#(always call museums ahead for that sort of thing. it is Polite)

[marzipanandminutiae]

Edith's house is a combination of the Masonic Lodge (interior) and Dundurn Castle (exterior - you see it in the butterfly picnic scene, and then later at the funeral) in Hamilton! I grew up going there and it's a ten-minute walk from my workplace, so whenever those scenes come up in the movie I'm very Leo pointing meme.

Oh nice!

I knew about the Masonic lodge and I recently learned that Dundurn Castle was used for parts of the park scene, though I don't know if it was just for the (sadly deleted) picnic or the butterfly scene as well. The exterior of the Cushing house does appear to still be the Masonic lodge, though, much as I hate to correct someone who knows the area far better than I.

Edith's bedroom window is at the top of that little rounded semi-turret section to the left of the arch, which can be seen when the servants are lighting the lamps on the night of the party.

and just because I want to ramble about other filming locations I know about, another part of the lodge's interior was also the conference room at Carter's office, it turns out! fun fact: apparently that mural was done for the movie, but they kept it afterwards

Market Square in Kingston, ON stood in for the street outside Edith's would-be publisher's office:

which was Victoria College in Toronto:

And it turns out more than one room from Casa Loma was used! Not only have I been in the McMichaels' ballroom:

but also the hotel lobby:

and Thomas' and Lucille's hotel suite:

and the morgue where Carter's body was brought:

exterior shots preceding Depot and Chill happened at the Schmidt-Dalziel Barn:

and tragically, our beloved Allerdale Hall was here, and exists no more:

Pinewood Toronto Studios backlot, aerial view.

I still maintain Universal should have found a way to keep the set intact at their theme park. maybe house a museum dedicated to their long history of horror/Gothic/monster movies there. but it is what it is

thank you for the info, and for giving me an excuse to ramble!

[estellamiraiauthor]

The Stars May Rise and Fall: The Annotated Re-read (Chapter 30)

Just FYI, we’re officially into the stage of this book where just about everything makes me cry. (I know, I know, I wrote the thing, I could’ve changed it! But angst just hurts soooo good!)

As always, spoilers (including spoilers for chapters beyond this one) under the cut!

They take a taxi to Shinjuku to get on the train, and Rei is visibly uncomfortable riding in a car… but there’s not really much alternative at this point, as they both recognize. I don’t think he remembers the moment of the accident, or any moments of consciousness he would’ve had immediately afterwards. The brain tends to block things like that out, but I do think he probably has a fuzzy or even unconscious memory of that moment just before, when you know it’s about to happen but it’s too late to do anything to stop it.

I would love art of Rei’s super extravagant coat in this scene, by the way… yet another one to add to the list!

The taxi driver in Hakone is sort of the opposite of the asshole doctor when it comes to microaggressions. He sees immediately that Rei has a disability and asks for his government ID, which can actually get you a lot of discounts and things like free entry into public facilities like zoos and museums, but I think Rei’s usually too proud to actively ask for those benefits very much. Up to this point, I don’t think Teru even realizes that he HAS one of those ID cards. But the taxi driver is a nice guy who wants to give them the discount, and does. BUT… then he goes and makes some well-meaning but ignorant comment about Teru and Rei spending Christmas with their girlfriends. Of course, this isn’t malicious but it’s still kind of awkward and hurtful.

They get to the hotel, and poor Rei I think is just feeling incredibly guilty, that Teru has done this kind, amazing thing for him when all he (thinks he) has done is make Teru’s life more difficult. GAH, I wish he’d just TALK to Teru because Teru doesn’t feel that way at all.

Teru also feels a little guilty for choosing a traditional Japanese room, since there’s not a lot of furniture and it’s hard for Rei to sit on the floor (and always has been (at least since Teru has known him), as established in an izakaya several chapters ago; this wasn’t directly caused by the more recent injury, so yeah, Teru COULDVE thought of that, but he’s still probably being too hard on himself. He did come up with a really thoughtful plan overall.)

I DO have art of my boys in hotel yukatas! Would REALLY love some art of the bath scene too, but I’m getting a little ahead of myself.

So this hotel (really a ryokan, sorry, I’ve been calling it a hotel because that’s English, but it’s like a traditional Japanese style inn) has meals served in the room, which is super fancy (I think I’ve only been to places that did this twice… both in Hakone, and both as romantic weekend type things), and also super nice if you’re boyfriend’s self-conscious about eating in front of people. The server is also kind to Rei, bringing him a stool because he clearly can’t sit comfortably on the floor, and like with the taxi driver, he’s appreciative and polite. I think there are a couple of reasons behind this sort of shift in attitude. First, I think people in this rural resort town are just being a little more friendly than most people in Tokyo are, but more importantly than that, I think Rei has kind of realized that he does need to change, he does need to learn how to accept help gracefully… and he also just wants to make this trip wonderful for Teru, and he knows that means minimal drama. ❤️

Then they take a private bath in the hot spring. I have nothing really to add here, except that this is way up toward the top of my “I Want Art” list, and every single time I go to a hot spring I think of this scene. ❤️❤️❤️

And then we have the not-sex scene. By which I mean they totally have sex but it’s fade to black. Some readers liked this, some didn’t, but I ultimately think it’s better than the alternative: a sex scene written by me! 😂

I did go back and forth on whether to try to write it. The ultimate reason I didn’t was because I wanted it to be perfect for every reader. And I realize that “fade to black” in itself is not “perfect” for some readers, but I also didn’t want to ruin the whole book by having the sex scene not be right. So if you imagine it wild and kinky, it was. If you imagine it sweet and simple, then THAT’S how it was. If you’d rather not imagine it at all, that’s also completely fine.

Personally, I think it was very sweet, very careful, very full of love and consent… it’s Teru’s first time with a guy, and Rei’s first time since the accident, so I do think they take things very slow, and probably don’t get to full-on anal penetration or anything… mouths and hands? But that’s me. You’re free to imagine it (or not) however you want.

I also think it doesn’t really matter HOW it happened, just THAT it happened. I read a lot of romance novels during the editing of this (I actually hadn’t read ANY before I wrote the first draft… again, I apologize deeply to romance readers, this was never supposed to be a category romance novel!) and there definitely ARE books out there where HOW the characters have sex drives the plot or develops the relationship. And there are others where it’s not really intended to: it’s there for fun, for titillation. In this case, I think the fact THAT they have sex is the plot/character development point. We’ve seen them be caring and careful with each other up to now, and I didn’t think that showing that specifically in the bedroom would change anything. As for titillation… I honestly don’t like sex scenes that exist only for titillation as a reader, so I don’t think I’m the writer to understand what those readers want and to give it to them.

The couple of sex scenes I’ve attempted to write to date (mostly for fanfic exchanges or challenges where the prompt I got was more adult) have also been… not good. When I was a kid, if I happened to draw a picture that I really liked in black and white, I never wanted to color it because I might ruin it. I think attempting to write the sex scene here would’ve felt like trying to color something that already worked in just pencil?

I do want to sort of address one comment made by a reviewer that Rei deserved to be sexy and sexual on the page, deserved to be SHOWN being loved physically as well as emotionally and… I agree. That’s a very good point. Unfortunately… I just really don’t think my writing skills in this particular area are up to the task. It would really have to be perfect, and beautiful… and I’m not sure I could’ve done that.

And then we have the last scene, after the fade to black, where Teru decides that he’s not going to take the deal… he’s going to prioritize being with Rei. Which is exactly what Rei DOESNT want him to do. 😭

[kartikcab]

Exploring Jaipur in Style: A Guide to Luxury Tempo Traveller Tours

Introduction:

Jaipur, the exciting capital city of Rajasthan, India, is a place that captures the hearts of travelers with its fascinating history, grand forts, and colorful culture. Exploring Jaipur is a special experience, and what's even better is doing it in style! This guide is all about luxury tempo traveller tours in Jaipur, promising a fantastic journey through the city's famous sights, hidden treasures, and cultural experiences. Luxury Tempo Traveller for Jaipur tour

Discovering Jaipur’s Charm:

Before hopping on a luxury tempo traveller tour, it's important to know what makes Jaipur so amazing. Known as the "Pink City" because of its pink buildings, Jaipur is full of history and royal beauty. From the stunning Amber Fort to the bustling markets of the old city, Jaipur offers a mix of impressive buildings, cultural wonders, and traditional crafts.

Why Choose Luxury Tempo Traveller Tours?

Luxury tempo traveller tours are awesome for exploring Jaipur in a comfortable and hassle-free way. Here's why they're great:

Comfort: Luxury tempo travellers have comfy seats, lots of space, and modern comforts, making your journey super cozy.Luxury Tempo Traveller for Jaipur tour

Convenience: With a dedicated driver and guide, getting around Jaipur is easy peasy. There is no need to worry about traffic or finding parking spots!

Customization: Luxury tempo traveller tours let you plan your trip just the way you want. You can choose what places to visit and how long to stay at each stop.

Exploring Jaipur’s Famous Places:

A luxury tempo traveller tour in Jaipur usually includes lots of cool places to visit. Here are some must-sees:

Amber Fort: Sitting on a hill overlooking Maota Lake, Amber Fort is a stunning example of Rajput architecture. Explore its beautiful palaces, big courtyards, and pretty gardens while enjoying the amazing views.

City Palace: Built by the Maharaja of Jaipur, the City Palace is a big complex of palaces, museums, and gardens. Check out its fancy buildings, royal stuff, and impressive crafts.

Hawa Mahal: Also called the "Palace of Winds," Hawa Mahal is a special five-story building with lots of tiny windows and balconies. You can admire its cool design from outside or go inside for great views of the city.

Jantar Mantar: This is a really old astronomical observatory that's now a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It has all sorts of interesting instruments for studying the stars and planets.

Jaipur Markets: Don't miss the chance to explore Jaipur's lively markets. You can find all sorts of fun stuff to buy, like colorful clothes, jewelry, and handmade crafts.

Enjoying Jaipur’s Culture:

Besides its beautiful sights, Jaipur is famous for its rich culture and traditions. Here's how you can experience it:

Yummy Food: Try tasty Rajasthani dishes at local restaurants, like dal bati churma and laal maas. They're delicious!

Folk Shows: Watch lively folk music and dance performances showcasing Rajasthan's vibrant culture. You'll love the colorful costumes and catchy tunes!

Craft Workshops: Visit workshops where talented artisans make beautiful things like block-printed fabrics, pottery, and blue pottery. It's fascinating to see them work!

Tips for an Awesome Luxury Tempo Traveller Tour:

Here are some useful suggestions to help you make the most of your trip:

Plan Ahead: Decide what places you want to visit and make a rough schedule beforehand.

Pack Smart: Bring comfy clothes, sunscreen, sunglasses, and a hat to protect yourself from the sun.

Stay Hydrated: Drink plenty of water, especially if you're visiting during hot weather.

Be Respectful: Learn about local customs and traditions, and always be polite and respectful.

Capture Memories: Take lots of photos and videos to remember your Jaipur adventure!

Conclusion:

Exploring Jaipur as a luxury tempo traveller is a fantastic way to enjoy the city's beauty and charm. Luxury Tempo Traveller for Jaipur tour From iconic landmarks to cultural experiences, a luxury tempo traveller tour offers an unforgettable journey through the lively streets of Pink City. So, get ready to explore Jaipur in style and create amazing memories along the way!

[padfootagain]

The King And You (XII)

Part 12 : Heaven Sometimes

 Hi everyone! I'm back with a new chapter for this fic of mine! I know it's been forever since I updated it (and any fic for that matter) but my mental health is not great rn, so I'm struggling a little to write. Now, that being said, here is a new chapter and I hope you will enjoy it :)

Only fluff for this one! Tooth-rooting fluff all over the place! Enjoy ;)

Pairing: Caspian x Reader

Word Count: 2534

The light was perfect. One of the reasons why you loved your flat was the view from your window, down onto the busy streets and, in the distance, the skyscrapers tickling the sky. And this afternoon more than ever before the light that came in from your window was perfect. Yellowish and yet bright. Charged in dust just enough to create rays falling onto glistening rooftops. The sky still blue was starting to turn orange around the edges, a line along the horizon that became golden.

You let out a satisfied sigh as you mixed the pigments and the oil with a brush, studying the painting you had started a couple of hours before. You still had some work to do, but the shapes were beginning to change into what you wanted to represent, the buildings now for the most part recognizable by anyone who would look by your window.

A record was playing in your living room, an old hippie music filled with soft guitar ballads that breathed of sunshine and spoke of love. Soft, calm, sunny. The music felt like the light bathing the city that afternoon. And from time to time, the soft rhythms were disturbed by shuffling sounds coming from the couch behind you.

Caspian was sitting on your sofa, he was reading one of your books he had picked up from your shelf. But he didn't seem very interested in the story, as he spent most of his afternoon watching you.

The way you moved your pencil across the canvas, and the little frown that settled upon your brow as you focused on your task, the hues staining your fingers and your old t-shirt as you made a mess, the way the light danced across your features and changed the colour of your eyes as time ran by… Yes, his view from the sofa was much more interesting to him than the piece of fiction he had selected from your collection. A dreamy smile brightened his features as he studied you, as if he were in a museum admiring an ancient statue. Not only through your beauty was he reminded of the feeling, but by the peaceful feeling that settled across his chest too. This soft and quiet peace of mind and heart that creeps through anyone who looks at a piece of art and can't look away, wondering whose hands had carved the stone to create them, or bathed the brushes in the right hues. There is a ceremonial, almost holy feeling that hovers over art pieces of that kind, a sort of respect that both draws you in and pushes you away from their world. Caspian felt exactly this way as he stared at you, like he had found the piece that moved him to his bones and yet that was unreachable, a kind of beauty he longed for and echoed through his soul, and yet he would never deserve.

You knew he was staring at you, and had it been anyone else, you would have felt extremely uncomfortable if subjected to such scrutiny, but coming from Caspian, it merely brought warmth to your cheeks.

None of you were talking, hadn't uttered a word since lunch over four hours ago, but none of you were bothered by the silence that filled the room. It was a soft kind of silence, the comfortable one that could only appear in a room filled with people in love. Affection sometimes makes even nothingness beautiful.

A few days had passed since your confession in the park, and a few more remained before you would both travel to London, but the journey ahead of you was for now out of your thoughts. For now, all that mattered to both of you was to spend as much time as you could together. To the excitement and happiness that came along a new relationship slowly coming into blossom was added the knowledge that, no matter how happy the two of you were and how right being together felt, Caspian would soon be gone. Your days together being counted, you didn't want to waste away the time you had left together by worrying. Instead, you chose to live your love for him day by day, you would take whatever the wind would blow your way in the end. For now though, you painted the street you had drawn a thousand times before with a new softness showing in every shade you chose and every stroke of the brush that you applied. Love has a way of making art better, after all.

Caspian seemed to have chosen the same path as you, and had not mentioned again the trip to London, nor what would happen there. You were both locked in a bubble that you knew would explode soon, but protected you for now.

Eventually though, Caspian stood up and walked over to your spot in the room, wrapping his arms around your frame to press your back to his chest. He kissed gently the top of your head, before resting his cheek right above your ear. His gesture made you chuckle, a grin appearing across your lips.

"Do you need something? Or are you just being clingy?" you asked with a playful giggle.

"I guess I am clingy," Caspian admitted with a chuckle of his own that made his chest vibrate against you.

"You're a hopeless romantic, that's not surprising," you teased.

"Maybe I am. Or maybe you are turning me into one. Although, I should point out that so far, you have not protested against this part of me in the slightest, and have rather encouraged it, in fact."

"What are you insinuating? That I'm as sappy as you?"

"I'm afraid so, my love."

You hummed contently, forgetting about the subject of the conversation completely as you settled more comfortably into his embrace.

"I like it when you call me like that."

"My love?"

"Hmmm… yeah, I love it."

Caspian chuckled, kissing your temple.

"Who is being a hopeless romantic now, huh?"

"Oh, shut up!"

Caspian tried to fake outrage, but could only smile instead.

You checked your watch, for the first time in this afternoon, realizing at last that time had been flying by faster than you had realized. You heaved a sigh, but put down your brush.

"I'm gonna prepare dinner, what would you like?" you asked Caspian, who tightened his hold on you as a response.

"Wait for a little longer."

"Aren't you hungry? It's quite late."

"Yes, I am. But… If you move away, it will mean that the afternoon is over and… this moment is too nice to end just yet."

You rested your hand on his over your shoulder, intertwining your fingers with his and drawing silly patterns of stars and circles over his knuckles with your thumb.

"You're right. Five more minutes, then."

You closed your eyes, and were quite certain that you had fallen asleep when Caspian moved away from you, although not without placing one last chaste and tender kiss on the side of your head. He walked over to your shelves filled with books, and seemed to be bruising across your collection. You guessed that the one he had picked earlier really wasn't to his taste, and the thought made you chuckle as you shook tenderly your head at him. You left him to his search for a better story to get lost into in favour of preparing a meal, your stomach now painful with hunger. You were almost done when Caspian came to join you in the kitchen, helping you to set up the table.

"Did you find an interesting book?" you asked as you brought the pasta dish you had prepared to your tiny table.

A mischievous and yet saddened smile appeared on Caspian's lips.

"You can say that," he elusively answered.

He was standing by the table, and by now you were used to having him not sit down before you. Some kind of extra-politeness, you guessed. He pulled the chair for you when you walked to your side of the table, and you thanked him with an amused smile while he was sitting down himself.

"Why so mysterious?" you insisted. "What book did you get?"

"Oh… huh… something about… robots? It's some kind of… machine, that… lives? Very strange but… interesting."

You shook your head at him, surprised that he would be curious about something so different from the world he knew. But then, he kept on surprising you a little more every day.

Caspian glanced at the clock up on your yellow wall, that seemed to glimmer in gold as the sun was setting, ending its course beyond the tall buildings of New York City. He heaved a sigh before speaking again.

"I should go back to Agatha's after diner, it will be quite late already by then."

"Oh… you want to go back there?"

Even if you had spent most of your time together for the past few days, Caspian had always spent the night at Agatha's, and you were fine with that. After all, it had been but a few days since your kiss in Central Park, and a few weeks since the two of you had met. And despite your time together being limited, you didn't want to rush into things either. You wanted to take things slow, wanted to simply enjoy the moments you had with him.

And maybe, despite how abundantly clear Caspian had been, there was a little part of you that still held to the hope that maybe all of this was just a misunderstanding, that perhaps Narnia, despite the odds, wasn't real at all. And then, if that was the case, Caspian wouldn't have to leave.

So you wanted to take things slow, but still, things were going so well with him, and there wasn't any denying that your new boyfriend was extremely attractive. And maybe you were ready to do a little bit more than hugging him and talking with him for hours.

Meanwhile, Caspian stared at you with a puzzled expression.

"Well… I hardly have any other place to stay."

"You… you could… stay here," you hesitantly stuttered.

Caspian considered your offer for a moment. He did want to spend more time with you, but your sofa was really too uncomfortable, and he knew he wouldn't be able to get any sleep if he had to settle there for the night. And that was even without mentioning that the knowledge of having you sleeping down the hall would make it impossible for his mind to calm down enough to succumb to slumber.

He offered you a warm smile, a little teasing, with one end of his mouth turned upright and an amused glimmer shining in his brown, almost black eyes.

"Thank you for your offer. I do have to admit that it is tempting, we would spend more time together this way. But – and I hope you don't take this remark badly – your sofa is way too uncomfortable for me to stay there all night."

He was expecting you to laugh, maybe to shyly get a gulp of your water to hide this divine smile of yours. But you didn't. Instead, you were frowning at him, as if you didn't understand what he meant.

"The sofa? Why would you spend the night on the sofa?"

It was his turn to look at you with puzzled eyes.

"Well… where else would I sleep?"

"I meant… I meant to ask you if you wanted to stay the night… with me…"

It's only by the look in your eyes that he finally understood what you truly meant. And his reaction was to fiercely blush, all the way up to the tip of his ears.

"Oh… I… I…"

"It's okay if you don't want to or… if you're not attracted to me or…"

You let your sentence suspended in mid-air to hover over the room. You were all shy now, closing yourself from him, and Caspian could recognize the signs of your uneasiness. Maybe he wasn't reacting to this the way he should…

"I… I can't…"

He took a deep breath, remembering that you were from another world. And so, he adopted a different attitude.

"Is it normal in your world? To… be this… intimate before… marriage?"

You frowned at him again, but seemed to make the same realization too that, despite the two of you getting along so well and understanding each other to such a degree, you were not from the same world, and your two societies worked differently.

"Yeah, it is… not… for you?" you asked back.

"No. No, it isn't."

"Oh…"

"It… it would be… disrespectful if I…"

"I understand. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

"It's okay. I… I just… I don't know…"

"Caspian, you don't have to justify yourself. I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable."

You seemed to be the one who was uncomfortable then though, and you stood up to clean your plate even if you hadn't finished your dish. Caspian followed suit though, not allowing you to simply drop the subject and flee so easily.

"Y/N… I…"

"It's okay, Caspian. I promise you, it's okay. I just… I guess I feel a little stupid to have offered to take a… a new step when it's not something your people does."

You seemed fragile then, your confidence quite shaken. Caspian heaved a sigh, forcing you to stop cleaning your plate as he took your wet hands in his.

"It is not our way. But I… I want you to know that… I… you are beautiful, Y/N. This is not the problem, here. But I was raised with the idea that being this intimate with a woman one is not married to is disrespectful. And disrespecting you is the last thing I want to do."

You nodded, notably relaxing, and when you looked at him again, there was a spark of mischief shining in your gaze.

"I understand. And I would never want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable or disrespectful to you. But… please, tell me your people don't condemn cuddling, because I love your hugs too much to give up on them."

Caspian let out a laugh, although he was blushing fiercely once more. He pulled you closer to him, capturing you in this brown stare of his you had quickly learnt to recognize like home.

"I cannot say that it would be… accepted without a few rumours and judging glances but… I will happily pay that price. To be honest, I could not resist holding you even if I wanted to."

You giggled in the most adorable of ways, hiding your face in his shoulder.

And as he breathed in the scent of your shampoo, sugary and delicate that reminded him of afternoons spent walking through the gardens, with the air filled with the fragrance of wildflowers, Caspian knew that he wouldn't have any rest tonight. How could he waste any minute he could spend with you?

His back would kill him the next day, but a few hours on your uncomfortable sofa were a small price to pay to have a chance to hold you close.

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

Commie, can you do a fic of the BN thieves + any other thieves from Super Sentai/Kamen Rider?

Absolutely I can! And since you haven’t given me a specific prompt, let’s say that

U is for unknown

Balance isn’t, like, a suspicious guy. In fact, he’d generally describe himself as friendly. He likes people! They like him, too! Good feelings all around. But when he spots a flicker of a red tailcoat that definitely shouldn’t be in one of the back corridors of this weird little vault satellite, he maybe gets a little worried.

So he says, “Hey, love cobra.”

“Please don’t call me that in public, Balance.”

“Who’s in public? Just you, me, and twenty dead security cameras, baby. Anyway, you love it.”

Naaga stares fixedly into space for a moment, which is pretty nice, since that blue blush of his is so cute. “Notwithstanding my enjoyment of your pet names, they are not appropriate in public.”

Balance sighs theatrically. “Whatever you say, baby. Did you also see a LupinRanger just now or do I need to re-calibrate?”

“I have not seen the LupinRangers recently.”

“Well, that’s worrying, not gonna lie.”

“But my eyesight is not as acute as yours.” Naaga’s tongue flickers out for a moment. “I can smell them, though.”

“Oh. Good, no re-calibrating on the menu for the evening. Still worried, though! You think this thing Lucky needs is one of their whatsits?”

“I strongly doubt it, given that they are not from this universe.” Naaga scents the air again. “They are this way.”

They catch up with the Lupins after two corridors, and the first thing that happens is that Umika sees them, makes a happy noise, and bounds over to kiss Naaga on the cheek. Then she does the same to Balance, interrupting him in the middle of, “Hey, hey, don’t go kissing on a guy’s--oh. Hey, fancy meeting you guys here! Wait, isn’t he a cop?”

Umika frowns. “Isn’t who a--wait, you mean Noël? No. I mean. Kind of? He’s with us, it’s fine.”

“You’d better not be here after a Lupin Collection piece, though.” Kairi’s hanging back, although he doesn’t look unhappy to see them. “We’ve got dibs.”

Naaga’s nictitating membranes flicker shut for a moment over his eyes. “I am certain that we’re looking for different things, the Lupin Collection is not native to this universe.” He flashes them a brief, awkward smile. “Also, hello.”

Tooma nods. Noël Not-A-Cop waves, smiling, and says, “Bonjour, mes amis, I was sort of hoping we’d get to see you again. How have you been? How’s your handsome friend?” He’s also the one who starts walking again, and since it’s also in the direction that Balance and Naaga are going in, it seems reasonable to walk along with him.

Naaga nods in his direction. “We’ve been well. You will have to be more specific.”

“Yeah, all of our friends are pretty cute.” Balance skips out in front of the group and walks backwards facing them, relying on his sensors to keep him from tripping. “You gotta say which one you mean.”

Noël looks amused. “Fair enough. The very tall one, with the red coat and the dramatic attitude.”

“Tsurugi! He’s doing ok, I’ll tell him you asked about him.”

“Please do.” Noël looks past Balance’s shoulder. “Ah, good, I think this is the storeroom we were looking for, we’ll bid you adieu here.”

Balance glances at the door, but Naaga beats him to saying, “This is also the storeroom we’re looking for.”

“Ah,” Tooma mutters. “That’s reassuring.”

“Isn’t it?” Balance flashes him a thumbs-up, which will either make him feel extra reassured or weirded out, and either option works under the circumstances. “Let’s go in together! Like a team! Good times.”

They open the door and crowd through it all together.

The storeroom is entirely bare of anything interesting to steal, let alone Lucky’s whatsit or the Lupin things. Not that it’s a boring room, though, because there are already people in it, and it only takes a second for Balance to take in two of them and say, “Hey, baby, isn’t that Stinger’s pirate buddy and his girlfriend? The scary girlfriend, not the princess one.”

Naaga nods, as on Balance’s other said Kairi visibly brightens up and says, “Hey, Marvelous, what are you doing he--you again.”

Because Stinger’s pirate buddy and his scary girlfriend are having sort of a staring contest with a third human, who’s got bleached hair and a white jacket and a big blue gun. He glances at Kairi and says, “Oh good, it’s the brat. I hope you brought--there you are, Nicky, nice to see you.”

And Noël says, pleasantly, “Bonjour, Dion, fancy meeting you here.”

“This has gotten overly complicated,” Naaga and Tooma say simultaneously, to Balance’s delighted cry of, “Jinx! So who’s this guy?”

“Daiki! Hi!” Umika bumps Naaga with her shoulder. “Naaga, Balance, this is Kaitou Daiki, he’s also a thief, he’s sort of Noël’s ex? And he’s a, a something, a Kamen Rider! That’s it!”

“No shit?” Balance flickers his eyes, just for dramatic effect. “We met a couple of those once. Nice guys. One of them had a suit with hair on it, fun look.”

Daiki nods to them, still watching Captain Marvelous out of the corner of his eye. “There are a few of us around. Anyway, evening, Nicky, Nicky’s friends, I’m assuming these two are also Sentai?”

Naaga nods shortly. “We are Kyuurangers.”

“Yeah, I thought so, you guys have that look.” Daiki glances around. “So, anyone happen to know why we’re all here? I’m supposed to be able to find an interesting treasure here, a Dark Mirror, I was going to give it to Tsukasa as a present, but I’m really not seeing anything. Starting to think I might have been misled.”

Tooma huffs. “We may have all been misled, I don’t see a Lupin Collection piece here.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Balance scans the room. “Definitely nothing in here like the whatsit Lucky wanted us to get, the, uh, baby, help me out here.”

Naaga pats him on the shoulder. “The Heracles Cape.”

“That’s the one, yeah.”

“So we’ve all been tricked.” Daiki eyes Marvelous and Luka. “Marvelous, I hope you know that if you’re the reason I’m here, I’m going to punch you.”

Captain Marvelous shrugs. “I’m not exactly happy to see you either, Kaitou. No, I’m not why you’re here, I’m just along for the ride with Luka so she doesn’t get kidnapped by evil armor again.”

Luka huffs. “Shut up, Marvelous, that was one time. I was promised a ruby the size of my fist.”

Balance bounces on the ends of his feet, just to make his earrings swing a little and get everyone’s attention. “So who got us all here, then? That’s the big fun question of the moment.”

And a quiet voice says, “I’d be happy to answer that for you.”

Everyone jumps and turns towards the back corner of the room, where there’s yet another person waiting. She’s wearing a black dress and boots with lots of pink details and pink gloves, and her hair is bright pink too. Balance is pretty sure it’s a wig, but he’s not positive, he’s not great on hominid hair.

Luka squints at her and then turns to Marvelous. “The Go-Busters didn’t have a Pink.”

“I didn’t think they did--” Marvelous pulls out his cell phone changer thing, taps a button, and says, “Gai, did the Go-Busters have a Pink?”

There’s a faint crackle from the phone, and then a voice Balance vaguely recognizes says, “Not really? There was someone who called herself Pink Buster, but she was a civilian criminal. Basically a cosplayer." A pause. "Why? Who's dressing as Pink Buster?”

“We’ll get back to you on that. Thanks, Gai.” Marvelous hangs up the call, but doesn’t put the phone away. “Who the hell are you, and why are you dressing up as a fake Sentai?”

Naaga says, slowly, “We don’t appreciate being tricked.”

Kairi and Daiki say, much more succinctly, “What the fuck?” and then glare at each other.

Not-Actually-Pink-Buster nods. “That’s understandable. I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you all here. I require your assistance in a matter of some...” a dramatic pause, which Balance appreciates, before, “delicacy.”

And--it clicks. Balance nearly shoots off the ground in delight, and then throws up his hands in a wide enough gesture that it gets everyone looking at him. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You called a bunch of thieves together--”

“I’m not a thief,” Marvelous says, sounding irritated. “Luka’s a thief. I’m a pirate.”

Tooma looks unimpressed. “The difference being?”

“Thieves sneak and snatch. Pirates smash and grab. Totally different approach.”

Daiki rolls his eyes.

Balance senses that he’s rapidly losing control of the moment, so as soon as he can he barrels on ahead. “You called a bunch of thieves and pirates together under mysterious circumstances in a weird place and you’re showing up wearing a disguise. And saying things like, ‘I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you all here.’“

“She said exactly that.”

“I know, baby, I’m being dramatic.”

“Ah. Carry on, please, I enjoy your dramatics.”

“Thanks, love you too, anyway! Did you pull us all here for a job? Is it a heist? Are you trying to get us to team up to do a heist?”

Pink Lady opens her mouth--

--but Balance is now fizzing with so much energy that his earrings are jangling. “Because I am here for it, pink lady, I’ve always wanted to do a heist! Are we robbing a bank? Wait, no, not sexy enough, please tell me it’s a casino.”

Everyone’s staring at him. It feels fantastic. Pink Lady gapes at him and then says, slowly, “It’s. Ah. A museum, actually.”

He punches the air. “Hot damn! Lady, I could kiss you. I mean, I’m not gonna, I don’t have lips and I’m pretty big on monogamy, but if it wasn’t for that then I could. A heist!"

Naaga nods and says, "I am also enthusiastic to participate."

He even sounds enthusiastic. Balance isn't sure he's ever felt so loved. "The BN Thieves are gonna do a heist!”

He and Naaga do the pose. Umika, Noël, and Daiki all clap politely. It’s amazing. It’s the best day of his life.

Kairi also looks pretty thrilled, but then he gestures to Daiki and says, “A heist sounds great, but I’m not working with that guy.”

Daiki sighs. “I’m not thrilled about the idea of working with you either, brat. Flattered to be asked, though,” to Pink Lady.`

“Oh, come on, guys, a heist! A museum heist! It doesn’t get any cooler than this!”

Tooma’s raising his eyebrows high enough that they’re actually visible over his mask. “You’re very excited about this.”

“Balance has wanted to participate in a heist since he was fifty years old.” Naaga looks pleased.

He’s so cute. Balance is going to die of joy. “I’m gonna marry that reptile,” he says to Umika, who pats him on the shoulder as Naaga turns bright blue. “Anyway, come on, you guys can put aside your weird human differences for the crime of the millennium, can’t you?”

[beetlebitchywitch]

Gio (Mafia Beetlejuice AU) x F!Reader: A Work of Art

I know I said tomorrow, but I got impatient

Warning: Semi-public sex

A gentle, steady drizzle dampened the streets of London as you strolled lazily, your mood somehow lifted by a day so many others would see as dreary. The clouds blanketed the entire city in gray dullness, yet walking hand in hand with Gio, you felt as if you were strolling through a meadow on a sunny Summer day. Truth be told, you were skeptical when Gio had asked you to accompany him on his business trip, suspecting you’d spend boring days locked away in a hotel room while he handled more important things- yet here you were, exploring the rain-slicked streets of Covent Garden hand-in-hand with Gio, who couldn’t stop glancing over at you with gentle smiles.

    “Gio?” you piped up, sliding closer to him as you traveled down the busy street. “You haven’t had so much as one phone call since we arrived here. When will you be dealing with the “business” part of this business trip?” At that, he chuckled softly, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the back of your hand as he pulled you out into the crosswalk. 

    “My apologies for bringing you here under false pretenses, piccola, but I did not want the others to simmer in their jealousy while we were gone,” he admitted with a sly grin. At your look of confusion, he continued, pulling you off to the side of the sidewalk so you were out of the way of any passersby. “There is no ‘business trip’. I simply wanted to treat you to a vacation overseas, and I knew you’d never let me if you knew that was my only purpose. Forgive me, my dear, for deceiving you.” 

    Of course, of course there was no business trip. Thinking it over, you remembered that he didn’t even have associates in London! You were about ready to chew him out for taking you on a vacation you didn’t need, but...he looked so sincere, and his touch was so gentle, both hands clutching one of yours tenderly, as if he was cradling something precious. You sighed, failing to fight back a smile. You knew from experience that Gio often showed his love by showering you in gifts, from expensive clothing to vintage bottles of wine, anything to put a smile on your face. This trip was no different, and you didn’t want to put him out by rejecting what clearly was an act of love on his part, so you reluctantly gave in and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his cheek, giving him a thankful smile. Grinning proudly, Gio lifted your hand to his lips and laid a kiss on your knuckles, pulling you close with a fond twinkle in his eye. 

    “You are a wonder to me, bambina,” he said with hushed awe, losing sight of the throngs of people around you in favor of getting lost in the sight of you, droplets of rainwater clinging to your eyelashes so perfectly that he wished he had his easel, because it would be a cardinal sin not to paint such a beautiful creature. You blushed under the weight of his gaze, choosing to pull him back into the crowd going about their daily travels rather than let him simply gaze longingly for the rest of the afternoon. He took the lead, taking you down side street after side street with a clear destination in mind, which he’d refused to tell you when you’d left the hotel that morning. Likely another one of his extravagant surprises, you suspected, but there was simply no stopping him once he’d set his mind to something. So, you let him lead you, taking in the scenery as you did so. Finally, you came to a stop in front of a small storefront. Coco de Mer...Coco de Mer…

    “Oh no, oh no,” you immediately began to object, trying and failing to pull your hand out of his. “Gio, I can’t let you do this, this is one of the most high end-” 

    “Hush now. You don’t let me do anything, ragazza sciocca,” he interrupted with a chuckle, pulling you close despite your trepidations. “Besides, this is as much a gift for myself as it is for you. Come now.” He ushered you inside despite your quiet protests, which quickly died at the sight of the store’s interior. You were surrounded by some of the most luxurious lingerie you’d ever seen, delicate lace and glistening satin and all sorts of expensive material coming together in gorgeous configurations that had you practically stunned. Towards the back of the store was a display of crystal sex toys that had you blushing, much to Gio’s delight. A saleswoman quickly descended on the two of you, a cheerful smile plastered on her face. 

    “Welcome to Coco de Mer, Mr. Shoggoth,” she greeted warmly, extending her hand for Gio to shake. He did so, nodding politely before gesturing to you. 

    “My wife would like to try a few things on,” he said, sending you a wink when you turned bright red at him calling you his wife. “Perhaps you could be of some assistance?” 

    “Of course, of course, right this way! If you see anything you like, please don’t hesitate to tell me,” she said, guiding you further into the store with a smile that refused to falter. Looking around, you noticed several of the employees looked rather nervous, their eyes widening as they scanned Gio. Perhaps he had more of a reputation here than you realized. Still, you shook it off and followed the saleswoman, for once letting go of your inhibitions and picking out whatever you saw that you liked. Trying on several pieces wouldn’t hurt, as you could always pick the one you liked best to purchase and leave the rest behind, so by the time you reached the dressing room, the saleswoman’s arms were overflowing with scraps of lace, leather, and latex, and Gio was wearing a proud smile. 

    “Well done, piccola,” he crooned, petting a hand littered with rings through your hair. You nuzzled into the touch, pressing a sweet kiss to his wrist while the saleswoman wrestled to get a dressing room door unlocked. Once it was open, you gave him a knowing grin and strode inside, taking your items from the saleswoman and giving Gio a pensive look before sighing and beckoning him to join you. He paused for a moment, glancing back and forth between you and the saleswoman before smiling knowingly and moving past her, shutting the door behind him and cutting the two of you off from the public eye. 

    “Do you think they’ll mind?” you asked. 

    “Not at all, if they know what’s good for them,” he said with a shrug before seating himself on the small bench in the corner of the room. “Now, I want to see what you look like in that lovely lace ensemble. Do try it on for me, bambi.” 

    Now that you were here, his smoldering eyes meeting yours in the mirror, your cheeks stained a dark pink. He crossed his arms with an expectant grin, quirking one eyebrow in a way that undoubtedly said “Well? I’m waiting,”, so with slightly trembling hands, you disrobed, trying to ignore the way Gio’s eyes dragged languidly over every inch of skin you revealed to him. Once your clothes were discarded, you took the first set in hand, a lacy maroon number, and slipped into it. The lace cupped your breasts perfectly, and the panties cut just right across the curve of your ass. You twisted and turned in the mirror, examining it from all angles before turning towards Gio, whose eyes were trained solely on your breasts. Gaining a bit of confidence, you smirked, placing one hand on your cocked hip. 

    “You like it?” you asked. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, his pupils humorously dilated. 

    “You are a masterpiece, mio dolce,” he sighed. He stood, offering you his hand, and you took it, letting him twirl you as he got a good look at you from all angles. “Truly a work of art. I have half a mind to display you in one of my museums.” 

    You shoved his shoulder playfully, though the thought sent heat pooling in your belly. That, however, was a thought for another time. Before you could reach for another set, Gio was already ahead of you, handing you the black lace bodysuit that he seemed to have his eye on as you traversed the store. 

    “Try this one on for me, mia cara,” he said with a wink. “I have a feeling you’ll like it.”

    And true to his word, the minute it touched your skin, you were in love. The lace was unlike anything you’d felt before, the softness of it slipping luxuriously over your skin as you stepped into it. Just from pulling it up your body, you could tell that it was strong too, unlikely to tear from any rough handling. Sliding the straps on your shoulders, you were surprised to find that it didn’t dig into your skin too uncomfortably. In fact, the piece seemed to fit you as if it were made for you, hugging every curve like a second skin. When you met Gio’s gaze through the mirror, he was nothing short of intoxicated, his eyes never settling on one part of you for too long, choosing instead to roam over your body like he was a king sitting down to a feast. You bit your lip shyly when his eyes met yours again, leaning back in his seat to cross his arms across his chest almost nonchalantly. 

    “How do I look?” you asked softly, tugging nervously at the edge of the lace where it cut across your hips. Gio didn’t even seem to acknowledge that you’d spoken.

    “Bend over.”

    “...Excuse me?”

    “You heard me.” 

    Oh yes, you’d heard him. Those words were an undeniable command, so soft yet carrying so much weight, that without a second thought, you bent over, exposing what Gio had been after all along. You gasped at the foreign feeling, your eyes widening with the realization- the bodysuit was crotchless. Your pussy was exposed to his gaze as you braced your arms up against the wall, trying not to watch him through the mirror as he leaned forward, his eyes locked on your core and how wet you’d become from his gaze alone. 

    “My, my...such a naughty girl,” he cooed softly. He reached out, dragging the tip of one finger to gather the wetness between your lips, and you gasped, looking around nervously as if the entire store full of employees could see you through the locked door. “Have I excited you, piccola?” And yes, you could tell by the tone of his voice that this was his plan all along, not to mention the wicked smirk he was sporting that you finally got the courage to view through the mirror. You shuddered as he let his wet fingertip travel to your clit, rubbing little circles and grinning wickedly at the way your thighs began to tremble. You pressed your lips together, struggling not to make a sound. “Oh, am I making this difficult for you? Make sure not to squeak, topolina.” 

    Ignoring his command, you growled softly at his teasing tone, despite the way your hips involuntarily bucked back into his touch. You held in your pleasured noises as much as you could after that, even with your legs trembling uncontrollably as Gio played with you, watching you intently for any sign that you’d blow your cover. Though he’d love nothing more than to play with your clit until your knees gave out, he had other plans in mind. Reaching into his coat, he met your gaze in the mirror as he pulled out a crystal dildo, sparkling in the overhead lights of the dressing room. You gasped at the sight of it, sending a glare through the mirror that got him chuckling. 

    “Relax, bambi, I’m more than willing to purchase it once we’re through. Now, be a good girl for me, or I’ll make you leave the store in only this.” He snapped the elastic edge of the lace against your skin and you gasped, nodding fervently as you braced yourself more firmly against the wall. Though you knew it was an empty threat, the thought excited you more than you were willing to admit. Seemingly satisfied, Gio brought the dildo to your entrance, circling it to gather some of your slick of the tip before slowly sliding it inside, watching your body for every twitch, tremble, and shake. Only once he had it fully inside you did he smile, running his other hand soothingly across your back and down across your ass. 

    “Such an obedient girl,” he crooned, beginning to press the dildo in and out of you. “Just imagine what the others will think of you in this. I suspect Escarabajo will have you in the garden before we can even unpack our bags. Would you like that, bambina? Would you like for us all to tear this scrap of lace to shreds and ruin you?” 

    Despite the hushedness of his voice, it felt like every word was filling you up and swallowing you whole. You could picture it, the look on Bajo’s face when he saw you parading around in such a skimpy bodysuit, and the thought of being spread out among the roses in only this sent a shiver down your spine, not to mention the delicious way the dildo dragged inside of you. Seeing the effect his words had on you, Gio chuckled darkly, driving the dildo into you faster and harder just to watch you tremble. 

    “Perhaps Scarabee will get the first taste instead, hmm? Or would you prefer Ciarog suspending you from the ceiling with his ropes?” he mused. He reached around with one hand to play with your clit as he fucked you with the dildo, growling playfully as you couldn’t help but let loose a tiny whimper at the thought of them all having a go at you. “Yes, that’s it, piccolina, just let go for me. Mm, my sweet girl, my good girl, are you going to cum for me?”

    “Y-yes, yes Gio, please,” you whispered, biting down on your knuckle just to keep your noises at bay. You didn’t think it could, but somehow the toy fucked you harder, driving into your G spot just right while Gio ground perfect circles into your clit, dragging you closer and closer to the edge. 

    “Perfetto, la mia ragazza perfetta, oh my darling, cum for me!” 

    It was his impassioned cry that finally drove you to madness, your pussy clenching rhythmically around the toy as you came, biting down painfully onto your hand to maintain your silence as the pleasure wracked your body. He fucked you through it all, watching you so intently as if to paint a picture in his mind to always remember. You struggled not to let your knees buckle as you came down, but Gio quickly pulled you up onto his lap, cradling you close and hushing your barely-there whimpers.

    “There we are now, my dear, it’s alright,” he cooed, pressing little kisses to your tear-stained cheeks. Your trembling slowly abated under his loving watch, and when you’d finally seemed to have come back to yourself, he smiled at you, leaning in for a slow, sweet kiss. “You did beautifully, bambi. Get dressed, and we’ll go pay.” 

    “But...I only tried two things on!”

    “Nonsense, I’m buying them all for you,” he said flippantly, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe off the toy. “Each one will be as perfect as the last, don’t you worry. Now, clothes on, before I change my mind.” And with a wink, he was gone, likely off to facilitate your large purchase. With a fond sigh, you moved to change into the rest of your clothes. If this was just the way that Gio decided to show his love, well then...you certainly wouldn’t complain.

(Tagging everyone again! @go-commander-kim @justsassysworld @gegehaddock @vicunaburger @realmonsterboyhours @young-erstill @humanransome-note)

[madamewriterofwrongs]

62 of the sensory prompts!

I hope you enjoy <3

Sensory Prompts

62. Fingertips smudged in blue ink

Bear my Signature

2008

His hands were steady as he bent over the recruitment table, sure in the path he was setting himself on. This was his decision, not his father’s. Shannon was proud of him; his parents were proud of him – he was proud of himself. Nothing could make him change his mind.

Then why did he hesitate over the final signature?

One last scrawl of his name and he would be a new Sixty-eight Whiskey recruit with the United States Armed Forces, with a career and a future serving his country and doing something of use – for once.

He couldn’t keep working for his father, long hours of travel, barked orders, and n real choice. Working with his hands was one thing, but this would be so much more.

He was going to make something of himself.

All he had to do was sign on the bottom line and his life would change forever. He thought of Shannon. They hadn’t been together long enough to know what time and distance would do to them, but he loved her; and she loved him. That would be enough.

He could do this.

He would do this.

He had to do this.

Eddie’s hands shook as his pen danced over his last key to freedom.

2010

He had been staring at the page for hours. It was a good program – it should be for the amount of money his parents were paying (he could hear his mother’s voice echoing in his ears). He wanted to be here. Sure, he wasn’t overly enthusiastic about his field of study but it would open up a lot of doors if he could be at least a B student.

He wouldn’t have to live at home any more, that was a definite plus. There was a great love he had for his parents when he didn’t have to see them every day.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Or forgetful.

Either way, this college would be the perfect opportunity to go out on his own and make something of himself. So what, if it was only a few hours away from home and his parents were paying for everything? He was still an independent person of independent means; he would finally have something to contribute. He’d be doing something of use – for once.

So what, if he hated the program? So what, if he was still staring at that map of the known world he got on his seventh grade trip to the museum?

This would be how he would make his mark on the world; it was his only option.

Buck placed his signature on the final page and handed the pile of forms back to the registration office.

2010

Eddie had never felt so panicked in his entire life (apart from the time two months ago when he’d called his girlfriend in the middle of the night and asked her to marry him when he was in town on leave). That had been a different kind of panic.

The panic brought on from calling his parents the day before and telling them that Shannon was pregnant and he had no idea what to do. After a lot of cursing and a lot of lecturing, they told him that there was only one option available to him: marry the girl.

They never liked Shannon. They tolerated her – were polite to her whenever Eddie brought her around – but the sneer in his mother’s voice when she told him what an idiotic mistake he’d made, reminded him that this would be the only way his parents approved of him marrying his high school sweetheart.

He’d always thought he’d get around to marrying her eventually. Sure, they’d only dated for a few months in her last year of high school but that still counted as a teenage romance where he was from. It was romantic right?

And then she’d told him she was pregnant, and then he’d panicked and begged her to marry him.

And now they were walking down the aisle in front of their friends and family (who were available to fly out at a moment’s notice), saying their vows like they actually meant them.

To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, till death do us part.

Eddie smudged the ink of his signature as he marked the marriage certificate, a reminder of the familiar yet uncharted path his life was currently on.

2011

Eddie never believed in love at first sight, but holding that little boy in his arms changed everything. Christopher Ramon Diaz, born 4lbs, 9oz. The doctors assured them that he was a little small but perfectly healthy and safe. That was all he needed to hear.

He hadn’t stopped smiling since they brought Shannon and Christopher to their room so mom and the baby could rest.

Mom.

Shannon was a mother now. The mother of his child.

He was a father. How the hell was he going to be a dad when his own had kept him at a distance his entire life? Not that he blamed him – he was providing for his family – that’s what you do. That’s why he was serving out the rest of his tour and coming straight home to look for a job.

He hated that he wouldn’t get to spend more than a week with his wife (the mother of his child) and newborn son, but that was the deal he made:

Put food on the table, keep a roof over their heads, and you will be a family forever.

At least he was around long enough to sign his name on the dotted line, declaring this little boy his for anyone to see. Christopher looked so much like his mother, he prayed he wouldn’t stay away long enough to become a stranger in his eyes. He wanted every moment he could get.

Eddie was going to be a good father; he would fight for them, and when he came back, he would work a million jobs so he could keep their deal. So long as the two of them were happy, nothing else mattered.

2014

Buck was floating, restless, in a sea of uncertainty. To be specific, he was floating in Moloaʻa Bay, just north of Kauaʻi, watching a group of men performing professional grade dives further out. They worked in sync but came up splashing and laughing, hearty laughs of grown men (not boys who had no idea what they were doing with their lives).

He’d spoken to them the night before when they stumbled into the bar he’d found himself sitting at most nights, striking up a conversation about how they all ended up on this island paradise.

He vaguely remembered coming up with some story about following a girl here only to have her ditch him for another man. It sounded better than telling them, he’d shown up at the airport in Seattle and asked for the cheapest, earliest flight and somehow ended up here.

Their story had been much more interesting anyways. Naval SEALS, honorable and strong. They were attending a conference by day (who got to go to a conference in Kauaʻi?) but the nights were all for them.

Buck blushed, remembering how bright the youngest one, Jacob, had smiled at him over their fifth shot of rum – or was it their eighth? Either way, they’d woken up tangled in each other’s arms somewhere around 6am, when Jake kicked him out so he could get ready for his meeting.

Now, he watched them all, wondering what it must be like to have that kind of comradery, that kind of purpose – that kind of freedom.

That night at the bar, Buck found Jake again and followed him back to his hotel room so he could register for their mailing list of interested applicants (he didn’t ask to stay).

The next time he was in Coronado, he’d have a new career opportunity and – hopefully – a new life.

2015

Eddie hated his signature. On a good day, it was a series of loops strung together with an E and D sloppily thrown in.

On a bad day, it was the end of a long series of papers that meant he was being discharged from the army with honors. For being brave, he wouldn’t have to fight anymore.

He didn’t feel brave. He certainly didn’t feel like he was done fighting.

And yet here he was, standing in front of a General he’d never met, having to hide the tremor in his hand as he struggled to sign off on his emancipation from the only real thing he’d ever known.

He had a wife and a son back home who didn’t know him any more – it wasn’t a stretch to say he no longer knew himself. But they needed him. They needed his money and his leadership and he didn’t have much of either. He had no way of knowing what he was coming home to (and didn’t that just sting?). Having no idea what was going on with his own family because he was gone for too long. What good was he to them now that he was back, though? He still had months of recovery ahead of him, and a few scars that opened up into a chasm of nightmares every night. All he wanted to do was take a deep breath a scream.

But he couldn’t do that.

He could salute with his good hand, and thank the man for the box that said he was a hero, and go back to his family.

And keep trying to hold it together.

2016

So being a SEAL hadn’t been the dream he imagined it to be. He still gained some valuable skills when it came to search and rescue, and combat. He also learned about the type of job he didn’t want to have.

He wanted the life they had on the brochure:

Help save lives.

Do some good.

Be a daredevil.

So they hadn’t said those exact words but that was the implication. It was implied that he’d get to be a badass rulebreaker with a heart of gold.

He shuffled out of the facility with a few new bruises and a new respect for being a decent human being for once.

Whether by coincidence of providence, he found himself wandering around the streets of Los Angeles nearly every night after he arrived, searching for some sort of sign that this was the place to be at this moment in time. If it wasn’t, he could always move on to the next place. But there was something about LA that felt right. Hot sun, hot people, lots of mischief and adventure.

A boy could become a man here.

He was stopped on the street as the fire station in front of him roared to life, and he watched through the window as men and women worked in tandem to load their gear and peel away from the hangar. 30 seconds of excitement suddenly left the building feeling empty enough for Buck to hear his own heart pick up.

Before he knew what he was doing, he walked up to the main door and rang the bell. A man in a uniformed t-shirt and pants answered, and invited him inside to tell him all about the exciting life as a Los Angeles Firefighter.

For the second time in his life, Buck left his name and number with a strange man, hoping this single interaction would change his life.

2017

Eddie took a deep breath; not screaming, this time, but exhaling the last of his nerves. This felt right. This was his decision, not his father’s – in fact, his father had no qualms about showing his disapproval at his decision.

But it felt right.

Being a firefighter was a lot like combat (with an eighth of the on-the-job stressors). But he still got to help people – he could use his skills he’d learned in the army to save lives at home the way he hoped he was doing overseas. And he could come home to his son every night.

He would have come home to Shannon, too, if he could get her on the phone for more than a few minutes at a time.

He hadn’t spoken with her in over a year, now. She’d stopped answering so he’d stopped calling and only part of his heart was broken for knowing that she’d run away, too.

Even if it was just him and Christopher for a little while, it would be still be a blessing to go save the world and be back in time for dinner (usually).

He was so tired lately. Working three jobs left him no energy to be with his son and even less desire to argue with his parents over how to best raise him.

Christopher needed stability, so he’d give it to him. He’d become a firefighter for whoever would take this mess of a human being, and build the life for his son that he deserved – a happy one.

Even if he wondered twelve times a day if a happy life was really a life with him. Maybe Christopher would be better off with his parents. He barely knew the little boy sleeping in his own bed and not a crib.

Isn’t that all the more reason to stay?

Before Eddie could second guess himself, he signed his name on the dotted line, and joined the row of recruits for the fire academy training.

2017

As far as first dates went, this one was strangely not the worst. That had involved jumping out the second story window of an apartment complex because her “technically still my boyfriend” was coming through the front door.

He’d twisted his ankle when his leg got caught on the fire escape and the police were called – though, thankfully, no charges were laid. Incredibly painful, and incredibly embarrassing.

Waking up in the hospital after his girlfriend had performed an emergency tracheotomy, was a very close second.

Unlike that awful first date, though. Abby was still at his side when he woke up. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d had someone to wake up next to – even if it was groggily coming off anesthesia after surgery.

It was nice.

She was nice.

God, he liked her so much. Why couldn’t the universe let him have one good date? He hadn’t had that many to begin with, was it so much to ask that things go right?

Abby was nice and smart and beautiful and liked him.

And she stayed.

She was at work when he signed himself out of the hospital but Bobby had been there, too, to drive him home since his car was still at the restaurant. They even went out for breakfast. That was new as well. Someone who willingly spent time with him and offered him advice and cared whether Buck took that advice.

He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a little addictive:

Having people in his life who stayed.

2018

Carla had to slap his hand during their tour of the school every time he tried to play with the lanyard around his neck. He managed to stop fidgeting after the first fifteen minutes, but the nerves never faded.

This was a huge risk. It was still early in the school year, but Christopher had just moved to LA. He had no friends, no social circle, no one outside of his family; and now Eddie wanted to move him to a highly specialized school.

What, just because it had small class sizes, and teachers who seemed to understand his son’s needs, and had incredible security measures, and was an opportunity for Christopher to get a better education than he had back in Texas, and it felt like a miracle that Carla convinced the school to see him on such short notice?

It was still an incredibly expensive miracle.

And there was the problem of getting a hold of Shannon. He’d told their lawyer when he was taking Christopher out of the state, and thankfully, her number hadn’t changed, but getting her to pick up the phone when he called his estranged wife had been an exercise in anxiety control.

If it meant that Christopher got the best care, nothing else mattered.

Even as his thought swam with a thousand unanswered questions (the loudest one being: what did that kiss in the parking lot mean for us?), Eddie’s hand was sure and still as he signed the registration form.

2019

Maddie was back in his life. He’d almost lost Maddie a few months after getting her back, but now that wouldn’t be a problem anymore. She was safe, and she was home with him; he had his big sister once again and that was all he needed.

It didn’t stop the nightmares from bolting him awake, reminding him that he could die tomorrow and then she’d be left alone. Or she could leave again and then he’d be alone.

He didn’t want that: he didn’t want to be alone again. He liked the people in his life. Maddie, Bobby, the 118, Eddie, Christopher; they were people he wanted to keep safe.

But the dangers he needed to protect them from weren’t always solved with a giant water hose or an axe. For everything else, he called a lawyer and got some advice.

Maddie had been very understanding when he told her about the will he planned to change so she’d receive a larger piece of his assets. She was his sister, he was always going to leave something to her, but now that she was back, he wanted to know that she’d be happy here without him in this place he’d convinced her to settle.

Eddie had been less understanding; grateful, yes, but speechless as to why Buck would want to leave his colleague so much (it was mostly for Christopher, he explained, so that he’d could have something for his future if he lost his best buddy). That had still led to a lot of protesting – eventually broken up by a confused by thankful Shannon – but nothing was compared to Bobby.

Bobby who teared up when Buck explained that he didn’t have a lot of things in this world, but if anything happened to him, he wanted Bobby to have something to remember him by.

That hadn’t been a lie, but maybe not a whole truth.

He wanted to know that the people he loved most were never left alone even after he left them.

Was that so much to ask for?

2019

Eddie hated funerals. He didn’t know a single person who enjoyed them; but he’d been to far too many in his short life to find any comfort in them.

They were burying his wife today.

She didn’t want to be his wife anymore but he hadn’t told anyone that. The shame that burned his throat when he thought of revealing that painful truth, was too sharp. He suffered in silence as he always had. It wasn’t just his own feelings he had to worry about; there was Christopher.

There was always Christopher – there would always be Christopher – he would never stop caring for his son as long as he lived (and probably long after as well). Because that’s what parents were supposed to do.

He found himself standing, poised with pen in hand over another piece of paper, frozen once again by his own indecision and fear.

What was he supposed to write in the book of her life? How was he meant to say goodbye to the only woman he’d ever loved? How could he close this chapter of his life with a flick of ink?

He couldn’t.

His eyes hooked onto his son’s back, sitting quietly beside his great grandmother, swinging his legs under the pews because he still wasn’t tall enough to touch the ground. He was so small; so young.

Christopher needed him to be strong; needed him to put it away so they could take care of each other.

Eddie signed the front page, and opened the book for the guests to sign.

2019

When Buck woke up in the hospital this time, he saw an angel, and for a moment he was terrified; but then everything was at peace.

The moments after he felt peace, however, were agonizing and terrifying. The moments before hadn’t been a picnic either, but at least his memories of laying underneath a ladder truck and being pulled to safety were still a little hazy. He remembered a warm hand in his and a few words of encouragement and a lot of screaming, but not much else.

Now that he was awake, fear was quickly becoming his only focus. The fear of not knowing whether the surgery had been successful – not knowing if he’d ever work again or if he’d have to start his life over. The fear of whether he would be the same man if he ever could go back to work. So much was uncertain, that he clung to the tiniest bit of hope: Ali, Maddie, and Carla. The women who would stay by his side no matter what.

It took him four days before he had the strength to walk to the end of the hall, and finally, the doctor was satisfied that the was safe to go home. He had never been happier being wheeled out to his sister’s car, than the day he got to sign himself out of the hospital, knowing that everything would be back to normal.

2019

Buck was man enough to admit that this punishment was nothing compared to what it could be. Three hours in the human resources office with Bobby, Chief Alonso and Alex, head of HR, signing his name to a million forms, could have been a lot worse.

Sure, his hand cramped about half an hour in, but it was worth it all if it meant he could finally go back to work.

It all seemed a little silly – not that he’d ever say that out loud. Buck had no intention of suing the city or the department (or Bobby) again. He’d meant what he said, though: he was a fighter. He’d fight for his job and his family however he could.

Sometimes he fought in really stupid ways that he didn’t realize were harmful until it was too late. But then he’d just have to fight to make up for those mistakes.

Buck was a fighter, plain and simple.

Tonight, he’d fight through hand cramps and eye fatigue. Tomorrow he’d fight for his friends’ trust.

And pray it was enough for them to let him come home.

2022

There was one recorded day of history in which Eddie Diaz felt happier than he did today: the day his son was born.

Nothing else compared to that day, vowing his fealty to Christopher and whatever he needed.

Today was a pretty good day, though.

He was dressed a lot nicer, that was for certain – not that he didn’t love the sea green scrubs, but a fitted suit was much more comfortable.  

The company was also pretty good.

Christopher stood beside him in the mirror, adjusting his tie for the tenth time (even though Abuela told him to stop playing with it). He understood that the boy was nervous so he only smiled down at him and his slightly crooked tie.

There was a knock at the door and Eddie hurried to answer it, knowing exactly who would be on the other side.

Buck hadn’t stopped smiling since he arrived at the rental hall, taking all of Maddie’s teasing as she helped him dress for his big day. Nothing could dampen his mood; not the caterers calling in with last minute substitutions, not baby Gloria throwing up on Chimney all night, not a small tear in his suit jacket that neither of them could fix.

None of it mattered as he knocked on the door of the side room they’d set up.

Technically, he wasn’t supposed to see the groom before the wedding – but technically they weren’t supposed to sleep together the night before either, so one more break in tradition wouldn’t be the end of the world. Since the day they moved in together, Buck had never willingly spent a night away from their bed. Even on the nights when they were irreconcilably fighting, they’d sleep on opposite sides of the bed.

He was not about to sleep without his fiancé on the last night he got to call him his fiancé.

Eddie and Buck walked down the hallway to greet the officiant, Maddie waiting for them with two pens in hand.

This was it; the last step before they officially tied the knot. Everything after this was just icing on the cake (which reminded Buck, he needed to tell Eddie about the catering mishap after everything was sorted because he was more likely to panic). This was the moment where they would sign their names and be legally bound in the eyes of the world, as two people who wanted to spent their lives together.

Eddie was careful with his penmanship. His hands didn’t shake much – absolutely confident in this choice – but he wanted it to be perfect. This would be the last time he would sign his name on a piece of paper like this (and he wouldn’t sign his name on a book for others to impart their memories of his dearly departed for a very long time); so he savored every little detail as he lent his name to another cause he believed in wholeheartedly.

Buck laughed when he messed up the B in “Buckley” after spending hours for weeks on end, practicing his “Diaz”s. It turned into a strange series of vertical loops that someone could use in context to describe as a B, so he wasn’t too worried. In fact, he had no worries at all. Now, he had a happy memory attached to signing away his life to a man he hoped to know better with every passing day.

[ritualpurposes]

Why History is Important

This week has been a week of terrible takes on History, Politics and how the two intersect. From the appalling article in the Telegraph on how the “woke masses” are trying to sabotage Britain’s history (I won’t give this the dignity of a link, but it is easy enough to find), the continued harassment and vilification of Dr Corinne Fowler for her work on the Colonial Countryside Project, to the release of the utterly disgusting 1776 commission in the US and as always, the plethora of ‘hot takes’ on Tumblr, I am seething with rage.

This is a long one, apologies. I won’t go into Tumblrs approach to history, that has been better covered by others here, and here and honestly this rant is long enough as is. 

Archaeology and history are inherently political, that is an inescapable fact. People are quick to turn up their noses at the subject of the past and say it has no bearing on the present, but that is a simplistic fantasy. The present is always built of the back of the past, our attitudes, our justifications, our worldviews are all artifacts of what has come before. And when our understanding of what came before is, shall we charitably say, flawed, that is dangerous. The links between the alt. right, white supremacy and fake, white –washed, hyper masculine ideas of the past are well documented. Many of these people justify their actions using versions of the past which to them are very real, ideas of a white ethno-state where the men were Men™. It should be noted, this isn’t a modern phenomenon, I’m pretty sure anyone who has had to sit through intro to archaeology has had to listen to at least once lecture on how Hitler used pseudo archaeology to justify his actions. And while academics can point out that Roman Britain was not white, or that the Vikings traded and intermarried with people from North Africa, these attempts are hindered, both by popular perceptions of the past, and by this idea that the left are attempting to rewrite history.

I find that last point difficult really to deal with, because it combines two opposing ideas, that historians want to make the past more ‘politically correct’ but also downplay the ‘greatness’ of whatever nation they are talking about by talking about the distinctly not political correct bits of history (colonialism and slavery).  There is this overwhelming idea that adding any sort of nuance is the result of massive bias. And that any history that doesn’t make your nation look 100% the Heroic Good Guys is part of some sort of plot to undermine national pride and patriotism. The Tories are terrified we might remove statues of slavers, but in the same breath attack the National Trust for trying to talk about the Colonial legacies of their properties.

I think at this point it’s also worth discussing the difference between history and commemoration.  I am 100% in support of removing statues, and of renaming streets etc. These things are not history, they are commemoration. History is found in museums, in books, in scholarship. History is knowledge, it is not objects but the context that surrounds them.  The removal of a statue does not equal rewriting history, a statue, while an archaeologically interesting artifact, does not in and of itself tell us much. Its context is far more revealing. There is an idea in archaeology called object biography, that looks at how items change in meaning and use throughout their ‘lives’. Items are not static, just like ideas are not static. In the 19th century that statue meant something very different to the people who are around today. What we commemorate, and what commemorations we destroy tell us about society. If the history of Edward Coulston is so important (a man, who I had never heard of before the statue was thrown into the river, so clearly not a priority in English history), then put the statue in a museum with an information board. And if you are really worried about the destruction of history? Why don’t you spend your time and money instead ensuring archaeological work gets done ahead of development or making sure history departments are adequately funded. Interesting, the Torries, while very concerned about statues, are actively fighting those two measures. I know less about the Republican agenda, but looking at the 1776 project, I’m pretty sure that any concern they have for history is less about the past and more about preserving the status quo.

I grew up in America. I took AP US history, and I remember having to write papers about how the Civil War was absolutely not about Slavery. I guess that doesn’t seem that harmful in and of itself, but let’s trace this bit of revisionism through shall we. The Civil war was over States rights, that doesn’t sound too bad. I mean I may not agree with the South, but is it really a moral issue to say that the Federal Government shouldn’t be able to override what individual States want? After all States are very different, what is good for New York might not be so good for Georgia. Ok, so using that logic I don’t really see what’s wrong with flying a confederate flag, I mean it can’t possibly be a symbol of oppression, because the Civil War *wasn’t* about Slavery. So I don’t see why people are getting all upset, it is simply a statement that States Rights are important.

Add to this the general romanticized picture of the Confederate South in the media and you suddenly are looking at a very different picture of the past, supported by, of all things, the fucking AP US History curriculum. The Confederates are seen as tragic heroes, on the wrong side of history perhaps, but with a point, fighting for a way of life.  And from there it doesn’t seem too far a leap to what happened on January 6 does it?  I’m not saying all media should demonize the South, but I think removing Slavery from the Civil war is dangerous and false representation of History, and one that directly plays into the Civil Unrest we are seeing at the Moment.

So that brings me back to the 1776 commission. It was published as a direct response to the 1619 Project. The 1619 Project sought to center slavery and its effects on American history. This is hugely important, and a weirdly contentious issue. The echos of slavery are still present in the USA, in the form of institutionalized racism, voter suppression, and increased levels of police brutality among other things. It is, at best impossibly naive and at worst actively malicious, to try and consider US history without dealing with the brutal legacy of slavery. And yet, this project was deemed to be ‘UnAmerican’ and ‘revisionist’. How dare any history of America undermine the idea that America is, and has always been, A noble nation that has never done anything wrong ever. To return briefly to my own experiences with AP US History, our textbook said we didn’t lose Vietnam (My father who was a war correspondent in Vietnam had some things to say about that comment). The myth of American Exceptionalism runs deep. The 1776 commission, which I have not brought myself to read in its entirety, is a horrific example of it. It justifies slavery, it states that “as a question of practical politics, no durable union could have been formed without a compromise among the states on the issue of slavery.”, states racism ended in 1964, and that Christianity is the reason we have secular law.

Why does this scare the shit out of me? Why do I care what people believe happened 200 years ago? Because if people truly believe that America can do no wrong, that patriotism means never questioning that we really will live in Trump’s America. Because if Slavery was justified, and racism doesn’t exist anymore than clearly we don’t have to do better, and any complaints are communist plot.  Because if Empire really did make England Great then why should we not continue in the same vain? History is grand! Let us live in the Good Ol’ Days!

History is messy. History is unpleasant. History doesn’t fit into simple narratives of good and bad, because people don’t fit into those categories. And while I agree it is impossible to teach history without some bias (interpretation being a key part), we need to accept our past. If we want a brighter future we need to confront where we come from. We need to fight the false narratives prevalent in our culture, be they the idea that Game of Thrones is a good picture of Medieval England or that the Civil War was over a simple ideological difference and not the lives of thousands of enslaved peoples. The best bit of advice on history I ever got was from my high school teacher “If you want to live in the past you haven’t been paying attention”, I think about that statement a lot. The past has power, let us not pretend otherwise.

[gizkasparadise]

wow trying to edit that post was a nightmare. sorry yall. 

anonymous asked how bad “goodbye my princess” was. 

vague badness: enemy lovers that actually have consequences, betrayal/lying, jealousy, murder, suicide, dead family members dead family members everywhere, depression, the male love interest going a lil Unhinged, main character deaths (plural)

detailed spoilers (and legit, SPOILERS) under the cut

so you have to embrace that the male lead/chengyin is an absolute piece of shit. like he’s terrible. and he’s compelling. but he makes so many bad choices in pursuit of power / the throne of the li empire. so so many. now, he loves xiaofeng and it’s legit, but that ultimately brings more pain to her than if he didn’t.

Fucked Up Shit Chengyin Does: A Love (?) Story

-within the first 10 episodes, he + his soldiers have almost completely wiped out xiaofeng’s family + the danchi as a whole. her cousins die. her friends die. tangentially, her mother dies and her father goes insane. chengyin even beheads her beloved grandfather in front of her (he didn’t know she was there. but lmao. still.)

-did i mention that was on their wedding day? it was on their wedding day. said grandfather even gave her away. he went ahead with marrying xiaofeng even though he had no intention of abandoning his mission and thought idk love would fix it? chengyin what what what are you doing

-it’s unclear whether or not chengyin was going to tell her he was the double agent/the reason the li empire was able to wipe out the danchi, but there’s this like Significant pause between when xiaofeng wakes up from traumatically fainting after the danchi are defeated to her recognizing the li empire armor in his quarters where he doesn’t say anything and it is Sketch. definitely the implication that if he could he would hide his role in the defeat of the danchi from her and just Carry On as a Happily Married Couple

-she’s rightfully horrified by him when she makes the connection between him and the armor in his tent and tries to stab him, so he stabs himself harder which isnt awful but just fucked up like this is not a good relationship

-when gu jian (xiaofeng’s teacher/first love) comes to take her out of the li military camp, chengyin stops him and demands that he lets xiaofeng go because, quote, “They’re not over yet.” bro you just massacred damn near her entire family i think that’s a dealbreaker (to his credit he does let her leave but lmao it’s v clear he didn’t want to)

-there’s a semi-time skip and Plot Related Amnesia, so he and xiaofeng don’t remember their traumatic history, and both end up in the li empire b/c of xiaofeng’s marriage contract to one of their princes. one would think without the danchi backstory maybe they could have a better time. they don’t.

-chengyin falls for xiaofeng again, but he knows the politics of court are Fucked Up and if he shows he cares about her they’ll target her. so he makes a girl who’s been in love with him since childhood (se se) his concubine and fake!dotes on her to have all the political schemes fall on her instead of xiaofeng. basically, he exploits the poor girl’s feelings to make her a meat shield. i think he calls her expendable at one point. on the flip side of things, he treats xiaofeng like absolute shit sometimes in order to protect her. which works, but gd what an asshole

-although their memories are gone, chengyin knows basic things about the events in western liang that others in the palace have told him: that he defeated the danchi and killed xiaofeng’s grandfather are among them. he doesn’t tell xiaofeng this, even when they’re officially engaged. she finds out on her own right before the wedding and confronts him. he’s essentially like Look I Didn’t Want You To Know and when that doesn’t do well he’s like Think of The Country and also I Love You and gets general pei to later take her to the memorial he built for her grandfather, complete with his armor set. which is kind of sweet but also kind of imperialist museum? and also he was the one that killed him??

-super jealous. when there’s rumors that general pei and xiaofeng are having an affair (they’re not), he maneuvers to publicly strong-arm pei into a marriage with his sister (aka an imperial princess aka a marriage he can’t turn down). it turned out alright, but the Motives were definitely not alright--emphasized by the stone cold stare down he gives xiaofeng after the announcement (she’s oblivious to it, because she’s not in love with pei, but chengyin doesn’t know that). part of it is a political maneuver, but it’s also p clear that it’s personal

-a doozy. so gu jian, chengyin’s cousin and accomplice in the Take Down the Danchi Fuckery, is in love with xiaofeng. he was also xiaofeng’s first love, but she doesn’t remember him because #amnesia.  throughout the second half of the show, gu jian’s been working as sort of a guardian for xiaofeng as she lives in the palace and trying to make amends for his part in the danchi massacre/trying to assuage his guilty conscience. at one point, he decides enough’s enough and he kidnaps xiaofeng in order to get her free from the palace. during this time, chengyin’s absolutely losing his shit because his beloved wife is gone and he knows gu jian’s the one that took her / has his suspicions about gu jian’s feelings for her.

while gu jian and xiaofeng are on the run, xiaofeng starts to get bits and pieces of her memory back--all of them surround a man named “xiaowu” aka chengyin’s alter-ego when they were together in west liang. because he’s a shit, gu jian says he’s xiaowu, and as a result xiaofeng believes he’s the one she used to be in love with. Complicated. even more complicated when, fleeing chengyin and palace soldiers, xiaofeng hits her head and COMPLETELY remembers everything.

needless to say, she doesn’t want to be around chengyin anymore. it’s super sad and fucked up, because while xiaofeng remembers everything, chengyin doesn’t. so here’s what chengyin knows:

-his wife was open and warm and they were in love even if he couldn’t always show it because #Intrigue

-wife gets kidnapped by his cousin, who he suspects is in love with her

-wife comes back from kidnapping, hating him and saying the only person she ever cared for was xiaowu -- which is NOT HIM

-his cousin claimed to be xiaowu

when gu jian tries to rescue xiaofeng again, he’s surrounded by palace guards and chengyin goes totally unhinged. he forces xiaofeng to watch as he orders his men to shoot the shit out of gu jian. she tries to look away but he won’t let her. he doesnt even care that a’du, xiaofeng’s best friend and the only one she really has left, is at risk of being shot as well. gu jian dies, and while xiaofeng knows he’s not xiaowu she remembers that they grew up together/at one point he was her beloved teacher and she’s devastated. she tries to starve herself but chengyin threatens to take a’du away forever if she does. it’s fucked up.

-xiaofeng tries to escape multiple times, and he won’t let her/re-captures her. it’s just. sad. really sad, esp since she can’t forgive him for what he did to her family

-after all this shit, west liang decides to rebel and chengyin decides to crush them. because killing one side of xiaofeng’s family tree wasn’t enough, apparently

-xiaofeng rides out to the middle of the battlefield--on one side is west liang, under control of her brother. on the other is li empire, under control of her husband. she threatens to kill herself unless chengyin meets two of her conditions: 1) that he’ll leave west liang the fuck alone for as long as he lives--chengyin agrees, and it’s clear he would say yes to anything she asks because he is freaking out. he even says that if she dies he’ll kill himself, too. which leads to wish 2) he has to live well

which feels like a mixture of selfless love and a little bit of a fuck you? she knows that making him survive after she dies is probably going to be what hurts him the most, but he swore to it. then she slits her own throat while he watches, and he runs by her side and is trying to keep her alive (which is fruitless). and then he’s shoved away from her by her brother, who takes her corpse back to west liang. chengyin grows old, and it’s clear the only thing he’s got is his empire and it’s a lonely fucking life. at some point, he abdicates to his nephew (implying he never had his own family) and goes back into the desert to “find xiaofeng” because he’s in denial that she’s dead and the vibe is that he’s definitely going to die alone out there

#fin

characters who die

-danchi: tömür/xiaofeng’s grandfather, he shi (a’du’s brother/xiaofeng’s friend), yi moyan (xiaofeng’s cousin), batu’er, a good freaking chunk

-west liang: consort/princess mingyuang, ashina yun/xiaofeng’s mother, qu wenchang/xiaofeng’s father goes insane

-li empire: zhao sese goes insane, crown prince #1/chengji, crown prince #2/chengye, the empress, the emperor, gao yuming, li yan, gao zhen, gu ruhui, chang’er, chai mu, ming yue

-main: xiaofeng, gu jian, a’du

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Burned Part 10

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

Part 10: Louise and Alfie make a trip to Warwickshire as Alfie gets involved with some jewels.

          “Lou.”

           The petite form buried under the quilts turned over in response to Alfie’s voice. A muffled grumble came from beneath and he chuckled.

           “Lou, s’morning, love.” Alfie coyly reached out and pushed the blankets away from her feet so he could tickle her.

           Louise squealed and curled up in a ball to get away from him. “Alfie!” She tossed the blankets back and gave him a look of displeasure. “That’s not fair.”

           “Easiest way to get you outta bed.” He grinned and his chest tightened when she emerged. Her disheveled curls and light brown eyes were his greatest weakness. “How is it, yeah, that m’lready dressed and you’re still lazing ‘round?” He teased and bent down to touch her cheek.

           “Because you kept me up all night long, you insatiable man.” She retorted and straightened up to kiss him.

           But Alfie pulled away before she could. “Things to be done. Taking a drive out to the countryside.”

           Louise sat up and stretched. “What sort of business do you have in the countryside?” She asked before standing and going to get dressed.

           “Never said it had anything to do with business.” He shrugged and took a moment to appreciate her form in the barely-there nightgown as she bent over to open a drawer.

           “You can’t lie and ogle me from behind, Mr. Solomons.”

           He smirked and ran a hand through his hair. “Jus’ get ready to go.” He headed for the door but paused. “Unless you’ll be having a hard time walking, yeah, after last night?” He added.

           “You cheeky bastard.” Louise threw a blouse at him a blush spreading over her cheeks. He laughed and retreated downstairs before desire got the best of him and they never left the bedroom.

           Indeed there was work to be done.

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

           “You could’ve told me we were going to visit Tommy.” Louise didn’t look up from her journal. Her pen scratching against the parchment filling the space between her and Alfie.

           He furrowed his eyebrows. “In the area, weren’t we?”

           She let out a low hum. Those around Alfie knew that he lied by omission. “Should’ve realized.”

           “Well, s’fucking nice to be out in fresh air, innit? Thought you might want to see the horses he’s got.” Alfie was far more comfortable having her with him than leaving her alone at the bakery. Or perhaps he used his pointless worry as an excuse to have her along. She was the only one who could calm his nerves. And if the whispers around London were true then he was going to desperately need some calming down.

           “I’m not arguing. I’m just saying your secretary should be aware of your business exchanges.” Her eyes glanced up at him. “For business purposes.”

           “Just dropping in for a chat, yeah? Catch up with a dear friend. Nothing that needs to be written down.”

           Louise closed her journal. “I’ll never understand you completely, Alfie Solomons.”

           “Well, you’re probably the person who’s ever going to get the closest, Lou. Just afraid you won’t fucking like what you find.” The car pulled up the gravel drive and stopped in front of the stately manor.

           “You’ll have to try a little harder to scare me off.” She leaned forward to kiss his cheek before exiting the car.

           Since Louise had only stopped at the door, she was keen to see the inside of the Arrow House. Like most wealthy estates, including the one she grew up in, it was filled with expensive décor, trinkets, and detail. The rooms were spacious; impossible to heat completely so there was always a cold empty feeling in the winter months. A heavy sadness filled the space and it hardly felt like a home, more a museum of secretive grief.

           As they were let in, Louise noticed the large portrait of what was once the Shelby family. Tommy and Grace proudly holding their young son. It was hard to believe such a beautiful young woman was taken from the Earth so violently. A shadow of a thought crossed her mind.

           What if she ended up the same way?

           “Good morning Mr. Solomons. Miss Barnes”

           Louise sat in front of the large desk while Alfie lingered by the window. She offered Tommy a polite smile, it had been the first time she’d seen him since he lost Grace. It was obvious the loss affected him deeply and Louise couldn’t blame him.

           Alfie rambled on about the home while Tommy poured himself a drink. Louise tried to warn Alfie beforehand to behave since the man had become a widower so recently. But you couldn’t change habits in one day.

           She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and gave Alfie a discontent look. “Your housekeeper said you weren’t supposed to be drinking, Mr. Shelby.” It was hard not to be concerned about the man.

           Tommy just shook his head.

           Alfie walked over to him. “Right, she said you’re suffering from so many ancient injuries from your sporting life that your head is like some sort of smashed vase stuck together by a horse.”

           “Alfie.” Louise scolded sternly.

           “S’alright, Louise.” Tommy waved her off and slowly sat down next to her. “Always the man of many words, isn’t he?”

           “Something like that.” She sighed.

           “Lou, why don’t you go out ‘n see the horses, eh?” Alfie touched her shoulder. “Get some air?”

           She knew when she was to leave so men could talk business so she stood up. “I would like to see the grounds.”

           “That’s fine, in fact, Madeline?” He called.

           A few moments later, a young woman walked in. “Yes, Mr. Shelby?”

           “Would you mind taking Charlie out for a walk and show Miss Barnes around the grounds?” Tommy asked.

           “Of course.” The redhead nodded and smiled at Louise.

           Before leaving, Louise bent down to whisper in Alfie’s ear. “You be respectful. He’s obviously grieving.”

           He grunted in response as she kissed his cheek. “Right, take this, getting cold out, innit?” He looped his scarf around her neck.

           She smiled slightly and followed Madeline out of the study.

~~~~~~~~~

           Charlie Shelby was a lovely little boy. Shy but overly curious. Louise hadn’t had much experience with children. Being an only child she had no siblings to care for. For a long time, she found she was jealous when she saw a mother with her child. Louise longed to have children but Daniel made her feel worthless. Now she wondered if there would ever be a time she and Alfie could have a child.

           Of course, there were steel barriers along that path. Would it be too dangerous to raise a child in such a life? Would Alfie even want children? Even if they reached the point of agreement, what if Daniel had been right along? What if she was incapable of bearing children?

           It was a tough pill to swallow.

           Still, it was fun spending time with the joyful little boy. Charlie was blissfully unaware of the life his family lived. He was cradled in the wealth of his family, much too young to understand any of it.

           She hardly even realized how time had passed so quickly. It was far too entertaining to watch the little boy toddle around the stables. He stuck his pudgy hand in the watering troughs to poke at the goldfish, tugged dandelions out of the ground, and pointed at the horses in the paddocks.

           After agreeing to aid Tommy in part of the jewelry heist, Alfie walked outside to find Louise. He stopped short when he found her sitting in the tall grass with Charlie and Madeline. The young boy had warmed up to her and giggled as she made silly faces to entertain him.

           The man was struck by how natural she appeared. His stomach knotted up when he saw the motherly demeanor. She looked so happy.

           Alfie told her that he would give her anything. Anything at all. But he wasn’t sure what he would do if she requested a family with him. It was hardly a life for a child to live in. And he highly doubted his ability to be a father. He sighed deeply and continued walking towards her. It wasn’t the time to think about children or disappointing Louise. Dangerous work was ahead of him and he had to do everything he could to keep it secret from her.

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

          Louise knew there was something weighing on Alfie’s mind. For days, he was much quieter than usual. It was unsettling to say the least because she couldn’t pinpoint his exact emotion. He wasn’t angry or he’d be ranting and raving at anyone within earshot. He wasn’t worried because he’d be trying his best to act cool, calm, and collected. No, it was something entirely new. And yet, he said he was perfectly fine when she questioned him.

           Then, one night, he pulled his coat on after dinner. Louise and Evelyn were standing at the sink finishing the dishes.

           “Where are you off to, then Mr. Solomons?” The maid asked.

           Louise looked over, a towel in hand. “Alfie?”

           He seemed uneasy and not keen on a discussion. It appeared he had tried to slip out without them even knowing. “Be back late.” He replied gruffly but circumvented the actual question.

           “Alfie, where are you going?” Louise repeated Evelyn.

           His blue eyes focused on buttoning his waistcoat and checking the time. “Business, love.”

           “Business? At this hour?”

           “No need to worry. S’nothing bad.” He promised but of course, most of his dealings could be classified as bad to the common onlooker.

           Louise chewed on her lip. She was obviously worried about his lack of detail but couldn’t stop him. “Okay. Be safe.” Her voice was weak with reluctant complacency.

           He glanced up at her, a hint of guilt crossing his face. A soft sigh slipped out his lips and he walked into the kitchen. He kissed her gently almost as an apology. “Goodnight, see you in the morning.” He murmured and donned his hat before leaving.

           Evelyn returned to the washing but Louise was gripped with discomfort. “He’s keeping something from me.” She said to the young woman.

           “He would never be unfaithful to you, Louise,” Evelyn assured her. “He’d be lost without you.”

           “I’m not worried about that, Lyn. I’m worried he’s getting himself into something dangerous.” She admitted. “And I think it has something to do with the Shelbys.”

~~~~~~~~~~

           It was nearly three in the morning when Alfie finally returned back to London. He did his best to stay quiet while entering the flat but the creaking stairs gave him away. He saw the lamp on under their bedroom door, the light filtering into the hallway.

           Alfie opened the door and found Louise in bed, still awake. Cyril stood guard by the bed and a low growl emerged before he realized it was his master returning home.

           “Lou, why’re you still up?” He asked and patted Cyril.

           She sat up, the quilts over her knees, her arms tucking them to her chest. “I couldn’t sleep. I was…” Her voice left off at the end.

           Alfie cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the guilt building up inside of him. He stripped down to his boxers and slipped into bed with her. “You were what, love?”

           “I was concerned. You didn’t really say where you were going and I thought something might happen to you.” She admitted.

           He leaned on his side, propping his cheek up to look at her. “I’m alright, ain’t I? I’m here now so you can go to sleep.”

           She merely stared at him in disappointment. Surely she thought he would sympathize with her anxiety. She could recall the times he had to leave for a day or two and had men watching the flat just in case. And of course the time he nearly blew a fuse when she visited the Shelbys. It wasn’t fair she couldn’t have it the same way. “Where were you?”

           “I had some business to attend to at Hampton Court.” Maybe if he gave her a definitive location she would be satisfied.

           But no, Louise only got more uneasy. “Hampton Court?” Her eyebrow shot up. “What in the world were you doing in Hampton Court?” She couldn’t even fathom what Alfie would need to do at the royal palaces and aristocratic manors of the area.

           He licked his bottom lip and tried to think of something to tell her without getting her worked up. “A favor for Tommy.”

           Louise was starting to get the idea that maybe she should be a little more wary of the Shelbys like Alfie had initially said. “What sort of favor?”

           Alfie groaned and ran a weary hand over his face. “Lou, I don’t know what to tell you.”

           “What happened?” She gasped and grabbed his wrists. A faint rope burn marked his wrists.

           “Nothing, love, it’s okay.”

           “I don’t appreciate you lying to me, Alfred Solomons.” She retorted strongly. Her thumbs grazing over the discoloration on his skin.

           He closed his eyes and tried to just focus on her touch. He wanted to put the whole evening behind him but knew Louise wouldn’t let it go until he was honest. “Don’t know what happened in that accident but I tell ya, Tommy’s fucking head, it in’t right anymore. He’s been getting himself into bad dealings.” Alfie figured if he could place some partial blame on Tommy, Louise would let him off the hook.

           “And?”

           “And I promised I would help him with something small.”

           “Alfie…” Louise’s shoulders deflated when she realized her suspicions were correct.

           “It weren’t anything bad. He just asked me to help him price some jewelry.” He defended his actions. “That’s all I promised to do.”

           “For who? Whose jewelry?”

           A look of distaste wrinkled his face. “Russians.” He spoke the word with such venom. “Wish I could fucking wring that little man’s neck.”

           Louise lay down beside him. She could see the obvious anger in his face. There was no telling who these Russians were and what sort of hand they had in killing most of Alfie's family and friends. “What is he doing with Russians?”

           “Robbing ‘em.” Alfie closed his eyes and let out a tired yawn. “But my part is over and done with. It’s all up to him now.”

           She curled up to his side. Of course, she was concerned about what sort of danger Alfie was possibly putting himself in this time around. Nothing was ever as straight forward as he claimed it was. But, he was clearly tired and she felt he had been honest with her. It was too late to keep pressing the matter “Next time, just be honest with me. That's all I want from you. I don't like you covering things up, you can't keep them bottled up inside you.”

           “I know, love.” He mumbled, only moments from falling asleep.

           “I love you.” She murmured and kissed his shoulder before closing her eyes as well.

           He wouldn’t tell her about his own separate plans to take advantage of the knowledge he now had. But he had a feeling it would come to bite him later. Most things did.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           The next morning, Louise was satisfied to truly know why Alfie had been acting so strange. Sensing it was over; she was ready to get back to their normal routine. It was Sabbath so there was no work to be done. Of course, Alfie would get some paperwork done in his private study even though the bakery was closed. Even god must’ve done some inventory of his creations while resting.

           But for now, he was content to stay in bed with Louise. He was basking in the sun coming in through the window, indulging in the warmth from her petite form pressed against him. The soft sighs and breaths were like music to him, drowning out the filthy London streets below. She was his personal escape, a vacation amid the city.

           It only got better when she opened her eyes and smiled up at him. Her hazel eyes glimmering with warmth. Truly, he was being rewarded for his honesty the night before, because she grazed her lips over his ear as she uttered his name.

           “Alfie…”

           “Yes, love?”

           “Make love to me.”

           The breathy neediness sent him reeling. There was no need to ask twice. He instantly moved to pepper her body with kisses. Touching every birthmark, freckle, and curve of her body. He spent a considerable amount of time between her thighs, bringing her to the edge of climax only to back off and relish in her whimpers of desperation. Finally, he couldn’t hold her back anymore and dug his fingers into her hips as she rode out the orgasm.

           “Alfie…” She shivered through the tremors and tugged on his hair to earn a groan.

           He raised himself up to kiss her cheek. His body protested though and he braced against his forearms. “Fuck, me hip.” He cursed as the movement aggravated his nerves and shot sharp pains up and down his legs and back.

           Her forehead wrinkled in concern. “Do you want to stop? It's okay if you need to.” She murmured and stroked his face.

           “Not a chance in hell.” He held her hips and rolled them over so she was straddling his waist. “Just gonna have to improvise, that's all.”

           Louise grinned and kissed him so hard their lips almost bruised. He kissed back eagerly and lined herself up to her so she could slowly slide down onto him. Alfie moaned and felt his stomach clench at the sight of her on top of him. “Fucking hell.” He dragged out the words and quickly slipped off her nightgown so he could see all of her. Her soft skin warming in the morning sunlight.

           She tipped forward, her hips bucking faster to try and reach the high she craved. Her face buried into the crook of his neck.

           “Easy, love.” He murmured and tightened his grip on her to slow her movements. “No need to rush. We've got all morning, don't we?”

           “Not fair, I was close.” She whined in protest but didn’t fight against him. They moved fluidly together, able to find a slow burning sensation. Louise felt like her skin was scorching as electric pulses hit her nerves. There was no room in her body for rational thought. She was too overcome with utter desire and adoration for her lover.

           Alfie craved the control he had over her while still being vulnerable. It was exhilarating to listen to her pleading for release and to feel her body reacting so strongly to him. He slowly began to unravel and thrust his hips up to make sure she was right there with him.

           “Oh!” Louise sat up again as the unexpected wave of pleasure hit her. She threw her head back and her spine locked up. “Alfie!”

           He lost all sense of himself. His brain clicked off and he felt like the universe around him was shattering. He could only see her. His ego, his personality, his esteem meant absolutely nothing.

           “Fuck…” Louise slumped forward against his chest. Her breathing was off-kilter from the overwhelming sensation still lingering.

           They both had to take a minute to compose themselves and gain back basic thought processing.

           “Well, fuck, we’re doing that again.” Alfie chuckled and held her close to him.

           “Definitely.” She panted and smiled against his shoulder. “How’s your hip?”

           “Lou, I think you knocked the sciatica right outta me.” He grinned and ran his fingers down her spine. “Fuck, you’re a gift from above.”

           Louise raised her head and pecked his lips. “So are you. You’re my angel.” She stood up to wash off a bit in the bathroom.

           Alfie wasn’t sure about that but he didn’t correct her.

~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Tag: @sansajonsastark​

Tag list: @vehement-care​ @kimmietea​ @eleventhdoctorsangel​

Masterpost

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[diarrheaworldstarhiphop]

Five years ago, while a student at Columbia, Sulkowicz lugged a dorm-issue, extra-long twin mattress around campus for as long as she had to attend school with her alleged rapist. This was Mattress Performance (Carry That Weight), a globally viral art piece that made visible the weight of campus sexual assault. It transformed Sulkowicz into an icon. Since then, her artworks have regularly roused the internet: a video of her reenacting her assault, a bondage performance at the Whitney that doubled as institutional critique. This past spring, she tweeted an image that was perhaps even more provocative: a photo of her grinning alongside two of her libertarian critics — not performance art, she insists, but a byproduct of her new curiosity about other views.

“All my clothes are in boxes,” she tells me, gesturing apologetically to her oversize charcoal hoodie. She’s in the midst of moving from a sublet owned by a tantra instructor (mirrors surrounding the bed to create an infinite regression — that kind of thing) to an apartment in lower Manhattan whose location she asks me not to reveal, since “there’s some really scary people who are obsessed with me.” Her hair is short-cropped and coffee black, its natural color after years of bright dyes, and her voice is buoyant, laughter always bubbling underneath. Since 2016, Sulkowicz has identified as gender fluid, and she sometimes uses they/them pronouns. When I ask what to use for this article, she texts me, “Lol I’m not clear about it either,” before settling on she/her.

During the summer of 2018, Sulkowicz tells me, she was single for the first time in years. Swiping through Tinder, a man she found “distasteful” super-liked her. “It smelled like Connecticut,” she says of his profile. “He was very blond, law school, cut jawline, trapezoidal body figure, tweed suit kind of vibe, but something inside of me made me swipe right, I don’t know.” They began messaging, and she found him witty. “He was actually way more fun to talk to than any other person I matched with.”

Eventually, Sulkowicz stalked him on Twitter and realized that he was conservative — “like, very conservative.” At first, she was repulsed and considered breaking it off. But then she thought, “Wait, actually, that’s kind of fucked up because he’s the most interesting person I’ve come across, shouldn’t I be open to talking to him?” After dispelling her initial fear, she texted him that it would be “interesting (progressive? Powerful?) for two people who might be the antithesis of each other to go on a Tinder date.”

Ahead of this date, they traded reading assignments: Sulkowicz gave him the password to protected areas of her website, and he sent pieces he’d written for conservative magazines, which she printed, annotated with her critiques, and brought to their date. This man expected Sulkowicz to be “the patron saint of wokeness,” but when he met her, he found that she wasn’t actually trying to litigate the issues — she was mostly just “curious about this different perspective that she had not been as familiar with.” The two “sort of dated” for a while and then realized that their chemistry was more conversational. They became “amazing friends.”

Not having known conservatives before, Sulkowicz had to play catch up. Early in their friendship, she asked him to recommend one book to help her understand him, and he picked Jonathan Haidt’s The Righteous Mind. It’s a book that explains, in evolutionary terms, the human tendency toward political tribalism and the importance, in light of that, of learning from one another’s beliefs. She calls the book “mind-opening.” Its resonance with her new friendship did not escape her.

Shortly after, Sulkowicz attended a book talk of Haidt’s. This was for The Coddling of the American Mind, which diagnoses the campus left with the kinds of cognitive distortions that addle the chronically anxious and depressed: a tendency to blow everyday problems out of proportion, or to believe that one’s negative feelings reflect reality. This book kicked a hornet’s nest on the left, and when Haidt learned that Sulkowicz was at his talk, he didn’t assume she was a fan. “I expected her to be the sort of person who sometimes asks the angry question when I give lectures on campuses,” Haidt tells me. “And when I first saw her and she had blue hair, that fed my assumptions and expectations about what her views and values would be.” But Sulkowicz surprised him. “It changed the way I think about politics,” she said about The Righteous Mind, “and I wanted to thank you for it.” The two became friends.

Soon, she began attending house parties and happy hours with conservative and libertarian intellectuals, reading Jordan Peterson and articles from the National Review. In the past, Sulkowicz dismissed opposing views without understanding them, but now she sees intellectual curiosity as intertwined with respect: she wants to disagree with people on their own terms. This is an ethical position, but one with personal resonance. “I’ve always been upset,” she admits, “that there are people out there who assume that I’m a bad or mean person without ever having met me.” When she describes her political journey, she fixates on the experience of surprising people, of walking into a group who might otherwise dislike her and “disrupting their expectations.” At these parties, she reflects, “I can become fuller to certain people rather than staying the same caricature. I’m going from flat to round.”

- - -

A couple weeks after our lunch, Sulkowicz brings me to a book party at a dark bar on Bleecker Street. Here, she introduces me to her friend from Tinder, who asks that I not use his real name for this article. (It might be a distraction at his white-shoe law firm and, besides, “Emma is inured to online hate, but I am not.”) When he asks if he can choose his own pseudonym, I tell him sure. He picks Chad. It’s a reference to the incel term for men who, due to serendipitous genetics, are attractive enough to have oodles of sex. All of us laugh, but Sulkowicz laughs loudest, her voice tinkling, bell-like, and leaping between octaves.

Chad is a Chad, by the way, and he does “smell like Connecticut”: he has cornsilk hair, a shieldlike chest, and a jawline that an incel might show his surgeon for inspiration. But Chad is also a different kind of conservative than I imagined. Rather than a bowtie-sporting William F. Buckley type thumbing his nose at populism, he finds Reaganism laughably passé and aligns himself with Tucker Carlson’s anti-elite drive to regulate markets. He says that he would support some of Trump’s policy agenda, if only the president were competent enough to achieve it.

This party is for Robby Soave, a libertarian reporter on the snowflake beat whose new book, Panic Attack: Young Radicals in the Age of Trump, is — per Soave’s own description — “a book that is extremely critical of [Sulkowicz] and that I don’t wish her to read.” Soave met Sulkowicz a month or so before at another libertarian happy hour. Initially bewildered, he warmed to her, finding her to be inquisitive and even fun to talk to. “We exchanged contact information,” he tells me later, “and talked about maybe becoming, I guess, friends or something?” He laughs incredulously as he says this, sounding a bit on edge.

As Sulkowicz swirls around the party, her presence stirs an obvious question: whether this is performance art. Soave brings it up twice when we speak on the phone afterward, acknowledging the possibility that he’s being set up. While he’s inclined to believe that Sulkowicz is moved by earnest curiosity, he’s aware of her background in “elaborately planned performance art” and her reputation as a provocateur. Since graduating from Columbia in 2015, Sulkowicz has done around a dozen performances touching on issues like consent, anti-institutionalism, climate change, trauma, wellness, and female sexual desire. It’s natural to wonder if she’s currently breaking bread with this crowd to lampoon civility politics or to expose views she hates. Honestly, it might be harder to believe that she’s simply trying to learn.

But Sulkowicz is adamant that this isn’t performance. In fact, she insists that she’s quitting art altogether. After one of our lunches, she bikes off to return the keys to her studio, which she’s emptied and swept clean. “For many years,” she explains, “I wasn’t interested in listening to other points of view. I was very emotional and making performance-art pieces that were very reactionary and fiery.” Without disowning them, she describes these artworks as something she “got out of her system.”

Having found the art world humorless, narrow-minded, and grotesquely competitive, Sulkowicz says she stopped making art about a year ago. She quit a fellowship at a museum, ceased teaching art classes, and was essentially unemployed for a time, drawing income from occasional speaking gigs, mostly about campus sexual assault. (Her remarks on Me Too have been fewer; she supports it, but wants a clearer path to forgiveness.) She has been working on a memoir that draws on her diaries from Mattress Performance, and last month, she started a full-time, four-year master’s program in traditional Chinese medicine. There, she’ll learn skills from acupuncture to herbalism, which have been her “personal healing modality” for years. Sulkowicz has parried assumptions that this is performance art, too. It grates on her. “I’m a human and humans can change,” she says, insistently. “I’m telling you that I don’t want to make art anymore.”

But in some ways, it’s easier to assume that Sulkowicz’s political posture is performance art: this provides a clear motive, one that’s politically straightforward. If Sulkowicz is not making art, then it’s much harder to grasp why she’s doing this and what it means. Part of the confusion, Sulkowicz assumes, springs from a pervasive misunderstanding about who she is, rooted in the dissonance between her public image and private consciousness. While many assume she’s at Soave’s book party for some admixture of art and progressive politics, Sulkowicz says she’s mostly there for fun.

[nev3rfound]

distant stranger : b.b

from strangers to potentially something more.  just fluff, nothing else. word count: 2.48K  requests are open!

Six months ago was when everything changed. I can still remember the feeling when it happened, that pulsing through my veins as everything slowed down until I unleashed what I never knew I had.

I unleashed a power, an evil that I never anticipated. It was the kind of thing I’d read about in stories growing up of witches and wizards. But to think I was a witch? Or something of the sort with born powers is still a fact I’m learning to deal with every day.

When I moved into the compound almost everyone tried to make me feel welcome. No one explains how much of a change moving is, especially when you move somewhere filled with superhumans or genetically enhanced people - and an actual God. 

Wanda was the first person to fully bond with me. She’s a similar age which helps, and Sam is always around as a parental figure whether he realises he is doing so or not. 

The compound slowly became more of a home and less of a place to be afraid. I was genuinely enjoying my new home and the people I shared it with. Well, all but one. 

James Buchanan Barnes. The Winter Soldier. A complete dick. 

I’ve tried, countless times to be friendly, to speak and engage in a conversation with him. But none of it works. All I receive back is a grunt or a brief glance before he returns his focus back to whatever he was engrossed with in the first place. 

What makes it worse is that I don’t know what I’ve done to annoy him in the first place. Wanda sometimes tells me it’s because he’s a grumpy old man, and has his moments where his young self comes back. But I know there’s something else hidden in those icy blue eyes, a deeper meaning behind his dark presence. 

The only time I really get to see him is when we’re training. It was a part of Steves mandatory team-building exercises where we had to develop one particular skill. And based on what we selected we were partnered up. This week I opted for swiftness, and I had learnt James wanted to know more about flexibility in fighting. 

I couldn’t hide the sigh that escaped my lips when Steve announced the pairings as we slowly made our way closer to one another, barely lifting our heads to greet one another. 

He mumbled a half-hearted greeting before we began. It was clumsy at first, his ability to duck quickly or bend over to avoid being punched, but slowly I began to speak up. “If you do this,” I act out a move I learnt before I got here. My leg retracts beneath me, allowing my body to almost be flat on the ground before I get back up quickly, avoiding any harm in a split second before tackling my attacker to the ground. 

Bucky carefully watched my actions, his eyes following my legs. But as soon as he glanced up I kicked my leg out, tackling him to the ground with a harsh grunt sounding from him. I rise to my feet, seeing a few of the other Avengers staring in surprise. 

“She didn’t come to mess around,” Sam calls out with a round of applause. 

I turn back to Bucky, holding my hand out. But he rises to his feet, declining my offer. “That all you got?” He asks bitterly. 

Shaking my head I try to hide my smile. “I can do this all day, Bucky.” 

*

After training, I hang back to talk to Wanda. I watch as Steve walks over to Bucky, patting his back lightly as they walk out clearly engrossed in some form of conversation. 

“That was something else,” Wanda speaks up, interrupting my deep thoughts as I turn to face her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Bucky so, so,”

“Angry, bitter, annoyed, irritated? I could easily go on.” I pitch in, a small laugh following suit as she shakes her head.

“Upset.” She states, frowning ever so slightly.

A scoff escapes my lips. “I’m sorry are we talking about the same person?” I question, raising my left eyebrow to her. “Bucky isn’t capable of being upset, clearly.” I retort as I list off every occasion I’ve seen him in the past few days alone. 

“Y/n, trust me.” She pats my shoulder lightly. “I know he’s upset, but I can’t figure out why.” I watch as she frowns to herself before snapping out of it. “Anyway, wanna go get coffee in that cafe you’ve not stopped praising?” 

I smile at her little comments, if anyone knows how to distract me from myself it’s Wanda. “Yeah, why not.” I respond as I pick up my jacket, slipping it on. “I’ll just get changed okay?” I jog out of the room, heading back towards my own room. 

As I near my door I see a figure leaning beside the wall and I slow down to a gentle pace. “You alright?” I call out to the shadowed figure. Slowly I watch as they step away from the wall, and there stands Steve. Letting out a sigh of relief I rest my hand on my chest. “Thank god it’s you.” I mumble as I push open my door, heading inside hearing him follow me through. “Everything okay?” I yell as I head into my bathroom, changing into something more casual, but Steve remains silent. 

Stepping out to see him he wears an unreadable expression. For someone who can usually be read like a book, this wasn’t normal by any means. “We need to talk about Bucky.” He speaks up and I move to sit down on the edge of my bed whilst he takes the chair from in front of my desk. 

“What about him?” I ask blankly. 

Steve clears his throat, avoiding my gaze. “I think you intimidate him.” 

I can’t stop the laughter from my lips as Steve stares at me. “Oh,” I calm down, retracting my reaction. “you’re being serious?” I ask and Steve nods. “Why of all people do I intimidate Bucky?” 

He shrugs his shoulders as he leans back into the chair. “I haven’t a single clue.” I watch as his eyes follow the artwork on my wall, the minimalist style that lines the walls as they slowly join together. “Have you, have you ever been dancing?” 

Raising my eyebrow he mirrors my actions. “I can’t say I have, I mean I don’t think school dances count?” 

Steve shakes his head. “Definitely not.” He retorts as he pulls a face of disgust. “I might have an idea.” 

Before I have the chance to ask anymore he gets up and leaves my room without saying another word. “What’re you up to Rogers?” 

*

Waking up I head towards the kitchen, and as always Steve is sat with Bucky. “Mornin’ Y/n.” Steve calls out and I watch out of the corner of my eye as he looks to Bucky.

“Morning.” Bucky too calls out and I keep my hand frozen on the bowl for a moment, unsure if my hearing is working properly. 

Lowering my hand with the bowl I close the cupboard, smiling to the two men. “Morning boys.” I respond with a small smile, trying to hide the blush I can feel crossing my cheeks. 

“Any plans today, Y/n?” Steve asks and I shrug my shoulders as I pour out my cereal. 

I lift my head up, seeing Steve eating whilst Bucky keeps his blue eyes focused on my movements. “I think I might head out for a few hours. I want to go to the flower market.” Glancing down I check the time. “Shit, I better get moving.” I mutter as I take my bowl with me as I rush towards my room and quickly get dressed. 

As I grab my bag I open my door, seeing Bucky stood there with his knuckle raised to knock. He nervously smiles as I stand in front of him. “Erm, hey?” I ask as I keep my hand resting on the door. 

Slowly Bucky lowers his knuckles and clears his throat. “Can I join you?” He asks and I blink a few times, unsure if what he just said is my mind playing tricks on me. “To the market,” I watch as he nervously scratches the back of his neck with his gloved hand, something rarely seen displayed. 

“Sure,” I state confidently as I walk past him. “are you ready? It’ll close in a few hours and I want to get a new plant.” I smile at him, forgetting that this is the most we’ve ever spoken since I arrived all those months ago. 

“Let’s go then,” He replies, still hiding a smile I know he might possess in there somewhere. 

Walking through the stalls I often lose sight of him as I find myself distracted by vibrant shades of petals slowly ranging to the gentle pastel colours. I touch everything I can, the life that runs through places like these makes me feel normal. Markets on Sundays, Shopping at Christmas, Family parties, laughter, crying, being able to walk around museums - they’re all things that make me forget that I’m not normal, even for a little while. 

“Hey,” Turning around Bucky stands behind me, a cap covering his hair as he tries to keep a low profile in public. “wondered where you got to.” He cracks a smile for a split second before it vanishes into those deep lines. 

I continue walking, knowing he’s never too far behind. That is until I reach one stall with bright tulips. “How much for four bunches?” I politely ask the lady behind the flower arrangements. 

She ponders momentarily and then her eyes dart up to see Bucky stood beside me. “For you, I can do them for ten.” She smiles and I reach into my purse, passing her the note. “They say Tulips radiate positivity in a couples life.” She comments, looking between the two of us. “You’ll love ‘em.” 

Opening my mouth to object I glance up at Bucky who is ready to move on. He places his hand on my lower back, guiding me away as I hold the flowers close to my chest. 

“Bucky, you can let go.” I mumble as I realise his hand is still on my back as we look at various house plants. 

Slowly I feel his hand return to his side, a strange vacant feeling flooding my skin. “You know,” He speaks up. “I’ve never fully heard your story,” 

“Which one?” I ask as we pass through the crowds of cheers and encouragements from sellers. 

“How you discovered your powers.” He catches my gaze before focusing on creating a path in front of us. 

I sigh quietly. “It’s the kind of story best told over a drink.” I speak up and he nods. 

“Good job there’s a bar just up ahead.” 

*

“I knew something wasn’t right when I was growing up, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.” I begin to recall the events leading up to the moment it all fell apart. He sits silently opposite me, nursing a small glass of whiskey. “But I was never very emotional, I was kind of void in that sense. I didn’t mind that, but if I ever got emotional things happened that I couldn’t explain. Things would catch on fire, bulbs would burst, wind outside would start swirling and thunder would roll nearer.” 

Taking a deep breath I close my eyes as I lift the glass closer to my lips. I feel the liquid burn down my throat, trickling down as I force myself back into that day. “I was arguing with my Dad about something to do with my issues. And before I knew it I lost it, and, and it was uncontrollable. I couldn’t stop any of it from happening, even if I felt calm.” 

Opening my eyes I focus on my breathing as I feel the tears building in my eyes. “I, I flooded the house. The electricity broke and I fled the house. But, but my Dad he, he didn’t make it out.” Sniffing I wipe my nose before downing the last of the drink, coughing violently afterwards. “And then I was quickly taken away. I should be in jail. But Fury saw something in me worth keeping and slowly I’m learning to channel whatever this is into something better.” 

The entire time Bucky sat still, listening to every word I had to say. 

He lets out a deep sigh. “I had no idea, doll.” The nickname slips out of his mouth before he realises, and a small smile forms on my lips. 

I shrug my shoulders. “Well, you wouldn’t. I mean, we’ve barely spoken since I arrived ‘til today.” I state, feeling the need to ask becoming more desperate. “Did I, did I ever do something to upset you Bucky?” 

My eyes lock with his and he flickers them away before clearing his throat. “No.” A simple word I wish was something else. 

If he said yes I could deal with that, work through whatever it was I did to upset him in the first place. But no, no has more meaning behind it. That I didn’t do anything, and it might just be me after all. 

“It’s not that you’ve upset me, not at all, doll.” He rephrases, his hand now resting on the table. “I, I just, I’m not good at explaining or showin’ my feelings like I once did.” I watch as his fingertips flinch and something catches his eyes in the distance. “Whatever they did to me I can’t really show or talk about the way you make me feel.” 

Slowly I nudge my fingertips closer towards his, my eyes not moving from his cold gaze. “And what do you feel, Buck?” I almost whisper, hesitant to hear if this is real. 

“That I really like you, and that scares me.” He states clearly as his fingertips take mine into his hand, closing them into his soft palm. “And I know I am not worthy of someone like you, and I never will so I deflected it all so you wouldn’t even talk to me.” 

“Guess it worked to a degree,” I mutter, a small laugh following. 

He shrugs his shoulders. “But it wasn’t worth it. I hated seeing you deflated when I didn’t say good morning or was willing to talk over breakfast. That I didn’t know how to talk to you without fumbling over my words or just staring at you.” His words roll out all at once without him pausing for breath, but all I do is squeeze his hand tighter. 

“So I don’t intimidate you?” I raise my eyebrow and he smiles, a small blush crossing his nose. 

“Like hell you do,” He replies. “but in the best way possible, doll.” 

[p-artsypants]

Longest Night (1)

Ao3 | FF.net

The day started out sucky to begin with. Her crush ousted to the class and Adrien. Lila taking pride in exacting her revenge.But by the time patrol was over, a young man was dead, and Ladybug’s identity was at risk. Lila was the least of her concerns.Good thing Adrien was taking it all like a champ.

Set two years up from season three.

PLEASE NOTE:

This story starts out kinda rough, but in oncoming chapters, there will be graphic torture of the physical, emotional, and mental nature. But I WILL NOT be writing anything sexually graphic. It would make sense, in terms of story, but I just don't want to.

--

Three years was a long time to fight against one man. Hundreds of Akuma, thousands of frightened citizens, and yet they were no more closer to finding Hawkmoth than day one. He came out when it was convenient for him.

Because of the continued attacks, Paris was starting to grow concerned. It came out on forums and political talks on TV.

What was taking Ladybug and Chat Noir so long? What were they doing? Why haven’t they stopped him yet?

It started out slowly, and just in the most radical groups. But as time went on, more and more jumped on the band wagon.

Ladybug’s saving grace was the Ladyblog, that always reported every detail of any Ladybug related news. And Alya, reporter that she was, was quick to remind everyone that Ladybug fixed all damage that was done, and criticizing them wasn’t helping.

Still, concern and restlessness persisted in the back of minds.

But Ladybug and Chat Noir persisted in their promise to protect. They patrolled more often, and started to branch out into other crime fighting. Thieves, muggers, carjackers, pickpockets, any sort of criminal was taken care of.

But since they weren’t the police, there was no arrests made. It was mostly just a slap on the wrist and making them return what they’ve stolen. It was effective in the moment, and helped ease some minds about the heroes.

Then came Edward Savauge.  

If there ever was a god on earth, it was Mr. Savauge. A man who held no qualms about doing what needed to be done in business. He held all the cards, could pull any string, and had a lot of people wrapped around his fingers.

By trade, a drug dealer, a pimp, and a casino owner. And he excelled in all of those areas. Ask most people, they had either never heard of him, or pretended not to.

The most powerful man on earth, and his existence was only a rumor.

Until that fateful night when Ladybug and Chat Noir did their evening patrols.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start in the morning, when Marinette and Adrien had to face what would become a minor problem.

Yet felt like the world was crashing down around them.

Marinette’s alarm blared some awful tune at maximum volume. She jumped, flailing, not knowing where she was in her sleep addled mind.

“That’s one way to wake up.” Tikki snickered, having also been startled.

Marinette sat up, her hair a tangled mess, and her legs twisted in her sheets. Blearily, she blinked to wake herself up. What a crummy night’s sleep. It was too hot with the sheets, too cold without them. The bed was just a little lumpy. And there had been an firetruck at work down the street. (Ladybug had checked in. It was just a false alarm) but the truck had remained there for at least an hour with its lights on.

“The point of setting the alarm was to make you actually get up and get to school on time.” Tikki chastised.

Marinette turned her bleary eyes on the floating red dot, and tossed her blanket over it.

“Hey!”

“Snooze.”

“I don’t work like that Marinette! Come on!” She phased through the comforter. “Don’t you want to see Adrien?”

Marinette smiled. “Adrien…” Then she groaned. “Fine!” She actually got up, throwing her blankets off, and got out of bed. Her hair took too long to untangle, her clothes were just a little too tight, or a little too itchy. And despite waking up early, she was still running late.

She threw her hands up into the air in the courtyard. “Anything else wanna go wrong today!? Go on! Take your best shot!”

Oh, how she regretted that.

She walked into the classroom, five minutes before the bell, and the room fell absolutely silent. Lila was sitting on a desk as everyone was gathered around her, but as Marinette entered, they all turned to look at her. The other thing of important note, was that Adrien’s face was bright red and he looked absolutely mortified.

This was very not good.

“G-Good morning?” She asked, tactfully, hoping to break the silence.

“Girl…you’re not serious…”

Marinette looked down at her clothes. She wasn’t wearing her pajamas, right? She didn’t have any embarrassing stains on her clothes, nothing on backwards. “Um…what?”

Alix crossed her arms with a ‘hmph,’ “You know very well what we’re talking about, pervert.”

Pervert? That was really really not good. “I’m…I’m sorry? I’m not sure what you’re talking about?”

Kim backed Alix up. “Lila just spilled. She said she caught you taking pictures of Adrien while he was changing in the locker room.”

Marinette’s eyebrows flew up to her hairline. “I would never do that!”

Alya couldn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t know, girl…you tend to go overboard when it comes to Adrien…”

“But I didn’t!”

“I’m sorry Marinette,” Lila said, pathetic little snivels between words. “I saw you, and I wasn’t going to say anything, because it’s none of my business, but…Adrien is my friend. He deserved to know. Everyone deserved to know.”

She dared to look at Adrien, who still was red and extremely embarrassed. “I would never do that to you.” She told him.

“I believe you.” He assured, but his eyes darted away.

Lila had hit hard and right in the weak spot. Adrien couldn’t support her here, because how would he know?

“Everyone knows you’re basically a stalker,” Alix said again. “Everyone has seen all of his pictures all over your walls.”

“And don’t forget that you have his schedule all written out.” Added Mylene. “And all those plans you made so that you could just be alone together.”

“Marinette, you’re obsessed. And you definitely crossed a line here. You need serious help.” Alya said, concern in her features.

Marinette frowned, her chest unbelievably tight, and her eyes prickling with the tears of betrayal. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? Fine.” She took off her bag, and placed in at her desk, then she stood in the front of the room, and addressed her peers.

“I’m in love with Adrien Agreste.” She announced.

Adrien looked to her, his mouth opening slightly. He didn’t know how far this lie went, but it seemed pretty steep.

“I figured out his schedule, and made a calendar, so I could know where he was at any given point in the day. Because I wanted to be able to find him if I ever actually got up the courage to talk to him. I think he’s super cute, so I hung pictures of him all over my room. And that was easy, since he was a model.” She let out a sob, as tears started rolling down her cheeks.

Bless her heart, Rose started crying too.

She rubbed her cheek with her fist, and sniffed, but continued. “I stole his phone once. I called and left the world’s most embarrassing voicemail. So I stole his phone and deleted it before he could hear it.”

Lila just sat there, looking smug and triumphant. Though no one else saw it, since they were all focused on Marinette.

“Every week, I made a special macaron, passion fruit, just for him. But I never got the courage to ever give it to him. I stole a note he threw away in the trash, that was a love letter for someone, and I dared to hope it was for me, so I responded to it. I even tried to kiss a wax statue of him at the museum…only it turned out it was actually Adrien, and not a statue.”

There was some snickering at that.

“So yeah. I love Adrien. I don’t always think clearly when it comes to him. But I’m a dumb teenager, and I’m allowed to make mistakes and do cringey things.”

She wiped her face and swallowed hard. “But I swear, on all that is good and holy, that I have never taken pictures of him in any context without his permission. I respect him too much for that.” Then she took out her phone, unlocked it, and placed it in front of Adrien. “To prove it, I want you to go through my photos. If there’s any of you that shouldn’t be seen, you’ll be the only one to see them.”  

So the class waited in silence as Adrien swiped through her phone. He checked her recents, and then some other albums, including the biggest one labelled ‘Adrien <3’

“There’s…a lot of pictures of me…” he said sheepishly. “But none of me changing. They all look like they were saved from shoots. Which…isn’t that weird.”

“So,” Marinette spoke up, evening her glare at Lila. “One of us is lying, and it isn’t me.”

Lila pouted, and said with an irritatingly concerned voice, “Well, I’m just glad that you recognized what you were doing was wrong, and decided to delete the pictures.”

Marinette punched the table, overcome with palpable rage.

Adrien glanced around the room, keeping a watch for an akuma. Doubtless, one was on the way.

Marinette seemed to notice this gesture, and took a massive breath. When she spoke, her voice was eerily calm. “What did I do? What made all of you suddenly so eager to distrust me? Since when did I become a liar?”

“Marinette...” Alya tried to say.

“You doomed yourself, Dupain-Cheng.” Said Chloe, speaking for the first time. “If you were willing to do all that other stuff, what’s stopping you from doing this?”

“Because it’s not only wrong, it’s a felony.” She returned.

“So is stealing a phone.”

“I gave it back!” She nearly shouted. “Yes! I get it! I…I have a problem…but I wouldn’t do this. Please believe me, I wouldn’t.”

“But Lila saw you…”

“She’s lying! She’s always lying! All she’s ever done is lied!”

“Marinette,” Lila said, hiding her face in her hands, hiding the fact she wasn’t even crying. “All I ever wanted was to be your friend, but you let your jealousy get in the way of it. You need to face the truth.”

“The truth?” Marinette let out a humorless laugh. “The truth is that I have done everything I could to help everyone in this room. I bent over backwards to arrange parties, to make banners, give encouragement, talk to teachers, stand up to bullies! And the moment I need support, everyone is gone! There’s no proof! No evidence! Just some faked tears from a girl who has lied to get attention.”

She snatched her backpack up from her desk. “Congratulations Lila, you made good on your threat. You’ve turned everyone against me, just like you said you would. But I’m ending things on my own terms.” She glanced around the room. “If you ever need me again, think twice.” She shouldered her backpack to leave, and then looked at Adrien.

He had tears in his eyes, his heart breaking for her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “For all the immature stuff I did. I…I still love you. I hope you can forgive me.”

Then she bolted, without looking back.  

—

Back at home, Marinette darted into the bakery.

“Marinette! Why are you home? Oh goodness, what happened?” Sabine noticed her daughter’s distress almost immediately.

“Girls are catty and stupid!” She cried out.

Sabine took off her apron and called to her husband. “Tom, I need you to take over the register! Marinette needs me.”

“Okie dokie darling!”

Sabine led her upstairs, as she sobbed and squeaked out everything that had happened. Sabine just held her, hushing her silently.

“And-And then I just…I just left! I didn’t know what else to do!”

“No, honey, leaving was a good idea. That was a terrible thing for your so-called friends to do.” She handed her a cup of tea. “Don’t even worry, darling. I’ll make sure to pick up any homework you miss. There’s no reason for you to have to see your classmates, unless they come groveling and begging for forgiveness.”

Marinette managed a laugh. “Thanks maman.”

Sabine kissed her on the forehead. “So what do you want to do? Wanna watch a movie? Or play some games?”

Marinette shook her head. “I…I just want to be alone for a while.”

Sabine seemed hesitant, the thought of an akuma taking her daughter…

“I’ll be okay. I’m just kind of tired from all the crying. I’m going to lay down. Maybe I’ll watch some funny videos.”

“Okay, honey. but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call for me.” She gave her another kiss, and then returned to the bakery.

Tikki appeared the moment they were alone. “Marinette…” She sniveled. “I’m so sorry…”

“Oh Tikki…” She cupped her in her hands, holding her gently to her cheek. “Thank you. I’m so glad you’re with me.”

“I won’t leave you alone for a second.” The kwami insisted. “Not until you’re smiling again.”

Marinette stood and went upstairs, closing the door behind her. “Will you keep watch?”

“Of course.”

She hooked up her phone to her speakers, and started blasting Jagged Stone as loud as she could stand. The bass rattled in her chest and the shred of the guitar numbed her skull. Over the next few minutes, she went around and yanked every last picture of Adrien off her walls.

When the song ended, and the walls were bare, she collapsed on her chaise, spent and exhausted.

[eleanor-writes-stuff]

chemistry (my heart’s a city you’re out to destroy) - [i/iii]

Kylo Ren - superhuman, mercenary, and the world’s most dangerous man – has recently resurfaced after a mysterious three-month disappearance.

Rey Niima, listicle writer by day and investigative reporter by night, is way too busy to worry about that. Seriously, she’s got a million things on her plate - she doesn’t have the time to think about anything else.

Especially now that news editor Benjamin Snoke has returned to the office and seems hell-bent on making her life… interesting.

It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s the Superman/Lois Lane AU I never thought I’d write! (Okay, not really. But... vaguely. Loosely inspired, I’d say.)

Happy belated birthday, @nancylovesreylo! Earlier this month you came up with one of the best prompts I've ever seen, and while I'm still holding out hope that someone will come along and do it justice someday, here's my little attempt at it in the meantime. I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 2 Also available on AO3. And hey, maybe check out my Twitter and Ko-fi?

Rey wakes up on the first Monday of February to find her phone blowing up with notifications.

The first tweet her eyes land on is a set of pictures with the very uninformative caption HE LIVES!!!, and she’s still blinking sleep out of her eyes when the first grainy photo finally loads and immediately captures her undivided attention as her heart gets lodged somewhere in her throat.

Kylo.

Hidden amongst the trees dotting the lake, loitering outside a darkened theater, perched precariously atop City Hall – all of the pictures are of Kylo Ren, MIA for three months now and even feared dead by some. Rey had thought herself unaffected by the rumors, secure in the knowledge that she would know somehow if something had happened to him, but tears spring to her eyes all the same as she stares at pixelated, zoomed-in images of him until her vision goes blur.

It’s a message, she knows, but it’s also one she can’t do anything about right now. So she shakes herself out of it and goes through the motions of her usual workday morning, setting her phone aside as she forces breakfast down her throat and pulls on a repeat outfit from last week. But as soon as she reaches the office, Rey can’t help the way her fingers automatically reach for her phone every five minutes to reassure herself that it’s real, he’s back, she isn’t just dreaming again–

She’s busy staring at him for the umpteenth time that morning when she walks right into a wall on her way to get coffee.

No, not a wall, Rey realizes as she looks up from her phone to find a solid expanse of chest and torso and black shirt. A little further up, and she finds a man looking at her as if he’s on a particularly bad trip and she’s a dancing, flying elephant.

Bewilderment is the best way Rey can think of to describe it, but all she’s done is accidentally run into him while on her phone; surely that doesn’t warrant the way he’s looking at her with wide eyes (she can’t help but notice how dark they are) and tense shoulders (broad, so very, very broad) and parted lips (thicker than she’s ever seen on a man, but still alluring somehow) that look like they’re trying to say something, anything–

Rey beats him to it. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve been paying better attention–”

The man blinks at her, and then promptly walks away.

She’s abruptly reminded of a piece of drunken wisdom Rose had taken it upon herself to share with the rest of the bar at last Friday’s happy hour, fresh off her latest failed Tinder date. The hot ones are always assholes, a tipsy Rose had sagely proclaimed to the bar, only to be met with supportive cheers and enthusiastic applause.

Maybe Rose and the rest of the bar knew what they were talking about after all.

“Fine,” Rey fumes to herself as she turns to watch the asshole’s retreating back cut a path across the office, eventually winding around the staircase leading to the newsroom upstairs. “Fine. Fuck you too, mystery man,” she mutters under her breath, and figures that is that. The news team barely ever mingles with the rest of them anyway, so with any luck Rey won’t ever have to see him and his perfect hair again.

Except after lunch that day Amilyn calls for a staff meeting on the second floor, and as Rey squeezes into the crowded conference room she catches sight of said perfect hair on the opposite end of the room, seated on Amilyn’s right. Thankfully he’s looking straight ahead, leaving her with only a view of that broad, broad back which Rey most definitely does not find distracting as she attempts to focus on their editor-in-chief’s… presentation? Speech? It’s the start of the week, so maybe Amilyn is just giving them all a little pep talk to get things off on the right foot.

In any case, Rey desperately hopes it’s nothing too important. And it probably isn’t, given that Amilyn starts wrapping things up fifteen short minutes later.

“And finally, I’d like to welcome Ben back to the office. It’s been a rough three months without you, and I’m sure the news team is glad to have its editor back. I know I am!” Amilyn beams as a polite round of applause fills the room, and Rey cranes her neck to catch a glimpse of the elusive Ben Snoke, who’d gone on leave to handle some sort of family emergency just days before she joined Raddus.

From the corner of her eye, she catches movement where there should absolutely not be movement. But maybe Mystery Man is just as curious as her, maybe it doesn’t mean anything that he’s slowly turning around in his seat and unfolding his gigantic treelike frame out of the tiny conference room chair–

Mystery Man stands and acknowledges the room with a nod and a tight smile. “Thanks, everyone. It’s good to be back,” he says even as those dark eyes land on her, and the smile falls off his plush lips. “I look forward to working with all of you again.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

The rest of the day goes decidedly downhill from there because there’s no coming back from the realization that your potential future boss hates you for some reason, but at least no one stops Rey when she’s the first to leave the second the clock strikes six.

It doesn’t actually make a difference – she knows he won’t be there until eleven at the earliest – but at least it leaves her with plenty of time to navigate through hellish rush hour traffic and still have dinner and change before she leaves for the Amidala Museum.

Their museum.

Rey can’t remember exactly when it became their spot, only that one day she spotted Kylo hanging around the museum on her way home and they ended up talking about their mutual love of the place for more than an hour. It had been one of the very first real conversations they’d shared, and just thinking about it still brings a smile to her face nearly two years later.

She’s chasing after a wisp of a memory about his favorite exhibit when a familiar, faint rasp announces his presence. It’s that damn voice modulator as always, giving him away before he can get the chance to sneak up on her.

A thrill races down Rey’s spine as she prepares to turn around.

Three months. It’s been three months since she last saw Kylo, last made him laugh, last stood a little too close–

She can feel him standing right behind her now, and a tiny shudder works its way through her body as Rey processes their proximity. Forget news editor Ben Snoke and his plush, kissable lips and his unfairly attractive voice – nothing will ever come close to the way Kylo sets her blood on fire.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

Rey turns and nearly staggers backwards as she comes face-to-face with all six-foot-three of her masked man, and she folds her arms across her chest to keep her hands to herself as she tips her head back to look at him. “It’s been three months, Kylo. Of course I showed up.”

It’s impossible to tell with that mask of his, but Rey thinks she detects a hint of a smile when he speaks. “I’m glad you did, sweetheart. I…” he hesitates, and a gloved hand reaches out to pull her out of the tiny patch of moonlight and into the shadows of the grand, ornate pillars that hold up the museum. “I wasn’t sure if you would, after all this time, but I had to see you. Had to know how you’re doing.”

Not for the first time, Rey wishes she could at least hear his real voice. The growl of the modulator is so at odds with the sincerity of his words, a harsh reminder of reality when all she wants is to escape into a softer, kinder dream world.

But that’s never been in the cards for them, no matter how many pretty words Kylo whispers into his modulator, so Rey huffs out a bitter laugh and shakes her head at him instead as she pulls her hand out of his grasp. “Me? You’re the one who disappeared for three months! Kylo, I thought– I didn’t know what to think, but people were saying that… that…”

That he’d finally gotten what he deserved. That the world would be a better place without him. That they should all be glad to be rid of him and his knights.

Rey has tuned out op-eds and news shows for the last three months, choosing instead to dwell in the corners of the internet where everyone seemed equally concerned even though they’d never met Kylo at all, even though there was no way they felt the way she did, does–

“You could’ve let me known you’re alive,” she murmurs, dropping her eyes to the ground. “You could’ve done at least that.”

The modulator crackles, distorting his sharp intake of breath.

“I’m sorry. Things have been… difficult,” Kylo says with a sigh, yet another unpleasant burst of sound rushing past his mask. “Difficult and different, and I wasn’t really thinking, I couldn’t think at all–”

His hand rises to his head, and then falls back down. Rey’s noticed he does that sometimes, especially when he’s agitated or stressed or embarrassed, and all it does is make her want to take that stupid mask off and run her hands through his hair the way he’s itching to do.

It’d be flat from the helmet, she imagines, and so soft in her hands–

But that’s something for a kinder world. In this world Rey sets the urge aside to focus on his words instead, like a crow catching sight of something shiny for it to chase after and fixate on.

“What happened? Where have you been? Where are the rest of the Knights? Why haven’t you–”

Kylo laughs and shakes his head at her, the way he always does whenever she gets all ‘reporter-y’ – his word, not hers – on him. “Nice try, sweetheart.”

Rey shrugs, unrepentant as ever. He can’t expect her to stop doing her job just because of their unlikely friendship, just as she’s never expected him to stop doing his – even when it involves more bloodshed than she’s comfortable with.

“I’ve lost more sleep in the past three months than I have in the past three years, Kylo,” she tells him sharply, unashamedly. “I think I deserve an explanation–”

“Don’t you have work in the morning?” he interrupts, and even in its distorted form Rey can tell his voice is just a little too innocent. “It’s getting late, Rey. You should go home and get some sleep.”

She crosses her arms and scowls at him. “Are you serious?”

“Always,” Kylo intones with a nod of his helmet. “Now go home, sweetheart. I’ll make sure you get there safely.”

It’s not fair that he always makes her that promise no matter how their conversation ends, and it’s definitely not fair that she immediately softens at his familiar parting words, first spoken so long ago–

I should get going, she’d told him then, just a young reporter reluctant to step away from a living, breathing mystery that might prove to be her big break if only she could crack him. It’s a long walk home, and I’m alone.

And instantly, without a moment’s hesitation, the words had spilled past his lips: you’re not alone. I’ll make sure you get home safely, I promise.

Rey might not know much about Kylo Ren – might not know anything about him, actually – but on this, at least, she knows she can always trust him.

“Fine,” she gives in with a huff, pointing a warning finger at him. “But this conversation isn’t over yet.”

“It never is,” Kylo agrees, and the cheery note in his voice pulls a reluctant smile out of her. “Good night, Rey.”

“Good night, Kylo,” she whispers in return, and in the blink of an eye he’s disappeared – up into the sky or on the roof or maybe even to a different dimension; you never know with Kylo Ren.

Rey shakes her head at the thought and sets out into the night, knowing she has nothing to fear.

A week after her unfortunate first meeting with Ben Snoke, Amilyn calls Rey in for a meeting.

Thankfully it’s after hours, which allows her to wait until the news team has left for the day before she climbs the spiral staircase up to the second floor of the converted warehouse. Amilyn’s office is all the way at the end, and Rey can’t help but sneak a glimpse at Ben’s office as she walks past.

His door is closed, but the office is entirely dark. Empty, just like she’d hoped it would be.

Bolstered by that reassurance, Rey picks up the pace and quickly finds herself seated opposite her editor-in-chief, documents and pictures fanned out across the desk between them. She’s been discreetly looking into a chain of strip clubs for months now, trying to prove that it’s all just a front for the Guavian Death Gang, but her investigation has slowed down in recent months.

In her defense, it’s unexpectedly hard to focus on strip clubs when you’re constantly worrying about a certain mercenary and his possible death. Amilyn had been very understanding about the whole thing, even if Rey had never actually said anything about it to her, and had encouraged her to focus on fleshing out her cover as a mere listicle writer first.

But now that Kylo is alive and well and she’s written at least a dozen posts about the top ten hidden gems in Coruscant City, Rey is itching to get back to work.

“So you’re going back on stakeout duty?” Amilyn asks, worry lines forming between her brows as she picks up a picture of the club’s back door.

Rey nods. “It’s been a while, so I figured I should see if anything’s changed and familiarize myself with things before I try to go in. I’m thinking of starting next Monday–”

The door opens without warning, and both women immediately spring into action, sweeping all of the papers strewn across Amilyn’s desk into a haphazard pile.

“Amilyn, we need to talk–” Ben declares just as their boss drops a write-up about a recent ‘influencers’ summit’ – whatever the hell that is – on top of the pile, effectively hiding Rey’s work from view.

Ben comes to a screeching halt, and there it is again: that wide-eyed look of sheer horror over having to share a space with her. “Oh. I didn’t realize you’re still here.”

Rey quickly gets to her feet and sweeps the pile into her arms, summit write-up and all. “I was just about to leave,” she announces coolly without sparing him a look. “Amilyn, I’ll have that article about diving spots done by tomorrow night, if that’s okay?”

She doesn’t know anything about diving, but during times like these Rey tends to just go with the first thing to come to her panicked mind. So diving it is.

Amilyn nods as she plasters on her signature warm smile. “That’s more than okay, Rey. It’s just what we’re looking for, and I’m sure you’ll be able to execute it flawlessly–”

Fine, so maybe Amilyn’s laying it on a little too thick, but that absolutely does not justify the little snort that escapes Ben.

Rey turns to him with a scowl. “What?” she demands, clutching her papers close to her chest as she pins Ben with a glare, desperately fighting against her body to not react to the amused little twitch of his lips.

“Nothing,” he claims a little too quickly, barely meeting her eye for two seconds before he moves forward and settles into her abandoned seat. “Now if you’re done here, I really do need to speak to our editor. In private.”

“Fine,” Rey mutters before she bids Amilyn a good night and pointedly does not do the same for Ben. Screw him; he deserves the worst of nights for having the audacity to be so attractive yet so awful. Rey very nearly slams the door behind her, but manages to rein in the urge at the very last second. She does, however, stomp her way back to her desk, and maybe she bangs around her table for a bit before she finally slams her drawer shut, documents safely locked away, and allows some of the tension to drain away.

What even was that snort? What an asshole; he probably thinks he’s better than everyone here just because he writes about ‘real’ news–

With a frustrated growl, Rey kicks the thought out of her mind and focuses on work instead.

It’s only twenty minutes past six, so traffic is definitely still hell. Rey figures she might as well stick around and throw together that diving article; it’s half of what Amilyn is paying her for, after all.

The next time Rey looks up from her computer screen, an hour has passed and someone is clearing their throat behind her. She turns back for a curious look and immediately suppresses a groan.

Because of fucking course it’s Ben Snoke, looking down at her with furrowed brows.

“Why are you wasting your time on this shit?”

If Rey were standing, she would have taken several steps backward out of sheer shock. “Excuse me?”  she demands, voice colored by indignation and anger.

Ben, miraculously, does not back down. In fact, it’s almost as if he hasn’t noticed her reaction at all, because he pushes on and steers the conversation into an entirely unexpected direction. “You’re an amazing investigative reporter – or so I’ve heard,” he quickly adds before Rey can even begin to process the idea that Ben Snoke might know her work. “Any serious news team in the city would be lucky to have you. So why are you here posting about the same ten Instagram trends day in and day out?”

He seems… genuinely puzzled, Rey notes with no small amount of surprise. And maybe in any other case that would’ve softened her, and maybe under any other circumstances this would’ve been the perfect opportunity to ask if his team could use another reporter, but right here, right now… Ben was already dangerously close to the truth when he pushed his way into Amilyn’s office unannounced. She can’t let him get any closer.

“It’s a brave new world, Ben,” she huffs at him, going for a sneer and failing miserably as soon as she catches sight of a flash of hurt in his eyes. “Try to keep up. Escapism gets hits. Sensationalism gets hits. The same ten Instagram trends over and over again gets hits. But good old boring investigative work? There’s a reason newsrooms are growing smaller and smaller all around the country.”

And before Ben can defend his craft, their craft–

“Besides, that’s none of your business,” Rey states with a note of finality as she turns her back on him, returning her attention to her screen.

She waits for the hairs on the back of her neck to go down, for the odd prickle of awareness she feels around him to fade away.

But Ben lingers, and finally he lets out a heavy sigh. “You’re right,” he mumbles, and out of the corner of her eye Rey spots him placing a brown bag on her desk. “Here. Since you’re working late.”

She turns her head just the slightest bit, and then a little more to stare at him when she catches sight of the logo printed on the bag.

Pastries. He’s brought her pastries from the bakery around the corner.

“Um… thanks?” Rey reaches out and notes that the bag is still warm. “When did you–”

Ben sticks his hands into his pockets and fixes his eyes straight ahead, on her crowded notice board. “Breakroom,” he lies.

Rey can’t exactly call him out on it – what is she supposed to do, accuse him of taking the trouble of getting fresh food for her? – but she’s too puzzled to let it slide. “Wow,” she pretends to play along, “you guys just happen to keep fresh pastries on hand?”

To his credit, Ben remains nonchalant. “This floor might have healthy, balanced meal-prep lunches,” he shrugs, “but we have all the good stuff.” A pause, and then, a little quieter: “You should come up and check it out sometime.”

She’s been to the upstairs breakroom at least four times, and can confirm that they do not have ‘all the good stuff’. In fact, on most days the news people can be found hanging around the downstairs breakroom, hoping to swipe something from the lifestyle team’s latest video shoot or cooking experiment.

“Maybe I will,” Rey says, keeping her tone even.

Ben withdraws his hands from his pockets as he nods. “Okay. Great. Yeah.”

A painfully awkward silence settles over them then, but just as Rey’s about to reach for the bag and ask if he’d like to share something – it’s only polite to offer, since he’s the one who went and got them – Ben steps back and promptly turns on his heel. “I’ll just… I’ll just get out of your hair now.”

Rey reaches for him without thought. “Ben, wait!” she requests as her fingers wrap around his wrist.

When he turns he’s got that same look from that first morning again, this time focused firmly upon her hand on his. Rey’s cheeks heat up as she quickly lets go of him, and if her heart falls a little at his reaction it’s nobody’s business but her own.

“What…” Ben falters, clears his throat, and finally tears his eyes away from his hand to look at her for all of five seconds. “What is it?”

“I just…” Rey takes a deep breath, and offers him a smile. “Thanks,” she says, leaving it at that.

Slowly, hesitantly, Ben smiles in return. It’s a small thing, a barely-there curve of his lips, but his eyes are warm and bright as they hold hers, the first time she’s ever seen them that way, and oh fuck, Rey’s going to think about this a lot now, isn’t she?

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, still smiling. “Don’t… don’t stay too late, Rey. Good night.”

This time, she lets him leave.

“Good night, Ben,” Rey whispers to his retreating back, wondering what the hell just happened.

But hey, at least now she’s roughly 80% sure Ben Snoke doesn’t actually hate her for no damn reason.

So this was originally meant to be done by last week, but then life got in the way as it always does. And it was originally meant to be a one-shot, but then it got out of hand as my stories always do. This one especially strayed further and further away from the plan with every word I wrote, but I hope it's still somewhat decent.

Hoping to update again this weekend and then sometime mid-next week for a third and final time, but we'll see how that goes. You know what they say about life and the best-laid plans...

As always, thank you for reading and I hope you liked it. Please don't hesitate to like/reblog/comment; I'd love to know what you guys think about this so far!

And once again: happy birthday, Nancy! <3

[thekillerssluts]

Arcade Fire | Win Butler’s Guide to New Orleans

Before Arcade Fire’s Win Butler and Régine Chassagne moved to New Orleans in 2014, the Canadian band were in the city during a tour, and the frontman found himself walking on Magazine Street. On his way to a pickup basketball game, Butler heard a brass band and discovered a group of kids no older than ten or 12 years old, practicing their instruments on a school’s front steps. He was amazed to see them rehearsing without any teacher supervision, and then rounded a corner to find a man in a onsie trick dribbling a basketball, before two people stopped the singer and offered him a ride to his destination.

“I was like ‘Shit this town is so fucking different than anywhere I’ve been in America,’” recalls Butler. “The only other place I’ve been on planet earth that shares that mystical energy is Haiti so I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

Wanting to go beyond the “Wikipedia entry version of the story” about New Orleans’ historical connections to the country where Chassagne’s parents grew up, they started Krewe Du Kanaval last year with Preservation Jazz Hall Band multi-instrumentalist Ben Jaffe. Kanaval is the Haitian Creole word for Carnival, and celebrations take place in the weeks leading up to Mardi Gras with masquerade balls and parades that take over the city streets. “It was the result of an ongoing conversation, what are the things in New Orleans that we are all moved by, these expressions of creativity, of music, art, dance,” says Jaffe, who is also the director of iconic music venue Preservation Hall. “There’s all these things even people who live in New Orleans don’t understand or are aware of.”

All proceeds from Krewe benefit the Preservation Hall Foundation for music education in New Orleans and Chassagne’s non-profit organization KANPE, which provides humanitarian aid in Haiti. Ahead of this year’s event, we spoke to Butler and Jaffe about the roots of Kanape and their favourite places to go in the city.

Catch a show at the legendary Preservation Hall

“The French Quarter is sort of this weird tourist invention that’s people stumbling out of these horrible bars, but Preservation Hall is pretty magical,” says Butler. “They haven’t painted anything or touched anything since the 40s. It’s this living museum of music.” The building was opened as a venue in 1961 by Jaffe’s parents, Allan and Sandra, who moved from Philadelphia and fell in love with the city and its jazz scene. “I don’t remember ever a day of my life when there wasn’t live music, and that wasn’t like extraordinary to me, that was just normal,” says the director of his upbringing. “It only became extraordinary when I started realizing that wasn’t the case for most people.” Despite a temporary closure following 2005’s devastating Hurricane Katrina, the Hall is going strong today, and celebrated their 50th anniversary in 2012 with a PHJB Carnegie Hall concert and expansive compilation.

Around the corner from the Preservation Hall is One Eyed Jacks, a former theatre and speakeasy where you can catch local and touring rock acts. “I still go down to Frenchman Street because that’s my neighborhood, within this five-block span there’s probably twenty-plus bands playing on any given night,” says Jaffe. Finally, no jazz afficionado’s trip to New Orleans is complete without a visit to Celebration Hall in the 7th Ward on a Wednesday night to see the TBC Brass Band play. “People just dance their asses off and the gig goes to like two in the morning,” says Butler.

Check out a second line parade on a Sunday

For a more authentic New Orleans experience, skip the bead-throwing Bourbon Street Mardi Gras parades and instead find a second line, which typically involves African-American brass bands leading dancers in coordinated attire through the streets. “There’s a tradition of funeral parades, which is part of the history of jazz music, but also Haitian music,” says Butler, who also organized a parade with the PHJB celebrating David Bowie after the musician died in 2016. This year’s Krewe Du Kanaval procession began at Congo Square, which is where slaves and free Blacks gathered throughout the 19th century for meetings, open markets, and African dance and drumming celebrations. “Saying it’s sacred ground probably doesn’t do it justice,” adds Jaffe. “It’s a place where many of the rhythmic and cultural traditions that became jazz were maintained and kept alive through these hundreds of years of servitude.”

There’s more to New Orleans cuisine than po-boys and gumbo...

“People don’t realize how international the food is in New Orleans,” says Jaffe. “Vietnamese food is one of our go-to staples when we’re touring. No diss to any other Vietnamese restaurant in the country, but we’ve yet to find anything close to the quality of Vietnamese food that you get in New Orleans.” He recommends Phò Tâù Bay, which was founded by an American GI named Karl Takacs, who stayed in Saigon afterwards and married into a family that owned a chain of restaurants. Due to political upheaval, they moved back to the United States and eventually settled in Louisiana, where they opened their first location in 1982.

... But if you’re looking for Louisiana classics, you’ve come to the right place

After a hometown show, the PHJB frequently find themselves back at their studio, where Jaffe will cook up a hearty pot of red beans and rice or other dishes. “I don’t eat heavy but I like the social aspect of eating,” he says. “You can go to Galatoire's with friends for lunch, have a three-hour meal, and feel like you were at the best party.” From Cajun and Creole cooking pioneers Paul Prudhomme’s K-Paul’s (where Emeril Laggase began his career as a chef) and Leah Chase’s Dooky Chase’s, to newer restaurants including Brigtsen’s, Paladar 511, and Pêcheoffering up contemporary takes on classics, there’s no shortage of options. “There’s a lot of restaurants that have been here over a hundred years, to me it’s really a thing of beauty,” adds Butler. “There’s an old-school place uptown called Clancy’sand they do a soft-shell crab, they smoke it and then they deep-fry it, and it’s mind-blowing.”

Dig for secondhand records at Peaches Records

When he’s not playing in Arcade Fire, Butler occasionally DJs under the alias DJ Windows 98, and one of his favourite places to go crate-digging is the family-run Peaches Records. Opened in 1975, founder and owner Shirani Rea is heavily involved in the city’s hip-hop scene, including being an early champion of Cash Money Records. “They always find these crazy attics full of hoarders’ records and have like ten copies of every Japanese Beatles pressing,” says Butler. On a rare day off, you might even find him playing a pickup basketball game on the court across the street from the store.

Take a walk through Audubon Park

If you want to get away from the crowds or simply stretch your legs, take a streetcar uptown to Audubon Park, which is named after artist and naturalist John James Audubon. There you’ll find ancient southern live oaks, a stone labrinyth laid to symbolize healing post-Katrina, and one of Louisiana’s largest rookeries. “Even though we’re on the Mississippi River, the river’s not readily accessible to people, it’s lined with commercial warehouses that you can’t get through,” explains Jaffer. “There’s only three points of access in the city where you can get to the river and Audobon Park is one of those places.”

Listen to WWOZ to find about concerts and cultural events

“I generally tell people to listen to WWOZ [90.7 FM], it’s one of our local public radio stations,” says Jaffe. “You can listen to it for a week and not hear the same song twice, and it’s all great music.” For more music and arts listings, there’s New Orleans alt-weekly Gambit and OffBeat Magazine, which you can pick up a copy of to find out what’s happening around the city.

[eldunea]

buckle up, kids, let me tell you a bit of history.

[TW: Mentions of racism + racial violence, politics, murder and body horror.]

there is an urban legend in the united states about a native american man who tried to assassinate andrew jackson—the man responsible for the trail of tears, who built his political career on taking indigenous lives. the story goes that while andrew jackson was giving a speech, he threw a dagger at him from his vantage point, perched on top of a tree; the dagger just barely missed, nicking jackson’s ear and embedding itself in the stage wall behind him. suddenly, all eyes were on him, a dark-skinned man dressed in european clothes—including the eyes of the guard. some say he had yellow eyes with catlike slits for pupils. others say he had a tail, and that when he opened his mouth they saw glistening fangs. in any case, it was time for him to make his escape.

according to the story, he let out a yowl like a cat. he then leaped out of the tree and hit the ground running despite being shot two times. he sprinted down the city road, pursued by men shooting at him on horseback, but he managed to outrun them all, not even slowing his pace as the holes in his back continued to bleed. finally he ran into a residential area, leaped the fence into a backyard, and disappeared into the woods. dogs were sent to track him, and spurred by his scent they did so with an unusual ferocity—but they lost the trail in an open clearing.

the dagger remained with the u.s. government, where it was inspected by officials. they assumed that the hilt was made of some sort of bone, and the blade was made of iron. they also assumed that the creature carved into the hilt was a being from native mythology. but there were several things wrong with this picture: for one thing, the carving was too intricate and detailed to have been done by human hands. for another, the feathers that dangled from the hilt were not identified as the feathers of any known bird species. moreover, no native american identified the dagger as one of theirs, nor could they identify the creature or the feathers as belonging to their mythology. lastly, soon enough, the government realized that the blackness coating the outside of the bone was not paint at all. rather, the bone itself was black on the outside and white on the inside (which had allowed the carving to look so striking)—a feature not found in the bone of any species on earth.

the dagger also showed a downright magical stubbornness to never remain with one person for longer than a day. anyone whose hands it passed into would find it lost the next morning, and if they took it back, it would display the same result. mysteriously, no matter how far away it was moved, it always seemed to be trying to get closer to the white house—where andrew jackson lived. and when jackson’s second term was up, the dagger immediately switched course, doggedly pursuing him to his new home.

those who were still loyal to him panicked. they insisted that some sort of “indian curse” was trying to kill their beloved former president. they tracked down the dagger’s location, seized it, locked it in a lead box, sailed out as far as they could go and dumped it in the ocean. and there it lay, allowing itself to become lost and forgotten, ready for the day when it could once again emerge and fulfill its purpose.

earthlings say that america’s seventh president fell victim to lead poisoning from the two bullets that remained embedded in them. but a more apocryphal addition to the legend of the man and his dagger suggests a different end. they say that jackson did not succumb to poisoning symptoms, but met a more grisly fate. instead of peacefully asleep in his bed, they say he was found there on june 8, 1845 with a stab wound in his chest, his face twisted into a scream of agony and fear—after decades of being moved from place to place, the dagger had finally found its mark. chillingly, however, the tale does not stop there: it also adds the detail that his body looked desiccated, dried out, as though the very life essence had been sucked from him. his hands, which reached out for a help that would never come, looked leathery and tough like the hands of the pharaohs laid to rest in egyptian tombs.

here is where the story ends. and here is where my story begins.

the dagger’s magical properties, for its part, had long since been passed off as an idle myth. several decades after it had disposed of the ex-president, it allowed itself to resurface in a collection of indigenous artifacts. those who rediscovered it faced the same problem as those who had initially attempted to pry into its mysteries. if this belonged to a native american nation, then why could no actual native people identify its imagery or its craftsmanship? what sort of animal had bones that were black without and white within, and what sort of bird had originally carried the feathers in its hilt? however, the ignorant americans paid these issues no mind. they classified it as “native american; unknown origin,” when they stuck it in a museum.

for decades more, the dagger did nothing. its purpose had been fulfilled, so all it had to do was wait for its master to show up and recollect it. silently, tamely, it sat there behind the glass, the dried blood of the fallen president long since wiped off its blade. it sent out messages that it knew its original owner would be able to pick up on; humans who looked at it often got the feeling that it was calling to them. it became the most popular item in the exhibit due to the supernatural experience that one received just by looking at it—until one evening in 1945, when the object began to beep.

the security guards alerted the curator, who was just about to go home for the night. curiously, he took the dagger from its encasing and stole into a back room. once there, he tugged at it and figured there must be some way to open it, as the beeping was probably created by something inside. he thought he would have a struggle, but surprisingly, as soon as he pulled on the blade it came out into his hand.

attached to the knife blade was a panel of intricate circuitry in need of repair. and attached to that panel was a vial of a bright blue-white liquid—the drained quintessence of president andrew jackson.

the curator gave it to one of his scientist friends, who immediately recognized the technology for what it was: the invention of a civilization advanced beyond human comprehension. the scientist, who was well aware of all the myths surrounding the dagger, felt as though everything had been made clear. the feathers and bone hilt must have come from extraterrestrial species. the carving must depict either a real species somewhere on a distant planet or a creature from an alien mythos. the dagger’s repeated pursuit of its target must be the result of some sort of artificial intelligence. and the “native” man with catlike eyes who had thrown the dagger, then managed to outrun horses and avoid dogs even after being shot twice--he was obviously an alien in disguise.

immediately he contacted the united states government, which took lotor’s dagger into its possession. everything the government did to test the blade confirmed the scientist’s theory. but what the government was most intrigued by was the quintessence sample; they easily deduced that the quintessence powered the blade, and they wanted to see if it could have any application for humans. they soon discovered its miraculously energy efficient properties: simple machines could run on just a few drops for years on end with no decline in functioning. when NASA was created, its scientists were thrilled to hear the government secret that they had found a miracle substance that far surpassed the capabilities of fossil fuels: this was just what they needed to power their proposed rocket ships, just what they needed to get ahead of the russians. naturally, it wasn’t long before russian spies found out about this secret. the galaxy garrison was founded and started developing quintessence-based weapons and technology, and the russians made their own equivalent soon after. the race was on.

this is the story, my friends, of how lotor sincline attempted to assassinate andrew jackson—which then launched humanity into the space age.

he was indeed the man who perched in that tree and threw the dagger—if he walked around dark-skinned in the united states, most people mistook him for native, black or latino. galra instinct had driven him to climb that tree to get a better view. he already loathed the man in front of him, but hearing the way jackson spoke about native americans pushed him to the brink—it reminded lotor of how his father spoke about his own people, the moon elves, and it didn’t help that he felt that moon elves and native americans had a lot in common. violently triggered, struggling to even think or act with the force of his lived experience and his blood memory coursing through him, he took the concealed “smart dagger” from under his sleeve and snarled, “kill president andrew jackson.” once commanded, the blade would not miss its mark—nor would it rest until its objective was fulfilled.

there was only a one in a million chance of the blade malfunctioning.

somehow, jackson still lived.

in the end, though, lotor’s weapon gave him the death it thought he deserved. when it finally found him in his home, it not only stabbed him, it drained him of quintessence—it had been running low on battery and needed a brand new dose of energy, and the quintessence in jackson’s body would power it for the next 7,000 years. with the new energy, it then consumed him with visions of its master’s intensely traumatic life. moon elvish smart daggers take on their master’s feelings and even their memories, and lotor had bonded with his strongly enough that it was aware of the many traumas he had suffered. as andrew jackson felt the sensations of lotor’s life wrack his body and watched the scenes of the alien’s ordeals flash by, he learned what it was to experience the sort of oppression that he had inflicted on the native americans--and he experienced ten thousand years of it within the span of a mere thirty seconds. the shock of it killed him before the blood loss did.

fast forward to the mid-1900s. the american government kept many secrets from its people. the existence of extraterrestrial life was one of them. the existence of quintessence was not—but they certainly lied about their method for harvesting it. for a time, they were satisfied in taking it from animals—there was a farm outside washington d.c. that raised livestock specifically for quintessence draining. but they soon realized that the quality of the energy drained from the livestock was not as good as the quality of the quintessence within the blade itself. once more recalling the story about how andrew jackson had been found dead and seemingly “drained,” they quickly deduced that the purest source of quintessence available to them was from human beings.

and so it was. the american government got their quintessence fix from people sentenced to the death penalty. capital criminals were told they would get the noose or the electric chair, but instead, they were violently stabbed to death so that the life energy could be drained from them. the united states would never have invented the level of technology depicted in the voltron series if not for the discovery of jackson’s quintessence inside lotor’s dagger; humanity’s incredible progress was thus forged in the blood of the guilty. NASA had no idea that any of this was happening, that the technology they used was being powered by murder--but the galaxy garrison, whose scientists had come to the conclusion that human quintessence was superior to that of animals, did.

spacefaring aliens across the universe have had mixed reactions to this, especially because it’s a common cultural practice for them when they encounter non-spacefaring races to leave no trace of their presence. some of them praise lotor for indirectly getting revenge on an oppressor, and point to how the decades-later result of that helped the human species attain greater technological advancement; these people also tend to be pro-contact. the opposite side points to the fact that the humans harvested criminals for their quintessence, and say that lotor should have been more careful with the use of advanced technology on a “primitive” planet. these people are among the sort who believe that leaving behind even the most seemingly inconsequential of materials can change the course of another species’ history. either way, after being separated from his weapon, lotor figured it was time to go get it back.

when the paladins returned to earth during the events of my canon divergent season 7, lotor told galaxy garrison officials that they had something that belonged to him. he asked to be shown to area 51, where his dagger was giving off the last of its weak calls to be found by him—many of its systems including its system of communication had malfunctioned and were slowly breaking down, which had caused the beeping back in 1945. he was easily able to track it; he took it out of its box, smiling down at it gently. pressing the flat part of the blade to his cheek, he was granted a vision telling him that the item had completed its mission.

“well done,” he murmured. “welcome back, old friend.”