, you HAVE to keep going. The conversation has to be loud and in people’s faces.

Share the staffing grid with all staff - with a thorough explanation of how those numbers were determined (evidence based? provide the articles. Show the staff that you have done your homework and aren’t just picking nurse/patient ratios based on cost, that you care about their safety.)

Post the grids EVERYWHERE - this is going to be hard, because this part requires total accountability and transparency with staff, administration, and patients.

Update the grids with ACTUAL DATA. Just like with every other quality metric that is tracked on each unit’s KPI boards, keep track of staffing. Daily. Show staff how the daily assignments are lining up with the established plan. Change the perception of understaffing by being able to point to the actual data that shows that the last time we were “truly” understaffed was over a month ago.

Then (and this is my favorite part because I am a total data nerd) track and trend the data!!

Track on the boards how many times nurses and techs have been pulled to or from the unit. Which units are the biggest offenders? Which units are the least common offenders? Why?

How many all-hands-on-deck days have there been? Is it rare or do we need to re-assess the grid?

Are there days/weeks when staffing is worse? Why?

Look at open unit positions, and examine all the factors that may have contributed to the issue. Let the data drive the change.

And finally but most importantly: practice extreme consistency. If you are going to take on the issue, do it all the way. If the plan says that an all-hands-on-deck situation has just been triggered, you need to dedicate your day to putting ALL HANDS ON DECK. Not just those hands that can probably reschedule the meeting this afternoon or those who can maybe cut lunch a bit early to help with a few tasks. The only way this whole plan will work is if it is taken seriously EVERY SINGLE TIME. I’ve been in these situations, and let me tell you, if I am told to drop everything I am doing to help the ED nurses, I’d better see the entire C-suite down there with me, because the first time I realize I’m down there alone while everyone else gets to go back to their offices, I’m going to realize that I’m the sucker and go back to what I was doing. And what does that say to the staff? “We care about your really hard day, but only kinda. Like, I care enough to tell other people that they should help, but I really can’t because I’ve got like a hundred meetings this afternoon” By the third or fourth time that everyone in administration is having to drop everything they are doing to go into staff, changes will start to happen. People will start paying closer attention to the data in order to fix the problem because it becomes everyone’s problem, not just the over-worked, over-burdened nursing staff.

The problem will not get fixed over night. But just by having the conversations and STAYING CONSISTENT with the developed plans, staff will start to see that their concerns are being taken seriously. Just like the light in the parking garage. (Same basic approach, just on different scales).

In order to finish off Ms. Trunchbull’s big, disgusting chocolate cake, keep everyone in the loop. Talk about what the data showed. Explain future plans to fix the problem and how it is being managed in the meantime (example: “Today sucks. There are too many call-offs, not enough people to cover, we tried all of our established and agreed-upon plans for improving staffing levels for you today, but unfortunately it can’t be done. In the meantime, we are going to have lab cover all your draws today. OR, we called in extra transportation so you won’t have to do any yourself OR we’ve had pharmacy change up a few things so that they can accommodate your requests quicker to help you out today.”)

Bottom line: SHOW the staff that their concerns and the hospital’s concerns are the same. When staff feel heard and safe, then maybe you can come at them with the whole “update your whiteboard” conversation.

#Hospital #hospital communication #hospital administration #Hospital Quality #hospital leadership #communication #leader communication #nurse #nursing blog #nursing #nurse staffing #staffing

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