#one punch men layouts

[cemeteryspider]

The Shadow's Redemption

Platonic! X-Men x New X-Men! Reader

Eventual Nightcrawler! Kurt Wagner x Necromancer! Reader

Summary: When you arrive at the X-Mansion, you are forced to open up about past trauma to grow and become the person you were meant to be.

Trigger Warnings: Trauma, Abuse, Violence, Emotional Distress, and Loss

Word Count: 2570

When you arrived at the academy after years of fighting the X-Men, let's just say that not everyone was very welcoming. However, the Professor welcomed you with open arms after Mister Sinister's control over you was severed.

Cyclops, Scott Summers as you would come to know him as, was maybe the biggest obstacle of your transition from mind control survivor to X-Men in training.

"I refuse to work with them! They've tried to kill me and the team on multiple occasions. They are dangerous, and don't know how their powers work! That's only scratching the surface Professor!," You could hear Scott yelling behind the thick door to the Professor's office.

Your eyes were trained on the floor, and your knees instinctively curled up into your chest. You knew the abuse that Sinister put you through and you would never willingly go back, but in the back of your mind you could only think, 'At least he wanted me'.

Once the thought entered your mind, the yelling stopped and the door burst open. Scott stormed off past you giving you the dirtiest look as he passed.

"Come in, dear, we have much to discuss," The Professor welcomed you into his office with his voice, knowing how much you feared telepathic communication after Mister Sinister. "I have decided that you will have a team of mutants to mentor you, Storm, Wolverine, and Jubilee. They will each help you with different aspects of your powers, Storm will help you keep total control over your powers, Wolverine will assist with hand to hand combat, and Jubilee will assist you in self-defense and social integration at the academy"

You spoke quietly, "I don't need you to assign me friends".

He gave a hearty chuckle at your comment, "I'm not assigning you friends, it will be your job to make friends with the team, I'm just setting you up for success, my dear," He looked down at a stack of papers on his desk, "Wolverine will see you in the Danger Room now, have a good first day"

With that you looked up at him confused, "My apologies, I will show you to the room"

Easily you could've figured the layout of the building using your powers to take knowledge from the dead, but instead you silently followed the Professor's chair across the building.

~~~

Your fists hit the punching bag, barely making it sway from side to side.

"Come on, you've hit me harder than that, Bub," That comment made you give him a little glare.

"If I could use my powers, this punching bag would be ripped to shreds in seconds," The quiet but powerful statement made Wolverine grumble.

"Sometimes you can't count on your abilities to get you out of a situation," He grasped your wrist in his hand and showed you how to move your arm. You shook him off and tried again.

"Bit better," He circled you and the punching bag for what felt like an eternity, "Punch the bag like your angry at it"

Your eyebrows creased and you tried to feel your anger. As hard as you tried you remembered the telepathic calm Mister Sinister would inject into your mind whenever you started to revolt against him. Just like you did back then you fell to your knees, tears falling from your eyes.

~~~

“I’m going to take you down. I will escape, and you will pay,” You snarled from your place on the cold metal chair, twisting the rough rope tying your wrists to the arms of the chair.

“Oh you poor thing, I give you a new life, a fulfilling one, and you threaten me? Tsk tsk,” He grabbed your face in his hands, “Tell me what do you feel now?”

The artificial calm entered your mind. It infected your anger with a stillness, a complacency that made you regret yelling at Mister Sinister in the first place. You could feel the pit in your stomach grow, and your breathing quickened but the power suppressant collar he had on you kept you hyperventilating.

“See, you like it here, I care about you, and we make a great team,” You tried to shove the thoughts out of your mind, but nothing worked. So you cried, the tears reminded you of how you’ve lost something, something that may never return.

~~~

Wolverine's eyes widened and you heard him talking to someone, "Xavier, I think I made a mistake... uh huh, they're umm cryin'... why me?... fine"

You placed your head in your hands and continued to cry, you felt the ground shake a little as he sat next to you.

"You know, I was taken too," After a moment your shaking settled and you looked up at him your eyes filled with hurt, "I was turned into a weapon, experimented on, tortured, locked up, I don't wanna talk about that, but I escaped"

You wiped the tears from your eyes, and looked him over for once you noticed the scars marring his skin.

"I changed for the better. It took a while, well maybe still, but I'm finding myself. The academy is a good place to start lookin, Bub"

Your eyes locked onto Wolverine's, "Thank you for believing in me, Wolverine"

His eyes rolled, "Don't call me that, Logan's just fine," He quickly got up from the ground and extended his hand to you.

~~~

You stood outside with Storm, and the wind she controlled blew your hair around. You were mesmerized by Storm's control over the skies making clouds appear and disappear, small thunderstorms flying overhead, even tiny tornado's spinning in the palm of her hand.

"You too can use your powers with such precision, with practice," She assured you.

You started with mediating, controlled breathing, and even visualization to manage your emotions. Allow you to feel them and understand how to understand your powers.

"Think of your happiest memory, now" You scanned your memories looking for that moment. Everything beyond your captivity by Mister Sinister seemed to have vanished, your neutral face turned into a frown.

"I don't have any I can remember," You opened your eyes to see Storm staring back at you. You could've sworn you could see sympathy in the eyes staring back. Her neutral expression finally broke into one of realization.

"What do you feel then," You pondered her question for a moment. You thought of everything he had taken from you, your parents, your normal life, your home, your youth...

"I'm angry," You whispered.

"What was that?" You knew full well she heard you.

"I feel angry," You looked at her with a scared look in your eyes. She just smiled at you.

"Show me how that feels," She stood up alongside you as you walked a little further away from the mansion.

Your breathing quickened, you could feel your eyes glaze over black, and you screamed. You let yourself feel your anger. Your fists clenched, and you could feel the darkness escape from your enclosed palms. You could feel the angry spirits within you scream with you.

The X-Men basketball game stopped and looked towards you. Darkness emitting in tendrils from your body, and spirits appearing around you screaming in unison. They all looked shocked.

Once a wave of relief washed over you and the darkness was pulled back inside, and the spirits disappeared either satisfied for the moment or put to rest eternally. A smile crossed your face for the first time in a long time.

"I can work with that" Storm was smirking at you, looking at you not with fear but a sweet sort of admiration. It made you smile wider.

~~~

That night you didn't take dinner back to your room. Instead you sat with the team Charles Xavier so badly wanted you to be a part of. You weren't nervous around him or Jean after your training with Logan and Storm. You felt confident in your abilities to feel your own emotions, and possibly the influence of a telepath. The Professor assured that when you were ready he could help you with that aspect, and after seeing your powers while on the basketball court Jean offered as well.

People were still afraid of confronting you about your powers, knowing what it felt like to be on the receiving end of your army of undead spirits. However, someone did not have those same qualms.

Kurt unapologetically appeared across from you at the table as you were sat between Storm and Logan protectively, "Hello, schön, saw your display the other day, it was simply amazing"

Your eyes flicked up from your plate and to Logan who simply huffed at the fuzzy blue man across from you.

"Thanks," you tersely responded.

"Ah! So silly of me, I am Kurt Wagner," Quickly he disappeared and reappeared in front of your eyes holding a flower across the table to you, "the Nightcrawler"

You felt your cheeks heat up looking up at him from your meal. You couldn't remember the last time someone introduced themself to you of their own volition.

"I'm Styx," You slowly plucked the beautiful golden marigold from between his fingers, "Thank you, Kurt"

His smile was infectious, and a smile turned one side of your mouth upwards.

"Kurt, sit down we have much to discuss," Still as the Professor spoke to the group about upcoming missions, and successful past ones he would steal glances at you.

One time he made a funny face at you while Scott was busy speaking, which caused you to laugh out loud. Everyone turned to look at you, and Logan simply started laughing too. Storm had a smile on her face because she knew it was the first time you laughed at the mansion.

~~~

You were at the mall with Jubilee and Jean who were helping you pick out some new clothes to make you feel more comfortable. While meandering the racks at Hot Topic Jubilee snuck up next to you.

"You know Kurt totally has a crush on you, right?" The same heat rushed to your cheeks, as you speedily turned back to the clothes to bring out a lacy black top with bell sleeves.

"What about this?" You held it up to your chest and turned back to Jubilee.

"Cute," She snatched it from your hands and put it in the basket, "but you can't avoid this, do you think you like him?"

You opened your mouth to say no, but you closed it because you did find him frustratingly adorable.

"Ah! You didn't say no!" Jubilee put her hand out for you to take which you reluctantly did, "He has never gotten so smitten with a new person this quickly, you two would be so cute together! Golden retriever and black cat relationship type thing ya know!"

You kept walking down the aisle, "Come on! Get excited with me! You two would so be a match," her fingers snapped and a small bright firework lit up your face.

You chuckled but something held you back, "I'm not sure I'm ready. For years the only person who I talked to was Sinister. I'm not exactly sure I'm dating material"

Jubilee exaggeratedly rolled her eyes at you, "You are a total catch, I mean the chic funeral attire, creepy spirits you have at your whim, the cold tendril thingys, who wouldn't want to date you," You gave her a sharp glare and she put her hands up defensively,

"I'm just joking, obvi, seriously you're so cool and anyone would be lucky to have you. If you're not ready I won't pressure you, but I don't know if Kurt's giving up anytime soon"

~~~

You focused on raising a singular spirit from the dead. Placing your hands in the grass behind the mansion. A blue spirit emerged from the Earth and sat with her legs crossed next to you.

'Hello, what's your name?' She was just a child, and yet she felt peace in death, you could feel it.

"People call me Styx, how 'bout you?"

'It doesn't matter, why have you brought me here?'

"I'm trying to learn more about summoning, my power"

'I had powers too'

"Tell me about them"

A smile crossed the young child's face and her eyes lit up, 'I could see the future, but a bad man took me away. Injected me with something. My body couldn't heal it like the others,' Her smile vanished, 'I dreamed of being an X-Men'

"I'm sorry that happened to you, no one deserves that. I'm an X-Men in training, you know," That was the first time you said that out loud.

'Really?! So you know Jean Grey! and Storm! Do you know Charles Xavier?!,'

You smiled at the young girl, "Yes I know them. Storm is like my best friend you know"

A gasp escaped the young girl's lips, 'That's so cool! You know maybe if you took my power, it would be like I'm part of the X-Men too'

"If only I could do that, I only can take knowledge from others," You chuckled.

She giggled at you, 'You can, silly, I can see the future, so I would know. Just take my hands'

You turned to face the young girl, and you held her hands in yours.

'Just focus," And you did, 'Think about my clairvoyance, think about the future'

And you did. There was a tingling sensation in your palms, and in a moment she was gone just an echo of a sentence, 'Call me Claire.'

~~~

You had two new powers to train, and you closed yourself off in your room working on honing in on looking into the future. Sometimes you would see centuries in the future, and sometimes seconds. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to this, just guesses.

While focusing you heard a knock at the door.

"Come in!" You yelled, and in a moment Kurt appeared in your room.

"Hallo! How are you Liebe!" He joyfully appeared next to you on the bed.

"Oh, hey Kurt. I'm doing well, how are you?" You carefully placed your hands on your lap, not wanting to try to see the future with Kurt in the room.

"Good, now that I'm with you," He gently shifted on the bed to look at you better, "Liebe, I have a question, but I don't want to scare you off"

"Ask me," You looked into his eyes, and a dark blush crossed his face.

'Hold his hand, see the future,' Sometimes Claire would speak to you. Usually to help you understand how to use her powers, and so you took his hand in yours.

Surprise crossed his face, but he quickly cleared his throat and used his confidence while it lasted, "Will you, do me the honor, of going on a date with me"

You saw yourself saying yes. You dress up, Kurt taking you to a fancy restaurant, and a dance at the end of the night. You saw another date where you shared your first kiss with him.

You could've seen more but you blinked away the visions. It didn't take you more than a second to respond this time.

"Yes, I would like that very much"

"Gut, sehr gut, how is Saturday?," You smiled at him and nodded, "unglaublich, I will see you then!"

With that he poofed out of the room and outside you could hear him cheering and Wolverine giving him the most big brother chat you've ever heard.

[mwolf0epsilon]

A Disgraced Trooper's Last Resort

Corrie moonshine has the kind of punch that can knock your teeth out. It's bootlegged with whatever they can find that won't outright kill them if it settles in their stomach, but definitely strong enough that it would sooner be considered outright gutrot than an actual FDA approved drink.

Not something your run of the mill liquor license or health insurance would cover.

Not that Fox really concerns himself with either of those things as he takes a swig from his lucky flask. To him a drink is a drink, especially when he feels like he needs it most. And he did need that extra push of liquid courage tonight more than he ever had before.

To put it simply, he was between a rock and a hard place. Relations between the GAR and the Guard were at an all time low. And, despite his Corries saying otherwise, it was all his fault.

He'd stumbled and made some terribly misguided mistakes. Grasped at tantalising straws that he'd hoped would be his and his men's salvation, only to fail time and time again. Burying himself and his troopers deeper and deeper in a grave that had been prepared for them since arrival. Eagerly applauded by the man who'd made them all his fools and jesters.

He'd botched Commander Tano's capture and then shot a brother dead. And not just any brother either. He'd shot one of Rex's boys. The only surviving one that he'd claimed from the defunct Rishi Moon outpost.

The heat was on high and everyone he loved and cared for was suffering terribly for it.

From his commanders to the shiniest of shinies. All because he couldn't win against Palpatine. He was in too deep and had no allies that could get him and his men back out of this deep dark pit. At least not any allies that had any real power.

Fox was playing a game that he simply couldn't win. But maybe he didn't have to...

Taking another swig of the flask, Fox contemplated the only logical conclusion he'd reached in the last couple of months, as he'd noticed just how much things had deteriorated. Contemplated this rather outlandish plan of his that was very much a last desperate call to set things right.

It all came back to flimsywork and the world of bureaucracy. Things he hated but was much too intimately familiar with. He'd submitted the performance report a month ago before settling for another round of the waiting game. Detailed what needed to be scrutinised, and omitted what most definitely didn't. His idea was a little out there but not unheard of, especially with the observations he'd dutifully jotted down to back up his decision.

And then there was the matter of tempting the Chancellor with something he couldn't quite resist, which he thought he'd done so beautifully. If he was good at anything besides suffering through logistics and political nonsense, it was nicely baiting a trap of his own.

As soon as Fox made his next move, a few things would change. Hopefully for the better. Not that his men would understand. At least not at first... But it had to be done. He'd made the assessments and he had certainly done his homework. As soon as the report was called in for review to pick his successor, they would very easily concede to his wishes.

Due to the current losses and supposed number of decomms, there were simply not enough skilled guardsmen for it to justify promoting their most veteran commanding officers. Thorn would be barred the position of marshal commander due to both his position as head of the prison force, and his constant requisitioning for escort missions. So would Stone, who was far too proficient in his senatorial guard duties to be pulled aside as a glorified secretary to the Chancellor. And Thire would need to take time off to train a replacement officer to guide the patrolsmen due to having the best knowledge of Coruscant's layout, making him the most effective patrol co-ordinator they had ever had.

And time was not something anyone could spare on Triple Zero.

And, with no one else nearly as experienced or simply far too important in their current positions, that left only one option should the position of marshal commander ever open up: Requisition a trooper just as skilled as Fox himself from another battalion.

Which is exactly what he'd done when he'd submitted the report. Should he be incapacitated or destroyed, command of the Guard would fall to the only person he trusted to be capable of leading them. Or, in Fox's true motivation, that had the actual power to put an end to Palpatine's sick little games.

And the best part? No one would call into question his choice on the matter. He'd waited more than enough after he'd submitted the report for it to register as valid on record, even after he did what he was about to do.

Which is why, as Fox finished emptying his flask as he stood on the very roof of the Senate building, he couldn't help but smile. Smile and wish Cody the best of luck. The bastard was going to need it, especially when Fox knew Palpatine would rejoice at taking something, anything, from General Kenobi who he seemed to so greatly despise.

The neon lights and smell of chemicals and pollution greeted the disgraced marshal commander as he stood at the very edge of the roof. Ready to make a spectacle of this. Ready to set his own twisted little game into motion. Palpatine had won the first few rounds, but he would not be able to best Cody. Not with the reputation he had, nor the esteem he'd earned. Which was exactly what Fox was counting on.

And, as he flung himself forward towards his inglorious demise, he hoped against all hope that Cody's fondness for his general was a mutual thing and not once-sided. If just so his little brothers in the Guard could finally have a chance.

He was, quite literally, taking a leap of faith.

[daddy-issues-99]

Joker x Abandoned Batkid

Gender neutral reader, strictly fluff

1.5k words 

You missed your old bed, the one at Wayne Manor, it was warm and coxy and, most important: Safe. You missed it there but you didn't miss the person you shared the house with. 

At first Bruce seemed like an amazing person, courageous, protective and generous enough to take you under his wing, both literally and figuratively. He made you into a smaller version of him, or at least tried to. You weren't prefect, far from it but you could get the job done, but not without some scrapes, you still have a scar from your first mission, a small cut on your lower lip where your mask couldn't protect you. You didn't mind it though, you thought it made you look cooler but it did come with a price of being recognized by people you've fought. 

Bruce always pointed it out during training saying that ‘that’s what happens when you let your guard down’. It got annoying after a while. In fact everything seemed to get more irritating and hurtful the longer you stayed in the Manor. He got stricter with the training and missions, treating you more as an obstacle in the way of victory rather than the sidekick you were. The once constructive criticism turned to insults. The gentle pats of the back turned to shoves and hits. 

The final straw was on a mission trying to capture the Joker. You were chasing after him through one of his many warehouses when he took a small explosive out of his pocket and threw it back towards you. You jumped out of the way as quick as possible barley escaping the blast and hitting your head hard against the concrete pillar letting the Joker escape once again. 

You looked up to see Bruce standing over you with a furious expression on his face. You quickly pulled yourself up from the ground “Bruce, I’m sorry, he threw a grenade at me and-” “I don't need your excuses!” “I-I’m sorry, I didn't mean for this to-” “Would you just shut up for once in your life you little bitch!” He said as he punched you in the face full force. You stumbled back falling into the pillar falling back down to the floor hearing muffled curses coming from Bruce. You looked at you hand that was covered in blood that was slowly running down your face and onto your suit. 

“Why cant you do anything right?” He asked angrily. You didn't even respond you just stumbled to your feet and ran out of the warehouse. You hadn't talked to Bruce sense. 

That's how you ended up here, walking around the streets of Gotham looking for a place to stay and some unsuspecting victim to mug. You walked for a while longer until you came to a familiar warehouse, ‘seemed like a good place to spend the night’, you thought to your self. You knew the layout so you knew the most secluded places to hide away for the night. There weren't any lights that you could see so you walked up the stairs to find an empty supply closet you could call your bedroom for the night.

You started to hear noises on the floor above you, it sounded like talking. Realizing your analysis of no one being in the building was wrong you slowly tried creeping back down the stairs not wanting any trouble tonight but you were caught off guard when you felt someone grab you from behind. He was much bigger than you and there was no way you could fight him off. He called for a few more men to come over and help carry you up to where the talking was coming from. 

The man carried you up the stair as you still tried to kick your was out of his grasp. He grabbed an old chair and held you down so the other men could tie your hands and feet to the chair. It took them a few minutes to finally hold you still enough to tie you up. 

You still continued to struggle against the ropes as the men stood there laughing at your struggle. They went quiet suddenly when they heard someone coming up the stairs, you followed their gaze to see an all to familiar face turn the corner. You locked eyes instantly and regretted ever looking up. “Well well, who do we have here?” He said kneeling down to get a good look at you. He soon noticed a familiar gash on your lower lip. “Ah, your the Batman's little sidekick aren't you?” You didn't respond just quickly glanced up at him and the men behind him. He noticed your glance to the group of men behind the two of you. 

“Our guest seems a little shy, I think some one on one time is best” He stood up and ushered the men out of the room.  The door closed with a click and he kneeled down once more to be at eye level with you. “So, where's the Man?” You simply shrugged still looking at the floor. “Why should I care?” You said bluntly. 

He simply nodded “You and the dark Knight not on the best of terms?” He asked licking his lips. You didn't respond but that was all the answer he needed. He simply sighed and stood up. You looked up to see him pulled out a switchblade from his jacket pocket. You instantly stiffened showing your nervousness, leaning back in the chair trying to get away. He walked over to you and you shut your eyes tight as if trying to avoid your fait. “Relax kid” You opened one eye to see him go behind you and start cutting the ropes. You hands soon fell free and he cut the ropes at your feet. You instantly shot up stumbling over the chair behind you sending you to the floor. 

You pushed yourself away until you were cornered up against the wall.  You looked up at the Joker unable to hide your fear at this point, he just looked down at you waiting for your next move. He lifted his arm and you instantly moved your arms to cover your face trying to avoid any attack. “What happened to you kid?” He said simply putting his blade back in his pocket. “The first time we met you were so eager to win the battle but now your just the shell of that kid.” You stayed silent. “Batsy isn't the best mentor is he?” He asked looking down at you with a sympathetic look. 

You looked up at his seeing his expression and were unable to hold in a sob. A tear rolled down your face as you tried to bring your legs to your chest trying to make yourself seem smaller. He looked down at you realizing how bad you actually had it working with the Batman. He sighed, kneeling down and extending his hand. You looked up tears still streaming down your face. “You know, Batman isn't the only one in need of a side kick.” You tilted your head in confusion “Look, its tough doing the job I do but there is room for some extra help around. Ill make you a deal. You can come and work with me by my side, Ill take you under my wing and give you what you need. If you don't like it and want to leave I wont stop you. Deal?” He said extending his hand further “Come on, what do you have to loose?” 

You quickly wiped the tears off your cheek and grabbed his hand as he helped you off the ground. He pulled you close draping his arm over your shoulder, you surprisingly felt comfortable. Who knew being this close to the Joker would feel safe? You leaned in to his embrace as you waled down the stairs and into a nice car parked at the back of the warehouse. One of the men opened the door for the both of you giving a confused look but hid it when the Joker gave him a look. 

You climbed into the back seat with him and you were off. You still could believe that you were in the Jokers car, was this a trick, will he hurt me? You were pulled from your thoughts when you were handed a bottle of water, “Relax kid” he placed the water in your lap “Your safe with me” He said playfully ruffling your hair. You smiled, who knew the person you’d feel safe around was the person you were trying to catch. You rested you head on his shoulder and he put his arm around you “Tired?” You nodded “You got around an hour before we get to our destination, take a cat nap.” He said patting your shoulder. You slowly began to drift off to sleep with a single thought in your head ‘I am safe’. 

[lesbiansgoal]

For drinks

Keep this saved to your cellphone so you know what to look out for.

My advice is to call a friend you trust to see if they can pick you up, or even a co-worker of relative to have a safe backup plan. Stay close to employees when eating or drinking.

If you get up to leave (bathroom for example) DO NOT take a sip of the same drink, ask for a new one (even if it's water, tea, soda, etc. etc).

Get to know the layout of where you're going. Know where the exits are.

Carry a personal alarm, pepper spray with UV ink so its easier to see for the authorities or anyone that has a blacklight / UV detector, and a taser (if it's legal and you don't need a permit for it)

Go for the throat (punch) if you need to defend yourself (if you don't have any of the above) it will knock the wind out of them and give you enough time to get to safety. Twisting their arm roughly and quickly to the right with your dominant hand will make them be in pain. Kicking girls / women between the legs hurts just as much as kicking guys / men between the legs. (Self defense only)

DO NOT turn your cellphone off for any reason. Carry a charger or power bank with you.

Make sure people you trust know where you are and can come get you if you need them to.

Don't drink more than one alcoholic beverage if you're driving there.

If you're taking an Uber, Lyft, Taxi, etc. etc. Make sure you look at them to see their facial features and ALWAYS make sure you feel safe with the person driving.

If your gut / sixth sense tells you something is wrong, listen to it.

DO NOT let anyone buy you a drink.

Wear flats or sneakers (or have them as backup if you don't want to wear them there).

Take hand sanitizer with you.

I hope all of these help.

Thanks!

[animehouse-moe]

The Iceberg of Online Manga - A Reading List and Print Wishlist

We get a lot of manga in English, but that's only the tip of the iceberg. We get a hell of a lot of fan translated manga, but even that doesn't cover the whole thing. Separated by language and culture, the "untapped" potential of manga is foreign to a lot of readers, myself included really. But it's because of that deficiency that I decided to start taking a look at interesting fan translated titles to find series to recommend to publishers (and potentially read), so this is a sneak peek into my ever-growing list.

It's also an open request for people to share their favorites from the online manga sphere! As a single person it's impossible to find all the hidden gems, so being able to share titles between one another can really help widen horizons.

Sui and Neri of the Twilight Planet / Tasogare-Boshi No Sui To Neri

In a way, it reminds me of Girls Last Tour, a sunsetting planet that explores the oddity of a du in their life. Not quite as bittersweet or contemplative through what I've seen so far, but still very pretty and detailed. Lots and lots of hand drawn background art, and some really good layouts and paneling.

Poison Poison Forest Forest /Doku Doku Mori Mori

Mushroom on Mushroom violence, with a healthy side of grim visuals. It's got all the punch you could expect, and has a pretty novel approach to what you could consider a revenge story. Still early on so not a mountain of stuff to go off of, but at the very least what there is is good.

Captain Momo's Secret Base / Momo Kanchou No Himitsu Kichi

Tsuruta Kenji, the mastermind behind the art of Emanon (and other series), need I really say more? Regardless, with Tsuruta's art behind a lighthearted and curious series of a woman travelling through space alone with a cat, it's an undeniably enjoyable ride. Though do be warned, there is quite a bit of nudity featured as Momo prefers going commando to wearing clothes.

Every Every Night / Yona Yona Yona

An incredibly strikingly designed robin hood-esque story, Yona and her crew go on nightly missions to try and steal back art that was originally stolen by a corrupt police force. Creative, expressive, fun, and impressively detailed and unique, it's got quite a bit of potential!

The Feared Witch of Tasihou / Taishou Kitan Majo

Mixing the Western practices of Witchcraft with a Taishou-era Japan setting? A cultural combination that I'm truthfully surprised we haven't really seen yet. Add onto that the incredibly unique and sketch-like art style (and the wonderful color pages) and it's just a super easy pickup.

Welcome to Hotel Metsäpeura / Hotel Metsäpeura e Youkoso

A little hard to explain succinctly, but this is the story of a trio, two men and a teenager who they find standing outside their hotel in the Finnish wilderness in the middle of Winter. Characters with... interesting pasts, it's a story about providing not just a house, but a home to this young boy on his own.

The Ends of A Dream / Yume no Hashibashi

This is one that I'm really quite desperate to get in print. It's an emotional story of a pair as they retrace their forbidden romance through the years that have evaded them as they reach the end of their lives. A painfully beautiful concept that I really hope to see licensed someday.

Will You Clean This For Me? / Kirei Ni Shitemoraemasuka

Alright, something a little more light and fun! A story of a laundry (though it's really sorta general cleaning) shop as they go about their daily life, even offering a few tips and tricks to better cleaning things. Simple idea that has some pretty clear care put into it, and is just the right thing to relax with.

Amber Days and Golden Nights / Kohaku no Yume de Yoimashou

Let's keep the good vibes rolling! Another specific interest series, this time about craft beer. Kenzaki Nana's a burnt out employee at a Kyoto advertising firm, but happens to stumble across the Shirokuma bar. With just one night she ends up pulled into the world of craft beer, and our story begins! Very fun and light, and a really cool area to see explored by manga.

The Dragon, The Hero, and The Courier / Ryuu to Yuusha to Haitatsunin

Nothing like some good old comedy at the expense of someone else. Yoshida, a half elf, is a mail carrier for the Imperial City of Idazig that will deliver mail to anyone, anywhere. With the breadth of fantasy and middle-ages history expressed early on, there's a lot of creative potential for humor alongside the really wonderfully scratchy and sharp art.

Deep Sea Aquarium Magmell / Magmell Shinkai Suizokukan

My friend Phantom would kill me if this wasn't on the list. Anyways, it's a series about a deep sea aquarium employee in Tokyo. Very cool, very informal, and incredibly beautiful. I love how much they work with blacks and darkness in the art.

A Coffee Shop in the Unwaking Town / Samenai Machi no Kissaten

I love stories that are incredibly odd and quiet, and this is no exception. Suzume one day finds herself unable to wake up, stuck in the unwaking town Lutetia. It's in this town that she works at the coffee shop known as 'Quatre'. From the moment I laid eyes on it I knew I'd enjoy it, a unique concept paired with standout art, it has such a comfortable feeling to its experience (as well as offering a few recipes).

Living In an Antiquarian Bookstore of The Karakida Family / Karakida-ke no Kosho Gurashi

A simple story about three girls inheriting their grandfather's shop in the heart of the largest collection of used bookstores, Kanda-Jinbouchou. A very calm and borderline mundane story that is supplemented with some truly beautiful art.

And that's all this list has in it for now! Of course I've got more I can chat about, but I thought these to be the most promising in my perusing of the internet. Best of all though? All of these are available (to some degree) on MangaDex! If you want to give them a shot they're there. And really, do feel free to add to this list with your own online finds, I'd love to find all sorts of unique and creative manga that we don't get to hear about in the English sphere!

[fenny-self-ships]

hey there can I get a Peter Pan x femreader imagine. Where Peter Pan saves femreader from Captain Hook. .(Peter pans in love with femreader 🤭) Thank you so much!🫶🏼

I've never really written imagines before, so what better prompt for a first try! Just a short little drabble to get the hang of it, I hope it's alright <3

Peter Pan saves you (imagine)~!

~ ~ ~

What rotten luck. Terrible, awful, rotten luck, to find yourself tied crudely to the bow of Hook's ship. He'd captured you, whisked you away in the dead of night, no doubt as bait to finally lure Peter into his grasp. You'd known he'd been after him for years, decades even! Peter loved to regale stories of their battles to you before you went to bed.

Even so, with all this knowledge, all these tales, you couldn't have prepared yourself for a burlap sack tugged over your head by a man twice your size. So there you sat, arms fastened to your side, pirates singing and cheering all around you as they paraded you through the shores of Neverland. The Captain sat further back, by the wheel, chuckling to himself over a pint of cheap rum. Every now and again, he'd raise his glass in your direction, toasting your friend's demise.

"Here, here!! To the death of Peter Pan!!" He'd shout, and the dozen or so men assigned to watch over you would whoop and tease.

What rotten luck.

But rotten luck never lasts. Your companion was a crafty fellow, and he hadn't made a name for himself without picking up on Hook's tricks. He knew the layout of every plan, every nook and cranny of the ship, inside and out. He knew the blind spots; and he knew the crew would be too drunk on their own pride to notice him creeping up the underside of the hull, hands tucked nonchalantly behind his head. Not a care in the world! When he creeped into your view, you couldn't help but roll your eyes. He'd always been so cocky.

He shot you a wink as he untied the knots at your wrists. The pirates continued to chant.

"To the death of Peter Pan!!"

The ropes loosened, just enough for you to slip out of your bindings and fall from the bow, directly into Peter's arms. He was scrawny, but strong, and held you up with ease, letting out a silent chuckle.

"Miss me??" He hissed. When you open your mouth to speak, he doesn't let you answer, holding a finger close to your mouth. It would seem today, shockingly, he'd favour a silent exit. One that the band of marauders wouldn't notice until it was too embarrassingly late for any comeback... how strange! Usually he was such a sucker for theatrics. He couldn't go a single place without making his presence known. The sight of him holding you close, slipping under the bow and fluttering off without so much as rude gesture back towards ol' Hook was one you had to fight yourself from questioning the whole flight back to hangman's tree.

He set you down on the ground with shocking care, and almost instantly cupped your face in his hands, examining it closely for cuts or bruises. His boyish face scrunched up in concern.

"What did that damn codfish do to you??" He demanded. His heart was racing. You must have scared him to death! Even if he didn't quite like to show it...

He'd have searched you all over if it weren't for your laughing, your insistence that he hadn't harmed a hair on your head. Only then did he allow himself to smile. He punched you in your arm, of course -- punishment for getting yourself caught -- but made up for it with one of the warmest hugs he could manage. He knew you weren't weak, that you'd have given Hook a run for his money, but damnit, he cared about you way too much to risk it.

He was just glad you were ok.

[iamvegorott]

Meeting A Magical Man Pt. 66

Part 1: Link Prev: Link Next: Link

Robbie braced himself before slamming his shoulder into the door, flinging it open and off its hinges. He dove out of the way as Marvin and Phantom took his place. The two magic users held their hands out, causing all of the guns in the room to start glowing with either a bright green or a dark red, and when Marvin and Phantom twisted their wrists, the weapons snapped, the sound echoing in the room and nearly sounding like weak fireworks. Marvin and Phantom then threw their arms apart, making the destroyed guns fly and smack into most of the men, distracting them enough to make them not think to head up and get to Actor and the others. 

“Incoming!” Jackie shouted as he barged into the building, slamming himself into two of the men and tackling them to the ground. 

“I love that man,” Phantom said with a proud laugh. 

Chase had followed right behind Jackie, grabbing one of the destroyed guns, a long rifle of sorts, and held the muzzle of it before swinging it like a bat and smacking the other end of it across one of the man’s faces. 

“And I love that man.” Marvin had his own proud laugh. Before he finished his laugh, he and Phantom were suddenly being lifted in the air by Robbie, both sitting on his shoulders as he kicked one of the men away who was charging at them. 

“Am I loved, too?” Robbie asked as he looked up at them.” 

“Of course, darling.” Marvin giggled, patting the top of Robbie’s head. “You are my favorite nephew.” 

“Nice!” Robbie chuckled. He sat the two back down before taking off and knocking down three other men. 

“Let’s go,” Phantom said with an almost evil grin and flicked his wrists, casting a spell to harden his hands and started throwing punches. 

“Well, damn.” Marvin chuckled to himself before cracking his neck and joining in the fight. 

Chase scrambled around the large room, knocking men away and trying to see what he could figure out. Every building had a layout that should make sense, regardless of any type of security system or add-in. They all had the same frame. Chase fumbled over a man tossed by Robbie, landing and finding himself lying in front of one of the discarded guns, and noticed where the break had occurred. Only the gun’s handle had been damaged, meaning the weapon could still be used as intended. It would be difficult and possibly hurt Chase’s hand, even break a finger, but it would give him a better advantage. He knew Marvin didn’t like guns, but he also knew if Chase felt it necessary to stay safe, he’d be okay. Chase checked how many bullets there were. 

Two. 

He only had two to work worth. 

What kind of armed guard only had two bullets? 

Chase was going to need to be smart about using these. 

“Back off!” Chase warmed the several men that neared him, aiming the gun toward them. It was an awkward grip, but they didn’t need to know how awkward it felt. The men hesitated, holding their hands out without much thought.

The sooner we get upstairs, the better.

Chase heard Marvin’s voice echo in his head, the last thing he said before they broke into the building. He had a clear path. Those near him were distracted by the gun he held, and the others were too busy with his friends. Keeping the gun pointed at the men, Chase slowly made his way to the stairs. He took even slower steps up he went up them backward. Once he got halfway there, he glanced over his shoulder and noticed an electrical pad next to the door. It was locked, and with how that pad looked. It was likely a fingerprint scanner based on the size. He’d need help getting through that, be it magic or just breaking whatever connection the scanner had. Chase looked to his friends; Robbie had his back to him, Marvin and Phantom were using magic to throw and knock out several men, and he tensed up when he saw Jackie. He was fending for himself very well but was unaware of the man creeping up behind him, holding a knife and about to stab him. 

Chase didn’t have long. 

He lifted the gun, aimed, and braced himself for pain.

Inhale. Exhale.

Bang!

The man screamed in pain at having a bullet go through his hand, and Chase winced at the gun’s recoil pinching his fingers. 

“The door’s got a scanner lock!” Chase called over the chaos. “We need to break it!” 

Jackie was left alone as the other men panicked at the gunfire, and he looked around the room. He saw a metal box on the wall and assumed it had the power fuses inside. It was an interesting place for one of those, but Jackie knew nothing about making buildings. He did know he wouldn’t be able to make it to that side of the room easily and quickly with how men were still up. An answer came to mind as Robbie paused his rampage for a second and stood next to him.

“Yeet me!” Jackie said, pointing toward the box.

“What?” Robbie blinked in shock.

“Yeet me to the box so I can help Chase.” Jackie pointed with a finger with both hands now. 

“Okay?” Robbie scooped Jackie up, took a step, and threw the man across the room. Jackie landed with a few stumbling steps and caught himself with his hands on the wall. 

“Please be labeled, please be labeled,” Jackie mumbled before opening the metal box and sighing in relief at the overly detailed labels inside the box’s door. It told him exactly which one to mess with to break the scanner. 

It was easy.

Too easy.

But Jackie didn’t think much of it and grabbed the fuses for the scanner, yanking them out. Nothing happened at first as he looked to Chase and gave him a thumbs-up, but then there was sparking from the box. Not even having time to swear, Jackie got a face full of a projectile he couldn’t tell what they were, and he fell to his back. 

“Jackie!” Phantom cried out. 

Chase had rushed to the door and opened it at the same time as Jackie getting hit. His eyes widened at seeing the fireball that was Mad, and before he could react beyond that, one of the men grabbed him and pulled him away from the door. The man wrapped an arm around Chase’s neck while using his other hand to stab him in the side three times. 

“Chase!” Marvin’s voice cracked from how loud his scream was, and the world went gray around him as he watched Chase fall to the ground. 

No.

No.

NO!

NO!

----------

Tags: @brokentimewatch @bookwormscififan @d-structive @rainymae523 @ashtonisvibing

[theladyofbloodshed]

I don't think it's a "trope", but there's certain relationships in books where the woman is selfish and self-centered and everything is always "me me me" and the man acts like she can do no wrong (doesn't happen as much with men because they're usually written as being selfish in a way that benefits the woman).

Azriel and Elain remind me of this and it's one of the reason I have 0 interested in them as a couple. I feel like Lucien isn't gonna be very impressed with her little princess/damsel in distress attitude whereas Azriel will just make excuses for her. That scene where she visits Nesta, tells her not to be so miserable about being locked up (????) and then complains and cries that "she's not even trying". Or when Nesta went to Solstice and Elain, instead of being nice to her, asks her if Feyre paid her to come again... and Azriel hanging in the doorway like Nesta is gonna punch Elain in the face (which she should have done) and he'll have to come to her rescue.

Yes, I completely get what you mean. When I've been flicking back through acomaf to write a fic, I noticed a part when Mor talks about trying to go to the queens and Azriel is flat out like "no you will not". There's an element of him knowing the layout and how tricky it is, but also like "i know what's best and i forbid you from putting yourself in danger despite you being able to make your own choices" which made me feel a bit icky.

The part about Elain asking Nesta if Feyre paid her is just so nasty. It would be completely different if they had a playful, joking relationship like that, but they don't. It was just nasty and came out of the blue when Nesta is really trying. It's horrible and cemented my dislike for Elain.

[dailydoseofweb]

It was all Shelt—

….

“David Kenyon Webster!” Webster froze in his writing. Someone cleared their throat behind him. Nervously the man looked over his shoulder, only to be met with the disappointed faces of Heffron and Grant.

“You better amend that statement.” Heffron looked pointedly at the journal in the other man’s hands. “Pretty sure this is on the both of you.”

“I..NO…That’s…”

“I know you and Snafu can’t be left alone for two minutes let alone an actual hour without you being at each other’s throats but I thought you could maybe keep it under control long enough to complete this one task.” Heffron sighed. At the sound Webster cringed. “Hit a nerve there, Web?”

“I didn’t…that is…it’s not…I swear I didn’t start it this time.” Webster grumbled. Grant and Heffron hummed. Both continuing to look skeptical.

“How about you tell us what actually happened instead of scribbling out blame in that notebook of yours?” Heffron crossed his arms, waiting.

“I suppose…I could do that.” Webster sighed.

…..

It started innocently enough. Everyone met up with Tabitha (we get this club up and running and I’m taking you to the mat, boy!) and Juni. The location was inconspicuous, one warehouse looks like any other after all. The inside was where it really mattered. Juergens took one look at the space and deemed it satisfactory. The open layout was promising and with mats and some additional padding the space would be ideal.

Everything was going just fine. Shelton roamed around examining the floors and walls. Every so often he’d call out, nothing distinctive just something to make noise or tap a wall and listen.

“Testing the sound and checking to make sure the walls ain’t hollow. Can’t be punching through our club now, can we?” Shelton grinned. A metallic thud followed his words.

“Seems pretty solid to me.” Juergens laughed and shook out his hand. “This place will do just fine.” He joined Shelton and the two began talking about layouts and what all they might want in this club. Every once in a while they would pause and turn to Tabitha (I hope you’ve been practicing, kid.) and ask for her opinion and would continue in this vein for some time.

….

“The trouble came later. I can say that much easily now. It was as we were leaving the warehouse really. Shelton and I were actually on good terms. He kept including me on the planning. I think we may be making the club into a proper training gym with the club happening so that the place can still be maintained when the fights are not scheduled. It is a rather clever idea and I have to say I am impressed that Shelton was the one to suggest it.” Webster paused. “My dear Joe is, to no surprise, very much in favor of it and I agree.”

“That’s impressive but what happened David?” Grant sighed. It would not surprise him if they went from civil conversation to an all out brawl over one thrown away comment but he and Heffron had hoped that they were getting better. An understanding had been made and had, thus far, been met. Until today. Apparently.

“It really wasn’t my fault. I…it wasn’t really Shelton’s either. Things just escalated before we could stop them. It wasn’t until we were leaving that things spiraled.” Webster paused. “Tabitha and Juni had just left so it was just Joe, myself, Shelton and his boys.”

…

It had been roughly an hour since the ladies left and everything had remained civil. Webster was actually impressed. There had been light teasing but that was just how these guys showed affection at times.

That is how it started. Light teasing between friends. Shelton and Webster were having a good natured argument, Juergens and Sledge were teasing Burgin and Liebgott was laughing at the whole lot. No one had been really paying attention so none of the men saw the two stragglers near the warehouse as they left until they made their way up to the group.

Loudly.

…

“I refuse to repeat what foul things these two buffoons said. They do not bear repeating. Just know, they implied some very unsavory things about Shelton, as well as Juniper, simply based on their appearance. I…may have lost my head a bit when they decided to throw punches at Juergens and Sledge. And…Shelton may have also been right there beside me.”

A stunned silence followed Webster’s words. Grant sighed and shook his head as Heffron just began to chuckle.

“Oh my god. Of course this would happen to you. We can’t take you anywhere. You’re a magnet for trouble.” Heffron clapped a hand on Webster’s shoulder. “What are we going to do with you David?” Webster shrugged.

“I guess it depends. Joe kissed me afterwards, Lew smacked the back of my head and laughed and Shelton walked with his arm around my shoulder laughing. There may have also been some talk about what should happen should we encounter those jerks again.”

“I think he’s got it covered Babe. Let’s get these guys home.”

[lilradridinghood]

FULL PDF HERE

Art and layout by the wonderfully talented @desansen

This is the story I wrote for @enduremyheart-zine, which was supposed to be a collaborative zine about two twins going from world to world trying to get home. Each world has an artifact that will open a portal to the next one. This was supposed to be the fourth level out of twenty-two.

I hope you enjoy this little section of Juno and Sylvie's journey! Full text is under the cut in addition to the pdf linked above~

When Sylvie and Juno tumble from prickly bushes onto the ground below, Sylvie can’t help but let out a long, frustrated groan.

They made it out of the previous world. Good for them. But they still have no idea how much longer they’ll have to keep this up—or how much longer they can keep this up. As if to emphasize her suffering, Sylvie’s stomach growls like one of the baby griffins she likes to play-wrestle back home.

“Hungry?” Juno says, the slightest smile on their face.

Sylvie scowls. “Obviously. When I get my hands on that old wizard-”

Suddenly, someone shushes her from a nearby bush. A man glares at them in heavily adorned armor.

“Are you trying to wake the dragon?” Rich Boy says.

Sylvie finally looks at the sight ahead of them—really looks this time—and sure enough, in front of a tall, narrow tower rests the most enormous dragon she’s ever seen.

The shock on her face only makes Rich Boy even more smug. “What? Did you expect a smaller foe to be worth such a bounty?”

While Sylvie resists the urge to punch him, Juno scopes for information: “What bounty?”

“Are you really that dense? The king’s messengers have announced it everywhere. He’s offering a bounty for anyone who can save the princess from that monstrous beast.” Rich Boy lifts his chin. “Of course, I’ll be the one leading the mission that actually succeeds—provided peasants like you stay out of my way.”

With that, he turns his back toward the twins and motions his men forward. For one irritating moment, as they sink their swords into the dragon, Sylvie actually thinks they might win.

Then the dragon’s eyes snap open. Sylvie watches with a mixture of horror and excitement as it locks its gaze onto its assailants and lets out a fierce battle cry. Its tail sweeps the knights aside like mere chess pieces, and one man cries out as claws latch onto his armor.

Juno steps forward with concern. “We should help,” they say.

Sylvie smirks. “Or we could step in after the dragon eats the prick and his friends.”

Juno just looks at her.

“Ugh, fiiiine,” Sylvie says. “Any idea how we can get that bounty without getting eaten ourselves?”

Juno feels around the insides of their pockets and smiles. “I might have something that can do the trick. You think you can distract it while I slingshot a sedative into its mouth?”

Sylvie grins. “Easy.”

“Just be careful.”

Sylvie rolls her eyes. She’s about to prove her sword fighting skills to both her twin and smug little Rich Boy over there. He’s in the middle of screaming and backing away from the dragon when Sylvie calls out.

“Hey! Over here, you overgrown lizard!”

Sylvie charges forward, and when the dragon’s death glare sends a sharp jolt through her body, she knows she’s caught its attention. She leaps into action, jumping and rolling and rushing out the way, keeping the dragon occupied with each narrow miss—until eventually the dragon knocks her sword out of reach. Sylvie’s heart races. She trips, stumbles. She looks up to find the dragon towering over her, mouth bearing fangs.

Then the dragon stops. One look at Juno’s smiling face tells Sylvie all she needs to know. They’ve done it. The sedative made it in.

Only it doesn’t work right away.

The dragon turns its head toward Juno, just as the smile on Juno’s face twists into an expression of pain. Oh no. Sylvie reaches forward, frantic, ready to scream or cry or do anything to keep the dragon away from her closest family—her closest friend. But someone else steps in before she can.

The girl appears almost out of nowhere, her wild dark hair stark against her prim pink gown. The dagger in her hand glistens. She plunges it deep into the dragon’s tail, and it’s enough for the large beast to shift its already groggy gaze. Its body collapses just as it’s trying to turn around.

A moment passes where everyone is too afraid to move. The thud from the dragon’s fall seems to reverberate through the air even after the sound is long gone. 

Then Rich Boy comes out of hiding and immediately starts talking down to the girl from the tower.

“Honestly, of all the stupid, reckless things you could do-”

“Would you rather I let the dragon tear apart your men and our heroes?” the girl says. She lifts her chin in defiance, her pride matching even Rich Boy’s.

When he doesn’t respond, she takes the opportunity to walk over to Sylvie and Juno—and that’s when Sylvie notices it. The tiara on the girl’s head. The persistent pull Sylvie feels toward it.

There’s no doubt in her mind that the tiara is this world’s artifact.

It glimmers as the princess greets them with a slight bow. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she says. “I am Oksana. May I ask the names of my brave heroes?”

Juno introduces themself first, bowing in turn. “Juno,” they say. “The pleasure is ours.”

Their sister simply crosses her arms and says, “Sylvie.”

If the princess is at all bothered by such curtness, she doesn’t show it. In fact, she smiles. “You’ll have to excuse D’Quaad. I know he was rather hoping to save me himself.”

“Prince D’Quaad,” he says, stepping up beside her. “And this is Princess Oksana. So show some respect.” He gives Sylvie a pointed glare.

But Oksana rolls her eyes. “I hardly think that’s necessary after they saved my life. In fact, we should be celebrating them. How would you two like to join us tonight for a feast at the castle? I’m sure Prince D’Quaad here would gladly lend his services to escort us there.”

“Oksana, don’t be ridicu-”

“Princess Oksana,” she reminds him. Sylvie smirks. “You brought the carriage for me to ride, did you not? Our heroes can ride in it while I take one of your men’s horses. They don’t all seem in condition to travel after the fight.”

She’s right, and the prince knows it. He opens and closes his mouth a few more times in irritation before finally, he relents.

And so the ride to the castle begins. Sylvie fills Juno in on what the artifact is. After a little convincing from Sylvie, Juno agrees to wait to leave this world until after they’ve had some food and rest. With that matter settled, Sylvie kicks back for the rest of the ride, eager to finally get their grand reward.

Juno, on the other hand, stays alert, back straight, all through the rest of the ride. The same goes for the walk into the castle and the wait outside the throne room—where after a short wait, their whole party is granted audience with the king. Juno bows along with most of the others before glancing up and nudging Sylvie to do the same.

Before Sylvie can bow, though, the king steps forward.

“There’s no need for that,” he says. “Rise, my friends. My daughter speaks highly of our new guests. Let me thank you for your heroic deeds.”

Carefully, Juno lifts their head. The kind stands before them, bearded face smiling and arms open in welcome. He almost seems trustworthy.

“That’s it,” the king says, as Juno stands. His smile widens as he turns to face D’Quaad. “Ah, D’Quaad, what a fine young prince you’ve become.”

“You honor me, Your Majesty.” The prince bows his head. Humility looks strange on him—that is, for the few seconds it lasts before he smiles. “Of course, the added offer of your daughter’s hand in marriage was the extra motivation I needed to do the job.”

Juno turns just in time to see the princess’s face twist in outrage.

“My what?”

“No one was saving you, Oksana,” the king says. He looks at her with tired irritation.  “I simply made the offer that I thought would be best for-”

“For whom? How could marrying this buffoon possibly be best for anyone in this kingdom?”

“Oksana!

The king’s voice booms, his face contorting with anger that rivals his daughter’s. Then his eyes meet Juno’s for a second. They raise an eyebrow at him, daring him to make his next move.

“We can discuss this at another time,” he says, schooling his features. His face brightens again. “Now, let us turn our attention to our two foreign champions.”

“Hell yeah,” Sylvie says, grinning as she slings her arm around her twin’s shoulders. “What do we get? Food? Riches? Servants to do our bidding?”

If her brazenness bothers the king at all, he doesn’t show it. “Perhaps if you agree with a certain… proposal.”

Juno frowns. “Proposal?”

“Yes. You see, that dragon is one of many dangerous creatures that pose a danger to my kingdom. We are in need of a royal champion or two, who could eliminate such threats in exchange for a place in this castle and all the status that comes with it. And from the way Oksana described your heroics, I’d say you’d fit the position quite well.” 

Juno looks at Sylvie, expecting to find some sort of agreement communicated between them. But Sylvie isn’t looking at Juno. She’s looking straight ahead, mouth open as if ready to accept.

“We’d have to give it some thought,” Juno says.

The king nods. “Yes, of course. In fact, I insist you at least think on it over dinner.” He claps his hands. “Servants! Show our champions to the feast!”

When they’re led to the impressive dining room spread, Sylvie digs in and eats as much as she can handle Juno tries to pace themself to do the same. After all, they don’t know when their next meal will be. Afterward, a servant escorts Juno and Sylvie to their own private guest quarters, and finally, they’re alone.

“Hey, Sylvie,” Juno says once they’ve settled into bed, “you weren’t really thinking of accepting the king’s offer, were you? Because you know we have to go home. We can’t stay here.”

“Says who?” At Juno’s incredulous look, Sylvie says, “No, really. Says who? Who says this isn’t where we belong? Who says we don’t get to be the chosen ones—to be royal champions?”

“We have lives, Sylvie.”

“What lives? The ones where every day is the same? The ones where we spend all our time working toward nothing? What kind of life is that? Why would I ever wanna go back?”

Juno shrinks back, voice soft. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes,” Sylvie says. “I do.”

Her eyes narrow, and Juno holds her stare, until eventually Juno gives up and sighs.

“I don’t think we have to decide anything right away,” they say. “Why don’t we stay another day, get another good meal in, and see how it goes? Then we can decide what to do.”

In the end, Sylvie reluctantly agrees and rolls over to turn her back to Juno, who lets out a sigh of relief. Big fight averted. Peace prevails.

But deep down, Juno knows. Sylvie’s mind is made up. And if she won’t make the decision that’s right for her—for the both of them—then it’s up to Juno to take matters into their own hands.

They wait until Sylvie’s asleep and slip away to find the artifact.

It’s still dark when Sylvie wakes up. There is enough moonlight, however, for her to see the outline of shapes in the room, and the first thing she does is turn over to find the shape of her twin missing from her side. Groaning, Sylvie gets up and ventures into the hallway.

It doesn’t take her long to find Juno listening outside a large door.

“Juno,” Sylvie whispers harshly. “What the hell are you doing?”

Juno looks at her with conviction. “I’m bringing us home.”

Just then, a man’s voice booms from the other side: “There is no one left, Oksana! This is the choice you’ve left yourself with! It’s Prince D’Quaad or no one!” Footsteps come near the hall.

“Hide!” Juno says, pulling Sylvie aside. They duck behind a vase, Sylvie scowling while Juno tries to peek around cautiously. They stay like that until after the king storms out of the room and into another one down the hallway.

Then the sound of crying escapes the room he left.

“Wait,” Sylvie says when Juno approaches the noise. “You’re not seriously stealing the artifact from her now, are you?”

“Of course not,” Juno says. “There’s just… something I need her to know.”

Without any further explanation, they walk over to the open doorway, with Sylvie trailing behind.

“Princess?” they say.

Oksana looks up and straightens. “Oh! It’s you!” she says, wiping her eyes. “I do hope my father didn’t wake you with his- his absolute drivel and his-” She cries and covers her face in her hands.

Juno moves to sit across from her. “Hey,” they say softly.

“I just wanted to find my prince,” Oksana says. “Everyone’s expecting me to, and I thought I’d find someone if I just kept looking. But now…” She sniffs. “Now I think I’d rather rule while unwed. I just don’t know if I could handle it.”

“Princess…” Juno takes Oksana’s hands in theirs. And then Juno says something Sylvie hasn’t heard in years—the words she’s kept close since she was a child. The words her mother gave her that set Sylvie on a path and shook her to her very core.

“You are so much more than what the world wants you to be.”

It was after a particularly mean comment from one of Sylvie’s teachers. Sylvie had never been a very well-behaved or attentive student, so it was expected that none of her teachers would be her biggest fan. For the most part, she’d learned not to care.

Except that day was different. Because that was the first day a teacher told her to be more like Juno.

Sylvie burst into tears the moment her mom asked her how school was, and when she repeated what the teacher had told her, her mother held both her hands and said those words. The words that affirmed her own dreams—expectations be damned—and drove her to teach her own classes so she could be better than the teacher who made her feel so awful that day. Those words helped her become who she is.

Now, one look at Oksana’s face makes it clear that the words mean just as much to her as they did to Sylvie.

The longer Sylvie listens to her and Juno talk—the longer she watches Juno comfort the princess the same way their parents used to comfort them—the more Sylvie realizes where she needs to be.

“Hey, Oksana,” Sylvie says, “if you’re feeling better, I have a favor to ask.”

To her relief, Oksana looks up with a genuine smile. “Yes, of course,” she says. “What can I do for you?”

“The thing is, Juno and I… we kinda have lives we need to figure out too. But to go back there, we’re gonna need to borrow your tiara.”

“AHA!”

At the sudden loud cry, they all turn to find D’Quaad pointing smugly in the doorway. Oksana stands with apprehension.

“I knew it!” D’Quaad says, stepping forward to stand between Oksana and the twins. “I knew you were only after the crown! You’re no champions, you’re just two insolent foreigners, lying to our poor misguided-”

Before he can finish, that “misguided” little princess punches him hard enough to knock him out.

“Nice!” Sylvie says with a grin.

Smiling, Oksana removes the tiara from her head and holds it forward. “For you, my champions.”

“Thank you,” Juno says, accepting it with a bow. “We’ll leave it outside your door.”

“So I suppose this is goodbye?” Oksana looks between the two twins, clearly disappointed.

“Hey,” Sylvie says. She punches Oksana softly on the shoulder, ignoring the sharp look she earns from Juno. “You don’t need us around anymore. You’ve got everything you need to be a badass in your own right. So give ‘em hell out there, yeah?”

After taking a moment to process Sylvie’s encouraging (if slightly vulgar) words, Oksana nods with conviction. With that, the twins step out to let the door to the room close behind them, hoping the next door they’re about to open will be the one that finally takes them home.

[masterwords]

For the fluff ideas, I love Jack accidentally giving away the extent of Hotch and Morgan's relationship. To anyone. It's great, especially if they've already got an inkling as to what's going on.

Oh, well, this isn't fluff. I'll just say that now. But it is SOFT. And it does have a sweet ending.

Basing the whole story on THIS moment. Because when inspiration strikes, it strikes hard. So, we've got another Foyet theme here but it's all Morgan POV. It's a lot of angst and lots of feelings.

(5.2k words)

******* i'll be home soon *******

When SWAT shows up in a neighborhood like this, people notice. There are neighbors peeking through their curtains at the caravan of armored vehicles swinging through the gates at the Hotchner house. The black SUV in front had stopped, and a familiar face jumped out to punch in the gate code, which was somehow even more unsettling than the sight in general. A few of the neighbors stepped out onto their porches and watched from behind pillars, trying to stay out of sight but not able to stomp the curiosity.

They enter the house without being let in, and anyone watching knows that something bad has happened or is happening. They watch the swarm of men and women in kevlar vests with huge guns enter one after another and they step a little closer together hoping that whatever is happening stays located only in that house, doesn't seep out into the neighborhood. This isn't going to do anything for the HOA.

“Dave,” Derek whispers, indicating a hallway. He's trying to make it seem like he doesn't know every square inch of this place, but he also knows he wants to make it up to Haley's room first and taking the main route is going to put them arriving after strangers. If something has happened to Haley up there...he wants to be first. It's all that drives him. “Let's go this way,” he hisses and Dave nods, leading the way. Dave knows this house, too. They both have long histories with Hotch and it doesn't seem suspicious that Derek might know the layout, not to Dave. But JJ might get ideas and he doesn't want her to get those ideas...not now. He wouldn't mind their secret being out in the open but Hotch is still very protective of it, and he suspects it has less to do with the job and more to do with his own insecurity. With the spectacular failure of his first attempt at something big, and putting what this was under the intense scrutiny of profiler eyes was not something he was prepared for.

Derek wasn't worried at all. Not about that.

Haley is dancing to music in her bedroom while she folds laundry, enjoying an afternoon to herself while Jack plays at a neighbor's house. Derek had the playdate on his calendar, Haley always shared that kind of thing just in case. Hotch wasn't able to be around a lot but he wanted to know where they were, that they were safe. Divorce papers didn't change that, and Haley didn't mind.

She's more than accepted Derek's role in their lives, she's come to cherish it. He's good for Hotch in ways she never could be, he knows the work and he knows how important it is not to be there. Hotch has been a better and more present father since Derek entered the picture. Still, love him as she does, she doesn't expect to see him kick in her bedroom door while she's folding clothes.

She screams and pulls the earbuds out, staring right at hime. There are strangers in her bedroom, they brush past JJ and Dave and Derek to check closets and the bathroom and she just...stares. Scared. This kind of reaction can only mean one thing, a thing she'd prepared herself for time and time again. The day that Hotch wasn't coming home.

“Where is Aaron?” she asks Derek directly, doesn't bother looking anywhere else. Dave has lied to her more times than she can count, and JJ's face is too raw, her eyes too wide. She looks to Derek.

Derek wrestles with how to approach this. How important it is to maintain the secret at this point. He's not sure it matters anymore. Hotch will probably feel different, but Hotch is in critical but stable condition in the ICU, according to the doctors. He doesn't have much of a say about how this goes down.

“He's in the hospital,” Derek replies a little coolly before deciding he needs to be the one who goes to Jack. Hotch would want it to be him, to make Jack comfortable. Jack's friends' parents know him, it'll only scare everyone if a stranger comes for him. He locks eyes with Haley before speaking. “Text me the address,” he says like he even needs it. The house is two blocks away, he doesn't need to drive but he's going to...it'll help him maintaining what little cover he still has. “Tell them I'm on my way.” He's careful to say them, not their names, though he knows it still gives him away if they're really paying attention. It comes out a little stiff, but he doesn't think Dave or JJ have picked up on it, so he turns and leaves.

Derek isn't very nice to Marcy and Joe, he's short with them in an effort to get Jack and get back to Haley's quickly but his head isn't here. He can't think past the way Hotch looked in the hospital and the fact that he's not there. This is where they run into problems. When one of them gets hurt, the other can't just stop moving and be with their partner. He would give anything to be there right now, to talk to the doctors and know what they were up against. He would rather sit in the chair beside Hotch's bed and just stare at him while he sleeps. That isn't the way this works. Hotch is down for the count, so Derek is effectively in charge, he's got to step up and work twice as hard. It isn't ideal but he can't imagine a different life anymore.

And if he's being really honest, he doesn't want anything else. A short break would be nice, though.

“Hey buddy,” Derek says, affecting something close to a smile as Jack approaches him in the kitchen of his friends' house. He knows it isn't very convincing to the adults, they can see the weariness in his drawn features. But maybe Jack won't see it. He's so little. And right now, he looks even smaller. “Sorry to cut your play date short. Did you uh...” he's getting choked up because he knows what happens next. He takes this precious little boy, his little buddy, out of his friend's house and there is a high probability that he won't ever see them again. He might never have another play date over here and Derek can't say anything about it. “Did you say goodbye to Georgia and Jason?”

“Yep. Georgia said smell you later! Isn't that funny?" Jack giggles to himself and looks around, suddenly confused. Like he understands something is off here. Derek is wearing his FBI vest; the one Jack is fascinated with. "Where's mommy?”

“I'm taking you home to see her right now.” He realizes he's still in his vest, and Marcy is staring at it with fear in her eyes. She didn't see SWAT pull up, they're just out of view of the street the cavalcade had barreled down but she's keenly aware now. Joe has peeked out the window and seen the line of police cars on their little street, police and K-9s combing the cul-de-sac. Derek came with an escort and they're looking for someone. “Mommy is fine,” he adds, more for Marcy than Jack.

On the way to the car, Marcy taps on Joe's shoulder insistently and sends him after Derek. He follows behind them to the car not unlike a puppy, walking a little extra fast to keep up.

“Has something happened to his parents?” Joe asks quietly, hushed so Jack doesn't hear as he buckles himself into the vehicle. There isn't a booster seat, but they're only going a short distance and he lets Jack sit up front with him. He'll grab Jack's seat before they leave Haley's.

Derek searches for the best response he can arrive at...he doesn't want to lie but he can't tell the truth. The fewer people that know what happened, the safer they all are. Foyet wants the news to spread, infect everyone with fear. This whole neighborhood would turn into a ripe little hunting ground for him if Derek says one wrong thing.

“Aaron was injured in a job-related incident,” he says, closing the door. “He's in the hospital, we're just responding to the situation out of an abundance of caution. You know how we are, huh? It's probably overkill.”

Job-related. Joe knows what he does. What they both do. He doesn't know case details, but he knows enough to have a sort of idol worship for the two of them, and at neighborhood get-togethers he would seek Hotch out for stories, for a glimpse into a life more exciting than his as an accountant. “Oh, yeah, of course...” Joe stammers, staring hard at Derek's vest. Until Derek takes it off, shrugs out of it and holds it at his side. “If there's anything we can do, you'll let me know? They're like family.”

“Could you keep an eye on their house for a bit? We're going to take Haley and Jack for a little while, just to be safe. It's entirely likely that we're overreacting but...” his voice drifts off when he realizes there are tears in his eyes and they're giving him away. He and Joe aren't close, but they've been to plenty of barbecues together, they're friendly, Joe is well aware of his relationship to the Hotchners. With Aaron. He touches Derek on the forearm and smiles.

“Of course, yes. We still have our key from watering the plants for them last summer.”

They're good people. Derek feels terrible not being honest with them, but when Hotch's attack makes the news they'll know and maybe they'll understand why he had to do what he did. Maybe he'll drop a bottle of wine off later as an apology. For now, he's got to get Jack back home.

Time is of the essence. They're only going a couple of blocks, and they're creeping at a snail's pace because he's nervous with Jack not in a real booster seat, but he lets Jack push the button because he loves hearing that siren scream. His neighbors probably don't love it as much, but Derek thinks it might at least look a little amusing...big black SUV with lights flashing and siren blaring but going no more than 15 miles per hour, creeping slowly through suburbia. It elicits a small smile as he considers the spectacle of them.

By the time he gets back with Jack, Dave has helped Haley pack her bags and JJ has packed as many of Jack's things for him as she could find room for. Derek enters the room with Jack clinging to his neck, poking at his earring holes. He likes to do that; he pokes at them and tugs at them and tells him he should wear more treasure in them. Like a pirate. One night, solely out of pettiness, Derek had pointed out that Hotch had the same little holes and Jack had been beside himself. "But you said those holes meant you were cool..." the kid had some shade to throw at his dad. Hotch hadn't found the conversation nearly as amusing as Derek had.

“Member when daddy got you the red crystal?” he asked, poking again. “And you said he was a dork?”

JJ stares at the interaction, a little confused. Dave doesn't seem like he's listening, he's focused on Haley and talking her down as she mutters about this being isnane, an overreaction, she has a life and a job and too many things just to give up for this stupid fucking job. “I thought I was getting away from it all...”

“He is a dork,” Derek whispers back, grinning at Jack. “It isn't a crystal though. It's called a ruby. It's my birthstone.”

Now JJ is certain that she's not supposed to hear this conversation, but she can't stop listening. Sure it could just be something sweet. Hotch is old fashioned and gives beautiful gifts, and he and Derek have known one another for so many years now that he probably has to get pretty creative to come up with something that hasn't been done yet. She can almost believe it's not what she assumes. Hotch never half-asses anything like that, his gifts are thoughtful and usually way too expensive because he doesn't really think about that. He knows what he wants to give the people he loves, and he does it without expecting reciprocation. But an earring, Derek's birthstone, that seems a little romantic even for Hotch and his traditional leaning. Romantic and thoughtful, the kind of thing you offer someone you love in a way that isn't defined by where you work.

“He got you an earring?” JJ asks in a hushed whisper, sliding up beside them. She wants to know more and Derek looks like he's going to tell her, like he's ready to confirm what she's suspecting. It wouldn't be the end of the world. But Haley clears her throat and smiles awkwardly before he can answer.

“I think he said it was a joke,” she lies. “Right? Because Derek was getting old, and you know...the 90s were a wild time and Derek was so hip...didn't he say something about reclaiming your youth?” she's reaching but JJ pretends to buy it. They're obviously trying hard to keep it a secret. By the looks of it, there is some truth to what Haley said, but the motivation behind the gift was definitely not in jest.

Jack, however, isn't playing along. “No, mama, daddy said...”

“Jack, honey, I think we need to get on the road if we're going to see daddy, huh? He's probably sleepy and he's waiting for us.” She wipes the tears from her eyes and Derek feels sorry it wasn't him that told her what happened to Hotch. Not knowing what Dave said, how much he said, makes Derek a little nervous that she's not going to be prepared, that her expectations aren't realistic.

She's going to see him awake and he's going to tell her he's okay and she's going to get mad because if he's so okay then what the hell is all of this for? And she'll know he's not okay but dammit, if he can't be honest...Derek can see the writing on the wall. This situation is volatile.

On the way to the car, Haley stays close to Derek as he carries Jack who hasn't allowed the man to put him down the entire time. “Dave says he's okay. Is he okay, Derek? Because Jack is going to want to see him...but if he's...”

Derek stops and puts Jack down, tells him to run to Ms. Jareau and get buckled in. They've got his booster seat ready for him this time. “I'm not gonna lie...it's bad, Haley. Bad bad. He's lucky to be alive. But I don't think Jack will know any of that by just looking at him if it's kept short. He's gonna look mostly okay if you don't stay long.” And if you don't look too closely, he thinks.

“Can he...” she clears her throat and wipes the tears from her eyes. Her mascara is running. “Can he talk?”

“He can talk. It has to be fast; he's been through a lot, and they don't want him to have any excitement. He lost a lot of blood and the strain on his heart... but we can't...you can't leave...without saying goodbye.”

The car ride is punctuated only by the sounds of Jack's voice chirping on about the things he played with his friends, how they have toys he doesn't, and he wants to play with them more, and then he gets set on seeing daddy. Derek drives, a little too fast and a little too intense, trying to outrun that conversation.

“I'll keep him here,” he says as they walk down the long hallway to the ICU. His room is right at the front, closest to the nurse's station, and he can see the window from where they stop. Haley is pale, gray, afraid of what she's going to see when she walks in that room. Every fear she ever had about this job is coming true. “You go talk to him first. If he says he'll see Jack...”

“He will see Jack.”

“Haley, please give him the choice. He's been through a lot.”

She nods a little curtly and turns to walk toward Hotch's room. She only goes a few steps before she turns to Derek with a look of complete despair on her face. “What if we never see him again? Will he be able to live with that choice?”

She doesn't give Derek a chance to answer that one, and he's glad for that because he doesn't fucking know. This whole situation is a little out of his depth. All he knows is that Hotch isn't okay. No matter how many times he says he's fine, he's simply not. And maybe the rest of them can pretend it'll be fine but Derek isn't there yet.

The extent of it is beyond his ability to reason out.

“He says he'll see Jack,” Haley says as she rushes down the hallway to get her son, and Derek crouches next to Jack and holds him by the shoulders for just a second.

“Don't be worried, okay? Daddy's gonna look a little sick, and you gotta be real gentle with him but don't be scared. He's gonna be fine. I promise.”

He feels instant regret for that last part. He hates lying and he doesn't make promises he can't keep, but now he's just...well he might just have. But maybe this is parenthood, when you make promises you might not be able to keep but you'll die trying and that hopefully negates some of the act of the lie itself. There was hope when the promise was made. He pats Jack on the shoulder and sends him running toward Haley before backing off to stand with JJ and Dave.

“Don't,” he says when JJ opens her mouth. “Not the time.”

“I wasn't...” She was. He knows it, she knows it, they all know it. She smirks and Derek shoots her a look that says be careful. He isn't in the mood for playful ribbing. He isn't in the mood for any of this. Another day, maybe.

“Is the car ready for them?”

“Just pulled up. Sam's on his way now.”

Derek curses under his breath and scrubs his hands over his face, up and down. “Are we sure this is the right thing to do? We take them away from him, what's he got left to live for? Aren't we just telling Foyet he wins?”

“Hotch is in no condition to make that call, so Chief Strauss and the Director have made the decision.” Dave is clearly not convinced either. “We just have to trust that they'll be safe, and it is our job to get Foyet.”

JJ steels herself for a bad reaction but knows this is her shot. "He's not alone. He has you."

Derek hates that answer. He watches as Haley and Jack leave the room, both with tears in their eyes, and he knows Hotch will be doing his best not to let his show. He's already vulnerable enough without crying and he'll make himself sick in order to try and control it.

“Um,” Haley says, sniffling, looking at Derek. “I'm sorry. I know this is...I'm not supposed to...”

“It's okay. Think they figured it out.”

Haley laughs and sniffs again, glancing nervously at JJ and Dave before returning to Derek. “Yeah. So, um? My sister...can you call Jessica? I'm um...I'm not allowed to call her or my parents...I guess it's a security risk...they said Foyet could be watching us right now?”

“Yeah. I'll call her.”

“Thank you, Derek. She's going to want to come down here and rip his head off, but I promise she'll be kind when she gets here, she loves him so much...so...um...so let her come even if she says something awful? Please. She doesn't mean it, and they're going to need each other.”

Derek nods and holds his arms out to Jack, lets the boy crawl into them and wrap around his neck once more. Maybe for the last time. “Sure, consider it done. I gotta go get some of his things as soon as they clear the crime scene...I'll call Jessica on my way.”

He makes good on part of the promise. He does call Jessica, but not on his way, he can't pick up his phone. The rest of the team go and mill around outside of Hotch's hospital room hoping he'll invite them in, but only Rossi actually makes it inside. Derek drives across town, takes the long way, listens to music a little too loud and tries to zone out. He's thinking about Hotch and he's thinking about Reid and how that damn pig farm was like a really bad omen. It was pure evil and it sank its claw into his family. His voice won't come so he waits to call Jessica until he's done in the apartment, until he's had some time to reset.

He knows what he's about to walk into, and he is going to need the pain of it in order to listen to whatever Jessica is going to shout. It'll help steel him against her valid but misplaced anger.

It doesn't disappoint. In fact, it's worse than he imagined. It's pure Hell. He couldn't have prepared himself for the yellow tape, the glass on the floor, the scent of whiskey and blood. It's horrifying. It's the type of scene that you walk into and know without a doubt that there were no survivors. That two men were in this apartment the night before and those two men are still breathing is nothing short of a miracle.

“Hey man,” Derek says, coming up beside someone logging evidence in the kitchen. “SSA Derek Morgan, FBI. I got a call saying the master bedroom and bathroom were cleared and I can grab a few things for him to have at the hospital. That cool?”

“Just let me know what you take before you go, please.” The young man doesn't even look at him, doesn't look past his credentials. He walks down the hallway slowly, careful to step around evidence markers, eyeing everything that is out of place and broken. The bullet hole in the wall is eerie, but that blood on the carpet...god there's so much of it that he feels sick. He remembers Foyet's house, the buckets of his own blood as he faked his own death.

Slowly, he enters Hotch's room and he leaves it dark. No reason to turn on the light, he knows what he's after and where everything is. His go bag is neatly tucked in his closet, he keeps a few of them there and ready, well inventoried. He knows the way they're organized, which ones are ready, and which are waiting on dry cleaning or toiletries to be added. Hesitantly, he pulls the work clothes out of the bag and stuffs in more comfortable things – t-shirts and sweatpants, wool socks, a few sweaters. He rifles through the drawer, the bottom drawer, until he finds what he knows is stashed back there. Even in the dark he knows the sweatshirt by touch, it's worn and too soft, the kind of soft that makes it a little dangerous to put in the washer. Chicago PD emblazoned on the front in cracked white letters against faded navy blue that looks a lot more like gray. He balls it up in his fist and drags it to the bag, shoves it in. It used to be his father's, and somewhere along the line he left it at Hotch's place and it just sort of lived here after. Hotch had referred to it as his favorite cashmere sweater one time, one silly time when he'd had a few beers and was at a loss for how to describe just how soft it was. It had incited a whole discussion about cashmere that went nowhere except Derek being unable to bring himself to take it back. The ratty old sweatshirt, Hotch's favorite cashmere sweater, lived at his apartment now.

He has no idea if Hotch can even put something like that on right now, no idea if his injuries are going to mean he can't wear any of this but he's going to bring what he can. He'll buy new clothes if he has to later.

The drive back to the hospital is torture. Every red light feels like centuries and his stomach is all tied in knots. He hasn't eaten all day, and he only realizes that because he's driving down a street littered with about seven different fast-food chains, and he actually considers stopping.

Finally, he just can't take it and swings into a burger place without a line in the drive thru. He's about to lose his mind and more than likely some food will help that, even if he's dumping buckets of grease onto what feels like a fire. He scarfs it down while he talks to Jessica on the phone, he eats fast and spends more time listening than talking with the excuse that he's chewing to make it easier on both of them. He has nothing to say, and she has so much. When it's done and settled and she's calmed, he tosses the trash into the backseat, a problem for another day. He's about to miss visiting hours if he doesn't hurry.

He feels bad not bringing Hotch any food, a milkshake, something. But he has ten minutes and Hotch probably isn't even allowed to eat yet. He'll bring something next time.

The hallway is deserted. He can hear every footstep echo through time and space, the squeak of his rubber soles, every ragged breath he takes as he realizes he's finally got a few minutes just to be with Hotch. And it really is only a few minutes, because he spent the whole damn day running around. “Visiting hours are over in ten minutes, sir” he's told by a nurse brushing by to do a vital check on another patient.

“I'll be quick.”

He stops in the doorway and thinks it's cruel that he has had to do so much all day that has kept him away from the one place he wanted to be. But the more he did, the less Hotch had to think about, and wasn't that the point? Taking the burden and laying it on his own shoulders.

“Hey,” Derek says, entering cautiously. Hotch's eyes are barely open, narrow slits that catch the light from the hallway. He's barely awake and Derek feels guilty for even coming. He should have waited for morning.

“Hey,” Hotch rasps, drawing a shallow breath. Derek can see the pain that flashes over his features. The meds are doing their job, but there is only so much they can do. The pain is sharp in places, burning in others and he's just trying to lay as still as possible in the hopes that it'll help.

It doesn't.

“I don't have much time, they're gonna kick me out in ten minutes. Well probably nine now...”

Hotch doesn't move much, just a flinch when he breathes in again and he drags his hand slowly up his thigh until it rests there palm up. An invitation to come closer. He just wants Derek close. He's just been through hell, and he's been alone for most of it.

Derek can't imagine anything he'd rather do for those nine minutes, so he drags a chair over to the bed and places his hand right on top of Hotch's. His hand is cold and dry, and he thinks back to one of his anatomy classes that talked about the connection between blood loss and dehydration.

“They being nice to you?”

“Yes.”

“You being nice to them?”

“...think so...” That probably means no, or it's debatable anyway. He's not a good patient but he's polite and he's kind, it usually garners him favor in spite of his general unwillingness to submit. Derek could help with that in the morning. Visiting hours start at 7am and he's going to be waiting at the door when it opens.

“I brought you some things, for when you're a little more with it. Some clothes, your toothbrush, your electric shaver cos I'm not letting you come outta here looking like a mountain man...and this.” He reaches with his free hand down into the bag and pulls the sweatshirt out, dropping it over their hands. “Thought you might get cold, you're kind of a baby about that.”

Hotch knows what it is by the smell alone, he doesn't even open his eyes. He doesn't think he can put it on yet, his range of motion is severely limited by stiches and staples and an incredible amount of swelling, but he's glad to have it anyway.

“...think they're finally going to figure us out...” he slurs as he balls his fist up in the material and holds it not unlike a child and a teddy bear. Derek laughs a little under his breath.

“I got news for you. The cat's out of the bag, baby,” he replies, squeezing Hotch's hand. “Jack took care of it for us today.” He pauses, feeling out Hotch's reaction and is pleasantly surprised that the sedatives must be doing their job because there isn't even a tick in his blood pressure. He almost wished there had been, it looks a little low. “Haley finished it off.”

Hotch smiles dreamily and lets his head fall to the side, trying to focus on Derek's face in the dark with every ounce of awake he has left in him. He just wants Derek's face to be what he sees before he falls asleep. “What'd they say?”

“Well, first Jack broadcast to JJ, Dave and all of SWAT that you bought me an earring...and Haley asked me to call Jessica...and her parents...”

Hotch grunted and shifted painfully, tucking the sweatshirt under his chin. “I'll do it.”

“Like hell you will. I already called Jessica, she's gonna meet me here first thing in the morning...and she's gonna call her parents. I asked Joe and Marcy to watch Haley's house, I'll meet with Garcia in the morning to clear your schedule and delegate whatever you had to everyone else...everything is taken care of. Your only job is to be nice to these nurses who are coming to kick me out now. You listen to them, and you get better so I can take you home, okay?”

“...don't....deserve you...” Hotch whispers miserably, losing his battle with sleep mid-thought. Derek smiles and nods adamantly, giving his hand one last squeeze before standing up. There is a nurse standing expectantly in the doorway, ready to shut the ICU down for the night.

“No, you do not. But you got me anyway.” He bends forward and leaves Hotch with a kiss on the forehead. “See you tomorrow.”

[ihopuhopwehop]

The Favor Ch. 3 "The Beginning of The Fight"

Bill, George, Percy and Fred were stuffed into the first carriage headed from the Weasley household to Her Majesty’s palace. It had been so long since he’d seen Hermione. Years even. He wondered if she had looked different now. If her hair had grown. If Ron had ever managed to tell her his feelings for her. 

“Oi! Budge over Perce!” George screeched as Percy’s elbow hit his ribcage one time too many. 

Percy pushed up the glasses on his nose, “We’re trying to fit, George! It can’t be helped that we couldn’t afford a larger carriage for this palace ride.”

“Both of you shut it.” Bill stated as he looked out the window. His sideburns highlighted the structure of his side profile. 

“What I don’t understand is why Charlie’s attendance was not required.” George muttered petulantly.

“I think he found the majestic Friesian colt [a pony] worth the lecture from mum.” Fred added. 

“Not like Her Majesty would’ve picked him anyway.” Percy stated with another shove on his glasses. 

“Hermione will likely not pick any of us. We’re only going to show support for her kingdom.” George relayed.

“At least this means access to the royal herbs.” Fred said with a grin as he made eye contact with his twin. His grin faltered when his older brother smacked his head, “Ow! What’d you do that for?”

“It’s not the time or place for your juvenile pranks.” Bill said, though Fred would’ve suspected Percy to be the one chastising them. 

“It’s a competitive ball! It’s for entertainment! What do you think our pranks are for?!” George waited for an answer. 

“What’s got your knickers in a twist, Bill? The fact that you can’t galavant around France anymore?” Fred asked. 

Bill side eyed him, “As a matter of fact, yes. I won’t be able to see her.” He resumed his longing glances out the window. 

Fred grinned, “As yes, the elusive her. The French woman that could rival models, whose hair rivals the sun—oomph!”

Bill had lightly punched him in the arm. 

“Could it be? Our dear Bill has found himself a love match?!” George sang as Bill placed deadpan eyes on him. 

“One day, you’ll know what I mean. You won’t ever want to leave her.” Bill looked down at his hands and Fred was surprised. He had never seen his brother so forlorn. He could only hope that Bill would find his match at this ball to break him of this somber stupor. 

“To be honest, I’m surprised they didn’t arrange a marriage for Her Majesty. It wouldn’t certainly make the whole ordeal easier.” Percy stated.

“Easier for the palace, sure, but not for Hermione. Could you imagine having Sir Lucius Malfoy pick your spouse? Dreadful indeed.” Fred replied with a shudder. 

“You’ll have to call her by her royal title, you know.” Percy responded with a pointed look at Fred, who rolled his eyes in response. 

“She’ll always be bushy-haired Hermione to me. Not some snobbish Queen.”

Percy scoffed, “Snobbish or not, she is your Queen. Mother will surely expect you to treat her as such.” 

“Do you do everything mummy says?” Fred mocked childishly. 

Percy opened his mouth to respond when the carriage came to a sudden halt, the crew of four men jolting forward from the suddenness. 

They watched in silence as the royal guard swathed in expensive red suits made to open their carriage door. Bill and Percy were the first to tumble out, followed by George and finally, Fred. The sun was so bright, it pained his eyes. He put a hand up to block it to better take in the view of the palace. It looked…sadder than last time. The layout must’ve changed after the attacks. It was missing a small side building, though the moss trailing up the side was firmly intact. 

“It’s so different.” He breathed. 

The four boys that were usually followed by such noise were eerily silent as they took in what would be their home for the next three months. It was such a change from The Burrow. 

“Oi! Gentlemen!” A voice called from the side. 

“Sir Lupin!” Bill called as he firmly shook the older gentleman’s hand. 

“We are quite glad to see you lot. A far sight better than the rich sods that have been turning up.” 

“Ah yes, my dear family would never miss such an occasion.” Sir Black continued as he made to shake the twins hands. 

“Do tell, Sir Black. What events will this occasion consist of?” Percy asked enthusiastically. 

Sirius grinned exuberantly. “Ah, you shall wait to see. Her Majesty will make the announcement at the opening ball tonight.”

“How is Hermione? Since the, you know–” Fred ask as he cleared his throat to cover his mishap. 

Fred didn't miss the way that Sirius’ eyes dimmed considerably. 

“She’s resilient, Our Queen. Throwing herself into her work is a skill she’s surely mastered.”

Fred’s face softened in empathy. He vowed then to make it his goal to coax a laugh out of Hermione. Even if a temporary fix for a stable ache, he longed for her happiness. 

—

Sirs Lupin and Black showed the Weasley Clan to their rooms, with Ginny and Ronald meeting them halfway through their tour. Fred and George were pleased to find themselves rooming next door, a shared bathroom in between their rooms. Ginny shared she would be staying on the other side of the building, closer to Hermione. Ron was housed next to Sir Harry Potter. 

Just then, their mother made her way up the stairs. 

“Alright boys, they’re saying the ball starts at approximately 5pm. I want all of you in your best attire. Hermio—Her Majesty will make her entrance at 5:30pm. I want each of you on your best behavior! Not a hair or prank—an eye at Fred and George—out of place.”

George whispered conspiritorily to Fred, “As long as the pranks are exactly where we’ve planned them, they won’t be out of place at all!” 

Fred snickered and he and George drug their luggage to their rooms. 

—

He was dressed in what he would deem his most eligible appropriate suit. It wasn’t loud or colorful as was usually his preference, it was just a suit. But it was what his mum expected them to wear and he decided to fly under  her radar tonight if only to ease her nerves. 

If Fred was being honest, he was quite nervous for tonight. They had never attended a ball at the palace before and never with so many people. The Weasleys used to run around the palace and great outdoors when they would visit The Grangers when they were younger, but well, times have changed. The palace wasn’t what it used to be and Fred was certainly not what he used to be. 

He checked his pocket watch and found it to be about ten minutes until the ball officially started. He yelled for George and the made their way down the flagstone hallways. 

“Who do you think Hermione will open the dance with?”

Fred paused at George’s question. He hadn’t thought about it. Usually balls were opened with a dance from the reigning King and Queen. He wondered if someone would step in for Hermione to dance with. 

“She’s dancing with Sir Potter.” Ginny interrupted as she placed herself in between the twins, linking an arm with each of them. 

“I take it you and Her Majesty are still best of friends?” Fred asked.

Ginny beamed, “Absolutely. Hermione and I are good friends. And please, call her by Her Majesty in front of others and Hermione behind closed doors.”

“Why ever would we be unchaperoned behind closed doors with Hermione?”

“You know what I mean. And you never know when the opportunity to be unchaperoned might arrive.” Ginny smirked and Fred was not sure what it meant. He inwardly hurled at the thought of his baby sister being unchaperoned. 

They started down the many descending stairs, watching as the halls cluttered with those in attendance. It seemed that people from various countries had been invited, which meant the palace was flooded with people. Hermione would have her work cut out for her to even eliminate half of those eligible and fighting for her hand. 

“Well, if Her Majesty doesn’t find a husband, I surely will.” Ginny whispered, her bright eyes scanning the crowds for those she deemed worthy. 

“One can only hope one of these men is strong enough to handle you.” Fred said with a smirk. 

“Hmm, perhaps Sir Potter, what do you think Fred?” George said with an evil glint in his eye. 

“Me doth thinks it could be a love match, indeed.”

“Oh, indeed!” George affirmed in a silly voice.

“Shut it, you two! I know when to look elsewhere. Sir Corner has been catching my eye as of late. But what about you two? Any ladies of note?”

Fred was surprised by the slight flush on George’s face. “Oh, out with it Georgie! What’s her name? First Bill, now you!” 

“It’s no one!”

Ginny scoffed, “Unless my eyes deceive me, I believe the lovely Miss Johnson has caught your eye. You certainly seemed to have caught hers.”

“Do you think so?! Her father detests me, but I can only hope he’ll allow me one dance.”

“I think you’ll find Angelina more than amenable to the idea.” Ginny said with a light smile. 

Fred hummed as he watched Miss Johnson sway her fan across her face, highlighting her dark brown eyes , “Hmm, indeed.”

They had made it to the ball room now when a trumpet started to blow and a hush fell over the room, “Ladies and Gentlemen, Friends of the Royal Court of Arisinland, we proudly present the first ever Renovated Competitive Ball to fight for the hand of Her Majesty, Hermione Granger!” 

It was as though the lights in the hall dimmed. As if a single spotlight found its rightful place illuminating the silhouette of their queen. Fred stood with his mouth agape and promptly closed it when he realized. Hermione—though Her Majesty was certainly more befitting in his mind now—stood at the top of the staircase. Her white gown with golden embellishments  hugged her chest before spreading out around where her hips would be. Her hair, once untameable and bushy, now cascaded around her in dark ringlets. Atop her mane of curls sat the past queen's golden crown adorned with red rubies. She looked truly regal. The picture of grace and beauty. She certainly did not seem like the grubby bookworm that scurried around with his younger siblings.

She descended the stairs one at a time, almost floating down them. Suddenly, the din of noise ricketted upwards again, and the daze with which Fred had been in was ripped open. He blinked and the light resumed their normal tone.

“She looks positively royal, does she not?” Ginny asked, a twinkle in her eye. 

Fred forcibly swallowed, “That she does, Ginerva.” He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him. Why had he called his sister Ginerva? Why were his hands starting to sweat? Why did Hermione floating into Harry Potter's arm twinged something in him?

They certainly made quite a pair on the dance floor. Looking almost like a pair of dolls Ginny used to play with when she was younger. 

After the first song, they opened up the dance floor to all eligibles and refreshments were now being passed around. Fred grabbed the first flute of champagne he could find and downed it, enjoying the tingle from the little bubbles. 

—

Hermione felt sweaty. First, from the nerves of having to walk down the flight of stairs in her stiffest dress with quite literally all of Arisinland watching. Second, from dancing in Harry’s arm, hoping nobody thought them a couple. It had been as a favor for her since—well, since her father was unable to do the honor himself. Hermione did not want to process that thought at the moment and eyes the more adult refreshments. 

The champagne would certainly not help her nerves or subsequent sweatiness, but she still plucked a glass of it as a waiter passed her by. 

It was then that she locked eyes with the guest most of Arisinland was hoping to see.

Viktor Krum of The Bulgarian Guardsmen. 

He had dark brown, almost black eyes. It was a color Hermione had never seen before in a pair of eyes. His hair matched the color of his eyes, with a lighter brown coloring the ends where they had been tainted by the sun. He had a large, hooked nose that appeared slightly crooked. He must’ve been analyzing her as well for their gaze held for a second longer before Hermione casted her eyes downward into the fizzing drink. 

—

Fred was contemplating how he should chat up Hermione given how long it had been since they’d last spoken. His hand clenched at his side as he discard yet another cliche opening line. 

He and George were lined against the wall, watching the men and women dance the night away. George was certainly watching Angelina Johnson partner with Oliver Wood, and Fred was running through all of the reasons it would or would not be okay to approach their new queen. 

She was just Hermione. But, she was also his queen. And, Ron used to have feelings for her, or at least a childhood crush. Was it wrong for Fred to feel for Hermio—Her Majesty now if his younger brother still harbored a candle for her? What about his sister? If he courted Hermione and it ended badly, would Ginny hate him or worse, Hermione? Would Arisinland hate him for wanting to sweep the kind hearted leader off her feet? 

This was becoming a convoluted evening. She was just Hermione. 

He handed his now empty glass to the nearest servant, thanking them for their work as he went. He nodded his head at George, who had a quizzical expression, and purposefully made his way to Hermione Granger. 

When Fred was about two paces away from Hermione being able to catch his eye, he watched as a man much more worthy of a queen than himself bowed before Her Majesty. 

Viktor Krum of The Bulgarian Guardsmen.

Viktor Krum raised out of his lowly bow to caress their queen's hand before placing the most gentlemanly of kisses atop her glove.

He paused where he was, a feeling of rejection washing over him.

—

Hermione was not sure what she was feeling. Viktor Krum (Viktor Krum!) had just kissed her hand and was now speaking to her. 

“Your Majesty. It is a pleasure. My name is Viktor Krum.” 

“How lovely to make your acquaintance, Viktor.” She paused awkwardly, unsure of what to say. 

“This palace is vonderful. Very different from ours.”

“Oh! Yes, it’s a bit ramshackled in some places, but we’ve tried our best to restore the damage.” 

“Ah, yes. Ve heard of the attacks. I am sorry for your loss.”

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. “Thank you, Viktor. Now, please, I’d love to hear about your palace!”  Anything to change the subject from her parents. 

“Ve have less space inside, but bigger grounds, even than this. Ve vintners are quite snowy, more than here I am thinking…” 

They politely chatted until he finally asked her for a dance. She allowed him to sign her dance card and followed his thick frame onto the dance floor. The violins started loudly and those around them followed the steps of the ancestral march. A slower paced group dance that involved intricate weaving between partners. It gave her the opportunity to notice his eyes once again. 

He was quite a nice person. She wasn’t sure that she found his face and appearance attractive to her, but he had interesting eyes. Though it may have been too soon to tell, she thought he had a kind soul. He was the first man, aside from Harry, to speak to her all night. At the event where the eligibles were supposed to be fighting for her hand, and she had only spoken to one she would seriously consider. 

She felt a flicker of disappointment but quickly replaced it with the gratitude that at least someone of worth had struck up conversation with her. 

Hermione then challenged herself to live fully in the moment for the rest of this dance with Viktor. She intentionally held his gaze, instead of avoiding it like she would have. Her palm came up to hover in front of his, as was part of the dance and still she held his eye contact. 

Hermione was quite possibly having fun. She felt like a new version of herself. Someone that chatted up international heroes and held the eye contact of a burly Bulgarian. 

Maybe this competition wouldn't be so dreadful after all. 

– 

Fred lingered in the same spot as before, watching Hermione laugh at something Viktor said during the dance. He saw their eyes catch the others and a slight blush tint her cheeks. 

Fred realized he would have to put up a fight if he wanted even a chance to capture Hermione’s attention. 

[alljamesbondgames]

The World Is Not Enough (PS)

Original Release: 2000

Developer: Black Ops

Publisher: Electronic Arts

Platform: PlayStation

While Eurocom made the N64 version of The World Is Not Enough, Black Ops – the developers of Tomorrow Never Dies – still made the PlayStation version. From playing the games, it doesn’t seem like there was any cross development or sharing resources, both games were developed completely independnatly.

While TWINE on PlayStation is a first person shooter, it still feels a lot like Tomorrow Never Dies. The HUD (which I still can’t see properly) and controls from the previous game are still here, with the developers still not taking advantage of the PlayStation’s analogue sticks. I could create an dual stick FPS-like setup, but without the ability to look up and down (without manual aiming).

The game stars off in the bank but the layout is very different. You go up a lift and then down an oddly long corridor with a lot of cameras – these are a massive pain to shoot due to the game’s shoddy controls and I just gave up and accepted the extra guards. One thing also evident is that the levels in this games are small “rooms” with short loading screens when going through doors, which make the levels feel disjoined.

After this, you get some long clips from the film, as it skips through the attack on MI6 headquarters and we go and chase the assassin down some short, narrow London streets. At the end of this level, the game automatically selects the grapple watch to fire at the hot air balloon. This watch isn’t used to help level design, but instead just triggers cutscenes.

Next up is the game’s skiing level which is just really odd. You have full control of Bond’s movement, but his acceleration has been altered. You awkwardly shoot some enemies and start going own a slope – for around 4 seconds. Due to the game being made of lots of tiny areas, you need to go through a pipe and load the next area, so you get the awkward controls and none of the fun of actually going downhill for a decent amount of time.

Next up is a level that the N64 game skipped, as Bond infiltrate’s Zukovsky’s laughably small casino. This is both the best and worst level. There’s only a few room and your mission is to win money at blackjack, which is more enjoyable than the actual game. I did nearly have to restart this mission due to an NPC blocking a patch.

You also have to use Bond’s credit card lockpick to open a door, which is neat the first time but is used far too much and the animations for it are far too long.

Next up is this game’s stealth level. This takes place entirely inside Elektra’s house, as you “stealth” by running and punching guards. There are a few items you can turn on to distract them. The level design for this mission is just bizarre, as the house doesn’t feel like a house due to its nonsensical layout and completely lacking a front door.

You skip from here right to infiltrating Renard’s men, who are trying to steal a nuke. This level feels really strange as you have to sneak past guards (having to punch some out) as you sneak into an area where you were invited into.

Another mission that wasn’t in the N64 game (apart from a multiplayer level) is Elektra’s pipeline, as you try to reach a bomb. You have to shut off the oil and rescue hostages to reach another part of the facility, then protect Christmas Jones as she fixes an oil pipeline maintenance vehicle.

The “City of Walkways” is a single level in this game, and feels far less dynamic, with the helicopter fight being extremely dull and then it’s onto another chase level, which coincidentally involves a bomb being placed in a train station (this time in Istanbul instead of London).

After Bond gets captured, you get to see a lovey, large room with big windows transform into a tiny room in a dungeon. The film footage and game design don’t match in any way whatsoever and I don’t know why they included the torture chair – they could have omitted it and it would have seem like Bond had moved to the next room instead.

You need to go back and forth then fight a few bosses. The first requires you to unload a few rounds from your assault rifle, the second is immune to all of your weapons due to “special armour” (he’s wearing a suit) and you’re told that you need to throw his explosives back at him. Headshots don’t do anything and the game gives you a grenade launcher, which also does nothing. You can only kill him by throwing his own pipe bombs. It’s just odd.

The final mission is on the submarine as you chase Renard. You have to navigate a really strange room filled with toxic barrels. When you reach Renard, you have a boss fight – but not against him, but against a reactor instead. There’s no flooding, and then you run back through the level.

The ending to the level isn’t locked away this time, however there is a secret video if you complete the game on the highest difficulty – which is just the sex scene from the end of the film. There are a few cheats to unlock, but there’s no multiplayer.

It’s amazing just how different these two games are, with the N64 version of the game being a much better game all around. The PlayStation version is stiff and disjointed.

[selene-heidlman-writings]

A Journey to Learn How to Love

Chapter 2

2 June 1986

Forget clarity: at this point, I'd settle for finding my "sea legs" and not tossing into the sea everything I've managed to get into my stomach.

3 June 1986

Dani has a rather unusual method for overcoming sea-sickness: she punched me in the gut rather hard, grumbling something about "Here's a proper thing to bellyache over." I can't say I recommend it for anyone who wants a little comfort, but she certainly cured any further complaint of nausea.

As things stand, we've come to the first stop on our little trip: a small island half-covered in ruins. We've parked our little vessel amongst a patch of partially-submerged trees ("Mangroves", as Dani called them). I was quite enamoured of the frescoes carved into the walls of the ruins which sprawled across the island: although they're rather simplistic, the creatures and processes they depict are fascinating and unique in my experiences.

As the day progressed and I filled one sheaf of my notebook with rubbings and little notes of the layout of the ruins, Dani wrapped up whatever business she had in the water and clapped me on the back.

"Well, then, that's enough wandering amongst the stones. Though, I'd guess you'll talk to stones as well as anyone?" Dani drawled.

"I'd love to listen to anyone who has such a fascinating story to tell as these stones do. There's something of a pattern to all of this, a ritual depicted that I've never seen before." I replied, showing some of the consistencies in the drawings.

"Heh, you fancy yourself a preacher of some kind? I've little enough time for rituals, but plenty of time for drinking. Come, let's make sure we're sleeping someplace dry tonight, aye?"

With that, Dani led the way into a city which took up nearly half of the island. The townsfolk saw us emerge from the temple area, and the more casual onlookers simply made a curious gesture and walked away. The ones who were more observant caught my sheaf of papers under my arm and when their gazes drifted to my face, it was with a mixture of wonder and deep concern.

"You've seen the old temple," one of the younger men in the crowd mentioned, walking alongside us and matching our pace. "What were your thoughts?"

Dani shrugged and continued on, so I explained for both of us, "It's fascinating. I'm quite curious about the ritual they depict, and the people who once practiced it?"

"Ah, that's a bit of a secret such people took to their graves, I'm afraid. This island has been a colony for the last century or so. Anything inflammable was put to the torch as 'heretical writings', to my eternal lament. I'm Chester, one of the few scholars who's come to this island looking to study the ruins."

"Pleased to meet you, Chester. I'm Noah, and this is my traveling companion, D--" I began, and Dani quite promptly cut me off.

"Don't mind me. Just passing through. You two want to nerd out? Go for it. Just make sure you're ready to go in the morning, Noah." she declared, before nearly doubling her pace and getting lost in the crowd. For someone with such a tall stature, she sure did know how to disappear.

Chester, for his part, was happy to show me to his home. We sat for a while, drinking water and discussing what he'd managed to piece together of the tribe's history. It was rather sparse, with only a few names and fewer details, but it seems there was once worship of a very specific group of divine beings in this area.

We talked until late into the night, conversation drifting from history to speculation, through more familiar myths and finally to the nature of my own journey.

"Noah, I'm afraid that's a question I could no more answer than I could teach one to cry. At best, any advice I'd give is instructions to imitate the symptoms."

"So, you've felt it for yourself, Chester? I'd been a little worried it was simply my studies keeping me focused."

Chester chuckled a little before replying, "Sorry, Noah, but even amongst the hallowed halls of the ivory towers, we find more than our share of love and romance. Some of our best scholars spend a great deal of time preoccupied with those topics. One even wrote a graduate thesis using the feelings as a backdrop. It was rather well-received, and considered one of the more relatable of its kind."

I was frustrated into silence at this. For his part, Chester didn't seem overly put out. At the same time, he did view me as something of an anomaly. He gave me a thick blanket and offered me his couch for the night, as he retired to his own room. My head was swimming with thoughts and confusion as it landed softly against the cushions, and I wondered how people could have such desires when there was a fascinating world of mysteries all around us, just waiting to be explored?

< Previous Chapter

[black-kitties]

Worldheart - Chapter 12

Start reading at Chapter 1

The halls were bathed in red light and the constant blare of the siren added to Jaz’s anxiety. Green Arrow and Black Canary followed her through the halls as she retraced the steps back to the elevators, thankful she was quick enough on her feet to make herself memorize the way. They’d encounter no Raptors most of the way, but that luck ran out when Jaz peeked down the hall leading to the elevators. There were four guards, two thugs, one Raptor, and another bigger Raptor with a gatling gun mounted on its shoulder. Canary moved to fight them, but Arrow held his arm up to stop her. He smiled and winked at them both before he began to fix his uniform, cleared his throat, and limber up by bouncing in place and mock stretching. Jaz glanced at Canary who just rolled her eyes.

Green Arrow rushed out from behind the wall holding his hands up and yelling, “Don’t shoot!” The men looked startled. They aimed their guns at him but didn’t attack, instead looking to each other confused. “There’s a giant wolf man back there! He completely destroyed the laboratory!” He pointed in the opposite direction. “You have to do something!” Arrow turned around backing up towards them as if he were more scared of what he was just running from than them. It worked. The men nodded to each other before training their guns on the hallway opposite ours waiting for this mystery foe.  They stepped forward moving to pass Green Arrow when he twisted, landing a punch to ones throat and an elbow in the others gut before following it up with another punch to his face knocking him out. He was close enough to side step behind the smaller Raptor using it as a shield while the Gatling gun unloaded into it. It shot a torrent of bullets into the chest of the smaller Raptor quickly piercing through its chest armour and tearing through the electronics within. Quick on his feet, Arrow faced the wall running himself up it, vaulting over the heads of both Raptors. He grabbed hold of the shock tail before it could strike him stabbing it between the gatling gun and the big Raptors shoulder. Its entire body became electrified but it could still move. It slammed Arrow into the wall pinning him and transferring some of the shock to him in the process. Jaz moved to help but Canary held her back. “Let him handle this.” Arrow reached up ripping the gatling gun off its shoulder by using both of his feet to kick it away. The second his feet hit the ground Arrow dropped low, lunging forward underneath its tail as it tried to whip him to position the gun in the crook of its neck. The bullets easily pierced through the thin, scale-like armour there, destroying its core. Both machines fell to the floor in a smoking heap, the light in their eyes turning off before they’d hit the ground. “Impressive.” Black Canary said, stepping over the two unconscious men to join Green Arrow.

“Spar me when we get back on the Watchtower and I can show you a thing or two,” Green Arrow joked, kicking the pile of metal Raptors aside just in time for the elevator to show up. Jaz hit the button to Maxmellius’s office, as well as the button to the floor just below it.

She explained the layout of the walkway. “There’s no way down to Hero’s cage from Max’s office, so I’m going to stop one floor early and try to find it myself. I think I’d spotted the way from the walkway anyways. You two can meet me there once you find what you need in his office.”

“We shouldn’t split up.” Green Arrow shook his head. “We’ll head to the office first, find out where the rest of the heroes are being kept, then we’ll get your friend.” He placed his hand on Jaz, she could tell he was trying to be reassuring again, but she had no intention of taking no for an answer this time. Another explosion ripped through the facility knocking Jaz off balance into Arrow’s chest. The elevators went pitch black and the emergency breaks sent everyone into the ceiling, before crashing back down.

“Damn! The emergency power is out now.” Green Arrow spoke as he helped Jaz to her feet. He pried open the doors pulling them halfway open. The Elevator was between floors, the top half of the doors opened to the lower floor where Jaz wanted to go.

“I think I can squeeze through. You two try and get to Max’s office while I help Hero out. I’m just going to slow you down if you ask me to climb an elevator shaft.” Jaz hopped up, grabbing onto the ledge. Using her foot against the wall as leverage she pulled herself over the ledge and out of the elevator. “Meet me at Hero’s cage, if you keep going straight from Max’s office you’ll be right there!”

“Kid, wait!” Green Arrow couldn’t react in time before she dashed down the hall. He turned to Black Canary, “Why didn’t you stop her?”

“I trust she knows what she’s doing,” Canary replied from the hatch she’d found on the roof. She was already out of it and on top of the elevator. By the time Arrow squeezed through the hatch she was already halfway up the wall.

Arrow climbed up after Black Canary, sparing a final glance after the girl. “I just hope she isn’t some hot shot kid who’s in over her head.”

Meanwhile, Jaz picked her way through the empty halls, peeking around every corner she came across just in case. She was no longer jogging confidently like she had when she had them with her, instead tip toeing around trying to make as little noise as possible. She knew she last saw Hero on the factory floor where they’d gotten captured and when she’d been up on the glass walkway she’d spotted another door on the other side of it that seemed to be in the right spot. She tried to remember the mantra she’d been repeating days prior, but the rumbling that kept rocking through the base and the fact that she was alone made it hard to concentrate. She stopped, pressing her back against a wall. “I can do this. I can do this. Jaz, just keep your head high, focus… What would Superman do in this situation.” A nervous laugh burst from her lips. “Superman wouldn’t be this scared trying to find his friends.” She took another deep breath, slowly letting it out before she started on her way again. Calmer now, she was able to pick her way through the halls until met with the same metal cylindrical doors that had opened for her previously. They were closed now, and it looked like they had no power to them anyways. She tried to pry one open, but aside from breaking a nail nothing happened.

Frustrated, Jaz looked around for what to do. How would they solve this problem in the comics? They would solve it with their powers... Ok, what about Batman though. He had no powers. Jaz ran her fingers through her hair, looking up in exasperation. Right above her was a ceiling vent. “Oh yeah.”

Jaz struggled longer than she’d wanted to trying to reach the vent. The code to the laboratory worked on the doors down the hall but she still had to push them open manually, which was a feat and a half on its own for her. Once inside she wheeled a chair to the vent and struggled to pull herself up through the tiny hole. The ordeal didn’t end once inside either. Her heart was pounding and it was hard to breath in the cramped space. It was so tight she was unable to turn around and that idea alone was sending her into a panic. Biting her lip, she pushed herself forward. The thought of Hero weakly staring up at her from that glass cage was enough to trump the fear she was feeling now. Every ten feet was another vent opening she could use to peer down and check her progress. The first one she came across she was already on the other side of ten fancy doors he’d had installed in the place.

Why the villain never thought to secure the filtration systems always dumbfounded her. Jaz was well past the doors when the vent took a sharp turn upwards travelling perpendicular to the curved walls lining the factory floor. At the end of the line, she finally had to leave the safety of the vents and drop down on the factory floor. She winced as she hit the ground at an angle, flopping over. Sharp stabs of pain radiated up her legs. Black Canary and Arrow had made dropping ten feet look so easy to do gracefully but Jaz had nearly twisted her ankle just there.

The factory floor was currently unmanned, and the recent power surge had stopped all the machines mid assembly. There were five conveyor belts feeding parts to the assembly bays with four giant machine arms sprouting from the floor for each one. Jaz crept through the room, dashing between machines and trying to use them as cover all while scanning the room between bursts for any signs enemies. She’d nearly made it to the other side where the small hallway was hidden when two thugs appeared in the door forcing Jaz to scramble behind cover again.

One was cursing and jogging past while the other yelled after him, “Come on Gary, we’re supposed to guard the room!”

Gary cursed back, “I’m not risking my life for some creepy old man with a dog fetish.”

“Think of the money, Gary!” His friend spoke as if he wanted to stay, but he quickly glanced behind his shoulder as if he was expecting something to jump out at him before he rushed to join his friend.

“What money? We ain’t getting paid, and now some fucking werewolf is coming right for us! I’m out, if you wanna die in this place suit yourself but I’m going back to Taboo. At least they’ll pay us on time.” They continued to argue all the way across the factory floor, completely oblivious to Jaz who hadn’t hidden herself well. They passed right by.

The room they’d left was full of cells that used the same force field-like technology as she’d faced in her room. There was a total of eight, but only six were in use. There was a small office to one side where it looked like the guards rested and watched their charges, inside it had several chests and what appeared to be Green Arrow’s bow resting against the wall.

At the back of the room was another hall leading further in where Jaz paused. Everything inside her wanted to move forward and find Hero, but she couldn’t just leave these men here. Especially after hearing that Brin could be headed this way. She let out a frustrated sigh, turning back towards the cells. Beside each one was a keypad just like her old cell and she knew by one look at each one they all used different codes. Some showed no signs of regular use except one.

“Icon?” Jaz’s voice was barely a whisper but even so the man stirred. “Oh! You’re awake. Just sit tight I’m gonna try and figure out a way to get you out.” The man struggled to pull himself up before slumping down. Kneeling in front of the keypad she could see some greasy stains on three numbers, but she had no clue how long the code was or which order they’d be in.

Her ears pricked. Glancing around she realized Icon was trying to say something. “What was that?”

“Notepad.” She stared into his dull eyes for a moment before she realized.

“Oh! They keep the passcodes on a notepad?” She didn’t wait to see him nod, springing back across the room towards the office. It was square, lined with desks and surrounded on all walls with thick glass; and it was locked. She cursed under her breath, this was the one door that didn’t need a passcode, it needed a key. She peered through the glass instead, spotting the notepad immediately. Pressing herself into the window, Jaz was able to make out the codes on the first page attached with which cell number they went to. The moment the shielding fell she rushed to his side. “Are you ok?”

“I’ll be fine, child. Go see that the others are ok.” His voice was barely a whisper, and his lips were chapped, his dark skin sunken in. They’d at least allowed him to stay dressed in his uniform, though all his gadgets were taken from him. She helped him up, carrying him to the center of the room before she went to work on the other cells. The sheet she’d read from only had three of the six passcodes she’d need.

Chapter 13

[polyphoniclandscapes2]

Do You Remember When We Just Lived?

Still from the music video for “W8WTF” by Zebra Katz x Boyfriend.

I started on guitar rather than keyboard because it made sense to me as a way to approach music theory. Maybe because of my dyslexia, I learned in patterns, always grouping things; I would never latch on to the letters or numbers. The visual layout of the fretboard made sense. It was a good place to start. I enjoyed playing guitar.

I was in bands. I think there’s still a Myspace page for one song. The music is horrible, but you’ve got to start somewhere. Testing out the waters of my songwriting abilities. Even though we might be the harshest about the beginning stages of development of our own craft, at the time I was really excited that I recorded a song and I put it online. I shared it with Jesse Boykins. Jesse’s sweet and always gave me words of encouragement. From there, I had another band. And it was like we were making worlds. Felt like I unlocked my purpose in those early years.

During that journey, I was undocumented. Music saved me. Being in bands saved my life. I cannot express how difficult it is to live in America without proper working papers, and without being able to get a job. I worked in Caribbean bars. The pay was forty dollars for a shift from 6 p.m. to 3 a.m. And then you work for tips. They’ll take advantage if they can, even your own people. When I defaulted into that, that was one of the greatest challenges in my life.

Right before that, I graduated from Parsons School of Design. I couldn’t get the graphic design jobs for which I was qualified because of my status at the time. I didn’t quite have an understanding of how bad it would be when my student visa ended. In my naiveté, I was confident in my abilities. I really did everything I could to get the H1 visa. I would be on a job and ask them to sponsor me and they’d say they wouldn't be able to at this time, or that they already sponsored someone else.

If I’d gone home to Jamaica, at that time, there just weren’t any opportunities. I was twenty-one, still a baby. And straight, mentally, in the sense of conformity. I made a very hard decision to stay. But at least I was in New York City, a place where I could express myself. I was starting to take steps—playing in bands and enjoying all that freedom. I was living day by day, taking the punches as they came, figuring out where to go from there.

I had met queer people when I was a student at Parsons. But when measuring queerness, you have to factor in the intersections of Blackness. A lot of the queerness I saw was through a white lens. When I met gay Black men, things started to open up for me. When I met my dear friend André Singleton, he saw me. He saw me before I saw myself.

Just by talking to me, he helped me, because otherwise I wasn’t comfortable speaking about my sexuality. He would invite me to house parties, little gatherings, kikis. They were doing little runway walks. Ballroom practice. I didn’t know what it was, at the time. He told me to watch Paris Is Burning. I know that film has its issues, but it was still an introduction for people like me that were outside of the culture.

André introduced me to the writings of bell hooks, which changed my course. All about love. It started my process of rethinking the Black family under colonialism, within the framework of Blackness, of existing and overcoming and reclaiming, and loving yourself. The revolutionary practice of self-love.

I was trying to unlearn what had happened in my life back in Jamaica. I was trying to unlearn self-hate. I even looked back at my old journals. I had certain crushes back then, but I could only write them down in code. I’d just give a little compliment. I was so fearful, but the community I was invited into encouraged me not to worry about that. This was new to me, to not have to worry about expressing myself. And then the other books I was introduced to—by Toni Morrison, James Baldwin, Alice Walker—those are the books that helped me open up and see myself.

I was reading American books. I felt like I had to learn about America now that it’s the country I live in. In Jamaica, I grew up thinking that Black people didn’t write books because I was only exposed to white writers. The literature I was asked to read in high school were books like To Kill a Mocking Bird, Of Mice and Men, The Scarlet Letter. But I had the desire to read the books about us. I found books about us in America.

My education really started in this moment in the US. I had received a colonized education in Jamaica, where I felt that teachers picked on the students who were not the strongest and called them out, like a hazing. It was done to me over and over. One time, one of my high school teachers called me out for talking during a lesson, but in doing so called me one of the dumbest kids in the class. From moments like this one, I have trauma about learning. I felt that colonized academia was violent.

The beautiful thing is that throughout my life I've had people who believed in me. Otherwise, I would not have gotten to where I am. No matter whether you want to see it, the universe conspires to help us along our journey, to soften the blows whenever they come.

I always had my art. I began to draw when I was five. I didn’t paint before now though. I started painting during the pandemic. It’s unlike music for me in that I don’t even have to think. Music is a different beast. I have to really apply myself because of how technical music production is. People try to glamorize music-making, but it’s hard work. We musicians have natural instincts, sure, but to apply them is a craft that takes constant work, practice, and we are always learning.

I have a strong desire to play in a band again. Some day. The songs I wrote for my next album, coming out next year, will be really fun to perform live. I’ll be able to play guitar on them. I’m not too bad. It’s like muscle memory once you have the foundation.

I learned to produce through working with bands, which informed how I wanted to build musical worlds. Some won’t remember, but production software from the late ’90s and early 2000s was intimidating. I learned ProTools while at Parsons in a sound production class, and I never wanted to touch it again.

Around 2006 a friend showed me Ableton, but being broke, I lived hand to mouth, and it was difficult to make work. It was becoming difficult to subsist. One thing I promised myself was to remain housed at all costs. Everything I earned from my shitty bar job I put towards rent, which was about six hundred a month. I often got by on one meal a day. My mode of transport was my bike. I couldn’t afford the subway. I was navigating a system that was working against me. But with the belief I had for life, I just thought I would figure things out eventually.

When I got my Greencard, I was trying to get back into my field, into graphic design, but firms wouldn’t hire me as I had this gap in my resume from when I was undocumented. It just broke my heart. It was like I was being penalized for something that worked against me. There are always these things in life, these rules, like if you can’t account for discontinuous labor.

I love to dance in vibrant spaces. That’s why I’m drawn to nightlife. I thought it possible to move into DJing only because my bandmate Erica was spinning. I really respect DJing as an artform. First of all, it’s a technical skill. It implements musical theory. You have to learn rhythm. People think it’s intuitive, but it’s not. I come across a lot of people who can’t land on the first beat. At first, I still wasn’t quite sure if I could follow that interest because it was so male dominated. I was around all these male DJs. Music studios were similar. I’m just gagged that it took until the twenty-first century to have these conversations. Women have always been here, always, but without getting recognized or getting paid adequately.

Just seeing Erica was encouraging. It looked fun. I respected the craft of it. I’m interested in learning. Sometimes if I see the craft of something I’m interested in learning it, but if I don’t see the diversity of its makeup maybe I’m not so interested. But with DJing I ultimately was. It suits me, maybe. I’d trained my ear for a long time, but I didn’t have the money to get started on turntables. Even with CDJs, its expensive. I got started with a cheap Numark Serato DJ controller. I could have done that in my bedroom forever. It just felt liberating.

Voguing ball, 2018. License: CC BY-SA 4.0.

To start, I was playing whatever was popular at the time, which wasn’t anything good. I was trying to build the party I’d started, called Fake Accent. That was my start at building a space for queer, trans, nonbinary Black and brown people. From there I found my way to ballroom, Jersey club, Bmore club, etc.

Let me backtrack a little here: I found ballroom first. That was through André Singleton and some others. When I heard “Ima Read” by Zebra Katz, I was like: What is this? I’d listened to a lot of music. I don’t restrict myself to genres when it comes to learning. But this was a genre I’d never heard before. It leapt out at me. I’d never had such a visceral response to a track.

It has two musical elements: the voice and a sub kick. And I thought: How are you making a song? From what we learn in Western music, that’s not a song at all. Is ballroom the music of my ancestors? It is music outside the framework of Western influence. I wanted to hear more of that. It was not something you could get from the radio. How do I get access to that?

My friends told me to come with them to a ball. Going to certain kiki spaces. I went to Eric Johnson’s house whenever I had the privilege of being invited. Just this realization that there is this whole entire world. That we must never stop seeking those worlds. Never be complacent with what one is fed. That there’s always more. That is my realization in life. I’ve been able to find myself in this position in life because of my curiosity to find truth.

Ballroom is a truth that I found. A community that helped affirm me. That being Black is an incredible. Ballroom is a response to being on the fringes of society. It’s a response that says “no, I’m here, I’m human, I exist, and I have my brothers and my sisters, and we will celebrate us.” The only other place I saw that was in dancehall sessions in Jamaica. In dancehall, when you are at a session, it’s just good energy. The place where I grew up, at the parties and sessions that I would go to, everything was very community centered.

There was one street dance I went to, in a town close to Mandeville where I grew up, in a more rural area. The sound system was set up on the street and the whole community came. Somebody starts cooking food. To me ballroom is connected with those experiences. It made me so happy to find ballroom in New York. It really connected the dots for me. I was so interested in the sounds. I met Mike Q, Byrell The Great, LSDXOXO, and others who were influenced by ballroom.

I had very limited understanding of Black queer culture until I saw Paris Is Burning and started learning about Pepper LaBeija, and then later on, Marsha P. Johnson and other activists. It was a lot. It was a long journey just to get to feeling empowered. That’s what I struggled with. I struggled with feeling like I didn’t have a voice. Feeling that I was invisible, because of colonized conditioning. Invisible in the sense of not even existing. It wasn’t until I found community that I felt like I could exist, that I was worthy of life.

I love and respect ballroom but still feel outside of it. So, I had to create another space that centered Black queer, trans, and nonbinary Caribbeans. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I’m interested in bringing people together. It’s not a capitalist pursuit. But now I’m having to learn about capitalism. Capitalism isn’t quite practiced in the Caribbean. It’s too small. We grow our own produce. We live off our land. We have means to survive outside consumerism.

I had to find a venue first and build from there. The challenge of finding a venue was just riddled with misogynoir. I knew men who could easily get a night. I kept pushing and the place that opened up for me was Branded Saloon. Gerard Butler gave me the opportunity. Every Friday I would play, and it just started to build up. I was using Instagram to promote the night, to attract queer Caribbeans. I had straight Jamaican friends, from a former life who came to support it. And then new people. I would see the queer and trans people come through. It was actually building! It ran at Branded for two years, then I moved it to Friends and Lovers to get a bigger space. Then I got a residency at Trans Pecos.

Papi Juice were doing amazing work. iBomba was also an amazing party. I created Fake Accent to specifically center Black queer, trans, and nonbinary people. I was the only one who looked like me, running parties at that time. I was the only queer Black AFAB person for a while who was creating these spaces. Whenever I’m asked how I did it, I say I just never allowed the rejection to keep me down. I always tried to find a way to make things happen. To grow.

I want to see more people like me in my life. We deserve space. That spark really started to catch in the most beautiful way. I had a little stint at Red Bull Music Academy working on one of the festivals and curated one of the events. For the event I curated, I invited Papi Juice, Juliana Huxtable, many Brooklyn qtpoc collectives for the lineup.

They gave me a meager budget to work with. They had no faith. They thought the tickets wouldn’t sell. It sold out. Red Bull took that model and have used it since—because it worked. This has been a challenge. How to communicate about Black queer, trans, and nonbinary spaces? How do we navigate capitalism and what it extracts from us? Because what they do is extraction, not support. I must keep blocking the extraction to protect myself. That’s why the build in my life is gradual, unlike those who’ve just catapulted. There’s always compromises, but I see how dangerous that can get. Where are we now? With all of that fighting that we did. There’s inclusion now, to a certain extent, in theory, but I’m trying to come to terms with the club no longer being that revolutionary space that we wanted it to be. It’s still not nothing.

The club helped create someone like me. The club helped create someone like Juliana Huxtable. It’s a school. We taught each other. Like a science experiment. It works because there could be that one night when we really got to live. Every single bit of those little times that we had we can recall like “oh girl remember when we just lived?” That’s where I do believe the revolution is still there.

This is controversial, but I’m a little critical of the hedonistic aspects, the escapism. They can be beautiful and elevating, but it can also be disruptive. A lot of people don’t last in it. Now that I’m ten years in, I’m saying to myself that some aspects are not sustainable. I’ve had to make adjustments on my rider not to include alcohol, but rather natural, healthy foods.

Now I’m shifting into: How can I advocate for care? How can I advocate for taking care of our bodies? Because I know what we all want. I know we all want to be free. And I know why my previous album, Get Free (2020), was successful. It’s not because it’s a techno album. It’s because of what I was expressing within the genre of techno. And that’s my whole universe, my whole life’s work. My whole journey. That’s what I’ve decided to do with my life, to share in acts of liberation. That everyone has the power, but that collectively, we can all have the power.

The dismantling of patriarchal views in music is something I’m deeply interested in doing. I’m interested in techno, but from the standpoint of its history, with what I discovered from my own research and curiosity. I call my music techno, because it is TECHNO. I like ballroom because it has the energy and attitude of techno. I’m not as deeply drawn to house music, as it is sweeter. I’ll implement certain elements of house, but I’m drawn to techno for its ferocity, its aggression.

Music making is art, but its devalued. Could you imagine a world without hearing music? The brain and body need it. I’m deeply drawn to the mysticism of music. But with every single step of research, what am I seeing? Who gets to make the music? It makes me sad that there are systematic things in place to block someone who’s assigned a certain gender. Who might have all of the tools and the curiosity, but they’re not encouraged, not supported. For me, when it came to being a producer, only a few people have supported me. What is this thing where people don’t see if for you? What is that projection?

I’m trying to figure out: What is gender? How does that work here? Its why, besides Blackness, I also like to focus on gender because when it comes to a creative form like music, gender has a lot to do with who gets to make it. Cisgendered men are not discouraged by default. Particularly to produce, you need encouragement. When you start in a field of study, you have your teacher, and they’re supposed to help you build confidence. There’s a lot of technical aspects to producing and it helps significantly when those skills are passed down. Those skills from what I’ve observed are mostly passed from “bro to bro.”

Most of what I’ve learned about production I taught myself. It was hard. At the time, with Ableton you got a handful of YouTube videos maybe. They didn’t tell me the advanced things. If your homies aren’t there to teach you then you could take a class, but I didn’t have the means. I just had to figure it out. I was not good in the beginning. Making stuff, throwing it into Ableton. Man, I can listen to some of my early stuff and my highs are so hot, taking out all of the mids so it’s just really crunchy. It was raw. Not sure if I like any of my early stuff cause I can hear all my inexperience.

But what I learned down the line is that in music-making there are no rules. Sound is a really tough thing to control. Certain frequencies don’t work well together on the same bandwidth. I know my shit but I’m no sound engineer. You have to really study that. I have the creative, I have the musical ideas, but in order to make my music I had to learn everything. I engineered a lot of my early work. I’m glad I did it, because it got me to where I am and gave me confidence. With each release I got a little better. I’d learn a little bit more about how to balance my sound.

My album Get Free came from a place of absolute urgency. I was fed up. I’d already made Ode to Black Trans Lives (2020) featuring D-L Stewart. That was my soft coming out. I have a voice and I wanted to use it, even if it’s not me on the mic.

Actually, I wasn’t going to make Get Free. I had plans for a more experimental album. But then I was researching Underground Resistance and the Bellevue Three, the whole story of the origins of techno. And I thought this is fucking amazing. When you’re queer, an immigrant, Black, a lot about the genre of techno as it is today was saying no to me. I wasn’t interested in the colonized version.

I just wanted to learn the way home. I had always heard this Eurocentric version, lacking a certain soul or a certain life, monotonous. I get that the genre is about repetition. I get the abstractness of that approach. We’re all trying to play adjacent techniques. We’re all playing club music that’s a four-four beat around 140 BPM. You can find a techno track and mix it in, maybe with a different syncopation. Or that extra kick between the three and the four, like ballroom usually does. Or finding Baltimore or Jersey tracks, the more subby-low end sounds. But then I thought: what do all these families have in common? They’re all subgenres of one another. I wanted to go deeper. Deconstruct it. Trace it back.

“Freek N’ You (Mix),” New Dance Show, 1995

Then I found the New Dance Show (1988­–94), heard the music that was being played back then, saw Black people dancing to it. What is going on!? This is exactly what I’m trying to get at. There’s no clear path to finding this. It takes a lot of finding your own way. I’m drawn to techno because of its intensity. I’m drawn to a lot of music that has intensity. I’m drawn to jazz, I’m drawn to nu metal. If there’s a heaviness, that’s my tea.

***

I was apprehensive with techno because of how it is presented. New Dance Show opened the door for me. Black techno in Detroit had such a natural, organic development. Pioneering a genre. New genres often come from a place of oppression. Fighting it by rising above it. It reminded me of reggae starting in Jamaica. How Lee Scratch Perry started messing around to create dub. And then how dancehall, as a subgenre of reggae, started as a counterculture when reggae became too commercial, too coopted.

The same fucking thing happened with techno. Club music is a derivative of techno. Club music lives within Black and queer spaces, but we get separated from our ancestral genres, that we’re naturally drawn to, but erased from. I found it suspicious not to have the Black people who made the music on the cover of their techno records. I had questions. Was it intentional erasure? If there’s no cover art, you assume the music is faceless. Then anyone can latch on and treat it like their own thing. It’s very important for me that I’m on every single cover of my releases. Björk did it. We don’t have the space; we don’t have the luxury to be invisible. It’s a practice of aligning image and sound. Aligning your legacy.

We have these limitations around genre where people in my West Indian community say things like “techno is white.” You’d become something of an outcast for being into it. I was listening to all this dance music growing up, like Crystal Waters. But then later on I was told that I’m not supposed to like techno? That you’re white if you listen to that. But I’m just a person whose curiosity won’t accept what it’s given. I need to investigate, especially when I really love something. Its really that moment, with techno, of reclaiming our history. I have as much right as anyone else to make techno, and for my music to be labeled as I want it to be labeled.

Like with rock and roll: there was Little Richard, a Black, queer artist, right at the start. But with techno it’s getting to the point where I can’t even engage with the discourse on Twitter about the origins of techno. There’s so many forms of institutionalized racism in music. The prime example is payment. I want to talk about these things to help the children. Even if I’m one of the ones shifting from the underground to a wider audience, my pay is still lagging. They always say you have to break the market first, but in Berlin where I’ve played for several years, venues that didn’t book me before, that are booking me now will say, “Oh but you haven’t played this club.” Well I haven’t played your clubs cause, GATEKEEPING. If you watch the biopics about James Brown or Ray Charles—it was the same thing. How can we change these practices?

You can’t pay rent with visibility. And there are other issues still happening now that make me wonder how anyone think it’s ethical, like an exclusivity clause within your own city for example. I don’t knock artists who are taking it because these clubs have the power. But of course, then we could talk about the deep institutionalized racism expressed through how DJ bookings are done.

The only club owner who’s been supportive of me this year is John Barclay of Paragon and Bossa Nova Civic Club. He doesn’t put clauses on me. He doesn’t tell me how to promote the night. He supports the artists within the community.

It’s hard to talk about some of these things without getting real about some of the violence around nightlife. Sometimes I feel like giving up. It really has not been a cute situation. But I believe in the power of music. But it’s in a place right now where its very mixed. The coming together in the clubs as a revolutionary act—they found a way to commodify and extract it. And remove us from it.