A hobby that seems so typical of Monsoon

I could name a few, actually, that I feel would best suit his... stature, as well as his personality, or... the fragment of it which is present within Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance, of which is already quite transparent. But, for the sake of sustainability, and because I may end up creating a masterpost soon enough, here are a select few that come to mind when I see him.

"Rain-bathing," or willingly soaking himself during a torrential rain / flood:

Given Monsoon's moniker / namesake, as well as his somewhat naturalistic views upon life in its entirety—the ideology that nature will simply run its course, and the strong will prosper off of the weak's own negligence—I find it's only fitting that he finds himself otherwise taken, perhaps 'seduced,' by rainfall. As evident by his words, "Come to me, rain, wash it all away..." Perhaps viewing it—rain, and by default, nature in its entirety—as one of the only things in existence that could be above him, above his coworkers / consorts, upon such a... naturalistic 'food chain,' as it were. To Monsoon, such is simply his natural environment; he simply will not thrive if he presently isn't being waterboarded by a flood, and I feel he likely would actively seek excuses to stow away from any sort of venue, particularly if it takes place indoors. I believe a similar sentiment is shared in regards to the Japanese garden that is present within World Marshal; if not unfettered, unfiltered nature by itself, then a mere reflection of it shall suffice, no matter how tacky it may be.

Sparring, both enemy & consort:

I find that, outside of his almost eloquent manner of speaking, and his androgynous appearance which may suggest otherwise—when he's in the mood for it—he is a very rough-and-tumble type of man, of which was very apparent during his fight with Raiden / Jack the Ripper. Having appeared almost too eager to... 'sink his teeth in,' in a way, also evident by how fervent he was to taunt Raiden during their initial battle. Even within the contents of the base game's Jetstream DLC—while Monsoon appeared to exercise restraint around Sam, likely knowing that his boss would want to deal with him later on—even verbally, he garners this kind of teasing demeanor about him that is rather difficult to miss. As though he were itching, perhaps aching, to find a reason to fight Sam, but knew better than to 'jump the gun' at that very moment. Likely viewing Sam as an asset, rather than a piece of meat. Though, after that entire debacle—given, if the Winds of Destruction don't simply interact with each other as a means of performance, and rather, interact with one another out of genuine interest than hidden contempt—I do believe in the likelihood that Monsoon sparred with several of his consorts, probably more frequently, over no particular period of time, as they gradually became more accustomed to one another's presence. Likely viewing battle as one of his only means of expressing his emotions—contempt, anger, interest, so on and so forth—given how such a means of violence was simply something he'd grown up with; forcibly removed from any sort of prior security he once knew, only to find comfort within such violence. Or, rather, the illusion of it. However, with those he may view as an enemy, he may believe that no restraint is needed, and that it's free game. Not that Monsoon seems like the type to, again, 'jump the gun,' were one of his own allies to inadvertently displease or disgruntle him, given how casually he and Armstrong appear to converse with each other within the Japanese garden. Even feeling so bold as to openly disagree with him, perhaps feeling more comfortable with the established security that he was on the Senator's 'good side.' One core testament as to how his humanity is portrayed within the game.

Writing / performing oratory speeches, conversing:

As evident by his encounter with Raiden, joined by the very brief phone call he has with Sam in the base game's Jetstream DLC, it feels almost ignorant to believe that Monsoon would be anything but an oratory and literary genius, of sorts. Even with the very distinct flaws within his own ideology, Monsoon's confidence within his own belief appears to be unwavering, intact, even when faced with certain death; towards which he may interact with utter terror, entirely dependent upon how Raiden goes about fighting him. We've all heard it, and we all know one thing for certain; Monsoon's 'meme' speech is a cultural landmark, and its relevancy—alongside that of Armstrong's own speech—remains unwavering, and will likely retain its relevancy until time itself collapses. Even outside of its core and subliminal messages, how Monsoon himself likely intended for Raiden to have taken it, it's rather obvious that the man has a talent for speech, or, at the very least, stringing words together on paper. To the extent where I truthfully would not be shocked if Monsoon wrote his own speeches, or, rather, wrote speeches for others to perform on their own behalf. And, given Armstrong's admission of, "[not] writing [his] own speeches" during his battle with Raiden near the climax of the game, I wouldn't be surprised if Monsoon had even a tinge of involvement in crafting it. If not him, then likely some poor bastard in the PR department. (Given, if Monsoon himself isn't already part of that department, anyways.) Even outside the realm of professionalism for a moment, I simply find that Monsoon—with all of his quirks and his flaws—can't resist the temptation to simply speak, and let his mind be known. Even if those around him may not necessarily know what to say in response to his words, perhaps the reassurance that some people—some against their own will—are actually hearing him out, after what may have been decades of Monsoon feeling... 'trapped in his own head,' so to speak, bestows upon him a twisted feeling of reassurance he likely hasn't known for a very long time. Not to say that Monsoon was never outspoken about his own beliefs. That, and I believe that he might just enjoy talking down upon others, as evident with the in-game implication that he and Sam 'shit-talked' about Raiden prior to his arrival in Denver. Haters gotta hate, I suppose.

This is—for the most part—the gist of it, since the rest of my presumptions / assumptions of what I would believe to be Monsoon's hobbies may begin dipping into headcanon territory. But these are the primary few which I believe best align with the image of Monsoon we're given within the game, or the image of him we're meant to perceive, from the very little screentime he is bestowed.

But worry not! Eventually I'll make a masterpost, as mentioned above, so hopefully there will be more Monsoon to come in the near future. ^_^ So thank you, again, to @miz-orque for this ask, I'm having quite a blast answering these.

Little Thief

Jetstream Sam x Fem!reader

After all the requests for this it's finally here! I forgot how good of a character Sam was because my man saw a corrupt politician and immediately tried to kill him with a sword, not to be political or anything but we need more people like this. Absolute king behavior. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

CW: SMUT, choking, blood, blowjobs, teasing, fingering, begging, unprotected sex, dirty talk, squirting, overstimulation

Cyborgs of every kind filled the crowded dive bar, amongst the shouting and general merriment bionic limbs clicked and whirred. Every patron a hardened veteran, not that that was anything to even be proud of these days, soldiers were a dime a dozen. Only in the best of them their left hands were just stuffed with experience in combat. That kind of information was something the right buyer would pay a hefty price for, and in your line of work you had become pretty skilled at figuring out who was a skilled fighter and who was simply another body to catch a bullet or blade on behalf of their employer.

It was a routine at this point, find a veteran, get him to buy you a drink, once his guard is down brush his left hand ever so gently and before he knows it you're walking away with literal years of his life including the last few minutes he spent with you. Like taking candy from a baby, any man in these parts would be ready to risk it all even if they knew what you planned on doing, the first woman they see who isn't made of metal or plastic and they go head over heels. Being attractive was hardly a requirement these days, but it certainly didn't hurt, and in your case you had no trouble catching a bionic eye.

However the deep brown eyes you were focused on catching now looked all too natural. The man they belonged to had gear that was more expensive than any grunt in the bar by leagues, and the sword he was carrying worth enough for you to retire with if you found someone to hack the biometric lock. Not to mention that kind of equipment could only come from elite private security with plenty of fighting experience.

Keeping an unwavering gaze on him from across the bar until you finally caught his attention, then keeping it by crossing your leg and teasingly sliding your skirt higher up your leg making him smirk wider with every inch of exposed skin. Briefly breaking eye contact to glace at the empty space in the booth where you were lounging, wordlessly inviting him to come sit. With a spark in his eyes he jumped fron his barstool and swaggered over, wearing the same confidant smile from before.

"What's a sweet thing like you doing in a place like this?" He asked, if you had a nickle for every time you heard that line you wouldn't need to be in this business.

"Looking for a handsome thing like you." A bold reply, but it always got results.

He laughed as the loud music changed to a slower song, causing him to extend his hand to you. "Care to dance?"

Taking the offer and allowing him to pull you onto the floor, you were joined by a few other couples but judging by the way he looked at you it was just the two of you in the entire bar. You had never seen a man so enamored with you, the more he stared the more you were convinced he would make an easy target.

Noticing how much larger than you this stranger was, your eyes went wide when he grabbed you suddenly and firmly by the waist. Making you purr while you threw your arms over his broad shoulders, drowning in the scent of his warm spice cologne. It was nice having a target so attractive for once, but it was getting distracting and making you forget why you were here.

"That's a nice sword." You commented running a finger over the hilt of the blade, finding to your surprise there was no biometric lock. "Do you always carry it with you?"

"Everywhere." He answered, with pride.

"Everywhere?" You asked again, raising your eyebrows.

The stranger confirmed with another sly smile taking your hand away and placing it back on his shoulder. You moved your body closer to his, pressing tighter against his firm chest while swaying in rhythm to the music. The song was about to end, hearing this you stood on your tiptoes and leaned in.

"Why don't we find a place that's a little more private and dance some more." You whispered softly into his ear.

"You don't waste any time. I like that." He purred, letting you lead him to a door at the edge of the bar.

Stepping out into a back alley you tolerated the gritty surrounding of trash and filth for the sake of some privacy. Now you could really get to work. In an instant you pullled him into the shadows, squishing yourself between his broad chest and the nearest wall.

The rough stubble on his face scratched when he kissed you, his breath was sweet and heavy as he greedily grabbed at you. Lost in the heat of the flurry of new sensations coming on so fast you whined, wanting more and making no secret of it while you did your own exploring. The contrast of the cool night air made the heat of his skin irresistibly inviting as you found yourself sliding your fingers under his shirt.

You really should have focused, waited for when his gaurd was down for the chance to take his things and run. Only he was moving so fast, and his touch was so warm. Thinking maybe it would be better to wait, or maybe just not thinking at all, you gave in to your most base desires.

Every part of his body was firm, pure toned muscles that that you would trade for cold cybernetics any day. Wildly touching him wherever you could just to feel how soft he was compared anyone else you knew now. Well, there was one part of him rubbing against you that wasn't so soft anymore, you smiled against his mouth when you reached down for it.

Suddenly his hands shot up to your throat, squeezing tight while pinning you against the wall. His expression changed drastically from one of sultry passion to total rage that smouldered in the low light.

"I didn't think you would be into this." You choked out with a smile, trying to stay calm in hopes of diffusing the situation.

"Who do you work for?" He demanded, a fire in his eyes that wasn't there before.

"What are you talking about?" It was your first instinct to play dumb, maybe you could still get out of this with something to pawn.

"Don't think I didn't notice what you were trying to do, who do you sell your stolen goods to?" His grip tightened, making you cough.

In a desperate final attempt to get away you grabbed the hilt of his sword, kicking him back and unsheathing his blade in the process. The sword was heavy in your hands but that didn't stop you from taking a few swings, though he dodged every attack you eventually had him pinned against the alley wall with no where else to go.

"Amateur move, not putting a lock on your weapon." You teased between heavy breaths, touching the tip of the blade under his chin. "I take it you're not with World Marshal."

He bared his teeth growling, that alone was enough to make you take a step back. The last thing you expected was for him to grab the sharp end of the sword with no fear of cutting himself and pull it away leaving you completely stunned and open to attack. Taking it from your hand he then turned you around quicker than you had a chance to react making you lose your footing and fall on top of a nearby dumpster. Before you could get up he came behind you, pinning you down and holding the sword up to your throat. Trying and failing to wiggle out from under the weight of his body, he finally had you caught.

"I am no amateur." He sneered, grabbing a fistfull of your hair and twisting it. "Now I won't ask again, who do you work for?"

"Private dealers here and there, you want their names?." You groaned, maybe your body was still fired up from the way he touched you earlier, but it was hard to not appreciate the intimacy of this situation.

"You're not World Marshal?" He asked, twisting harder until you could feel the warmth of his bleeding hand dripping onto your neck.

"Hell no, I thought you were World Marshal. They've been taking out all the black market dealers. I can't sell anything with them around." You explained.

He laughed as he released you, stepping back and sheathing his blade. "So even petty criminals can't stand them."

"I guess not." You replied, standing up to fix your hair and smooth out your dress. "What's your problem with them?

"Where to begin? They're as bad as any drug cartel I've encountered, just a tool for corrupt lying politicians. Someone needs to put a stop to what they're doing." He explained, before taking a look at the deep cut on his hand.

At least he wasn't a cop but he wasn't exactly on your side, either way you couldn't ignore the red dripping from his hand prompting you say. "Let me take a look at that."

Really you should have thought about tearing a piece off your favorite dress, but some instinct in you just couldn't let him bleed out. Taking his hand the stranger allowed you to wrap the swatch of fabric over it without question. It was a wonder you didn't get whiplash from how quick the situation was changing with him.

"Are you actually going to try and take down an entire government organization just because they're corrupt?" You asked while you wrapped his hand.

He only smiled, cocky as he was you were convinced that he might actually stand a chance just by being so bold to even think about it. Though you weren't exactly in the business of giving things to people it might be beneficial in the long run to cause the organization some trouble. Besides how could you refuse a face like that?

"If only more people were like you." You couldn't help but laugh out loud as you tied off the makeshift bandage. "If you're dead set on doing this then maybe I can set you up with some people, at least to get that sword upgraded."

"I wasn't expecting you to be so generous." He teased, gesturing toward his bandaged hand.

"Well the enemy of my enemy." You sang, looking him up and down.

Surprisingly the little sparring session wasn't enough to kill the mood, if anything you were more fired up now than before. One glance at the conspicuous bulge in your new friends pants told you that he felt the same way. He noticed the way you were eying him, not that you were being subtle anyway.

"You know, that's not all I can help with..." You purred, placing a light kiss on the tips of his damaged fingers.

"Another one of your dirty tricks?" He questioned with narrowed eyes, cautious but interested.

"Taking on an enemy like that is going to be a lot for one man, wouldn't it be nice to relax and clear your mind a little?" You proposed, already dropping to your knees.

"If you insist." He answered, allowing you run your hands freely up his strong thighs while keeping a wary grip on his sword.

Carefully, like you were unwrapping a precious item you popped the button to his pants and pulled his zipper down slowly, the slower you moved the more he started to stir though you could tell he was trying to hide it. You smiled up at him while you hooked one finger under the waistband of his boxers.

"I never did get your name." You commented.

"You don't seem like the kind that usually asks." The stranger replied, there was bitterness in his voice but you knew how to make him sound sweeter.

"I'm asking now." You purred, playing with the trail of hair starting under his bellybutton before you released him.

"Samuel Rodrigues." He answered proudly.

"Nice to meet you Samuel." You held eye contact while tugging his boxers down.

Running your fingertip up the underside of his length, satisfied at making it twitch and throb under your touch. He groaned impatiently when you touched your tongue to the tip, giving him a few light swirls that only made him more upset.

Deciding to have a little mercy but not too much you stopped teasing to bob your head at a regular pace. He didn't seem like the type to beg anyway, not easily. Maybe next time, you thought, hoping there would be a next time.

You moaned after realizing he wasn't even fully hard yet when he stiffened in your mouth, needing to relax your throat to take in all of him and keep from gagging. He sighed while watching his entire length disappear down your throat with your eyes locked on his.

There was so much determination in those deep brown eyes, he was set on looking indifferent and not making a sound. Maybe because he still considered you enemy, he didn't want to show weakness even keeping a cautious grip on his sword. Working your tongue around him slowly with a goal to break that facade, getting closer to seeing him crack with every languid motion.

Patience waring thin, Samuel threaded his fingers into your hair and urged you to go faster, though you kept at your own teasing pace. Sweat was starting to shine on his skin while his breathing grew heavier. He bucked his hips into your mouth but you asserted your control by pushing him back against the wall earning a deep whine that made you smile victoriously.

"Enough." He growled, tugging your head back by your hair and pulling you up by the arm.

He lifted you effortlessly by the waist, making you gasp after throwing you on top of the dumpster like a toy. The ridged plastic lid dug into your chest and possibly dirtied your dress but you couldn't complain, all you could do was cry out when he pushed your panties to the side and shoved his fingers inside you.

"You don't waste any time." You teased, panting at the rough pace his fingers started at trying to stretch you out.

Only responding with a firm curl of his digits, making you whine out loud. The wet sound they made pumping in and out gave you away, allowing them in easily and showing how much you wanted more.

"You like that, little thief?" He huffed as he teased. "Do you act this way for everyone you try to steal from?"

"Only if they make me feel this good." You answered.

When he removed his fingers you didn't just feel empty when they were gone, your insides clenched in hopes of taking in something bigger. You almost had it too when the tip of his cock grazed over your entrance, dipping in just to stop at a few inches. What must have been payback for earlier he only eased in halfway, holding your hips still so you couldn't grind up against him.

"Don't make me beg." You whined, squirming around trying to take in more.

"Are you going to behave yourself from here on?" He asked tauntingly, gently pushing your hair away from your neck as he leaned in close.

"I'll be so good for you." You purred, shuddering at the feeling of his lips on your neck.

"No more stealing?" He proposed, dawning on you the realization that this was part of a deal.

"Hey, that isn't fair!" You gasped, though you were stopped by the sudden intrusion of another few inches. "But whatever you want, just fuck me."

For all of Sam's high standards of morality, there was a suspiciously devious method to the way he enforced that. It was effective though, you couldn't even be mad at him, you couldn't feel anything other than elated that you were now completely full.

Whether he was teasing or savoring your body you weren't sure, the slow pumping rhythm his hips left you wanting just long enough that your whole body would recoil once you were stuffed again. The embarrassingly helpless sounds coming from your mouth had a blush rising to your cheeks, it was deliciously humiliating to be reduced to a moaning mess while bent over a dumpster like this.

He wasn't being completely quiet either, leaving no secrets about how he was feeling and moaning at the feeling of being half a foot deep inside of you. Wanting to hear more you bucked back against him, meeting him with every thrust and earning louder noises from him.

"Haha, and I thought you were needy before." He jeered, moving his hands down to your ass to give your cheeks a firm squeeze.

Answering with a tight clench of your core as well as hiking your knee onto the dumpster to spread wider, getting the desired reaction of a purr from him. "I'm not the only one."

He grabbed your thigh, pulling out for only a second to flip you around before plunging back in again. This new position had you feeling much more vulnerable, especially with Samuel's hands liberally exploring your body. With the only barrier between your skin and his hands being your dress he pulled the top down, exposing your tits and letting them bounce with every thrust.

In a flash his mouth was on yours, tongue pushing past your lips and tasting every inch until drool was running down your cheeks. Moaning into his mouth at the feeling of being stuffed with his tongue and his cock at the same time, only separating when you couldn't go another second without breathing.

Wanting to do something, anything with your hands you grabbed at his clothes, trying to take his shirt off and get your hands underneath. His muscles flexed when you ran your fingers over them and his breath hitched as you lightly dragged your nails down his pecs. Returning the favor by sliding a hand up your dress, his thumb looked for your sensitive bud and with just one little touch started an orgasm that was rippling through your entire body.

Wrapping shakking your legs around his waist as you felt the wetness bursting out of your core, covering his hands and his cock as you came with a symphony of breathless gasps and whines. If your mind wasn't totally consumed by the skill of his touch you might have felt embarrassed about how much was coming out of you, but given how his movements got firmer with every spurt you could guess that he didn't mind at all.

It was like he knew your body better than you did yourself, rubbing your clit in small circles at the perfect speed to coax one spasm after another out of you. Just when you thought the orgasm would end another mind numbing wave would wash over and you would lose the remaining amount of control you didn't even know you had, making you shout obscenely into the night.

"Samuel. I can't... it's too much." You pathetically whimpered.

"Say my name again bonita." He breathed out, twisting your nipple with his free hand.

"Fuck, Samuel!" You cried out.

Realizing he was also on the brink you put your arms around his shoulders, pulling yourself up so you could whisper in his ear and pant his name over and over. Tugging on his ponytail while he emptied inside of you, pumping you full of more cum with every thrust.

His breath was hot on your neck, and his hands held tightly onto your hips until they nearly bruised the skin. Heat poured into your core and dribbled out slowly, forming a sticky warm puddle beneath you. As he slowed to a stop you eased back in exhaustion, letting his weight rest on you while basking in the feeling of fullness.

Fatigue took your body but unfortunately current surroundings made it impossible to relax, with the clarity to realize just how gross the alleyway was you had to decide where to go now. The feverish kisses Samuel placed all over your body while playing with your exposed breasts made it difficult to get dressed, the first challenge would be finding the will to stop him when his touch felt so good on your sensitive skin.

"You know, you would do really well in this business." You remarked while tracing a line down his chest. "Maybe even better than me."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" He questioned, a hint of distain at the implication.

"Of course it is." You answered, pushing him off to straighten out your clothes and hair while he did the same. "If playing Robin Hood doesn't work out for you we could always partner up."

That made him chuckle a little bit as he put an arm around your waist, purring as he leaned in. "I do like one part of that plan."

A smile curved your lips as they met his one last time, Sam didn't even notice that you had started to unsheathe his sword again until it was halfway out. Taking it away before darting off down the alley you laughed at how easy that ended up being, though it wasn't as funny when he started running after you while shouting curses in Portuguese. There was no chance of outrunning him, and you had no intention to. After all, you did make a promise even if it was in the heat of passion and you would be more than happy to give the sword back to him once you lead him to your house.

Hopefully he would give you something else in return.

Hellions Holi fic

As promised, on March 28, Krakoa celebrated Holi. Haven was one of the organizers, but far from the only. After all, India had the second largest population in the world; it followed that there was proportionally a great many mutants from there, as well as from surrounding South Asian countries and the worldwide diaspora of immigrants. And it was more than they who were invited; Holi, while Hindu in origin, was also celebrated by Jains, Buddhists, and even some Muslims. People of all backgrounds, all castes, all creeds who would come. The point of it was unity in diversity, and it was a national holiday. Therefore, not only were people of other cultures allowed to join in, but encouraged. And where better to encourage unity in diversity but Krakoa?  Today, mutants from around the world played together in a flurry of brightly colored powders and dyed waters. Young and old, those who were tiny and those the size of giants, those with wings and those with fins, those with scales and those with fur, people with tree branches for arms and people whose bodies were constructed more like bicycles than a human body, phasers and firebugs and shapeshifters and mentats, all coated in bright pink, brilliant saffron, blazing azure, intense emerald, and lustrous vermillion tumeric. Among them, the Hellions. Haroun laughed as he swooped through the air, divebombing his comrades with the powder balloons from overhead. Catseye, her furform dotted with colorful blotches already, leaped in the air to try to catch them in her mouth, and visibly regretted it when she succeeded, retching comically in the grass while her fellows giggled at her mistake and each other. Jennifer had great aim due to the practice she had with throwing her luck discs, and Bevatron likewise had it due to aiming with his electricity so much, but poor Beef was nothing but a big target---he’d never needed to throw things, he had his fists. Normally, he would have been pissed, but today, the usually aggressive oversized teen was taking it in stride, cracking up as he was hit and even shielding his fellow Hellions, dramatically acting as though he’d been shot whenever he took a hit for them. And even Tarot was coming out of her shell, timidly tossing the balloons and getting more daring as she went, her shrieks mostly affected when one came her way. “I don’t need luck to get YOU, Marie-Ange!” Jenny teased as she hucked a magenta one the redhead’s way that hit at her heels. Yet, her tone lacked its usual maliciousness, replaced with a sense of true unadulterated fun. “And I don’t need to tell the future to see this in YOURS!” Tarot returned in the same tone as she returned fire with a green balloon. It burst right against Jenny’s nose, and for a moment, the blonde looked, in a word, pissed, and Marie-Ange tensed.  Then, Jenny giggled, “Good one! Who knew you had it in you?!”

“She’s a killer! She got me! I’m down!” Beef cried out in faux-agony as he dropped to his meaty knees, having been beaned by Tarot as well.  “I challenge the champion!” Haroun hollered, pelting down his remaining ammo at Tarot, who dived for cover futilely in the grass as she pretend-begged him for mercy. Catseye, meanwhile, was licking the grass to try to get the taste of powder out of her mouth. Haroun landed beside her and led her to the snack station, where he tried to help her by giving her some gulab jamun, a ball of dough soaked in sugary syrup. Catseye didn’t care for sweets---she was a carnivore to her core--but Haroun loved them---they reminded him of Moroccan sfenj.  The other Hellions soon joined them. Beef slurped down cream thandai, Marie-Ange nibbled on malpua, Bevatron spooned himself some badam phirni, and Jenny munched crispy coconut milk murukku, wishing her uniform had pockets so she could take some home for later.  Then, they returned to frolicking. As the sun went down, the bonfires began, and they sat around one together, not speaking, just watching the light flicker on one another’s faces as they fell asleep against each other’s shoulders. Catseye with her furry head on Jetstream’s knee as he alone stayed awake to keep vigil over the others, Beef snoring his head back, Bevatron trying to pull covers around himself that weren’t there, and even bullying Jenny putting an arm around her usual victim Marie Ange’s skinny shoulders.  As for Haroun, he looked up at the sky. He spent so much time flying up there, he’d almost forgotten what it was to gaze at it longingly from down below and just. . . think. Years ago, as a herder’s son in the mountains of the Moroccan Rif, before his mutation had ever emerged, he’d never have dreamed he would wind up here. Not ‘here’ as in ‘on a living mutant island’ but as in. . .surrounded by such strange people as his friends, having seen death and returned, and now. . . well, living on a living mutant island. He had regrets. Not being able to protect them. Disappointing Miss Frost. And. . . what must his family be going through? He had been dead for years. . . had Miss Frost told them? Could he find them again? He couldn’t go back to them, he knew. Not because they wouldn’t take him back---they loved him, before and after they’d known he was a mutant---but because he had another family, gathered around him right here. And they were the ones who needed him. 

The mess you Made (The Dirt!Mick Mars x reader)

Gif is from the internet so creds to who posted it first

Warnings: a lap dance, drugs, alcohol, idk honestly

—

Touring with Mötley Crüe was great and all, drugs, girls, drinks, shows, sweat all of that came with it and that’s what gave you the chills. You and your band where the opening act for Mötley Crüe, The Jewels. Each of your members had their own nickname based on a jewel; Jackson was your bassist and was dubbed Emerald (Em for short because everyone loves to tease him with that), Kyle was the singer and was dubbed Opal (Opy for short) and your guitarist was Mimi, she was what people would stereotype as ‘nerdy’ AND ‘girly’ which dubbed her as a crystal. You? You where the drummer, eccentric, flamboyant, shit for brains; you name it. You got it. So you were named Ruby.

Much like Tommy you were extremely open and pretty out there but you also had the personality as Nikki AND Vince, you were a boy magnet to almost everyone in the crowd and then the girls; you’d have wild fuck sessions back in your dressing room, it was great. Whenever you’re part of the show ended your trademark would be to get up on your drum set, pick up the top you were wearing and flash the crowd for a glorious 7 seconds (exactly) before hopping down and running off stage. The crowd would be pumped after that, giving Mötley Crüe the thrill they needed. After shows you always chose a few people (boys, girls, both) to come back and to have a good time with, they always left with a large grin and a flutter either in their eyes or their legs.

This time though was the after-party, and your gig before Mötley Crüe was a rough one, everyone missed some sort of cue at least three times and then some, lights and sounds kept cutting in and out and nothing was going right and it wasn’t until the venue owners said they were bringing people in did things start working again. The gig went fine it was just the rehearsal was just one that pissed you off for the rest of the day.

“Oi (Y/N/N), go find a girl and fuck her brains out; you’re seriously worrying us right now” Vince said leaning over Tommy to get a better look at you. The after-party was going fine and ¾ of Mötley Crüe where already high as a kite and it was only 1 in the morning.

“Shut it Neil, I’m not in the fucking mood” you muttered softly. Currently you were stationed in the middle of the boys, Tommy to your right accompanied by Vince while Nikki and then Mick sat on your left. The after party had graduated from the table they got blowjobs at to their shared apartment, you know the one; where everyone has to climb in through the window? Yeah. That one.

“Oh come on (Y/n), rehearsal wasn’t that bad. You still flashed the crowd in the end so you must’ve still been good” Nikki said from your left, you turned to face him but the bassist was already started to make a new line, you just rolled your eyes at his antics.

“I flashed everyone because that’s my job as well as my trademark asshole” you said kicking the table slightly making the drinks on top to shake and almost fall. Tommy was quick to wrap an arm over your shoulders and bring you into his side.

“Leave the girl alone, she’ll wake up tomorrow feeling as good as a fresh dandelion” Tommy said with a grin, (Y/n) rolled her eyes but let a smile crack but covered it by taking a long sip from your beer bottle.

“I saw that smile (Y/n) you can’t cover that shit from us!” Vince said suddenly pointing at you, you just shook your head but let the smile come through.

“Shut it cover band” you said kicking his foot the best you could, “not everyone like to be called daddy like you” you said with a wink as the boys cackled.

“VINCE HAS A DADDY KINK!?” Tommy yelled before giving Vince a noggie, Nikki smirked and Mick cracked a smile as Vince glared at you and you smirked already knowing his question.

“Heard you asking a girl to scream it to you last night, continues DADDY was coming through the walls I honestly don’t know how the others didn’t wake up from it, you’d think being her daddy you’d actually shut the bitches trap with either your cock or your fingers or even your mouth. Vince got NO respect for others” you said with a large grin making Tommy and Nikki crack up again, Vince looked away with a scowl as some red started to crawl from his neck to his face.

“Look at you dishing out all the shade today (Y/N/N)!” Tommy said with a grin as the drummer slapped your shoulder, you only rolled your eyes before getting up.

“I’m gonna go find the other ‘gems’” you said with quotation marks referring to the rest of your band before stalking off to the other side of the room while Tommy and the others discussed what could happen at the next gig. On the other side of the room you quickly bent down and dragged your nose over a line as your bandmates cheered behind you; you cheered too when you came up and sniffed with a large grin. Jackson came up from behind you and slung an arm around your shoulders and laughed loudly as did Kyle but you quickly looked around Mimi.

“If you’re looking for our nerd she’s right over there” Jackson said into your ear as he pointed to a corner in the kitchen with his beer. Mimi was having the time of her life with a broad brunette who was also having the time of their life copping a feel. You whooped and hollered in Mimi’s direction but neither caught on which sent you, Kyle and Jackson into a fit of laughs and giggles. You quickly gasped and squealed as an idea popped into your head.

“WHAT WHAT WHAT” Kyle yelled with a laugh watching you bounce around.

“BAND OFF AGAINST THE CRÜE” you quickly yelled, “ME AGAINST TOMMY, EMERALD AGAINST NIKKI, YOU OPY AGAINST VINCE AND CRYSTAL OVER THERE AGAINST MICK” you yelled, both the boy’s eyes widened and a new spark ignited in their souls; they were quick to agree as you quickly made your way to the other band. Tommy was situated between a girls thighs as the other three looked on.

“GUYS ITS COMING WATCH IT” Tommy yelled before the girl screamed and a Jetstream of cum squirted out of her; Tommy fell back against Mick as Nikki and Vince gasped and hollered holding each other back. You were quick to laugh loudly and clap Tommy on the shoulder as the girl came down from her high and Tommy stood up properly.

“I got a GREAT IDEA” you yelled the last two words into Tommy’s ear who only laughed and egged you on.

“So, WHAT IS IT” he yelled back which made you tweak your ear with a chuckle, you looked to the rest of the Crüe before smirking.

“BAND OFF AGAINST EACH OTHER, WE PLAY THE SAME SONG, ADD OUR OWN TWISTS AND SEE WHAT THE CROWD LIKES THE BEST” you yelled to the boys as you clung to Tommy who was the only thing supporting your weight as Kyle and Jackson glomped both Vince and Nikki under their arms. Vince looked to Nikki who in turn looked to Tommy who looked to Mick, Mick only shrugged.

“Don’t look at me, I’m the one that’s slowly going crippled” he said with a swig of his drink, the rest of the band whooped and hollered as they started planning out what song to do and what would happen.

As the night went on everyone did their part in getting off their own ways before leaving through the sacred window back to their respective homes; not including you and the other band members of course. No you and the accompanying seven people (eight including you) sat around and ended up playing a few shit rounds of twister and spin the bottle on the floor.

“MIMI! You are here-by dared to make out! With!” Nikki started before looking around the group before his eyes landed on you, “(Y/n)!” Nikki slurred with a large grin while pointing at you. Mimi looked at you with a large grin, the girl was high and drunk off both her balls and then some so of course she had to self-control.

“You got it Sixx!” Mimi yelled before she quickly clambered to a standing position and walked over to you, she sat on her knees before cupping your jaw and smashing her mouth into yours, the kiss was messy and sloppy no thanks to both of your brains being high and drunk but the others hollered and whooped while the two of you made out for a few seconds more before parting, panting while a small stream of saliva connected you two before breaking and dribbling from your plump bottom lip to you chin. Biting your lip you grinned before laughing. Mimi sat down next to you as she quickly spun the bottle. Looking around the group everyone went back to looking at the bottle but Mick, his eyes stayed trained on yours before quickly looking away with a swig of his vodka. The bottle ended up landing on Vince, Mimi hummed for a second.

“Truth or dare mister Neil” Mimi asked, Vince shrugged.

“Dare!” he said quickly.

“I dare you to run around the halls butt naked!” Mimi yelled with a cackle, everyone doing the same. You only scoffed and took a swig of your beer; such a mediocre dare.

“Never thought of you as the dry darer Mimi” you muttered under your breath. The girl turned to you and smirked.

“Alright then, Vince you’re free from your dare!” Mimi said with a wave of her hand and her slurred words, Vince visibly sighed as the girl turned to you and pointed at you, “You, miss ever so perfect Ruby, are going tooooooo” Mimi said drawing out the last word before a light ignited in her eyes.

“Oh god I know that look” you muttered with putting your head in your hands.

“MISS (Y/N) RUBY WHATEVR THE FUCK” Mimi yelled making everyone shush, “ARE HERE BY DARED!” the girl stood up and pointed down at you, “to give the old man a boner with a lap dance, OR, strip tease” Mimi said with a smirk; her voice lowered to add even more dramatic flair. Nikki laughed loudly as Tommy clapped Mick on the shoulder, Kyle and Jackson bent over each other as they laughed together and Vince smirked.

“I’m just glad I aint in your place honey” Vince said looking at you with a wink but sipping his beer. You groaned.

“Alright old man, get your crummy ass up and let’s do this” you said with a sigh, Mick looked slightly taken aback by your sudden interest.

“You cannot do it in a room, we won’t know if you’ve done the dare or not” Mimi said with a grin turning to the group on the floor, “will we boys?”

“NO WAY” Nikki yelled joined soon by Tommy and Kyle and Vince and the rest. You sighed loudly.

“You’re really cruising for a bruising here babe” you said looking at Mimi as the girl soon sat down in between Nikki and Tommy, “do I at least get to choose the music?” you asked, Mimi thought for a second before smirking.

“Mick can be the ever so gentleman and choose the music” she said with a grin as she stretched out her legs in front of her.

“Actually I’m going to head to bed” Mick was quick to say while getting up, groaning at the pain the shot through his spin slightly.

“AWHHHHH” everyone cooed.

“You’re no fun old man!” Tommy yelled with a grin.

“Yeah! You never have fun with us kids anymore!” Nikki was quick to add on with a smirk as he held up his drink in a sort of salute. As Mimi started up a small chant between the groups.

“Do it, do it, do it, do it, do it” they all started to slur and mutter together before getting slightly louder and louder. Mick turned to you with a dead gaze which you returned with a shrug.

“May as well give the kids a show before they head to bed” you said with a grin, “go choose a song old man and let me give you a good time” you winked. Mick rolled his eyes and scowled slightly as he walked over to the record player in the corner of the room and quickly pulled out a vinyl from the cabinet and placed it on the player before putting down the needle and letting the actual record play. Mick had a large grin placed on his mouth as he walked to a chair and sat down waiting for the record to start playing and for you to start your dance.

“Sure you’re up for this?” Nikki asked, whether it was to you or Mick neither of you knew as you both nodded and the song soon started, a blush spread from your neck to your cheeks as the group on the floor snorted. The beginning to Take me to the Top started playing.

“You little shit!” you said with a loud slurred laugh, everyone laughed around you and you sighed and shook your head before quickly getting into ‘the zone’.

Don't you know, know, know

It's a violation

You swung your hips on the beat and bit your lip.

I still hear you saying

Such a perfect, perfect night

You looked to Mick as you swung your hips while walking towards him, ducking your head down your flipped your hair back and popped your hips as you toyed with your shirt.

No, no, no fight all temptation

Well, in a black-hearted alley fight

Coming forward you swung your leg over Micks lap and bent backwards.

I'm screaming

Take me to the heights tonight

You came back up quickly and rolled your hips against Micks as your hair covered your face as snickers and small words where said between the group on the floor.

Take me to the top

Pointing a finger to the sky you grinned widely before palming your breasts; Micks eyes ghosting over your hands before quickly coming back to look at you, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable that an ‘old man’ such as himself would be looking at a place like that.

Too many times

Victim accusation

You got off of Micks lap and turned so your back was facing him and swung your hips in circles as your body followed soon after.

No, you don't have to take it like that

A sheer, sheer heart attack

You pumped your chest in and out with some hand motions on ‘sheer, sheer heart attack’ while circling your breasts.

No, no no it's no realization

I never had a way with you

You bit your lip looking at Mick as you dropped to the floor (wobbling a little due to your drunk state) and crawled up his legs; hands gliding from the middle of his calves to his thighs and to his crotch.

But I still hear you saying

You finally stood up and put your left leg on the arm of the chair Mick was in and grabbed the back of his head softly, mouthing the words to the next lyric.

‘Take me to the top’

Before softly pulling Micks head towards your crotch. The group cheered behind you as the song continued with the same sentence and you let go of Micks head before looking down at the man and giving him a subtle wink and sitting back down with the group.

“NO FUCKING WAY” Vince quickly yelled and cackled; the singer ended up falling to the floor in fits of laughter.

“Dude what the hell!?” Tommy asked with a large grin, the drummer leant down to his singer’s level as Vince told Tommy what he was laughing at before Tommy took a second look and then burst out laughing himself.

“Are y’all gonna tell us what the fuck you’re laughing at or do we have to find out ourselves!?” Kyle yelled quickly.

“MICK MARS GOT A BONER” both Tommy and Vince yelled together; everyone who wasn’t on the floor losing their shit looked to Mick who was trying desperately to hide his growing hard on. Mimi clapped you on your back harshly as a blush creeped up onto your neck and cheeks, your lips becoming red and raw from biting it, not only seductively but also from the amount of anxiety running through your veins from your previous showing.

“Shouldn’t you kids be heading to bed already?” Mick mumbled into his hand as he looked away from the cackling group. Mimi sighed through her laughing and looked to her group.

“He is right guys, we better get going if we wanna perform AND get over this hangover” she said sadly, Mimi got up along with Kyle and Jackson and walked to the window; you gave a death glare to the remaining Crüe members who quickly took the hint.

“Uh yeah we’ll walk you out” Tommy said quickly and got up, half dragging the other two behind him as each one stumbled to get through the small window. Leaving just you and Mick Mars alone; both horny and extremely into each other.

“I hope I wasn’t to…” you started.

“Sexy?” Mick finished for you making you chuckle softly.

“If that’s what you wanna call it then Mars then sure” you said with a large grin as you looked to Mick.

“I know what you should be doing though” Mick said as he rubbed the palms of his hands on his trousers. You stood up intrigued with the guitarist’s proposition.

“Oh? And what may that be Mister Mars” you asked walking over to the man; you smirked as you leant forward and placed both hands on the arms of the chair Mick was seated in as your face got ever so close to his.

“Fix the problem you made” Mick said with a smirk, his eyes ghosted from your eyes to your visible cleavage then back to your lips.

“Problem?” you pouted, “I’d say it was more of a mess” you said with a grin and a bite of the bottom lip, Mick leaned forward and gripped your hips softly.

“Then I suggest you clean it up” Mick said before tugging you down as his lips crashed into yours.

---

Let’s just say that your ass hurt when you sat down on your drums and EVERYONE knew you had a good night when you flashed the crowd during your finale.

Lipstick...A bag..A cup. A few, silly childish pranks. How did it spiral out of control to this?

I fought with myself as sleep ebbed away. I didn't want to open my eyes, but my body was already awakening itself. My eyelids were struggling to open and let in the sunlight, my muscles wanting to stretch, an annoying itch on my arm. "Fucking hell!" I whispered through barely open lips. I was hoping I could convince my body to go back to sleep. "Miss Alex." A voice rang out, a voice that was way too happy for this time of the morning. "Either you've been there all night, or I missed your entrance....while I was sleeping," I growled as I flung myself onto my back. Sleep wasn't going to show itself again anytime soon now. "Miss Alex!" The annoying voice was now sounding demanding. "WHAT!" Sitting bolt upright in bed, mistake, big mistake. The pulse that attacked my frontal lobe caused my stomach to do a flip that would make an acrobat jealous. I opened my eyes; this didn't help any situation whatsoever. "It's here." The voice informed me, as sunshine filled the room from the drapes being flung open, after which, a hand shot out in front of me, there, resting in the upturned palm was a small silver serving tray, the edge of the tray where engraved intricate swirls turning in on each other, the suns reflection catching on them. Covering the centre was a pristine white envelope, no stamp, but my name, beautifully written. "Are you going to look?" I slowly moved my eyes from the envelope up to a face that was giving me a disapproving look. I gave a small chuckle and smiled. Through the disapproval, Anetta's face was warm and caring, her loving eyes looking down at me. Anetta was 'The Maid,' her working title in the house, but she was so much more than that. I was a child of absent parents when I say absent, that's exactly what I mean. The honourable Mr and Mrs Darcey had missed every milestone of my life, first steps, school productions, my period, you get the picture. Annetta had always gathered me in her arms through all of it, she'd mopped my tears, picked me up when I fell, sat front row for my graduation. She was the only parent I knew. "Well!" She waved the plate right under my nose; I swear I could smell the cologne of the person who delivered it. "Shower first, and then I'll open it." I could hear Anetta's disgruntled mumbles trail behind her after she'd placed the tray on my bedside cabinet, then continued to leave my room. The bathroom filled with the steam from the shower as I strip, my slip making a small pile of silk on the floor as I step out of it. The waters jetstream parting as I climb into the shower, steamy rivulets pounding down onto the top of my head, droplets finding their way onto other parts of my skin. The constant sensation on my skin from the water surprisingly calming, considering what that envelope would contain. I was a little surprised anything would be able to achieve this. I closed my eyes, enjoying the heat soaking into my skin, just for a second, I let myself believe I was somewhere else, it can't last though. The tray teased me as I sat on my bed, the sunlight still dancing across the silver,  projecting an artificial rainbow effect on the wall. I ignored the envelope as much as I could, it seemed, wherever I turned though I could see the teasing white envelope out of the corner of my eye as I dressed. ~~~ Seduce Owen Wearing ~~~   The only three perfectly positioned in the centre, words, wrote on the paper inside the envelope. I read and then re-read them, time after time. I felt the massive sigh from deep within me, before it found it's way up and out my mouth. My head flopping against the top of the back of the chair I sat in, even the damn sun now seemed too happy, its sparkling sunbeams happily dancing across the ceiling. "ANETTA!" I wasn't sure why I was screaming at the ceiling, but suddenly a face appeared in my eye line above me, interrupting my view of the dancing sunbeams, I squealed and quickly sat up. "Stop doing that!" I was beginning to think that perhaps she was a figment of my imagination of a maid we'd once had, who could, at any given time, walk through walls. Maybe she'd died, and I'd refused to accept it? That's a therapy session all on its own. "Get me Owen Wearings itinerary." I saw her eyes peruse over the paper in my hand as I turned to look at her. Anetta's eyes left the paper and met mine. "Are you sure you need it?" Her voice had a hint of warning in it, but, there was care as well. "Yes." She flounced out the room surrounding herself with disapproving 'Tuts' and mumblings. As she shut the door, I heard the words, "Been going on too long.'  Perhaps she was right, this game we continued to play, had, at times, gotten out of hand, to the casual observationalist. I deserved this one, though. Owen Wearing was the son of Justin Wearing; Wearing Industries was a multinational, multibillion-dollar company. The snivelling little shit walked around in his designer clothes as though he owned the world. Princeton educated, though the rumours were his Daddy had bought his graduation with an undisclosed 'donation'. We'd crossed paths at a few events over the years. His grubby little hands had caressed my ass once, and the one-time act had earned him a Whiskey Sour in his face. I informed him, in no uncertain terms, he would be replacing the drink before he left. "Fuck my life," I whispered to myself. "He has meetings all day." Anetta floated a piece of paper down to me. "Tonight he has dinner at...." I felt her body weight pressing down onto my shoulder as she leant over, her finger-pointing at the name of the restaurant. This would be my chance. I submerged my body into the warm water, the smell of the oils that had been added spread with the steam in the bathroom, making the air smell divine. Lifting my leg out of the water after a while, running my palm down the pinkening skin, I smiled. Owen didn't know what was coming his way. I plunged my leg back into the steaming water, slipping my whole body down further into the bath following my leg. As I lay under the water, the only sound, my pulse echoing in my eardrums, I thought back to how all this had started. I broke the surface of the water, gasping a little for breath, that would teach me to get lost in thought. I laid back and relaxed. The dares had started when we were young, stupid ones to begin with, though they were dumb, still, neither one of us would surrender. I remembered the first lipstick I'd stolen, in fact, I still had it all at the back of my closet, hidden away with all my other ill-gotten gains, Tiffany earrings, a brooch, a pair of silk stockings, even a pair of Louboutins. None ever wore. None ever saw daylight and nor would they, but, still I kept them. The older we got, the more complex the dares, the more serious the consequences of our actions should have been. I want to say we'd never been caught; if I did, it would be a lie. The break-in and taking off with the Lamborghini, along with the subsequent crash, saw to that. That should have been a prison sentence. It wasn't thanks to the name of Darcey. It held a certain amount of respect and along with substantial amounts of cash handed over in bribes, saw that never happened. Nothing negative ever got printed in the press, no court cases to stain the name, no prison time. I suppose the elusive parental unit was good for something. The water my body was submerged in, had cooled, way too much for my liking. I'd stayed in too long; a giant white prune wasn't going to be alluring, my thoughts had got lost in times past. I stepped out of the bath, water dripped onto the floor as I grabbed my robe, heat shrouded me like a welcome home hug. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror; my blonde hair looked dark due to the wetness; it reminded me what my natural colour was. I ran my fingers through it, the wet strands falling into my eyes, I pulled faces at myself, the reflection copying me exactly I couldn't help but laugh. There was always time for pulling faces. My closet was filled to the brim with clothes; as I pulled some out holding them against myself, then discarding them on the bed, none seemed right. I heard the door down the hall open and close; this caused an eye roll. My door opened a few seconds later as I knew it would, it opened more politely than I'd slung his this morning. "You're not ready?" That damn annoying gravelly voice asked. I was guessing that he'd seen the clothes on the bed, so already knew the answer. "Does it look like it?" Without looking around the closet door. "You backing out?" For just a second I thought there sounded like hope in his voice. "He won't be around for long." I heard the door close, with another eye roll and exasperated sigh, I continue to grab clothes out. The cool breeze brushed against my skin under the sheer material on my arms, wrapping itself around my bare calves in the skirt I'd chosen to wear, as I stepped from the car. "Will you need the car again tonight?" I contemplated saying no, just for a second. "Yes, yes, I will." I nodded my head to emphasise what I was saying. "I'll call you." As I stepped towards the restaurant, the doorman opened the door for me to enter. The heels of my peep-toe Louboutins caused a clicking sound against the wooden herringbone pattern of the floor; I was maybe concentrating a little too hard on ignoring the chatter that filled the room. Everyone was too deep in conversation to notice the small clicking sound. The wall lights help to light the room now dusk was setting in, the wall of windows would seem to disappear soon into the darkness. The plush bar seats littered with bodies either come for dinner or on their way elsewhere. Tables precisely scattered across the room, just far enough away from each other that conversations couldn't be overheard by others, without raised voices. A nod of my head towards familiar faces, a fake smile to those who knew my parents, brief platitudes to those I knew. Slowly, but surely I made my way to the fire burning at the other end of the bar. The fireplace took up a quarter of the wall, a grandiose thing that had probably been imported so they could say it was an 'original feature'. It wasn't the fire I was interested in, a group of men sat around a table, sat, might be an off the cuff way to describe it. There casual lounging, arms across the back of the chair, legs spread, each trying to display who had the biggest ball sack, in the middle of it all, holding court Owen Wearing. Owens seat, just to the side of the flames behind the glass of the fire, the top button of his white dress shirt open, his slim black tie slightly askew while being pulled down to just under his open-top button. His suit jacket must have been replaced at some point, with a leather one, an orange cast from the flames in the fire reflected on one side of his black hair. Owens sharp features were even more predominant in this light, his beady eyes scanning the face of one of the slightly over animated men in front of him. He hadn't noticed me making my way over to him, so I excused myself from the small talk and took a deep breath. The clicking sound of my heels ceased as my shoes hit the carpeted area near the fire, my hips swayed just slightly more than usual, the soft smile on my face wouldn't fool anyone who knew me well, he didn't. "Alex?" Owen's eyes had flickered from the face of the man he was in conversation with, a small look of shock on his face as he noticed me as I approached. "Owen, it's nice to see you." I just hoped he wouldn't catch the slight hint of boredom in my voice. The man that sat in the chair turned around, his face slightly flustered, I couldn't help but wonder what that conversation had been about. "Mr Jackson." Stunned by the face that was looking up at me. I didn't let the shock remove the smile that was fixed upon my red-stained lips. Reginald Jackson was a self-made man; a respected man in the business world and upper society. Why would he be with one of the low lives of it? Polite coughing ensued, both men rushed to stand, Mr Jackson, bent, kissed both cheeks, made a lame excuse to leave after a brief "Good evening, Alex." I didn't miss a beat, ignoring the man who had left returning my full attention to Owen. His face was a mix of confusion and apprehension; I felt the muscles in my cheeks start to ache from the smile that was still in place on my lips. "I saw you when I came in." My hand waved behind me towards the bar. "I thought I'd come over and say hello." My eyes trailed down his slightly unkempt appearance, as they found their way back to his face, his own eyes were sparkling, a leering smirk sat upon his lips, and I'm sure if we weren't in the company of other people I'd be wiping drool from his chin. Repulsion ran through my body, I took a few calming, quiet breathes. "Want to buy a girl a drink?” Owen stepped towards me; his fingertips slid down the inside of my arm, unfortunately I felt it through the sheer material, my skin crawled under his touch. “Of course, I would.” His hand was moving from my arm. Instead, he placed it in the centre of my back as he manoeuvred us both to the bar.The barman placed a whiskey and whiskey sour down, napkins set before the glasses, of course, couldn't have marks on the shiny wood of the bar. Owen had pulled the stool out for me as I'd sat before we ordered. Unfortunately for me, my feet couldn't quite reach the bar on the base of the barstool; I sank my heel behind the piece of metal as I crossed my legs, the leering look at my legs Owen was giving had made me grateful that the skirt I'd worn was calf length. "How have you been, Owen?" My voice was overly high in the hope of drawing his eyes upwards. It worked. "I've been busy, Alex; I'm taking over the business...." My thoughts began to wander as he continued, my eyes left him, searching around the room for nothing in particular as long as it wasn't him. "...Do you think?" I diverted my gaze back to him quickly, my mind trying to catch up with the conversation I'd missed. Owen's voice sounded happy, perhaps excited, that could be a clue. "I.... do." I hesitantly replied. It must have been the right answer because he continued. I watched as the sharp angles on his face became animated again, he had the look of a hawk I found as I scrutinised him. I reached for my glass, and as I did, his hand moved quickly to grab mine, his fingers entwined between my own, giving him a coy smile I ran my thumb down the outside of his. Owen leant in towards me; my skin rippled with repulsion as his cheek pressed against mine. "You've always been the one I wanted Alex." His lowered voice whispering in my ear. I felt his warm breath brush against the hairs on the back of my neck; his head tilted slightly as his lips began to make their way along my jawline. Looking for an excuse to pull away from him; the bartender kindly giving me that excuse as he placed fresh drinks on the bar for us, a sign, from the Lord Of Alcohol that Owen was to close. I pulled away. My fingers opened slightly slipping away from his grip, as they did my hand knocked his whiskey over, the golden liquid fanning outwards making its escape from the glass creeping its way to the edge of the bar. Owen grabbed the napkin, halting the getaway. We continued to talk, or more precisely he spoke at me, I was trying my hardest to pretend to be interested in about what he spoke, nodding and smiling along even throwing in a giggle or two. A trio of men walked over to us in the middle of a sentence, Owens faced glowed with pride as he discontinued his talk and introduced us, the men had already had a few drinks, their suits crinkled from being sat too long. They where dishevelled. They grabbed stools from the bar, placing them next to ours. Tonight wasn't the night for the dare. As more drinks were drunk the more impaired Owen and his friends got. They began reaching out, touching, leering and using suggestive words, I was starting to feel uncomfortable, an unnerving feeling was beginning to spread through my body. When a natural pause came while they all syncronised their drinking, I quickly made my excuses and picked up my purse. A smiled sat upon my lips, a genuine one, first of the night. "Goodnight gentleman, it was a pleasure to meet you." I said politely but whispered through stilled lips "In the loosest term." I walked as quickly as possible without looking as though a fire had started under me. Smiling and saying "Goodnight" to those I knew. The doorman opened the door, walking down the steps after thanking him, practically running to the corner of the building I took the turn and leant against the wall. My whole body shook as my mouth gulped at the air, my lungs stinging from the amount of oxygen I was trying to inhale. I felt as though I'd ran a marathon. There was a noise of the flimsy material giving way as Owen grabbed for me, I pushed his hands away, grasping at my shirt, pulling it into a bunch. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" An overwhelming wave of shock running through me that he would have the audacity to do that. I could hear his friends laughing as I tried to speak to him before this got out of control. "Owen, I think you've had too much to fucking drink," My voice dismissive. I was silently admitting to myself that perhaps I'd taken this a little too far. I hadn't seen this coming. Turning away quickly, still convinced it was just high jinks between him and his friends, it was then I felt his hand roughly on my arm. "Where do you think you're going, bitch?" That sickening, grating voice asked as I felt myself being spun back around towards him. The sarcastic retort I was about to answer with cut short as a sharp sting hit me, the bastard had slapped my face. The look on my face must have been priceless; Owen just sneered at me. The sneer changed to a menacing look as his face got nearer to mine, then he kissed me, all I could smell was the alcohol, my stomach turned, even then I was convinced he wouldn't hurt me, even though my face was still stinging from the slap. I could hear his friends saying things to him, egging him on, slurred whispers in the night, but I was to busy trying to keep myself covered up from him and them. It was then I felt a shove to my chest; I fell not quick enough to save myself, my arms landing beneath my torso. There was excruciating pain in my head as it hit the floor, ringing in my ears, stars in my eyes, and a haziness was descending on my vision. It gave me a feeling of everything being far away. After that, everything was in slow motion. My voice didn't seem my own as I said, "No No No" over and over again. Owen's hand smelled of whiskey from the spilt drink as he covered my mouth with it, the other hand ripping at my clothes. I managed to roll over it was easier to move, my legs trying to kick at him, my hands hitting out, the sick, realisation, suddenly dawning on me what he was going to do. He was going to go through with this. He jammed his knees between my legs to stop me from kicking.  "Do it, do it." Owen's friend's voices were now more evident as my hearing began to come back. His hands muffled my screams, my hands now curled into fists as I continued to punch then scratch at him, the panic I felt now turning to utter terror. After moving my head from side to side trying to remove his hand I stopped, I stared at him trying to communicate with him with my eyes, pleading with him to stop. The pain that ripped through me was worse than anything I'd felt in my life, my mouth opened but no noise came out as my insides felt as though they were being torn apart. I could feel the tears trickling down the skin on my cheek, my fingernails dragged onto the ground, looking for something, anything, but I did it with such force they ripped from my fingers. One after the other, they took their turn, they found it funny to hit me maybe by then because I'd closed down, no screaming only tears, perhaps they liked the blood that was running down my face from the cuts and grazes, I do not know. Still, I felt myself slipping away, and I thanked God, my breathing got shallower as I fought for oxygen. When my eyes reopened, I was laid alone in the street, but stars were twinkling in the sky. My eyes flickered open, my pupils retracting quickly against the pulsating false light above my head. I groaned as I tried to move. Every muscle in my body screamed against the motion. "Keep still." I knew that voice. I turned my head towards it. "Anetta, we need to go home." My voice was hoarse and strained. "Soon."Anetta's voice sounded like an angel. I pulled myself up, and every muscle made sure I knew the disgust it felt. I continued to look around the hospital room, a massive bouquet of peonies the first thing I saw, all the colours I loved sat on the table. I didn't have to ask who they were from, I knew. As I continued to look, I saw suitcases, magazines, empty cups. The place looked like a drop-in centre for street people. "How long have I been here? Have you been sleeping on that chair?" I couldn't hold back the disdain in my voice. "You've been here for three days and yes... I've slept in the chair." Anetta rubbed at the bottom of her spine to prove the point. "You..." Her eyes diverted away from me. "You needed to sleep, rest...." She lowered her voice. "You needed to heal Alex." "Well, I'm healed now. We are leaving!" I snapped. Doctors came and went for around the next hour, asking questions, talking at me, trying to explain medical terms that I didn't want to listen or understand. I wanted to go home. My body co-operated with me enough so I could get to the bathroom after the removal of numerous tubes, pads and needle lines. Why did hospitals have white bathrooms? Didn't they realise a  little colour would make the place feel much less clinical? I wasn't quite sure why I'd come in here, perhaps to get away from the constant noise of the beep, beep of the machines. To remove me personally and mentally from the fact I was in a hospital. "I'm sorry I didn't realise...." I looked closer, and I couldn't help but gasp in shock as the pair of grey and hazel eyes looked back at me. Tentatively my fingers explored my face, the cuts, the bruises, my top lip no longer the perfect cupids bow, the plumpness of my bottom lip unnatural. My cheekbone lifted so high that it seemed to be connected to my eye socket. I moved my finger, catching the tear trickling down the side of my nose. "NO!" The person in the mirror shouted the word the same as I did. The door flew open; a woman ran in her head flying from side to side. "Miss Alex?" Anetta's voice filled with fear. My head dropped for a second, my shoulders sunk, and as they did, I felt familiar arms surround me, the feeling of home shrouded me, protecting me, loving me regardless of everything. I allowed myself to wallow, the self-pity, the pain overwhelmed me, my knees gave way, but those strong arms didn't falter, didn't let me fall. They were holding me in place. I wasn't sure how long we stood there, how long I took strength from this formidable woman, but my legs became my own again. The self-pity ebbed away; the pain seemed to ease. "I'm fine, Anetta, thank you." I composed myself, pushed away from this most amazing lady. My saving grace. I gave a small cough. "Are we ready to leave?" "When you are Miss Alex." She didn't look at me with sad eyes as she removed her arms, her business face back in place. The soft hum of music filled the hallway of the apartment as we entered, my steps shorter than usual, my body slightly off centre, I ignored the music he was home. I didn't have to thank him for the flowers; I knew the sentiment they had meant. I continued down the hallway. My room had cleaned back to its usual perfection, the bed made, no clothes left strewn on the bed, all back correctly in the closet. "Anetta, get me an envelope." As though she knew what I would say both paper and an envelope appeared on the table, every muscle in my body relaxed as I sat down. Three words perfectly positioned in the middle of the paper.         ~~~ Kill Owen Wearing ~~~Three weeks had passed; the bruises had faded, the scrapes that had adorned my skin had healed. The only two remnants a discolouration on my back that the doctor said would fade in time, and the scar inside no one could see. That was something that I wouldn't ever allow to be seen or touched. The ping of phone drew my attention, collecting it from the unmade bed I'd just crawled out of I read the headline:   ~~~ Heir To Wearing Industries Found Dead ~~~ I reread the headline, the words screaming at me from the page, I wasn't sure how to react. Yes, it was what I wanted, there was never any time limits on our dares, but still reading it in black and white was different. He'd deserved it,  they deserved it, and I had no intention of feeling guilty. My eyes scanned the rest of the article reading what had happened. The car had, had a head collision with a wall; the picture left nothing to the imagination. The cars front end had crumbled under the force; the wall had hairline cracks a complaint of the impact. The paramedics had discarded clothes as they'd tried to save lives, bloodstains were evident on the fabric, on the road. The bastards had suffered, and it made me happy. No, it made me ecstatic. I cleared my phone, with a little pep in my step I went to the bathroom, considering to myself what the best way to say thank you was. It was slightly less brain hurting than I thought to find something. The three girls stood in my room. The blondes hair perfectly straight down her back apart from one errant piece which laid over her shoulder, dropping to her natural breasts. Chocolate brown eyes sparkled, her arms perfectly toned with a tan that would make most green with envy. She wore a pale grey silk dress, and the dress stopped in the middle of her perfectly shaped thighs, her ass perfectly pert. The sultry brunette looked around at the surroundings she found herself in, my bedroom wasn't that exciting. Her hair shone through the curls like those on the commercials on tv. She had slightly too much make-up on, her breasts slightly too big for her frame to be natural, the top she wore revealing that much. Her shorts left little to the imagination. The redhead had a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, and her short pixie-cut suited her. Her porcelain skin exquisite she too wore a dress, not overly tight and leaving something to the imagination. She would be his favourite. "Ladies please make your way to the room down the hallway, pass on my thanks." A small chuckle ran through my voice as I told informed them where to go. Anetta opened the door, the three women sauntered through the door and disappeared. I gave one look around my room and then picked up my coat. "Anetta, I think I will be out for the rest of the day." I walked down the hallway after leaving my room, and I didn't need to be here for the sounds of the show. The number of jewellery boxes under the tree gave me a silent message; the message was that the parental unit had no intention of turning up to celebrate to Christmas. The red boxes from Cartier, the royal blue boxes with trim from Bvlgari and the black boxes with HW initials scattered neatly. Anetta hovered around, waiting for someone to appear to consume the breakfast banquet that had been prepared, the smile and happiness she exuded had my mouth turning into a smile. Ignoring the gifts, I walked straight into the dining room. The heart of the home. Our heart though needed some sort of electric shock to bring it back to life and hail the return of the parents. A crisp, creaseless, pristine table cloth covered the solid wood, the edges perfectly falling towards the floor. Red snowflake placemats with white plates sat upon them, green napkins perfectly folded into a Christmas tree shape laid in the middle of the plate. I sat in my usual seat, the smells of breakfast mixed in the air but through that, the overwhelming aroma of coffee. Strong coffee. The clear pot placed in front of me, Anetta on the ball, as usual, her smile warm and only love sat in those old worn eyes. "Happy Christmas." Her voice high pitched, slightly excited. "Happy Christmas Anetta." A small chuckle ran through my voice as i replied. The double doors sat slightly ajar, and I couldn't help but look down the corridor, all the doors firmly closed. Anetta must have caught me looking. "He's not here."Anetta's soft, understanding voice said. I ignored her, my eyes firmly staring at the suddenly oh so alluring coffee pot. Of course, he wasn't, why would he be? No one else was either. "Bacon, sausage and eggs." I knew I'd snapped, but I couldn't help it. My plate of food was as perfect as always. As I ate, I looked around the table, imagining others sat with their families, laughter and chatter filling the air. Young children excitedly shuffling in their chairs for what surprises the day would bring them. My thoughts came back into the room to be greeted by silence. Every place setting still as it was when I sat down except mine, my knife and fork now sat close together on the dirty plate, my cup also had a circle of brown fluid in the bottom. I left the room, wandering down the hallway past my door to the double doors further down the corridor, the ones I'd been looking at through the ajar door. Placing my palm on the cold wood, hoping to feel something through it, of course, I didn't but the overwhelming need to feel something, feel warmth, had pulled me here but there was none to be had. There was nothing. I laid my forehead on the door, and a whispered "Please" The word came out somewhere between a plead and a sob. The sudden noises from the dining room had me removing myself from the door. I quickly composed myself in case Anetta did one of her appearing magical acts. The cleaning elves had been in my room. While I'd eaten breakfast, everything had returned in its rightful place. On top of the throw that now lay across my bed sat a box, not an expensive box like those that still lay beneath the tree. A plain, brown unassuming box. I bent down, lowering myself to my knees, my finger ran across the top of the box, I could feel my whole hand start to shake as my finger stopped and flipped it open. A red silk cushion held a silver band in place, the thick rudimentary silver seemed old, the lettering old fashioned and clunky. I took the bracelet out, slipping it onto my wrist. Perfection. As I looked down and read the words, 'Every fairytale needs a good old fashioned villain' I felt the tears start to fall down my cheeks. Before I knew it, everything that had happened over the last few months overwhelmed me. The attack, the killings. The being alone.

~TBC~

OC-tober day 4/5: Nature/Lost

This is late because it ended up being way longer than I intended. Also it’s a combo of two prompts.

@oc-growth-and-development

“There used to be trees here.” Miranda looked over to see that Titania had paused, looking out across what seemed to be a cluster of abandoned, derelict buildings.

“Here?” Miranda surveyed the scene from Titania’s side. It was difficult for her to imagine this place ever being anything but a decaying urban wasteland.

“Yes, a long time ago. They cut them down before you were born, to make room for all of this.” Then, to Miranda’s surprise, Titania smiled. It was a small, slight smile, a shadow of the one she wore in photographs, but it was a natural one. That alone made it worth more than a thousand signed pictures. “I used to come here with my brother, when we were kids.”

“Jetstream?” Miranda let slip without thinking, looking up in excitement.

“Sebastian.” Titania nodded, despite the correction. Well, Miranda reasoned, that had been before either of them were superheroes. But unlike her brother, Titania had only ever had one name. Like Miranda, she had only ever wanted one thing.

 It was late in the summer, and the city was enjoying one of its last warm days before the cold weather crept back in. Beneath the shade of the trees, two children were spending a different sort of last day.

Titania looked down from the high branch where she had perched herself, scanning the forest floor for any sign of her brother. It had taken only one gravity-defying leap and a subsequent bit of monkey-like scrambling to reach the top of the tallest tree, and from here she had a choice view of both the wide blue sky above and the woods underneath. It would still be a challenge to spot Sebastian, at least while he was moving.

She turned her head towards the sound of rustling leaves and cracking twigs and saw a blurry shape racing over the ground towards the tree where she sat. He knew this was her favourite one. Grinning broadly, Titania pushed off the branch and let herself fall.

It didn’t matter that she hit a few branches on the way down, or that she slammed into the ground hard enough to leave a dent. Titania sat up, still smiling, and looked into the deep blue eyes of her favourite person in the world.

“Boo!” she shouted, even though he had already seen her.

“I heard you battering all those branches – you’ll have to work harder to surprise me.” He grinned down at her. “Anyway, we’d better finish up what we’re doing. Mom’s gonna want us back in an hour.”

“What? We only just got here!” That wasn’t strictly true – it had been light when they left and the sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky – but time always seemed to run away while they were there.

“I know, but I’ve got somewhere important to go tomorrow.”

“Superhero school,” Titania said reverently. She knew if she were a character in one of her comic books, she would have stars drawn in her eyes. It was where she and Sebastian had longed to go for as long as she could remember. And it was where Sebastian was about to be the very next day. She slumped onto a nearby log, pouting. “I can’t believe you’re going tomorrow and I still have to wait five whole years.” It felt like a lifetime – and in all fairness it was more than half as long as her life had been so far.

“Well that’s what you get for being born second.” Sebastian teased. When she showed no sign of cheering up, he sat down beside her. “Hey, come on. You’ll get your chance, and it’ll come sooner than you think.” He paused, then added in a quieter voice. “I know it did for me.”

“It’s not just that.” The shady forest seemed suddenly colder; Titania felt goose bumps rising on her arms and folded them close to her chest. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“You know I’d take you with me if I could,” said Sebastian, “But unfortunately you’re too big to fit in my suitcase.” She didn’t laugh. “Come on.” Sebastian tugged one of her pigtails, setting the curls bouncing. “This is the last day I get with my little sister for weeks and we’re wasting it moping around? Is that what heroes do?”

“No,” Titania admitted.

“Of course not. We keep our chins up.” To illustrate his words he reached over and lifted Titania’s chin. She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling – the way he was grinning at her was infectious. Without warning, Sebastian’s fingers moved down to tickle her neck. Titania shrieked and fell sideways off the log to land, giggling, in the damp grass.

“Hey!” She sat up, unable to fight off a smile. “I’m gonna throw you in the river.”

“Like you could catch me.” Sebastian ran a circle around her and the log within a second, as if to prove his point. “Speaking of the river, weren’t we gonna build a bridge across it?”

“Oh yeah!” Titania scrambled to her feet. “We can use this.” She reached down and hefted up the log, which swung in a wide arc as she lifted it effortlessly onto her shoulder. It came close to hitting Sebastian, but he was quick enough to dodge with ease.

“Watch out!” He grabbed hold of one end. “Okay, you hold it, I’ll steer.” Titania followed him towards the river.

She would have followed him anywhere.

 ---***---

 It was the end of the summer again, almost fifteen years after their last day in the woods. Though Titania hadn’t set foot in that particular forest since she had left school, the place had never been far from her mind. Being under the trees had always been a comfort to her. Their thick trunks stood tall and strong like sentinels, still and silent through the years. Those trees had sprouted long before she was born, and would go on living long after she was gone. At least, that was what she had thought.

Her plans had taken her out of England as soon as her final year was over. Like every summer during her schooling, she had flown out to New York City to work under Liberty, her hero mentor. But unlike those other times, she did not return when September came. She had spent a busy few years in America. There was no shortage of crime in New York City alone, but once Liberty’s severe standards had finally been satisfied, Titania had been set free to roam the rest of the states, helping out wherever the need arose. Among the dazzling sights she had seen on her travels were some of the most magnificent trees she had ever witnessed – hundreds of feet tall, and so immense in girth that an arch could be cut into the trunk large enough for a car to drive through. Yet despite all the wonders on her journey, Titania soon felt something calling her back to her old home. And so she packed up her things and bought a ticket to Heathrow airport. That was how it came to be that a few weeks later, during a brief gap in her busy schedule, she stood at the edge of her and Sebastian’s favourite playing ground.

At least, that was where she should be. Titania looked from the multi-storey car park, down to her map, back to the car park again. This couldn’t be the right street. Had they changed the names? Had she forgotten the address while she’d been busy in the United States? Then her eyes landed on the sign above the supermarket: Red Oak Outlet. This was the place, all right. But the red oaks themselves were nowhere to be seen. Titania felt her heart sink into her stomach. They were just trees, she tried to tell herself, old trees she hadn’t seen in years. But somehow it felt like more than just the forest had been erased from this place. Something else had been kept alive, preserved beneath that canopy of green leaves, within the walls of those sturdy tree trunks. Inside the forest it would always be that last day of summer she had spent with Sebastian.

Now that too had been lost.

 ---***---

 “How long has it been like this?” Miranda’s voice ripped Titania out of her memories and back into reality. The girl was staring out over the derelict buildings, her lips pressed together. “Empty, I mean.”

“A few years now, I think.” Titania had avoided the place since that first time. Until recently.

“Huh. I thought they would have built something else here.”

“It’s been up for sale for a long time, but no one wanted to buy it,” Titania explained, “Too much work to be done for not enough profit, or something like that.”

“Do you think anyone will buy it?” Miranda wondered out loud. “Someone should. It’s depressing, how it’s just sitting here empty.”

“I agree. Most of all, I’d want someone to plant trees here again.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” Miranda paused. Then she looked up at Titania with wide eyes. “We’re someone.” For the second time that day, Titania smiled without even thinking about it.

“That’s right.” It was exactly the thing she would expect Miranda to say. She was that kind of person – the one whose first answer to ‘someone should’ was ‘why not me?’. It was something Titania understood all too well. Which was why she had bought the old forest land when she had found the opportunity. She didn’t have the money left for demolition, or clearing the land, or re-seeding, but she had a different plan for that. Titania placed a hand on Miranda’s shoulder. “Want to learn how to knock down a concrete wall?”

“Yes!” Miranda looked like she might explode from excitement. “I’ve wanted to try that before, but obviously I didn’t have anything to practice on because it would get broken, and I don’t know if copying your power would be easier if you were actually there, because I think that helped when I used it that other time even though I didn’t actually know it was going to work, so maybe I did it because it was an emergency? I don’t know.” Titania nodded, in no hurry to interrupt.

It would be a long time before the trees were fully grown. Even if she wasn’t already dying, Titania doubted she would have lived to see that day. But the point of planting a tree was not to see it grow yourself. It was something you did for others, after you were gone.

Free Falling (short story)

Short story with @dragonkingteo @nero-the-fallen @smolderingempress @elderchameleos @ask-the-thunder-strike-mizutsune @black-dragon-fortress and @kushasfrozengale

(thanks for letting me “steal” your characters)

Edit - changed all of Black’s pronouns to “they”

Google docs link if you want a nicer format.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1E969RZrjO6yOeLnejzsf4_GMdvmecM9yvS4w6LiEQvE/edit?usp=sharing

You could call him a bad boy. He sauntered up to the counter ofThe Empress. A cocky move considering that it was at the border between two gang territories. To the north was Kusha’s gang, to the south was Teo’s. But this wasn’t any ordinary bad boy. He went straight to the bar to the flaming beauty at the counter.

“Hey Luna.” he said, lowering his sunglasses and wiggling his eyebrows at her.

She sharply turned around.

“Look what the cat dragged in. What’ll it be this time? A shot of Fireball? Or a hasty escape in the back?”

Her head cocked to the side, one severe eyebrow slightly raised.

“Aw come on now, Luna. What, I can’t go see my muse every once in a while?” he teased.

He leaned over the counter, his tail curled up his back. She scoffed and playfully shoved him off.

*THUMP* The door swung open. A scruffy looking dude came up to the counter and hastily ordered something that was aptly named “The Danger Zone”. Teo raised an eyebrow. It was Nero. This was their way of passing secret messages. Pretending to lean over the counter to Luna again, he gave Nero a chance to whisper.

    “Its Kusha.”

Luna heard the conversation.

    “Need to run and hide tail?” she teased.

Teo stood up and adjusted his vest. Nero downed his drink and slid on a bandana to cover his face..

    “Not this time. This is neutral turf. And I got my guys.”

He turned and started to head out the building. Nero and a crimson figure in the back got up and followed him.

    “Nice to see ya, Gharial.” Teo said to the Fatalis.

    “Can’t miss a fight with my old friend, now can I?” said Gharial, as he lit a new cigarette.

Outside was the tempest dragon herself: Kusha. She had her arms crossed and a cocky smile on her face. Next to her was a Valstrax: Riley Jetstream.

    “Well well. If it isn’t flame brain.” Kusha smirked.

Teo flexed his hands. Nero slid a hand towards his pockets. Riley started to shrug her shoulders.  

    “What are you doin’ here fork nose? Getting bored up north?” Teo scoffed.

    “This is neutral territory. So if you will excuse me. Riley and I have thirsts to quench.” She flipped her hair and started to walk forward. Her shoulder shoved against Teo as she went in. Riley followed, sticking her tongue out at Teo and the others.

    “Watch ‘em.” Teo said to Nero

Nero nodded and went back into the bar. Teo decided to hang out next to the entrance with Gharial.

    “Just lettin’ her go?” Gharial asked.

    “Its neutral ground. Gramps made us promise that.” Teo explained.

This was the first time they met since the meeting Grandpa Chammy arranged. He had made the two promise to keep this area neutral. And surprisingly, it worked. They had not had any fights recently. She stayed North, he stayed South.

Inside the bar, Kusha went up to the counter and sat down. Riley slid in next to her, ordering a shot of Fireball whisky.

    “Gotta get somethin’ to warm up my passion for you.” Riley smiled.

Kusha playfully shoved her.

    “You really are a dork, Riley.” Kusha laughed.

As far as Nero could tell, the two were being pretty pedestrian.

About an hour later, a felyne came up to Teo. It was Mocha, acting as casual as can be. She handed Teo a note, and then silently disappeared into the shadows. It was brief: “Black, Central” and it was signed with a pawprint. Teo glanced at Gharial, who was already snuffing out his cigarette.

    “Black… This ain’t good. We need backup.”

Teo glanced into the bar where Kusha was.

    “Teo wait. We should…” Gharial began, but there was no stopping him.

They were dangerously low on members. Teo went inside and slid the note to Kusha. At first, she was going to sweep it off the table, like a cat would, but something in his expression made her change her mind. She read the note… and both eyebrows went up.

    “That is your territory.” she said seriously.

Teo nodded. Central was where Teo’s territory ended and Kusha’s territory began. It wasn’t quite Kusha’s holding yet, but it was dangerously close. Judging by the tense movements of her tail, Teo could see that she was anxious too.

    “Truce?” he asked, offering his hand.

Kusha stared at it suspiciously. Riley next to her kept whispering “what if it's a trap?” behind her.

    “How serious is this?” Kusha asked suddenly.

She had an idea what was going on in that area of Teo’s hood. Teo leaned down to her.

    “Very.”

Kusha surprised them all. She took Teo’s hand and shook it.

A few hours later, they were gathered at Central in front of one of Teo’s buildings. Black’s men, The Fatalis Mafia,  were searching every building in the area, terrorizing the civilians. The whole time since Mocha delivered the news, Gharial was unusually grim. Teo had brought all of his followers, and Kusha had brought herself and a few others, Riley included. They were armed with whatever they had.

    “When Black comes here, we watch their movements. They are quick to anger and quicker to destroy.” Teo warned.

    “Surprised the cops haven’t come yet.” Riley muttered to Kusha.

They surrounded the area. Nero and Riley were at the roof, keeping watch and taking the role of backup. Kusha and Teo were front with several others.

    “Why this building flame breath?” Kusha asked.

    “It's important.” he said, shortly.

They came like the dead of night. A company of fifteen armed to the teeth. But Black wasn’t there. Baring his fangs, Teo stepped up.

    “What the hell do you want?” he asked.

    “You know who we want, Teostra. Where’s the girl?” one of them asked.

    “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Kusha snorted.

At this point, she understood what Teo was trying to do. The Mafia took out their weapons, and the rag tag gang alliance followed suit. They weren’t allowed to use guns in the streets, else risk the wrath of the local police. The fight was expected to be long and dirty = knives only.

    “You’re not getting in.” Teo snarled as he ran forward, Kusha at his side.

Thus the blood bath began. Slashing, fighting tooth and nail, that was how a gangster fought. People in nearby homes and businesses were barricading their doors and watching with fearful eyes. Blood splattered on the ground. The Mafia quickly forced the other two back into the building. Even with back up, Teo and Kusha were outnumbered.

    “Teo. We gotta flee.” came Gharial’s voice.

He was leaning against the wall, his right eye sealed shut and bleeding. Kusha, who had a few cuts on her arm, peeked out to see the action. Her eyes widened when she saw Nero and Riley. They had jumped into the fight to make sure their leaders could escape.

    “Riley!” Kusha shouted, getting up and running back in.

Teo tried to stop her, but could not stop her in time. She was back in the fight, slashing and kicking like her life depended on it. Cursing his luck, Teo jumped back in. If Kusha was going to have a last stand, so would he.

    “POLICE! POLICE!” someone shouted.

They turned and saw a group of police cars zooming in. Cops came out, armed with guns. A Mizutsune came out with a loudspeaker and handed the mic to a Rathian. For those who were familiar with run ins with the law, they knew the Mizu to be Lucy and the Rathian to be Alex, both hardened members of the force.

    “Put your weapons down! You are surrounded!” Alex shouted.

Helicopters hovered overhead, aiming guns at all of them. The Mafia started to put their weapons down… when one of them suddenly grabbed Teo and another grabbed Kusha, putting knives to their necks.     “Shoot us, they die.” the Mafia said.

The cops hesitated. Yes they were gangsters, but the police didn’t like having a high body count. Toe and Kusha snarled, trying to break free, but it was hard with the knives there.

    “Kusha!” Riley cried, but there was little she could do with the cops and the Fatalis Mafia there.

What happened next was a bit of a mystery. A small ball had landed in the middle of the fight. Intense white mist came out, covering everyone’s vision. The cops went in and tried to grab the escaping gangsters. Lucy came in and managed to pistol whip one of the Mafia members, shoving him to the side in the process.

    “Hands up! Hands up!” Alex shouted from the speaker.

When the smoke cleared, the police looked around, guns at the ready. They had taken down three of Black’s followers. Everyone else disappeared.

A few hours later… the sun was beginning to rise. Teo and Kusha’s gangs were sitting in a safe house, licking their wounds. Teo had decided to let Kusha in for going out of her way to help him. Kusha was kneeling next to Riley, wiping at a large gash she had on her forehead.

    “You reckless dork… Almost made me panic back there.” Kusha scolded.

    “You ain’t gonna get rid of this dork so easily.” Riley teased.

Teo went over to them and gave a small cough. He was pretty cut up too. Nothing a few bandages wouldn’t patch up. Kusha stood up to meet him.

    “What?” she asked.

    “Hey uh… I just wanted to say… thanks.” he said.

Kusha shrugged.

    “You didn’t have to stick your neck out for me. Now this isn’t a truce but…”

She stopped him with a finger.

    “I know you would’ve done the same flame breath.”

She knelt down and helped Riley to her feet.

    “See you around furball. And… take care of the girl.”

With that, Kusha and her gang left. Teo watched as they disappeared into the alleyways. Gharial came up behind him, smoking a new cigarette. His face was patched up.

    “Siding with the enemy? You’re gettin’ soft Teo.” Gharial chuckled.

    “Like you can say anything. We did all of this for Ely.” Teo reminded.

Gharial sighed and nodded.

    “Yeah. And I’m very thankful for that. Because of the standoff, Ely moved to a safer location.”

    “Hey, what are friends for? We made this gang so we can stick together.” said Teo,

putting his hand around Gharial’s shoulder.

Teo gazed out and watched as the sun rose. Though the sun was his domain, the darkness was not. As the sun went up, the black shadows grew longer and farther.

He’d had to read the letter a few times to make sense of it. It had to be a mistake. Even when Mom showed up and asked him what it was, when she read it and gasped her pride, he didn’t believe it. 

“Valedictorian?!” She’d exclaimed it so loud he was sure the neighbours would pound on the walls and tell them to shut up. “Oh, honey, that’s amazing!” She threw her arms around his shoulders. That was a mistake, he wanted to say. Had to be. He was able to swipe the letter again when she was hugging him. ... Nope. That was his name, alright. ‘Mr. Warren E. Peace’. ... Yeah.

Had to be a joke, then. There’s no way this would be allowed. He wasn’t stupid, he knew how these things worked. Kids like him didn’t get to be representatives of anything aside from ‘What Not To Be’ posters. Hell, he was lucky the Board was even letting him graduate. He still remembered hearing Mom arguing over the phone to even let him be allowed to attend Sky High. She thought he hadn’t heard. He had. He’d just never gotten around to letting her know. But, if they’d disliked him so much then, before he’d even gotten involved in the super community, what had changed? Yes, some things were different. Sort of. The Stronghold Support Group had been making waves. But progress had been slow. There’d been a lot of backlash. It wasn’t surprising, but, it was pretty extreme. Everyone seemed ready to pounce at everyone else’s throat for the tiniest thing. So, putting him on a pedestal in front of everyone - Baron Battle’s son, on stage for the world to see? That was throwing a match into a pot of kerosene and expecting nothing to go wrong.

... Unless that was their plan. Let everything go wrong and then crow about how they’d been right about him, all along. Did that sound paranoid? Absolutely. Might as well start building the tinfoil hat now. But he had his reasons. It’s not like anyone in the super community had been friendly to him since- Well, ever. (With five lovable, dorky exceptions.) This was a major one-eighty. It didn’t make any sense. (And, unknowingly, he was right. It had taken a lot of arguing back and forth at both the Board and Agency meetings for this to be considered ‘acceptable’. Nobody told him that, though.) But, if they were waiting for him to crash and burn, they could keep waiting. Spite was one hell of a motivator. ... And this would look great on his college applications, if he didn’t mess it up. And Mom seemed so excited, he wouldn’t ruin this for her. 

(He wasn’t sure if he was excited or not. He was mostly just nervous. Nervous and stressed.)

The stress would only continue to grow. If he’d thought he’d had a shortage of free time before, that was nothing compared to how things were now. Most lunch breaks were spent in the library researching and wearing pencils to the nub, or... Talking to people. That was probably the hardest part, for a few reasons, and he had to recruit a few of the others for help in that department. Sped up the process, at least. Many hands make light work. He brought books to the Lantern to read while he washed, as usual, but the subject matter was different. After his weekend shifts, he’d bus or walk down to the city library (it was quieter than the apartment, and the resources there were beyond helpful). A bit of negotiating let him in to the school computer lab to use the printer. The stack of papers got a raised eyebrow or two. Most people just assumed it was for a report or something. He didn’t bother correcting them.

The last few days of school came and went. He was grateful he’d gotten so much time in advance to work on this. (If he’d asked around, he’d learn that he had Principal Powers to thank for that. She knew he worked, and so decided early notice was more than fair. But Warren didn’t ask. So Warren didn’t know.) Exams seemed to fly by. Warren had to put speech-writing on hold for studying. He’d sacrificed sleep, meals, a social life (not like he had one, anyways), and more things than he could count for a 4.0 throughout his entire high school career, he wasn’t losing that, now. He made himself feel better about the ‘lack of productivity’ by having Mom read the drafts over in the mean time. There weren’t too many others who could, due to the subject matter. But he knew what he wanted to talk about, and thought the inconvenience was worth it. After a few days spent with his face buried in a textbook on different peoples’ couches, tests were done and scores were in. Report cards came home. He sat on the stairs with the others - by the ledge, in their usual spot - and listened to groans of dismay, exclamations of surprise, and proud pats on the back. He offered a bit of sympathy himself, a few teasing remarks. The usual faire. Good-byes when his bus driver stepped to the driver’s seat. Offered a somewhat forced smirk at their enthusiasm at the upcoming graduation, a shrug and a nod at promises to sit together. Like he’d hang with anyone else. The six of them were a clique of their own, always had been, always would be. (He hoped so, anyway.) 

He showed Mom his report card. She seemed proud as she always did. Added a teasing ‘I’m not surprised’ and tugged him down to kiss his forehead. 

“Oh, Warren, you’ve worked so hard.” She said, giving him a squeeze. “But you did it! You survived!” 

“I did.” He said, returning the hug. She was so little... It was easy to forget she used to be a superhero. She stepped back and placed her hands on either side of his face, smiling a watery-eyed smile up at him.

“Guess we’ve gotta start thinking about college for you, now, huh?” She said that so sincerely. Like it’s something they’d ever be able to afford. 

“Might take a year off.” He shrugged. Like that’d make a difference. She frowned, brushed some hair from his face. 

“You don’t have to.” She said, and he averted his eyes. “We can make it work.” He nodded, pressed his lips into a thin line. In his dreams. He didn’t say that, though. Didn’t want to kill the mood. She sighed and shook her head, dropping her hands to his shoulders.

“You’ve grown up so fast, you know that?” She tilted her head to the side. He nodded. (’Too fast’, she might’ve said. But this wasn’t the time or place for that conversation.) “Feels like just yesterday, we were trying to teach you your ABC’s.”

“Think I’ve got the hang of them, now.” He says, offering a smile. She grins back and nods with a soft laugh.

“I know you do.” She hugs him again, tighter, this time. (He’s pretty sure he heard his back crack.) “I’m so proud of you, baby.” He hugged her back, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Thanks, Mom.” 

... If he’d thought she looked like she was about to cry then, that was nothing compared to grad night. The Peace family had tried to avoid the super community for years. This would be Mom’s first step back in years. (Not entirely true. She’d made a few calls when the Board had kicked up a fuss about Warren’s attending Sky High, and the agents there had learned that Monsoon was titled after a storm for a reason.) This would be the first time Warren faced them all like this. So, he’d gotten done up in his dad’s old suit. The same one he’d worn to homecoming on that first wild and unbelievable year. And she’d gotten a dress from... Somewhere. When he’d asked, she said she was borrowing it from a friend. He thought she looked great, anyways. As for the suit, well - he regretted it. Graduation robes were hot, even to him. Mitigating the heat with his powers only did so much. He was considering taking off his jacket, but decided against it. 

The ribbon draped over his shoulders drew some stares and even more whispers. The same sort of things he’d thought. Warren Peace? Really, that’s who they chose? Bullshit, said some. This oughta be good, said some others. Who’d his dad kill to make that happen?, said a third party. Who’d his mom-- The fourth was cut off by a glare and a snarl. Congrats, said his friends, who mostly already knew, calming the air to a tangible extent. They walked in in procession, and he regretted the fact that the line was alphabetical (last names), but at least Maj was behind him. Peace and Queen, v. 2.0. The guy in front of him - Freddie Park - glanced over his shoulder a few times as they waited outside the gym. Warren didn’t bother to ask why. They filed in to some ridiculous orchestral music. Parents waved and clapped and cheered and camera flashes mixed in with the school lighting. He picked Mom out of the crowd. Looked like she’d gotten there early enough to get a decent seat. Maj’s mom was beside her, of course. Peace and Queen, v. 1.0. Mom was smiling so hard it looked like she was about to split her face in half. She waved, and the little disposable in her hand flashed a few times. He did his best to avoid looking too embarrassed and slid into his seat, kicking the paper-filled waste basket under the chair so he’d have somewhere to put his feet. 

The teachers did their best to stress the alphabetical order, and, for the most part, it worked. But that didn’t stop people from leaning back in their seats to talk across the rows and aisles. Quips about the speeches the staff made. Harsher quips about the Board’s. At least they all knew the teachers, but when some old suit got up to drone on in front of a bunch of super-teens and thought they’d pay attention, it was only the fact that their parents were here and this was grad night that kept it from turning into a bloodbath. A roar of cheers broke out when The Commander and Jetstream took the stage to present the trophy for ‘Hero of the Year’. (Yeah, based on the Royal Pain one. Someone had the bright idea to turn the whole thing around and make it into an award for the graduating class. Not what Warren would call a good move, but, nobody asked him.) There were notably fewer cheers when Mr. Boy got up to present Sidekick of the Year. (That was a thing, too. Warren figured there was some bigwig patting themselves on the back for being so progressive.) Hero went to Will, to nobody’s surprise. The votes had been pretty unanimous. Sidekick went to Gina Connors. Will, of course, said he couldn’t have done it without his friends. This was met with vocal support from the rest of their group, and even Warren clapped along. The camaraderie was ruined when Jetstream - Josie - kissed her son on the cheek, and the fact that Will’s blush was visible from the back row sent snickers rippling across his peers. Warren didn’t really agree with Gina’s win, but, he was probably bias. ... He also thought that her powers might have had something to do with it. Handwriting mimicry. But his vote probably hadn’t counted for much. 

He’d written four names on the ballot, after all. Probably against the rules.

He got a handful of awards. Shared the Phys-Ed one with Will, and nobody was surprised. They were a team, after all. People were shocked at the community service one, though, and so was he (he shared that with Taylor Lewis and Layla. There weren’t many three-way ties like that). He collected a few plaques, a few pins, a few cords, and the gold-standard certificate. Had to pile all of them on his chair when it was finally time to go up. (He’d noticed, as he was stepping down from the podium with the certificate, Mom switching a new roll of film into the camera. Where’d she gotten the money for that?)

Deep breath. 

He pulled the trash bin out from under his chair and weaved his way through tie aisles. Maj gave him a nod of encouragement, which he mutely returned. There was a hush as he took the stage. A few whispers. A handful of claps. Mostly from Mom, Ms. Queen, and the rest of the SSG. Looked like he really could count on them for anything. He set the trash can down by the side of the podium (ignored the confused looks) and let the papers rest just under the microphone. He opened his mouth to speak, and--

“YEAH, that’s my BOY!” Zach’s voice was so loud, it almost seemed like he was trying to give Boomer a run for his money. Abigail Bruin and Leslie Black (to either side of him) had jolted away like that would save their eardrums. Little late for that. Still, it broke the tension a bit. Warren was grateful, in spite of his raised eyebrow and rolled eyes. Waited for silence. It wasn’t a long wait. He picked up the first page of his stack. 

“July fourth, 1776. Declaration of Independence. ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal’.” He held up the paper for all to see, two fingers on the bottom of the page. He looked up just in time to catch the gasp when that hand caught ablaze. “Not at Sky High.” He dropped the paper into the bin, flicking a bit of fire in after it to keep it ablaze. He picked up the second piece of paper. 

“December fifteenth, 1791.  Amendment Six. ‘In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury’.” This was also set on fire and dropped into the trash can. “Not at Sky High.” If people weren’t paying attention before, it looked like they were, now. 

“December tenth, 1948. Universal Declaration of Human Rights. ‘All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood.’”   Also set on fire, also dropped into the trash can. “Not at Sky High.” By now, there was a decent blaze at his side, and a lot of the adults in the room looked visibly on edge. (Mom looked proud. She’d heard him practice this a dozen or more times.) 

“When I was six,” he looked up, ignoring the script he’d prepared, just in case. “If you asked me what my dad did, I would’ve told you he sold cars. And I would’ve been proud of it.” He pulled a tiny Hot Wheelz out of his jacket pocket. Picked it up at the second-hand store earlier that week. “I didn’t understand how cover careers worked. I was six. All I knew was that cars were cool.” He let the car roll across the podium as he talked. A faint smattering of chuckles through the crowd. He caught the car before it fell. “I thought I wanted to be like him. I wanted to sell cars. Or drive them. My friends and I used to talk about being in NASCAR when we grew up.” That hand caught fire, now, blazing brilliant white with wound-tight nerves. When he opened his hand, the car was gone, and a mangled mess of plastic and metal sagged in its place.

“August fourteenth.” If his voice sounded unsteady here, he didn’t notice. “1997. International Court of Justice transcription, Judge Quyen Tran presiding. ‘For your crimes against humanity too numerous to recount, I hereby sentence you to four consecutive life sentences within the North Alaskan Penitentiary for the Supernaturally Enabled. May you never again see the light of day’.” It hurt to read, but he kept his composure as he tossed the metal-plastic lump into the flaming waste basket. It wobbled slightly, and he steadied it with his foot. 

“Baron Battle got his trial. Warren Peace didn’t.” He didn’t look up at the crowd, and didn’t admit to himself that he couldn’t. “The day before I turned seven years old, I received my own life sentence. Just the one - but it was enough. It was different than the kind Judge Tran would’ve given me. The sentence I got,” he did look up here, briefly. “is the kind with no cell, no shackles, but still prevents you from ever being free. It’s the kind that makes every door close before you get anywhere near it.” He looked to Mom for a confidence boost. She was nodding, smiling a smile that seemed strained. He figured she wouldn’t be smiling for long. He was getting to the part where he’d stopped reading to her and started reading to the mirror. 

“The sentence I got is the kind that makes grown adults look at a seven-year-old kid - one who still wears velcro sometimes, because tying shoes is a new thing - and say that he’s never going anywhere in life. The kind that makes teachers look at a kid who can barely see over the top of their desk and think ‘he must have done something to deserve it’ when he says something about how he’s being treated. The kind that makes them look down their noses from their safe ten-foot distance at a kid who’s just graduated from picture books and talk. Maybe they thought I couldn’t hear. But I could. It was like living in an echo chamber. People said I was dangerous. I’d never amount to anything. I’d end up in juvie, if I was lucky, and my poor mother for having to put up with me.” An exhale against the silence. “The thing is, when you hear that often enough... You start to believe it. By the time I was in middle school, I thought they were right. I mean, if everyone-” He looked up again, caught his mother’s gaze. “Almost everyone, is so convinced of that, who am I to tell them ‘no’? You just start to accept the majority’s rule. You believe you’re a criminal, even if you have no record. You believe you’re good-for-nothing, even if you try your hardest. You believe you’re a burden on everyone around you and curse your invulnerabilty to Hell and back from preventing you from lifting that burden.” There was a different kind of silence over the room, now. A colder one. A heavier one.

He kept going. 

“I never got a trial. I never saw a jury. But a thousand judges sat before me and the verdict was unanimous. And with all the naivety of youth, I thought I was the only defendant. But that wasn’t the case. When I first came to Sky High, I had a reputation before I even walked through the door. I’ll admit, I didn’t do much to get rid of it. I might as well own up to the cafeteria thing, now, since everyone already knows about it. That one’s on me. ... But it was Stronghold who put the holes in the walls.”

“My bad,” Will offered from where he sat. Warren smirked and rolled his eyes. A few quiet laughs in the audience. 

“Back then, I thought it was just me. That I’d said or done something back in first grade to deserve all of it. That something was wrong with me. ... Turns out that assumption was what was wrong. It’s not just me. It was never just me.” He straightened his stack of papers, took a second to straighten his posture. 

“Donna Reese was in the year above ours. Her grandmother was a villain who called herself Lady Fracture. Donna’s mother is unpowered and a civilian. I ran into Donna not long before tonight. She works at an autoshop as a secretary and apprentice, volunteers at a soup kitchen in her free time, and never misses an episode of Criminal Minds. She also can’t get hired by the Agency as a hero. She’s applied seventeen times to date. When she asked why they turned her away, she was told that she was too dangerous. Too unpredictable. She’s pretty sure that’s also why she gets stopped and searched at the gate every time she goes back to the Agency, when everyone else is allowed to pass through without interruption. Donna’s eighteen years old, and has no record. Not even for speeding. She’s not old enough to drink, but apparently, she is old enough to give up on.” That paper was also dropped, flaming, into the trash can. The dying embers devoured it greedily. 

“Phillip Ashfield is a sophomore here at Sky High. His cousin is a villain called Bile Intent, who’s currently locked up in Fort Brant. That’s medium-security, for those wondering. Phil’s a comic book enthusiast who’ll talk about his favourite heroes with anyone who’ll listen, and some people who won’t. In his freshman year, you could always pick him out of a crowd, ‘cause he always had someone’s logo on his T-shirt. He had the Commander’s castle on a few times, Beacon’s lamp, Gold Fang’s gate, Animalia’s pawprint, and I even saw him with Mom’s ‘M’ on, once or twice. His friends told me he always got so excited when someone recognized who he was supporting that day. He wanted to be just like them.” He looked up from his paper here to fix the crowd with an almost accusatory stare. “He wanted to be just like you.” A pause to let that sink in, before he looked back to his papers. “I’m using the past-tense for this, and the shirts, because a few days before the end of his freshman year, Phillip Ashfield, age 14, was cornered by a handful of upper-year students in his way home from school and physically assaulted. I got a chance to talk to his parents, and they said it was hard to tell how bad the beating actually was, since he’d had paint thrown over him and the limited-edition 1988 Jetstream shirt he’d been so proud of. He’d reportedly been told to stop pretending. That he wasn’t fooling anyone. He’d never be a hero, and they’d probably already had a bed waiting for him at Brant. That he should do everyone a favour and lock himself up before he hurt somebody. And yeah, before you ask, I’ve been told similar. Phil was fourteen then, he’s fifteen now, and I never saw him in anyone’s logo again. He’s barely old enough to get a learner’s permit, but he’s beyond old enough to condemn.” Another burning paper dropped into the bin. 

“Jason Jaspers, son of Marco Polarity and a civilian father. Jason likes card tricks and poker and country music. He hates being in school and skips frequently. Hangs out with a group of civilians at the Spotlight down town. But I can’t blame him. Would you like going to a place where your locker was so badly vandalized you couldn’t open it any more? Where you had an entire bowl of punch dumped onto you your first homecoming? Where you had your clothes stolen at gym, only to turn up later clogging one of the toilets in the guys’ washroom? And, by the way, gym clothes belong to the school, so, better hope you have something else to wear home, Jay. He’s turning seventeen in a week, and he’s already decided he’s not applying to the Agency. He’s heard the same stories that I have- The same ones Donna heard, Phil heard, that so many kids like us hear: They don’t want us there. Just like everywhere we’ve tried before, they don’t want us. So I don’t know what Jay’s gonna do with his life, but I sure as hell don’t blame him for leaving the community behind.” Another flaming paper. He was glad he had the fire to vent, otherwise it’d be a lot harder to keep his composure.

“Whether our parents, grandparents, cousins, relatives, whoever deserved what they got, sure, yeah, they probably did. But we didn’t. I didn’t think that way at the time. I still thought it was just us. I still thought it was justice. That we’d done something wrong, all of us, to deserve the harassment and the abuse, because that’s what it was. That we as children still trying to find our place in the world had done something so horrible that for my entire experience at Sky High, all four years, there was only one teacher who was halfway decent to me throughout and that was Coach Boomer.” He pointed in the Coach’s general direction. “But I’m sorry, Coach, ‘cause if we’re still following the court metaphor, then you’ve presided over more mistrials than I can count, because it still wasn’t just us. And it never was.”

“When Will and I totaled the cafeteria, we both got detention for it. Not my proudest moment, but, hey, I had it coming, I’ll admit. Meanwhile, there were a pair of upper years who wreaked havoc every day. Half-drowned kids and their belongings in the toilets, stole lunch money and food, assaulted and harassed the staff in front of crowds of people. I didn’t meet them in detention. I met them in gym, because they were the star athletes. What’s the difference? They targeted sidekicks. I can’t help but wonder - If Will hadn’t gotten his powers in time to throw me through the teacher’s lounge, would I have gotten in trouble for it? I dunno. Maybe not. Those two - Speed and Lash if you’re curious, you probably remember what happened to them - weren’t the only ones, even if they were the worst. Making life hell for the sidekick class was a school tradition. My friend Zach--”

“WOO!” Came a voice from the crowd.

“Yeah, that’s you.” Warren nodded. “In Freshman year, he got the award for ‘Most Useless Superpower’.” When he looked up again, accusation was mixed with an angry defiance. “Why is that a thing? In what world is it okay to tell a fourteen-year-old, in a written, official school document, that he’s useless? ... I guess the same world where telling another freshman that he’s lucky the Agency is letting him step on school property is acceptable. ‘Cause I’ll tell you right now, the fact that we have that award is disgusting, and Zach is anything but useless. He’s one of the most painfully upbeat and optimistic people I know. He’ll face any challenge head-on without flinching, he’d rather die before betraying a friend or leaving someone behind, and he’s the first person in the caf to start shoving food at me if he thinks I’m not eating enough. He’s a damn good person who any of you would be lucky to be anything like, and he doesn’t deserve the shit you put him through,” (Oh, they weren’t too happy about the language.) “And don’t ask me to repeat myself, Glowstick, because we both know I’m not gonna. But, you know what? Maybe being a good person at Sky High is useless. That’d explain why there are so few of them. ‘Cause just like the list of kids like me, the list of kids like Zach goes on. Andy Dwyer graduated school flinching when half the hero class of his year walked by. Mavis Acrowitz was five minutes late to every class because there were some halls she was terrified to walk through, so she had to find other routes. Leo Winters was a master at faking sick, because the nurse’s office was the only place he could eat his lunch in peace. Toby Price did homework for himself and the Hero who had a locker next to his - Bec Lewis - so he’d be left alone, and took the blame from his parents when his grades slipped as a result. Scott Green just dropped out. Couldn’t take it any more. Dunno what happened to him.”

“It wasn’t a secret these things were happening. We all knew it. But it happened out in the open, and it was never really punished, so we assumed that’s just how things were. When the staff turned a blind eye or even encouraged it, that only cemented the idea. And Mr. Boy - I never had you myself, but one thing came up pretty frequently when I was talking to people about this. You were almost unanimously the favourite teacher, because you made the kids you taught, the sidekicks - the Hero Support - feel like maybe, just maybe, they weren’t worthless, after all. Maybe they could amount to something, even if it was living in someone else’s shadow.” He looked up again. “Think about for a second. In this entire school, only one teacher told an entire class of kids they had some value. Only one teacher out of the entire faculty treated them with the respect the Declaration-” (he pointed to the trash can) “says they deserve. And he was a sidekick, too. I can’t be the only one who sees a problem with that.”

“When I helped save the school from Royal Pain - and yes, I am playing that card - I won the award for ‘Most Likely to be a Villain’. I got it every year. Even this year. You can check the year books if you don’t believe me, but you probably do. You guys voted for it, after all.”  A bitter shrug. “That was the year Zach got ‘most useless superpower’. And someone got that award every year, too. That kind of thing sends a message. It tells us that it doesn’t matter what we do. Our actions and our efforts aren’t important. All that matters is things completely outside of our control. Whether it’s kids like me who get blamed for things our relatives did or kids like the sidekicks who get shunned for the powers they were born with, you look at us and brand us as criminals, as losers, and wastes of time and wastes of your breath. You see us as failures and throw us away before we ever get the chance to be anything else!” There’s heat distortion around his hand as he gestures to the trash can again, but he clenches his fist and takes a breath and it’s gone before any fire can bloom. “But who cares? Because all we are is villains and sidekicks. And you’re the good guys. ... Which only makes the fact that I have to get up here and tell you this all the more ridiculous.”

“You’re the adults.” He waved a hand to the crowd. “We’re the children.” He thumped himself in the chest with an open palm. “You’re supposed to be showing us right from wrong. But not at Sky High. You’re the teachers, we’re the students. You’re supposed to be encouraging us - all of us - to be the best we possibly can. But not at Sky High. You’re superheroes. It’s your duty by choice - A responsibility you willingly took on - to stand up to injustice, to protect those who can’t protect themselves, to make the world a better place, to be- Well, heroes. But not at Sky High.” He threw the rest of the papers into the trash bin. Only a few small flames remained. 

“Things need to change. They need to change yesterday. It’ll be difficult, and it’ll take all of us. But it’s well past the time that, when people talk about kids feeling unsafe in school, when they talk about the discrimination rampant in the Agency and in the education system, when they talk about how they feel like they failed the younger generations and have no clue where they went wrong, that we can honestly and proudly say, ‘Not at Sky High’.” He took a step back from the podium, picked up his trashcan, and walked off stage without a word. He wasn’t sure where the clapping started. Maybe Mom, maybe one of the others, But it caught on - mostly from the sidekick kids, he noted - until it was loud enough that Powers had to wait a moment for silence. Warren walked past the rows of students. He was stopped, briefly, by Zach, who pulled him into a tight hug. Warren decided not to complain too much. Patted him on the back, untangled himself, and moved to the middle-back of the gym where the Ps, Qs, and Rs were sitting. Maj moved the awards on his chair so he could sit and nudged him with her shoulder.

“Nice one, Hothead.” She said, and he nodded.

“Thanks.”

“Thank you, Mr. Peace.” Powers said, once she was satisfied with the volume in the room. Warren looked up just in time to catch a conspiratorial smile she shot his way. He arched a brow. She clearly knew something he didn’t. He wasn’t sure to feel about that, but she carried on before he could dwell too much on the thought. “Now, if I could request the help of our staff in lining up the student body, it is my honour to present our graduating class of 2008 with their diplomas. Yes, good- Thank you. Patricia Abernathy...”

SPENCER

Name: Gale Namerikawa Nicknames: Spence, Spender, Jetstream, Disgusting™ Age:18/19 Gender: Male Sexuality: Demisexual, panromantic Birthday/Zodiac: July 28th/Leo Weapon: E-Liter/Hero Charger Rank: S+99

Battle style: No one really knows. He tends to disappear as soon as you approach him only to be met with bombs and a quick greeting with a charger nose when damaged. However, he has a signature bioluminescent ink that acts like a broken version of thermal ink. He has bioluminescent spots, and has photophores throughout his tentacles, giving him the ability to blindingly light himself up, giving optical problems to those who look. This is not used in turf for safety issues, however it is very useful in dark areas such as Octo valley.

Species: partially firefly squid

Physical des: Somewhat tall and kinda lanky, however has a noticeable athletic background. A slightly stout kinda lanky. He is underdeveloped, and is still soft around some edges. He lights up via bioluminescence. He also has old burn marks on his arms and on his leg he wraps in tape most of the time. He has a couple long scars on his face from his agent work. Also girls won’t leave him alone so take that as you will lol. Height:180cm (5’11”) Weight: 65kg (143 lbs)

Personality des: A calm-mouthed witty teenager who finds amusement in drama and video games. Probably the best and worst thing to walk the earth. Sometimes he seems charming and cool, and others he is just a piece of burnt toast. He likes entertainment, and lives for just gaming and Doritos. He lives for teasing Zeph’s friends and it’s so awful for them lol.

General story: Spencer’s father was a very renowned agent in another private division with a very dangerous work force. When Spencer turned 13, he was trained by his father, and rose to become a very skilled and popular prodigy in turf and combat, being one of the first S+99 players. His father disappeared on a mission, and Spencer went after to search for him. When he was 16, he got into his father’s agency, however on a mission was severely injured and eventually released from duties. He forced his little brother, Zephyr, in his bitter rage to find his father. As a year went on, he saw his own brothers life in danger, and called off the acceptance into the agency. After an emotional fight with his brother, they now stand ever closer together and leave the past behind, letting go of their inevitable father’s fate. Currently he stays home taking care of Zephyr when he goes out to play turf. Spencer doesn’t play much turf anymore, and has mostly retired from taking up any kind of arms, however occasionally relives moments on the splattlefield to beat up kids. His past and his rage have become very hazy memories in a seemingly new start of a life.

Family: Little brother Zephyr, and Military mother. His father is theorized to be deceased.

Trivia:

-He can’t dance for shit. Zephyr owns every bit of him when it came to DDR back in the day. Spencer would do anything to keep his turn from happening.

-loves bad jokes. Memes too much

-used to always go out to Octovalley as an escape from his renowned status on the surface.

-although he is generally on the quiet side on talking volume (he talks a lot however), it’s mainly because he is deathly afraid of voice cracks. He doesn’t know or not if he still gets them, he just doesn’t ever take a risk.

-really enjoys house chores. He finds it relaxing and he likes keeping the house clean. Zeph always finds it embarrassing when he walks around in an apron.

-Is somewhat of a neat freak. He doesn’t want people to trash his car or anything and also tells others to not make messes in the house even if he doesn’t mind picking up after them.

-has horrible tastes in food. He will eat the trashiest things and not give a shit. He says his taste buds are dead lol.

-good at math, and LOVES science. Especially outer space, he finds it amazing. Will not shut up about how big it is. He will lecture anyone if you get him on the topic, so don’t talk about it in order to be spared.

-Spencer’s birth name is Gale. (Get it? Gale and Zephyr loll) however because of growing inferior feelings he felt from his brother, he decided to change his name to something more typical. (Since Gale is a powerful gust compared to a Zephyr) The meaning and symbolization behind their names was not necessary to Spencer and believed it only hurt Zephyr

new releases 6-15-17

in on FRIDAY ORPHAN SWORDSLicense To Desire  LP  $22.99Orphan Swords see the reissue of their License To Desire LP, originally released in 2015. The Belgian duo, formed in 2013, bring a heady, fog-shrouded sonic maelstrom to Aurora Borealis, perfect for the post-truth era. What sort of music is this? What genre do you file it under? Hard to say. There's chaos, there's unhallowed chanting, there's some fierce rhythm and there's undeniably some abuse of electronic equipment. It's best to leave the definitions up to the listener, but with titles referencing demons of Goetia and the world's oldest profession, you should let the good times roll. Their music, described as "a brutal hypnosis" by Ransom Note, has been released on Desire Records, Clan Destine and Idiosyncratics. Idiosyncratic is indeed a description that perfectly fits both their releases and live performances. Recently back from the US, they have shared bills with acts as diverse as Oathbreaker, Andy Stott, and Vatican Shadow. Their new collaborative side project Black Swords, with Stuart Argabright of Black Rain, was released on Vienna's Noiztank label (2017). Black/white label; Comes in full color folder sleeve, in heavy PVC outer sleeve; Includes download code; Edition of 200 (hand-numbered). ORPHAN SWORDSLicense To Desire Remixes  LP  $22.99Aurora Borealis unleash Orphan Swords' License To Desire Remixes LP. The sonic tangle and entheogenic orgy of the demonically inspired "Asmoday" and the tranced-out "Hooker", are given workovers by Helm, Icon Template, Black Rain, Prostitutes, and Svengalisghost. This is remix as rite of destruction, the tracks being disfigured rather than beautified for commodification. Awkward, uncomfortable listening rubs shoulders with pounding bass, post-techno hiss squall prevails. And then there's the superbly dirty fever-dream lope of the Black Rain remix. Formed in 2013, Orphan Swords is a Belgian electronic duo. Their music, described as "a brutal hypnosis" by Ransom Note. Their work has been released on Desire Records, Clan Destine, and Idiosyncratics. Idiosyncratic is indeed a description that perfectly fits both their releases and live performances. Artwork by Lara Gasparotto. Black/white label; Comes in full color folder sleeve, in heavy PVC outer sleeve; Includes download code; Edition of 200 (hand-numbered). Borusiad/Sixteen: Promises 12" $24.99"Cititrax is thrilled to present a split EP by two massive talents, Borusiade and The Sixteen Steps. Borusiade, originally from Bucharest, Romania began as a DJ in the early 2000s and then started producing music in 2005. With a background in classical music, she combined her love of raw electronics, obscure themes and melodic lines to create her own signature sound. She has released on the Cómeme label as well as Correspondant. 'Infatuation' and 'Confutation' are dark, moody and intense tracks that catch you upon first listen. The flip side of the Promises And Infatuation EP features The Sixteen Steps, the brainchild of George Lanham who cut his musical teeth DJing and running events in the south of England. We have been listening to many of his tracks endlessly for a while now. They've also been a highlight of Veronica Vasicka's DJ sets as of late. 'Signals From The South' and 'Promises On The Run' are both immaculately produced, hypnotic, dance floor killers. They are sparse ebm meets smoky warehouse techno, and offer a wonderful contrast to Borusiade's layered emotive tracks that reminisce of an East Village club in the 1980s. Themes of infatuation, appearances, and anonymity appear throughout this EP from the music itself right through to the cover art. Limited edition vinyl pressing of 999 copies." Whitehouse: Dedicated To Peter Kurten LP $32.99Green vinyl version. Gloss laminated thick 350 gsm sleeve; Edition of 250. Dirter Promotions present a reissue of Whitehouse's Dedicated To Peter Kurten, Sadist And Mass Slayer, originally released in 1981. Unavailable on vinyl for 36 years, this iconic and ground-breaking masterpiece of electronic and extreme music is finally back. Superbly re-mastered and cut by Noel Summerville. BACZKOWSKI/CHRIS CORSANO/PAUL FLAHERTY, STEVE The Dull Blade $20.99"More than a decade since their first (and last) trio album, Dim Bulb (2005), 'Buffalo Steve,' Chris Corsano and Paul Flaherty are back on the attack. The three recorded as part of a larger ensemble on the Open Mouth LP, Wrong Number (2014), but they have a certain way of creating focused trio dynamics that makes babies talk in tongues and old men drool. The line-up is a bit unorthodox -- two saxes (one a goddamn baritone) and drums. You might almost be tempted to call the format European. But it'd be a canard to try and place this album in the Euro free music tradition. I mean, yeah, there is some massive outsider brawling here. Buckets of wind and clumps of tubs 'all double twisted up,' as Fred Blassie used to say. But the fire never refrains from flaming as jazz-qua-jazz, which places it a lot more squarely in the American tradition than actual squares would have you believe. These three are clearly savages, which is a far cry from people impersonating savages, if you catch my drift. Beyond that, there is an ineffably jazzoid heft to the music here. Both Steve and Paul are playing in a distinctly post-Ayler jetstream. The freedom of their runs maintains that strangely (perhaps even imaginary or projective) American connection to bar-walking R&B maniacs -- something that seems to lie at the bottom of our country's hornic subconscious. Which is not to say individual moments on this record couldn't have come from the FMP catalog, but there's a red hot holism here that will brand most asses with the stars & stripes. The Dull Blade has a strange undercurrent of swing here as well. Largely provided by Mr. Corsano's driving full kit approach, the most outward-moving passages (often those involving the inner and outer freak registers of the horns) get corralled back into more clearly terrestrial and genuinely moving. It's a great goddamn record. Once again these guys manage to defy odds and expectations, creating music that is as fully-charged and beautiful as it is warped." --Byron Coley, 2017 Edition of 400. New York Contempory Five : Consequences  LP $29.99Modern Silence present a reissue of The New York Contemporary Five's Consequences, originally released in 1966. The New York Contemporary Five barely lasted a year, all told, but they recorded five albums that shaped the jazz to come. They were a super-group after the fact -- the stellar frontline of Don Cherry, Archie Shepp, and John Tchicai all being relative newcomers at the time. Cherry had recently left Ornette Coleman and was only starting to stretch into world music. Shepp was fresh off a stint with Cecil Taylor and had just found his voice as a composer and performer. And Tchicai was virtually unknown. Their scorching music -- aided by the supple and hard-hitting rhythm section of Don Moore and J. C. Moses -- is a thrilling mix of adventurous soloing and post-bop structures, memorable heads and go-for-broke improv. Shepp and Tchicai offered two different ways forward for sax players: Shepp privileged texture, density, and fragmentation -- a pointillist take on Ben Webster or Coleman Hawkins, perhaps. Tchicai was a master of melodic invention, teasing out hard and bright phrases that seem unpredictably off-kilter. What's still remarkable about these tunes is their sense of internal tension. They're wound tighter than a magnet coil, without sacrificing any spontaneity. There's little that's strictly free about this jazz, but it's full of reckless and unexpected drama all the same. "Consequences" is the record's barnburner, built on fiery performances and climaxing with a Don Cherry solo that sounds like the aural equivalent of a fifty foot skid mark. Their version of Bill Dixon's "Trio" is contemplative by comparison, offering a loping groove, overlapping textures, and a series of wonderfully sustained solos that show off the stylistic strengths of each player. VA: Pop Makossa 2LP $29.99Double LP version. Gatefold sleeve with 20-page booklet; 140 gram vinyl. The Pop Makossa adventure started in 2009, when Analog Africa founder Samy Ben Redjeb first travelled to Cameroon to make an initial assessment of the country's musical situation. He returned with enough tracks for an explosive compilation highlighting the period when funk and disco sounds began to infiltrate the makossa style popular throughout Cameroon. From the very beginning, there were several mysteries hanging over Pop Makossa. It was not until DJ and music producer Déni Shain was dispatched to Cameroon to finalize the project, license the songs, scan photographs, and interview the artists that some of the biggest question marks began to disappear. His journey from the port city of Douala to the capital of Yaoundé brought him in contact with the lives and stories of many of the musicians who had shaped the sound of Cameroon's dance music in its most fertile decade. The beat that holds everything together has its origins in the rhythms of the Sawa people: ambassey, bolobo, assiko and essewé, a traditional funeral dance. But it wasn't until these rhythms arrived in the cities of Cameroon and collided with merengue, high-life, Congolese rumba, and, later, funk and disco, that modern makossa was born. Makossa managed to unify the whole of Cameroon, and it was successful in part because it was so adaptable. Some of the greatest makossa hits incorporated the electrifying guitars and tight grooves of funk, while others were laced with cosmic flourishes made possible by the advent of the synthesizer. However much came down to the bass; and from the rubbery hustle underpinning Mystic Djim's "Yaoundé Girls" to the luminous liquid disco lines which propel Pasteur Lappé's "Sekele Movement", Pop Makossa demonstrates why Cameroonian bass players are some of the most revered in the world. "Pop Makossa Invasion", an obscure tune recorded for Radio Buea makes its debut here and joins the pantheon of extraordinary songs that plugged Cameroon's makossa style into the modern world. Also features: Dream Stars, Mystic Djim & The Spirits, Bill Loko, Eko, Olinga Gaston, Emmanuel Kahe et Jeanette Kemogne, Nkodo Si-Tony, Bernard Ntone, Pat' Ndoye, and Clément Djimogne. Haino, Keiji: Watashi Dake LP $32.99Black Editions present the first vinyl reissue of Keiji Haino's stunning debut album Watashi Dake?, originally released in 1981. This first ever edition released outside of Japan features the artist's originally intended metallic gold and silver jacket artwork. Over the last fifty years few musicians or performers have created as monumental and uncompromising a body of work as that of Keiji Haino. Through a vast number of recordings and performances, Haino has staked out a ground all his own, creating a language of unparalleled intensity that defies any simple classification. For all this, his 1981 debut album Watashi Dake? has remained enigmatic. Originally released in a small edition by the legendary Pinakotheca label, the album was heard by only a select few in Japan and far fewer overseas. Original vinyl copies became impossibly rare and highly sought after the world over. Watashi Dake? presents a haunting vision -- stark vocals, whispered and screamed, punctuate dark silences. Intricate and sharp guitar figures interweave, repeat, and stretch, trance-like, emerging from dark recesses. Written and composed on the spot -- Haino's vision is one of deep spiritual depths that distantly evokes 1920s blues and medieval music -- yet is unlike anything ever committed to record before or since. Produced in close cooperation with Keiji Haino and legendary photographer Gin Satoh. Coupled with starkly minimal packaging, featuring the now iconic cover photographs by Gin Satoh, the album is a startling and fully realized artistic statement. Housed in custom printed deluxe Stoughton tip-on jackets, including black on black inserts, extras, and hand-colored finishes; Remastered by Elysian Masters and cut by Bernie Grundman Mastering; Pressed to high quality vinyl at RTI; Includes download code. Faust: Od Serca Do Duszy 2LP $33.99Od Serca Do Duszy originally appeared as a double CD set, joint-released by Lumberton Trading Company and AudioTONG in 2007 (LUMB 008CD). Long out of print, this album documents a professionally recorded live show at Krakow's Loch Ness Club. As anybody who has seen Faust live, in their countless different yet always wonderful forms, can testify, they are such a musical high, all other stimulants aren't necessary. This remastered reissue once again illuminates the residual experience of a Faust concert in all its expectation-scrunching glory. Comprising the thirteen songs that constituted the original show, this set was produced by founders Jean-Herve Peron and Zappi Diermaier, plus Amaury Cambuzat. Together they dovetail perfectly with one of Peron's mantras during the occasion, "Od Serca Do Duszy". This translates from Polish to, "From heart to soul", which just about covers one of the many facets to Faust's incredible music. Leyland James Kirby, : When We Parted I Wanted To Die  2LP $29.992017 repress. Originally released in 2009. It's a prescient hauntological elegy somewhere between Vangelis' Bladerunner OST (1982), Lynch and Badalamenti's Twin Peaks score, Erik Satie's solo Piano works, William Basinski's gradual tape decompositions, and James Ferraro's washed out visions. Back in 2009, James Leyland Kirby explained: "Here we stand, twenty years on from the first CD, and our optimism has been gradually eroded away collectively. 'Tomorrows World' never came. We are lost and isolated, many of us living our lives through social networks as we try to make sense of it all, becoming voyeurs not active participants. Documenting everything. No Mystery. Everything laid bare for all to see." A decade later, it could hardly have been more prescient. It's with this pessimistic sense of being that Kirby constructed these incredible pieces, creating a sequence of music designed to overwhelm and absorb, affecting our sense of time and place by tracing and retracing musical steps into a blur, re-using the same motifs with incremental differences, trapped in our own feedback loops of lost emotion. On this long double album, James Leyland Kirby once again acts as a spiritual bridge, holding fast against the perceived current of time and culture in order to afford a slow, lingering gaze on its ambiguous, ever-shifting ripples and eddies. Like staring at a body of gently moving water, the effect is strangely soothing and meditative, encouraging immersed reflection and dilated focus... Leyland James Kirby: Sadly, The Future Is No Longer What It Was  double lp  $29.99 2017 repress; Originally released in 2009. The second part of Leyland Kirby's uniquely prescient dark ambient masterstroke, Sadly, The Future Is No Longer What It Was (2009) finds the listener returning to Kirby's draughty corridors of processed 78s and midnight keyboard meditations is a sublime, haunting experience like no other. The listener can read his melancholic diagnosis of capitalist malaise, deferred futurism and thwarted social utopianism as a genuinely uncanny foresight of what has played out in contemporary society, in an age when Facebook and Twitter have become an all-encompassing filter for daily life and effectively assuaged the rich analog ambiguity of collectivism in favor of cold, hard, binary politics and reflexive, unthinking emotional responses. Especially in the wake of Mark Fisher's tragic passing earlier in 2017, Kirby's hauntological sentiments, embedded quite literally in titles such as "When Did Our Dreams And Futures Drift So Far Apart", and figuratively perfused through its stark negative space, now feel to resonate stronger than ever; using shared echoes of the hive mind such as classic film scores from Vangelis and Lynch/Badalmenti -- both quite literally omnipresent in imminent sequels right now -- as cues for sorrowful elegies and meditations which aesthetically resonate as much with Deathprod's liminal scapes, as a sort of mildewed modern classical flocking to Satie's tasteful ambient wallpaper. Yet it's not all doom and gloom. There's a sense of underlying sense of resilience, of resistance to Kirby's hushed, ribboning expressions which flows with a considerate pathos and open-ended emotional curiosity which belies the narcissistic reaffirmations of social media's echo chambers and dialectic cul-de-sacs, quietly striving to wrench something beautiful and affective from the clutches of a manipulative mainstream. VA: Monika Werkstatt 2LP $26.99restocked!!"... Gudrun Gut has a proven track record of successfully connecting with like-minded artists on unusual paths of creativity. She's an outstanding example of someone who refuses to compromise their artistic vision. And now she is ready to present one of her most ambitious projects ever: Monika Werkstatt -- a loose collective of female artists set up to enable each of them to achieve new goals through collaboration. Monika Werkstatt will ensure that their artistic output gains visibility in an art context still too dominated by men. Monika Werkstatt has its origins in collective workshops and in shared interactions. By sharing their own challenges and achievements later on with an audience, this opened a gateway to a further feedback and creative dialogue. . . . History has a weakness for coincidences, and the release of Monika Werkstatt happily falls on the 20th anniversary of Monika Enterprises. A fantastic landmark and a means of celebrating such a tremendously talented collective that Gudrun Gut has orchestrated. So what is this release really about? Gudrun's fellow Monika members -- AGF, Beate Bartel, Lucrecia Dalt, Danielle De Picciotto, Islaja, Barbara Morgenstern, Sonae, Pilocka Krach, Natalie Beridze -- travelled from Berlin and assembled in the creative oasis of Uckermark. The goal was to create and record without any of the usual pressures and distractions that you'd anticipate in a group context. To keep the focus, Mo Loscheider cooked, Manon Pepita assisted with the day-to-day and Lupe was filming. . . . Between recording and jamming, their days were filled with music, eating, short walks in the fields and forests resounding with inspiring talks and discussions. Without any restraint or rules, they opened up new forms of interaction and creative dialogue which found themselves falling into a process without any clear beginnings or ends. . . . Once the recordings were completed, representatives of the group were delegated roles for a finished production -- some sequenced and mixed the recordings into their own tracks, while others built their own from the material recorded. The results succeed in showcasing the community as a group, as well as portraying singular pieces of art derived from a collective process." these chris watson cds are being reissued - please let us know if you'd like a copy - they are scheduled for july release datesWatson, Chris: El Tren Fantasma CD $15.99Watson, Chris: Weather $15.99