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alpacaparkaseok · 3 years

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Ivy

➣ Pairing: apprentice!Jungkook x reader, art curator!Hoseok x reader

➣ Premise: You’ve been promised to Jung Hoseok for twelve years. You’ve never wanted anything else. Until now. (inspired by the song “Ivy” by Taylor Swift)

➣ Genre: arranged marriage au, angsty with some fluff, SFW

➣ warnings/tags: it’s a bit angsty, the reader is technically promised to someone else so it’s a little messy, general EmOTioNS, a bit intense/stalkerish but not too bad?? some fun fluff and banter as well, but Hoseok might kill a man and Jungkook will go down fighting

➣ word count: 12.2k *yeah, I know. this sucker is like 3 times longer than it was meant to be*

➣ a/n: this was a commission by @delacyrose224 for Army for AAPI! Thank you so much for requesting this awesome prompt, I literally had too much fun writing this. I swear, I could’ve made a whole series out of this. You guys, check out ways to get involved in this awesome cause by clicking the link!

The person staring back at you in the mirror is not you. Of that, you are certain. There’s no way you could ever pull this off – the silken layers, ivory making your skin glow with a dew-like complexion…

You voice as much. “I don’t even recognize myself.”

“Isn’t that kind of the point?”

Whirling around in a flurry of skirts and soft-to-the-touch fabric, you spot your betrothed lingering in the doorway.

“Hoseok!”

He chuckles, the sound making the corners of your lips tug upward. Taking in the sight before him, you can’t help but notice the way he chews on the inside of his cheek. Hoseok takes one hesitant step forward, crossing his arms.

“You should’ve seen me earlier,” he croons, voice always sounding like he’s a breath away from laughter. “I thought my dad had somehow teleported into the mirror.”

You wince. “Does this mean we’ve grown up?”

“Unfortunately.”

Twelve years of waiting for this. How have they already passed?

“You know,” Hoseok begins, dropping your gaze in favor of stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I haven’t even properly proposed to you, yet.”

“You should probably get on it.”

“Mmm.”

“Aren’t we getting married in April?”

He frowns. “Yeah, mid-April I think. It’s barely November, though. So there’s no pressure, right?”

You almost burst out laughing at his simple question. No pressure? Pressure has been your constant companion these past twelve years.

What else were you supposed to feel? Trying telling a thirteen year old that they’re already promised to somebody and then tell them “Oh, but no pressure.” Of course, they made sure to drop that little piece of pointless comfort after they mentioned who you had been promised to.

Jung Hoseok.

Three years your senior, he had seemed larger-than-life when you first met less than a year after learning of your pre-determined commitment to him. He’d been kind, that was your first thought. A little strange, a little loud at times. For your teenage self, that was fine.

Then things began to change. It was a rare occasion that you ever saw Hoseok; the two of you lived in different cities. However you distinctly remember one occasion in which you had unintentionally bumped into him while in search of your parents at their giant headquarters located in Busan.

It was easy to get lost in that building – you still can picture all the different nooks and crannies where different works of art were stored. The more valuable ones were of course under lock and key, however there were plenty of show rooms that you managed to get lost in.

You had done just that, taking a detour through the preservation room where several workers could be seen on the other side of the glass cleaning a timeless piece that had just been flown in from Austria. Once you realized where you were, you turned to leave. However, something caught your eye that made you hesitate.

There was Hoseok, perched on the edge of a stool as he leaned over the artwork. There was nothing particularly flashy about him that day, something you weren’t used to. In all your time of knowing him (four years at that point), you had never seen him in something other than formal wear. If it wasn’t some sort of suit or dress shirt, it was a sweater vest that he somehow managed to pull off.

This time, he was disguised in a white lab coat, holding a Loup to his eye in an effort to analyze the fine details of the painting. His brown hair was a little mussed, his knee bouncing up and down in the only outward show of excitement he portrayed.

One of the workers began speaking, the details of their conversation muted to your ears due to the glass separating you from them. However, you watched as Hoseok listened with almost terrifying focus before turning back to the painting and delicately taking a brush to the frame. No doubt dusting off some invisible smudge.

You had been frozen for a long moment, completely unfamiliar with this man. The Hoseok you knew was jovial and quick to laughter. He made you smile and roll your eyes. He put you at ease.

This man, with his precise flicks of the wrist and unwavering focus, was a force of nature.

You realized then, at the age of seventeen that while you were promised to this man, you did not know him at all. There was so much more hiding behind that heart-shaped smile.

And now, at twenty-five, you are no closer to knowing him than you were before. You’ve never known anyone else quite so talented at wielding smiles with the same deftness as a sniper hiding on a rooftop.

“No pressure?” You scoff, wiggling an eyebrow at your intended sniper. “That means I can’t gain any weight from here to April! That’s impossible with the holidays coming up!”

Hoseok bursts out laughing, clapping at your comment as though you’ve just completed a stand-up routine. “That’s a good point,” he sighs, making a contented sound. “I’ll have to ask my tailor to let out my suit a bit in the spring.”

You fidget on the pedestal, glancing back at the mirror over your shoulder. Your gown is breathtaking, there’s no denying it. It’s just…overwhelming.

“Well,” Hoseok begins to back out of the room, “You look beautiful. Sorry for snooping around, but I couldn’t resist.”

You straighten up at his comment, preening a bit. Over the years, you’ve come to realize that Hoseok’s compliments are not given lightly.

“Thank you.”

He shrugs. “It’s true.” He turns on his heel and strides out the door, calling over his shoulder, “We’ll fly out first thing in the morning.”

Piano Concerto No. 4 in G, from Beethoven’s Opera 58 echoes off the domed ceiling, bouncing through the air and enveloping you in a cocoon of music. Without your realizing, your right foot bounces out the rhythm as you crane your neck to get a better look at your work.

“C’mon, David,” you groan, sparing the renowned sculpture a glare. “You’re not making this easy on me.”

“I wasn’t aware that sculptures got vasectomies.”

You jolt, nearly tipping off of your step stool before two warm hands grasp your shoulders. Sputtering and spewing, you spin around to see just who you need to direct your cursing at.

“Who are you?” You fume as the person in question removes their hands from you and takes a timid step back.

“Jeon Jungkook, m-ma’am.”

“Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen even more, something you didn’t think he was capable of doing. Chowing down on his bottom lip, he gives you a small shake of his head.

“Then tell me who you are to me, not your name.” You inwardly grimace at your snappy tone, but you’ll apologize later.

“Oh, I…uh, I’m the apprentice?” When you don’t immediately get a look of understanding on your face, Jungkook presses on. “Mr. Jung’s apprentice, ma’am.”

Ah, that checks out.

Hoseok’s father would be stepping down as the East-Asia representative on the international board of Art and Artifacts (basically the equivalent of the U.N. in art terms), leaving a spot open for Hoseok to ascend the ranks.

“Why haven’t I met you before? Haven’t you been around for a while?”

In order to complete the apprenticeship, Jungkook would need at least three years of working alongside Hoseok. Learning the ins and outs of being the curator of some of the biggest art collections and galleries in the world.

“Yes ma’am, I have.”

“Ok, Jungkook,” you stand up and stretch, gaining some sort of sick satisfaction from the way he scampers back a bit more to give you space. “Two things. First, I’m not ‘ma’am’. Just speak to me casually, ok?”

There’s a flash of surprise in his eyes, but he nods. “And the second thing?”

Turning point to the David in all his glory, you smirk over your shoulder. “Don’t sneak up on me when I’m working. David here nearly lost his balls because you startled me.”

Cheeks flushed pink, Jungkook sputters out something resembling a “y-yes, I won’t do it again” before dropping his gaze to the floor. Chuckling to yourself, you resume your position before the sculpture, meticulously layering on a protective substance to the David’s nether regions.

You and Hoseok had been called over to Italy in order to make preparations for the upcoming art show. It was to be the first of its kind --- never before had these timeless artworks been on display like this. Royalty, presidents, dignitaries of every kind mixed with world-class celebrities would be present.

As a precaution you were going through and applying a protective but clear substance to more fragile parts of the artworks. Today, the David was the lucky one.

“So, Jungkook,” you hum, completely undeterred by the strange position you were in at the moment. “What brings you over to my side of the museum today? Shouldn’t you be off with Hoseok, planning for the event?”

“Ah, well…Mr. Jung said you might need a hand. I volunteered to assist you with whatever you need.”

You blink. Hoseok had always been completely content to leave you to your work. It was a silent agreement you have: you let him do his thing, and he doesn’t interfere with your stuff.

“Huh.” You smooth out the final touches, leaning back a bit. “Interesting. So what, you’re just hanging out with me for the rest of the day?”

“Yep. For the rest of the week, actually.”

David stares off into the distance, ever stoic. You swear you can see a bit of a confused glint in his eye as the sculpture listens in on your conversation. It’s always just been you and the artwork. So what’s this with Hoseok sending Jungkook over? Is he just trying to be kind and help you out?

Probably. There’s no need to assume anything else. You just think…

Well, despite trusting you, you would think he’d send someone less attractive to help you with your work. Is this some sort of trust exercise he’s pulling on you before he proposes? Or does he just not care enough to think about the possible repercussions of his actions?

“Doesn’t he care at least a little bit?” You think aloud, frowning up at David.

“What was that?”

“Oh,” you swivel around to give Jungkook an apologetic smile. “Nothing. Do me a favor?” Jungkook nods. “Take a look at this for me, see if the extra layer is noticeable at all.”

Getting up to move out of his way, you can’t help the grin that breaks out as Jungkook flushes a bit when he gets up close and personal with the David. Despite his obvious embarrassment though, he meticulously checks ever angle.

“I can’t tell at all,” he finally responds, straightening up. “You’re amazing.”

You blink. “Oh. Er…thanks.”

“So, where to next?”

“We look like those ancient plague doctors,” Jungkook jokes, hanging you a bottle of clear liquid before you can even ask for it. “You know, like with the big beaks and stuff?”

You snort, which in turn fogs up the inside of your suit. Waiting a moment for it to clear up, you glance back at Hoseok’s apprentice.

He has a point. The two of you look slightly ridiculous, in your full body Hazmat suits that are necessary to inspect these ancient papyrus scrolls. They’re falling apart already, no need for you to contaminate them with something as feeble as a sigh. Once you’re finished working on them, they’ll be placed in thick Plexiglas cases which will keep them safe from the outside world.

“We’re missing the beaks, though.”

Jungkook hums, watching you carefully as you smooth out the scroll. “I bet we could roll these up and use them as beaks.”

“Not funny.”

“Worth a shot.”

Rolling your eyes again; something you’ve become prone to doing in the past 24 hours you’ve known Jungkook, you set to work.

It’s only quiet for so long before Jungkook speaks up again. He does so quietly, making good on his promise not to startle you anymore. “No Beethoven today?”

You give a slight shake of your head, hardly daring to blink while applying the syrupy liquid to the bottom corner of the document. The slightest mess up would result in having to scrape it off before it dries, which is something you don’t want to have to try. Not when a single nick to the papyrus equals game over.

Letting out a sigh of relief once you’ve completed that section, you sit back and stretch. “No,” you groan out mid-yawn. “It felt like a Tchaikovsky kind of day. Don’t know why.”

“Hmm.”

“Ok, we need to wait…” you glance at the clock on the wall. “About an hour to let that completely set in before flipping it and working on the other side.”

“Great, let’s grab some lunch.”

You blink, watching Jungkook as he shoots to his feet and heads toward the door. “I was going to suggest we get started on the next exhibit-”

“Food first,” Jungkook chimes, leaving no room for argument as your stomach rumbles at the thought of lunch. “We’re literally in Italy, food always comes first.”

Well, he has a point.

You make a point of locating Hoseok before heading out for food, eventually finding him in a grand corridor surrounded by staff. Wherever Hoseok is, there’s constant motion. People flitting about, running errands and trying to keep everything moving in a timely fashion.

As the two of you became closer work partners over the past few years, it’s become a familiar sight. It helps, finding Hoseok is usually fairly easy. Today proves no different.

“Hoseok!” You wave him down, offering a smile to the surrounding staff that recognize you. The man in question is nudged by his assistant, Joshua.

“Hey!” Hoseok breaks away from the group and jogs over to where you stand beside a column. He nods at Jungkook, smiling warmly. “What’re you two up to? I thought you were working the papyrus today.”

“We have an hour before we can move on to the next thing, so we’re grabbing lunch. Wanna come?”

“Oh,” the look of surprise on his face gives you cause to wonder when the last time you invited him to do something with you was. “That sounds…really nice, actually. Give me a minute?”

Your heart stumbles as it pick up in speed, something you weren’t anticipating. “Yeah, sure. We’ll wait right here.”

“Great, thanks.”

With that, he scurries back over to the throng. Jungkook leans over to you, elbow nudging your arm.

“What?”

“How long do you think they’ll last before calling him?” Jungkook muses, an amused smile on his face.

You can’t help but laugh, knowing full well that it won’t be long. “I’d say…thirty minutes?”

“Really? I’ll give them forty.”

“You’re too generous.”

“Aren’t you being too hard on them?”

Your eyes slide over to Jungkook, arching a brow. “No. So what are we betting?”

Jungkook breathes through his teeth, taking in your determined expression. “Hmmm…money or something else?”

“Not money, that’s too boring.”

“Ok, ok.” Crossing his arms, Jungkook sways from side to side as he thinks. Slowly, his eyes drag across your face, trying to see something that’s beneath the surface. “If you lose, you have to be my date to the gala.”

“W-what?!” You choke on your spit, staring up at Jungkook like he just grew a second head. “I can’t- why would you-”

He tilts his head to one side, clearly enjoying your shock. “Hurry, make your bet. What happens if you win?”

“Jungkook, I’m literally marrying Hoseok in a few months, I can’t just go as someone else’s date!”

“Don’t worry,” he winks, only furthering your embarrassment, “I’ve it all planned out. Now, hurry up. He’s heading back.”

Indeed, Hoseok is clapping Joshua on the shoulder and turning this way. Chewing furiously on the inside of your cheek, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Ok, well if I win then you have to leave me alone for the rest of the week!”

There’s a hint of worry that streaks across Jungkook’s features, but it’s covered up a few seconds later as he thrusts out his hand to shake on it. “Deal.”

With the way he grins down at you, you can’t help but feel like this was a stupid thing to bet on.

You’re wedged into a booth not long after, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Hoseok. Jungkook takes the spot across from you two, never missing a beat in his conversation with your betrothed.

“The guest list has been finalized,” Hoseok is saying, smiling warmly at the server that drops off some menus. You don’t miss the way she ogles your companions, shrugging it off. It’s become a common occurrence. You’re not blind to their looks.

“It wasn’t finished before?” You ask, frowning. Hoseok passes a menu to you, leaning in a bit closer. It’s unnecessary, but the way he lets his leg rest against yours has a rush shooting through you.

So…this is a new development.

“No,” Jungkook answers for him. “Well, we thought it was, but then the curator here wanted to invite some more political officials. Has it been a mess trying to rearrange?”

“Yeah, but everyone pulled their weight.”

“That’s good to hear.”

It’s relatively quiet as you all look over your menus, bouncing ideas off of each other for what they should get. After you’ve placed your orders, Hoseok nudges you.

“Your mother called me last night.”

Your eyes widen. “She did?”

Both men chuckle at your obvious worry. “Yes, she did. We had a nice chat. Why do you look so concerned?”

Perhaps it has something to do with the last conversation you had with your mother. It took place about three weeks ago, when she’d come up to Seoul for a visit. The visit had been pleasant enough; you’d gone to dinner and talked about things back home. She’d actually approved of your apartment, despite the eclectic feel to it.

It has almost been too normal. You should’ve known that it was only a matter of time before something happened.

You were busy putting your leftovers from the restaurant in the fridge, your mother hovering in the doorway to the kitchen with a pensive look on her face.

“Have you ever had…doubts?”

“Doubts?” Your voice was muffled from the odd angle, but you peeked out around the door of the fridge with a questioning look. “About what?”

Your mother shrugged, keeping her eyes trained on the door of the fridge and its decorative magnets. “About Hoseok.”

You immediately stood, closing the door with a dull thud. “What?”

“I just…your wedding is coming up, he’s probably going to propose within the next couple of months – for heaven’s sake, you have your dress fitting coming up in just a couple of weeks, isn’t that right?”

“Mom,” you voice was stern. “What is this about? You’re scaring me.”

At your confession your mother finally met your eyes. “Oh, sweetie, I didn’t mean to worry you so much. But I can’t help but wonder, you know? We’ve never really talked about it-”

“There was never anything to talk about!” You sigh, exasperated. “All I’ve known is that I’m going to end up with Hoseok, and that’s that! He’s a nice man, hardworking, and we make a good team.”

“I know, darling. I know.” She hesitated before stepping forward, coming to place a loving hand on your cheek. “I just want you to know that you get to make this decision. Even though it may not have always felt like it. There is…more. Out there, for you.”

More?

“Just, uh…” you shake your head, trying to clear your mind of those thoughts rolling around your head. “Wanted to make sure she didn’t share any embarrassing information about me.”

This makes both men chuckle, Jungkook leaning forward with eager eyes. “Like what? Do tell.”

You blush at his undivided attention, groaning and slipping down further in your seat. Hopefully neither of them notice your pink cheeks, something tells you that Jungkook would never let you live it down.

The fact that you don’t know how Hoseok would react has you even more on edge.

Hoseok grins at you as you sit up again, reaching around your shoulders to pull you close. “Aw, you probably don’t have any embarrassing stories. We all already know that you’re perfect.”

You blink, staring up at your betrothed as his smile softens. He’s never spoken to you like this. First sending extra help in the form of Jungkook, then dropping everything to go to lunch, now this?

Before your mind can run with the idea blooming in your chest, your server appears with your food. Her eyes instantly zone in on you and Hoseok, something registering in her eyes as she offers you a warm smile. Then, she turns her full attention on Jungkook. Practically eating him alive as she sets his food down in front of him.

“Your hair is so long,” she muses. “I’ve never seen anyone able to pull off hair like that…what’s your secret?”

Jungkook, who you assumed would preen in the attention, hardly glances the girl’s way. His eyes rest on where Hoseok’s hand ghosts over your shoulder, slow in its retreat. Jungkook keeps a neutral expression, although his eyes shoot up to yours in a way that has you pinned to the back of the booth.

It’s over just as quickly as it began, Jungkook grinning down at his food and mumbling, “No secret. Just good genes.” He doesn’t wait another second before diving into his food. You snort at his reply, Hoseok just shaking his head before beginning to eat in a more meticulous manner. If he noticed the strange exchange that just passed between you and Jungkook, he doesn’t say anything.

Or maybe it was all in your head. Maybe that protective coating you applied to the papyrus earlier today has gone straight to your head, addling your brain.

The food is delicious, as expected. The three of you fall into an easy conversation, revolving mainly around work. You notice that Jungkook keeps checking his phone, but you ignore it.

That is, until he offers you a smug smile before focusing his attention on Hoseok.

“So, for this gala…we’re meant to bring a plus one, right?”

Hoseok nods. “Yep.”

“Who’re you taking?”

Hoseok laughs, taking a long sip of his drink. “Who? I don’t know, I feel like I should maybe take the woman I’m marrying in a few months.” He shoots you a friendly wink, but you can’t completely return his light-hearted nature. Has it already been forty minutes? But still, there’s been no call…

“Oh,” a familiar ringtone cuts through the air, and Hoseok grabs his phone from his pocket, frowning at the screen. “It’s Joshua. I’ll just step outside for a moment.”

Hoseok is too busy sliding out of the booth to notice the way your jaw drops. The second he’s out of sight, you turn an accusatory glare toward Jungkook. “What was that? Did you seriously tell them to call-”

“Before you castrate me, I’d like to defend myself. Can I do that?”

“And then I can castrate you?”

Jungkook visibly swallows. “I only meant it hypothetically, but…just listen.” When you angrily wave for him to continue, the smug smile from earlier reappears on his face. “I have this all under control. But, from where I’m sitting, I won our little bet. So I have a question for you.”

“I’m not going with you, Hoseok is taking me!”

Pushing his tongue against his cheek, Jungkook sits back and observes you for a moment. “Don’t be so sure about that, sweetheart. Now, what color of dress are you wearing to this thing?”

You do your best to ignore Jungkook for the rest of the day. Hoseok chats happily with you on the walk back to the museum, occasionally finding a way to let his hand graze yours. It’s enough to keep you distracted from Jungkook’s complacent expression which is usually directed in your direction.

Parting from Hoseok is like parting with a security blanket, and he looks to be particularly pleased with the way you run your hand down his arm before bidding him goodbye. Jungkook huffs a breath, which goes unnoticed by your betrothed as he heads into the building where countless workers wait for him.

“I’m still waiting on an answer,” Jungkook chides a few moments later. You’re desperately trying to outpace him, annoyed when he easily keeps up.

“You’re not getting one and we’re not going together.”

“Didn’t I tell you that I’d take care of it? Everything. Even Hoseok.” You stop in your tracks when Jungkook jumps in front of the doors, opening one up with a flourish.

“Jungkook.”

“Yes, darling?” It’s infuriating how much you react to the pet name, your reddening cheeks giving you away instantly.

“Stop.”

Jungkook blinks, straightening up a bit as you sweep past him and head inside. When he’s silent the entire walk to the papyrus lab, you let out a sigh of relief. Never mind the fact that there’s a dull disappointment blooming in your chest. For a moment, it was nice to think of what a night at Jungkook’s side could be like.

It would certainly be different than what you’re used to with Hoseok. Not that you two often spend occasions like this together, it’s more of a formality than anything. The first few minutes are always a dream: Hoseok can’t take his eyes off of you and gets flustered. He’s a perfect gentleman, and even goes so far as to hold you close to him when entering the event.

However, it only takes a few minutes before he’s swept off in one direction and you the other. Collogues, board members, and possible buyers of the rare artwork on display keep you two busy and apart for the entirety of the night.

You make to step into the prep room, ready to get back into your hazmat suit and start on the other side of the papyrus scrolls. The moment you step in, however, the thought of being stuck in such a small space with Jungkook nearly makes your lightheaded. Focus is paramount in your line of work, and Jungkook counts as a distraction.

“Would you go around to the sculptures we worked on yesterday and make sure they’re doing ok?” You glance over your shoulder to see Jungkook freeze in the doorway. “I, uh…I never know how they’re going to respond to the added layer.”

Jungkook has lost all of his previous swagger, simply giving you a curt nod before turning to walk away. You can’t help but watch as he briskly heads down the hallways, running his hands through his hair before fisting them at the nape.

You jump a little as the door closes, lost in your thoughts. Rushing back to you are your mother’s words.

“There is…more. Out there, for you.”

The words settle for a moment before you snort, chuckling to yourself before putting one leg in the hazmat suit. “They’re both hot. So what?”

Two more days pass in a similar fashion. Jungkook is always waiting for you at the entrance to the museum, resembling an eager puppy before you shut him down with a stern look.

Last night you spent a ridiculous amount of time coming up with errands you could send him on that wouldn’t seem too suspicious. For the most part it’s worked; you’ve been working alone for most of the day, and Jungkook hasn’t seemed too keen to intrude.

A part of you feels a bit bad for shutting him out so much, but you really have no reason to let him in. Especially not when he was so set on taking you to the gala when you’re very clearly promised to another.

“Does he have something against Hoseok?”

Your question is directed to your current project, The Incoronation of the Virgin, by Jacopo di Cione. Of course, the virgin humbly sitting with a crown on her head pays you no mind, but you carry on anyway.

“But then again, why would he? He’s getting his job, isn’t he?” You sit back, lightly dusting at the finer details of the mural. “Oh, maybe he’s angry at me.”

“Why would I be angry at you?”

You gasp as you stumble back, losing your footing from where you were on a stepping stool. You gasp louder (if that’s possible) when two sturdy hands grab your waist, firmly keeping you in place.

“Steady?”

“Why do you keep sneaking up on me?” You seethe, stepping down and out of Jungkook’s grasp. “Did I ask you to finish cleaning the bottles we used yesterday?”

“I finished that.”

“And what about sweeping the work area?”

“Done.”

“What about-”

“Done,” Jungkook looks like he’s considering taking another step, but stays put. “I finished everything. Now would you quit sending me away?”

You give him a long look, noting the way his cheeks burn under your gaze. After a moment you sigh. “Yeah, fine.”

Jungkook perks up instantly, and a second later you find him glued to your side. He gazes up at the panel you’ve been working on, his mouth dropping of its own accord.

“Wow, it’s beautiful.”

“Mmhm.” You head back up the step stool, getting back to work while Jungkook holds it steady. He admires the artwork, leaving you in relative peace.

“How did you get into this stuff?” He asks from the other end of the painting. You arch a brow before furrowing it, trying to come up with a reasonable answer.

“I…well, this is what my family does.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, I guess they tend to lean more toward the buying and selling of artwork. From my teen years I’ve always gravitated more toward the conservation of artwork.”

“Why’s that?” The fact that he sounds genuinely interested throws you off, making you pause as you meet his curious gaze. There’s no malice in his eyes, not a hint of the annoying pride from two days prior. Just genuine interest.

It gives you a falling sensation, which has you clinging to the stool until it passes.

“It’s quiet. Peaceful, for the most part.”

“But it’s stressful, too?”

The beginnings of a smile curl at your lips. “Yes, that too.”

A companionable silence falls between the two of you after that, allowing for you to work quickly and efficiently. Once you’re satisfied with the panel, you find Jungkook ready to hold the stool steady while you get down.

“What about you?” The question falls from your lips before you really understand what you’re asking.

“Me?”

“Yeah. Why did you decide to become an apprentice? It’s a long apprenticeship. And last I checked, curating isn’t exactly a hot trend.”

Jungkook scrunches his nose in a way that has you wondering if what you just said was somehow absolutely adorable. He certainly thinks it was.

“Well, there are a number of reasons.” He glances sidelong at you as you gather your things to head back to the storage space. “But mainly because it felt right.”

You frown. “That’s your reason?” Jungkook nods, amusement glittering in his eyes. “What happens when you wake up and it doesn’t feel right anymore?”

“Why? Do you know the feeling?”

Suddenly you know that you’re no longer talking about career choices. It’s only confirmed when Jungkook slows to a stop, hoisting up the bucket of supplies and facing you.

“I- no, I love my job-”

“Haven’t you ever wondered, though?” Now it’s practically impossible to decipher what exactly is going on behind Jungkook’s bright eyes, his long brown hair falling into his face. “There’s more out there, you know. Why do you stay?”

For some reason, you’re frozen in place. A deer in the headlights, probably reading way too much into this conversation.

“S-stay?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook takes a small step forward, as though afraid of scaring you off. “After all this time, you’re still here. Why?”

Your breath is caught in your throat. “I…” The world stops spinning as Jungkook tilts his head to one side, eyes swallowing you whole as they trace the outline of your lips. Despite not laying a single finger on you, your skin blazes as though he were physically reaching out.

With a step back, you glare at the floor before taking a steeling breath. “The retirement plan’s great. Hard to pass up on.”

The sound of your footsteps echo off the walls, listening for Jungkook to follow after you.

He doesn’t.

“So, about the gala.” Hoseok stands in the doorway to your hotel room, tie long gone and top button loosed. It’s a rare sight, and yet it never fails to be one of your favorites. “I have a weird proposition for you.”

You kick off your shoes, not bothering with decency as you fall back on your bed with a groan. “Shoot.”

“Jungkook has this really prestigious cousin that’s connected to the royal family-”

“Royal family?” You sit up, frowning at Hoseok.

“Yeah, like the British one? I think so, at least. Anyway, I don’t remember how she’s connected but it’s a big deal. And apparently she asked for me to escort her at the gala.”

If blood could run cold, yours is pushing freezing. “Huh. Is that so.”

Hoseok gives you an apologetic smile. “I know it’s weird and that’s why I came to you, I don’t want to hurt you-”

“I’ll just go by myself, it’s fine.”

“No, no. You’re not going alone. Jungkook already offered to take you.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, resolve withering at the sight of Hoseok’s tentative hope. You wonder if he would really back down if you asked to go with him. To let Jungkook’s schmoozing cousin find a different date.

“Just say the word,” Hoseok offers with a fading smile. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

For some reason, your ears expect to hear the word darling at the end of that sentence. But they don’t, and you know exactly where you can go for that.

More, huh?

“That’s fine, Hoseok. Really. What’s one night?”

Hoseok rushes forward with glee, wrapping you in his arms for a second before backing away and heading toward the door. “You’re amazing, you know that? Absolutely amazing. The guests are going to be in awe of your work.”

The guests are, unsurprisingly, oblivious to your meticulous work.

You’re not complaining, they’re not meant to notice it. Your work is behind the scenes, whereas Hoseok’s work is visible everywhere.

His handywork acts as a constant reminder of him, keeping you on edge as you trail up the flower-studded stairs that are already overflowing with guests. A few give you odd looks as you walk alone, but most are too preoccupied with their own problems to care much for yours.

You don’t know how he did it, but Jungkook managed to get you all to himself after all. The thought had left an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach all day yesterday at work, hardly bothering to exchange more than a few words with the man in question. It seemed like he had almost anticipated this, content to leave you be. It was when he asked what time he should pick you up that you looked at him, angry at the fact that you immediately admired his outfit of choice. It suited him, which shouldn’t have come as such a surprise.

“I’ll meet you there,” you had responded firmly, hopefully leaving no room for argument. “Wait for me beside the entrance.”

It was bad enough that you were going without your betrothed; that another woman was going to be hanging off his arm all night. The last thing you wanted was to create an equally flashy arrival with his apprentice. You were by no means the most popular guests in attendance tonight, but the guarantee of countless cameras had you refraining from taking any chances.

Now, as you make your way to the entrance, you try to not look too eager. Jungkook is nowhere to be found yet, making you frown, but movement catches your attention in the corner of your eye.

Stepping from the shadows is Jungkook, looking like he was made for this event. The first thing you notice about him is the wistful smile he gives you, which you return before your mind catches up with what’s going on.

He looks…immaculate. Not over-the-top, he’s wearing a fairly standard black suit with a thin black tie. Nothing too flashy, but it might as well be an original piece with the way he wears it. His hair has been carefully styled, so unlike the careless mop you’ve seen throughout this week.

Jungkook moves toward you like a man on a mission while you remain at the top of the stairs, hardly daring to breathe.

“Hello,” he mutters, coming to a stop before you. “You look…stunning. Absolutely stunning.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, perhaps already knowing that your tongue has turned leaden in his presence. Jungkook offers you his arm, which you graciously take. Hopefully he doesn’t pay too much attention to the way you’re gripping his forearm for dear life.

The two of you sweep inside, gaining easy access as you’re well acquainted with the staff. As you pass a long, tall mirror that’s flanked by sphinxes, you can’t help but glance over.

You do look stunning.

The red gown you wear isn’t too revealing, not too flashy, but calls attention to you just the same. No matter where you are tonight, Hoseok will be able to find you with ease. The thought fills you with a sick sort of satisfaction. He’ll see you, but he’ll see who’s arm you’re on, as well.

With Jungkook by your side, you’re a force of nature. The two of you are no longer walking, rather prowling the premises as you make your way toward the ballroom. A few stragglers that are trying to get a peek at the closed off exhibits notice your keen eye and scamper off.

It’s a new sensation to you, watching those people flee from before you as though you were an enemy soldier on a mission. Perhaps it has something to do with the way Jungkook appears to be smoldering beside you, emitting a dangerous aura that you never realized he could give off. For a brief moment, the silly boy you’ve been actively avoiding this week has vanished. In his wake stands a man with a purpose, the successor to the famed Jung Hoseok, and a legitimate contender amongst art dealers.

“I’m not used to this,” you mutter as Jungkook continues in his path. His steps are timed perfectly to your own, and you wonder if that’s a mere coincidence or if he’s currently keeping count in his head.

“Used to what?” Even his voice has turned to a dangerous rasp, smoky eyes sliding over to observe you.

“People respecting personal space. Usual they all flock to Hoseok the second he walks in the door.”

The corner of his lips pull up in a smirk. “And which do you prefer?”

You sigh. “Are you seriously turning this into a competition?”

You’re almost to the ballroom, but you let out a surprised sound when you veer off course into a deserted corridor just above the stairs that lead down into the ballroom. You realize that he’s taking you across a small overlook which shows the ballroom, a flurry of suits and dresses writhing before you on the level below. It’s a mesmerizing sight, and upon instinct you seek out Hoseok.

Jungkook notices your search, pausing to allow you to look around a bit more. He studies your side profile carefully. “Is that such a bad thing?” It takes you a moment to realize that he’s referring to the competition.

There’s Hoseok, sure enough he’s weaving in and out of the crowd. People smile and clap him on the back, making space for him and his companion to get through.

Jungkook’s cousin, Margaret, stays close behind your betrothed. She even goes so far as to hold onto his hand, offering him a shy smile when he looks back at her questioningly. However, he does nothing to shake her off.

“Yes,” you answer. Then, “He never took me along with him.”

“You mean at events like these?” Jungkook stands beside you at the railing, eyes instantly finding the “he” you’re referring to. “I know. You two usually go your separate ways.”

The nonchalant manner with which he comments this has you turning to face him, confusion clear on your face. “How could you know that?”

Jungkook frowns, popping his knuckles as he refuses to look at you. “Isn’t it pretty common knowledge? You two are both prominent members of the art community that hardly have time for each other. The rest is fairly simple to figure out.”

You step to the side, granting yourself enough space to glare up at the man.

“Fairly simple? Jungkook, I don’t know why you think you can make assumptions about my relationship with Hoseok, but there’s no need to do so. You’re right, we’re both busy. But we’re happy. Why do you seem so intent on making me second guess that? Why is everything a competition with you?”

You’re surprised when Jungkook doesn’t step down like he usually does. Instead he straightens up, leaning in a bit closer while his eyes bore into your own. You swallow, pressing your nails into the palm of your hand when his gaze tracks the movement of your throat.

“Calling it a competition might be a bit crass,” Jungkook mutters, voice coming out much softer than you anticipated. “But I guess you can say that. Sure, it’s a competition. As of right now, there are no clear winners.”

“But what are you two competing for?” You ask, exasperated. “There’s no need to go after Hoseok, Jungkook. You’re getting his position in just a few months, you’ll have the same influence he does now. I don’t understand. Why go to such great lengths? Are you trying to usurp him or something?”

Jungkook finds a way to step impossibly closer, one hand gripping the railing while the other finds your hand. “Which would you deem more valuable: your hand in marriage or your heart?”

Dangerous, this is dangerous, your heart chides. Despite the warning, you can’t help but sneer and step impossibly closer. There’s a spark of anger deep within you, and if it wasn’t for your current predicament you would stop for a moment and wonder when the last time you felt such an intense emotion was, but you press on.

“I wasn’t aware that I had to choose,” you seethe. You swallow a gasp as Jungkook leans in, nose nearly bumping against yours.

You can see whole galaxies in those eyes of his. Glinting and shining under the light of the chandelier, stars begging for you to come dance. What would happen if you danced under his stars? Something tells you that you don’t want to find out.

“That’s not an answer,” Jungkook breathes out.

“I’m sorry, what that not good enough for you?”

He blinks, an amused smirk painting his features. “You’re angry. Good.”

“Good?” You sputter out, taking a small step back and finding it infinitely easier to breathe now that there’s some distance between you two. “You wanted me to be angry?”

Shrugging, Jungkook rolls his neck from side to side, looking casual as ever. As though you weren’t just about to bite his nose off if he were to say one more stupid thing.

“Anger is an emotion. I count that as a win. Now,” he extends his hand out with a flourish, “shall we dance?”

“No.”

“I’d rethink that answer if I were you, darling.” Jungkook makes a point of looking out over the railing, and your eyes unwillingly follow his line of sight.

There’s Hoseok, spinning Margaret around and around. His smile is wide, and you can hear his laughter from up here.

He has no idea that you’re up here fighting for your marriage, does he?

Again, that anger is stoked until it’s steadily consuming you. With a huff that sounds more akin to a grown, you take Jungkook’s hand.

“One. Dance.”

One turns into two, and two turns to four. The music lilts and does almost all the work, Jungkook picking up the slack as he moves your through the songs. You can hardly tell where one ends and another begins, all you know is two things.

1. You’re still angry, however it’s being steadily replaced by confusion.

2. Hoseok and Margaret stopped dancing a while ago, and they currently stand off to the side trying to make it look like they’re not watching you.

“Your cousin appears to be very concerned about you,” you pant, the dancing finally taking its toll. Jungkook glances sidelong, chuckling darkly.

“That’s probably because she’s not my cousin and I told her she would only have to stay for an hour or so.”

If Jungkook’s hand at your back wasn’t propelling you forward, you’re sure you would’ve stopped dead in your tracks.

“What?”

There’s a twinkle of amusement in those galaxy-filled eyes of his. “She is connected to the royal family; I’ll give her that much. But she’s not my cousin. Just an old friend helping out with a favor.”

You’re not sure if you should laugh or cry.

After a moment, you settle for easing out of Jungkook’s grasp with the excuse to use the restroom. The sound of your heels on the marble floor is drowned out as the live band pick up a lively tune, causing a new rush of people to the dance floor. Somehow you manage to weave your way toward the hallway where you think you remember seeing a restroom sign, unaware of someone hot on your heels.

You’re reaching out for the door when you feel a hand at your elbow. It stops you mid-step, pulling you in an entirely different direction. Gasping, you whirl about to see Hoseok with a grim expression. He doesn’t utter a word, marching the two of you toward a dark corner.

“Hoseok, you scared me!” You whisper-shout, entirely unsure of why you’re whispering in the first place. Perhaps it has something to do with the secluded area he’s led you to, not a single soul in sight.

Once you’ve turned the corner, Hoseok presses your back against the wall, peeking around the corner toward the faint light of the festivities. The sound of trombones and cellos echo around the corridor, making you feel like you’re experiencing a memory rather than living this moment in real time.

When Hoseok turns back to face you, you note the way his hair is mussed. You immediately begin to smooth it out with a frown. He’s usually so meticulous about his hair during events like this.

His eyes soften a bit at your ministrations, but his face is still flushed. “Are you enjoying yourself tonight?”

“I- no…?”

“That’s odd,” Hoseok tilts his head to one side, eyes pinning you to the wall better than his hands. “You certainly look like you are.”

You blink. “I do?”

He lets out a choked laugh, the sound seeming so at odds with his typical demeanor. “Are you that oblivious? The way you’ve been staring at him all night certainly makes it seem like you’re drinking in every moment.”

“S-staring? At who?”

“Jungkook!” You flinch a little when Hoseok raises his voice, but he doesn’t notice as he pinches his eyes shut. “Just…be a little more cautious, ok?”

“I…”

When you’re silent, Hoseok opens his eyes. He lets out a shaky breath, head bobbing to one side in a habit which you’d always found endearing. Now, though, it’s as good as a death sentence as he steps a little closer. Slowly, so slowly you want to scream, his eyes dip down to your lips.

“No,” he mutters to himself, so quietly that you wonder if he doesn’t realize that he’s speaking his thoughts aloud. “Not here.”

Pushing back from the wall, Hoseok steps away and leaves you with a lingering stare before he’s disappearing around the corner. Your ears strain to listen to his retreating steps, but they’re quickly overtaken by the music and chatter of the crowd.

“What just happened?” You whisper to yourself. After a moment, you ease out of the corridor, scurrying toward the bathroom. Flinging open the stall, you stare down at the toilet wondering if you’re about to retch. With the way your stomach is churning, it’s definitely a possibility.

You emerge from the stall a moment later, feeling no better than when you went in. If only you could splash some water on your face, that would probably help clear up your head. However, you’ve still got a few hours ahead of you. The event is nowhere near ending.

The door swings open as you brace yourself against the sink, and you look up in the mirror to see who just walked in behind you. Margaret pauses for a second as she meets your eyes, the door drifting shut at her back.

“I was hoping you were still in here,” she drawls, her posh accent instantly making you want to stand up straight.

“Well, here I am.”

You wince; your voice sounds horrible. Like you’ve been screaming for hours, when you haven’t hardly said a word in the past hour. No, according to Hoseok you’ve been too busy staring.

Margaret chuckles, coming to the sink beside you and running the faucet. “Look, I’ll make this quick. Jungkook has been waiting around for you for long enough, and to be frank I’m sick of hearing about it. If I were you, I’d make up my mind sooner rather than later.”

You’re sick of asking questions, but it appears that that’s all you have for tonight. “What?” You stare at Margaret, who looks almost other-worldly in her deep blue gown. “I just met Jungkook this week, I think you’re mistaken.”

“You just- what?”

It’s nice to see that someone else looks a little confused for once. You thought you were the only one out of the loop, but judging by the look on Margaret’s face, she’s just joined the club.

“Like I said,” you say, leaning one hip against the sink. “I just met Jungkook a few days ago. Hoseok sent him over to assist me in getting everything ready for the gala.”

“But he said…” Margaret shakes her head, focusing in on you once again. “Don’t tell him I said anything to you, alright?”

Before you even have a chance to answer, Margaret is sweeping out the door and leaving you behind in a stunned stupor. Slowly, you turn to face the mirror again. Then, to your eternal horror, a toilet flushes.

Out ambles Scarlett Johansson, who shoots you a grin before promptly washing her hands. “Trouble in paradise?”

You snort, in disbelief. “Yeah. Yeah, you could say that.”

It takes a while to find Jungkook, but then again that may be because you aren’t actually looking for him. No, you’re just floating around the venue in a daze when you hear his voice coming from a parlor to your right. Only a couple of dim lamps illuminate the interior, but you don’t bother to get a closer look as you recognize the other voice.

Margaret.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Jungkook? You just met her this week? You made it sound like you’ve been pining over her for years-”

“That’s because I have!” Jungkook hisses, the sound slithering out into the hallway. “I have, but she’s always just out of reach…”

“And what, you thought tonight would do the trick? Kook…look, you know I love you, but this is idiocy. She’s practically engaged to Jung Hoseok-”

“Jung Hoseok doesn’t know what he has, he’s never understood! I am the only one that really gets it, Margaret.”

“Yeah, well just because you get it Jungkook doesn’t mean you get her.”

There’s shuffling inside the room, causing you to back away into a dark corner to remain unseen. After a moment, Jungkook’s voice rings out again. This time, it’s a bit ragged, almost letting you taste the desperation in his tone.

“Margaret, please. I just- I just need time. Please, just give me more time.”

A pause, followed by a heavy sigh. “Fine. I hate you.”

“Love you, too.”

You’ve just managed to scamper around the corner when the door open and a little light floods out into the dim hallway. The sound of heels walking in the opposite direction of your hiding spot alerts you to Margaret’s retreat, making you wonder what exactly she has planned in order to allot Jungkook more time.

Once a couple of minutes that feel like eternity pass, you sneak out around the corner. Heart pounding and palms sweaty, you stare up at the ceiling as though you’ll find an answer there.

What are you even doing?

Before the answer comes you’re schooling your features into cool indifference and walking slowly toward the open door. It’s easy enough to spot Jungkook in the parlor, sitting with his head in his hands on the chaise.

You rap on the door, leaning against the doorframe as Jungkook’s head shoots up. The panic at your appearance doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you pretend you haven’t noticed.

“I leave for two seconds and suddenly you’re sulking in an abandoned room?” You chide. “You much be more attached to me than I thought.”

Jungkook’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. I was just taking a breather. We danced a lot, didn’t we?”

“True.” You stare at him from across the room, thinking back on Margaret’s words. Jungkook has been waiting around for you for long enough. “Tell me, Jungkook,” you stride inside, taking up the seat opposite him. “How come I never ran into you before this week? You’ve been around Hoseok for nearly three years at this point, haven’t you?”

Jungkook nods, his wide eyes completely disintegrating the dangerous persona he radiated earlier. “Yeah, almost three years. We’ve…crossed paths a few times, I think.”

You frown. “We have?”

“Only a handful of times,” Jungkook quickly reassures you, and the fact that he doesn’t want you to feel bad about not remembering him has you only growing more confused. Didn’t you just hate him half an hour ago? “We never spoke much.”

“Oh.”

Words – none of which amount to full sentences – rattle around your brain as you strive to come up with something more to say. Your brain is breaking down, information overload finally getting the best of you.

“Should we go back?” Jungkook asks in a small voice. Who even is the man, to change demeanors so quickly? “There’s still a lot of dancing left to do.” He adds a wink in at the end, regaining a bit of his swagger with every word.

Suddenly the memory of Hoseok’s conflicted face comes back to you, and you scramble to your feet. “No! Uh, I mean…” you look around the room but find nothing to help you. “I need to be more careful. I’ve been careless enough tonight.”

Jungkook frowns, almost getting on his feet. “What’s wrong? Did…did Hoseok say something to you?” When you don’t respond, Jungkook lets out a dry laugh. “Of course he did. Let me guess, he grabbed you as soon as you left my side, right? Jealous little-”

“Jungkook!” You gasp, stalking out of the room as he follows close behind. “He just wanted to protect our image, that’s all.”

“Ha! Really, that’s all? Sweetheart, has anyone ever told you just how oblivious you can be?”

“Ugh, just when I was starting to hate you less.”

“I’m serious! Sure, he might have said something about being careful, for your reputations. But that’s all just a cover-up! Can’t you see?”

The ballroom is just up ahead, and you make a beeline for it. “I see just fine, thank you very much. However, I wish I could’ve seen just how horrible tonight would be with you! I would have never agreed to that stupid bet!”

Speeding up, Jungkook jogs up in front of you to block your path. You step to your right, which he mimics. To the left, and again, he’s there to stop you.

“Let me through!”

Jungkook glares down at you, a fire blazing in his eyes. It reminds you of a dying star, some sort of supernova exploding in those galaxy irises. “No.”

“No?” You push against his chest, scowling when he doesn’t budge. “Jungkook, I’m too tired to play this game. Move aside.”

“Dance with me.”

He says it with such seriousness that you almost agree. “I already said that I can’t.”

“Please.” Bottom lip disappearing between his teeth, Jungkook’s shoulders slump. “C’mon, we’ll go where no one can see us.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea.”

Chuckling half-heartedly, Jungkook extends a hand. “I have plenty of them, trust me.”

What started as one bad idea has turned into multiple.

Jungkook took you outside to some lonely balcony that wraps around the building. The doors are thrust open, allowing for some light as he takes you in his arms.

The music drifts up to where you sway, and you wonder how Jungkook even found this spot. It’s not far from the ballroom, but certainly not a common spot for people to wander off to. You ask him as much.

“I stumbled upon it when you sent me on all those dumb errands,” he explains, smiling lazily at you.

You chuckle, stifling a gasp as Jungkook spins you around. Once you’re nestled safely in his arms, you grin up at him. “I knew those would come in handy.”

It feels like whiplash, going through so many emotions tonight. You were set on loathing Jungkook for the rest of eternity until he managed to snag one of the chocolate fountains from the kitchens and bring it out here. A platter of strawberries sits off to the side, begging to be dipped and eaten.

“Strawberry?” Jungkook questions quietly, already reaching for one. You hum in confirmation.

A second later Jungkook is dipping it with an absurd amount of chocolate and bringing it to your lips. Your cheeks flush, but you tentatively open your mouth, awaiting the delicious-

“Hey!” You swat at Jungkook when he bops your nose with the strawberry, covering you in chocolate. He laughs merrily, throwing his head back at the stars before focusing on you.

“You look adorable,” he coos. “Here, eat.” Again he prods the strawberry at your lips, catching your hand in his as you go to clean off your nose. “Eat, I’ll get the chocolate off your nose in just a second. Patience.”

You roll your eyes, but allow him to feed the strawberry to you. At the first crunch and flood of sweet flavor, you close your eyes and ball up your fists into his suit jacket.

“Ah, so good.”

When you open your eyes again, Jungkook is frozen before you. His eyes alight on your lips, tongue wetting his own, following the way you lick up the extra chocolate. Then he looks at your nose, a forgotten smile on his face.

“Here,” he mumbles, reaching out to swipe the bit of chocolate from your nose. Without a second’s hesitation he brings it to his lips and devours it.

All is quiet. The music sounds more distant that ever, the dull chatter of tonight’s guests hardly registering in your brain as Jungkook’s eyes never leave your own.

Something stirs deep within you, something that goes much deeper than attraction or desire. Something stronger than the anger you felt earlier sparks in the pit of your chest, making you shiver.

The spot where Jungkook touched your nose tingles, and you wonder for a moment if it somehow looks different now. His touch lingers, the feeling sprouting something entirely new.

Jungkook continues to sway with you, the movement as singular as breathing. When he opens his mouth to whisper something to you, you can’t help but listen to every syllable that falls from his lips.

“I…I want you to feel when you’re with me,” he whispers. “I’m not picky. It can be any emotion. But I’ve seen you, how you are with him.” You flinch at the mention of Hoseok, but Jungkook holds you tighter and pushes through. “You’re empty around him. You play the game easily enough, but there’s nothing behind those words. I want you to feel.”

“Jungkook…”

“I know. I know how I sound. But this is all I have to give you, and I thought that if I could just get you to feel something again, it might be worth it.”

You find yourself drawing closer to him, some sort of unknown gravity pulling you together like a moon caught in his orbit. That’s what you are, aren’t you? Completely helpless, thrown into someone’s orbit and hoping that they notice you. Hasn’t that the way it’s always been, ever since you first laid eyes on Hoseok?

But Jungkook notices you. You know, just from the way his eyes widen as though trying to take more of you in, you know that you’re all he sees. He’s blinded, for some reason or another. Blinded by you, enthralled by your silent suffering and digging ceaselessly for a way out. There’s no doubt in your mind at this moment that he’d carry you far away from here if you just said the word.

How your hands wound up clinging to the nape of his neck, you’re not sure. Just as surprising is the painful tone of your voice as you cry out, "Jungkook, this is no way to live."

His hands are at your back, pressing you closer and closer. "I will live like this for as long as you want, darling.”

“Like what?” Are those tears rushing to your eyes? Too many emotions in such a short amount of time, you can’t keep up. It’s been so long since you’ve felt anything so intense. When was the last time? Perhaps there never was a time such as this. “Hiding away from everyone? Looking over your shoulder every second of every day, wondering when it’ll all fall apart?”

“I can live off of these stolen moments,” Jungkook whispers in awe, gently wiping away your tears. “I’ve been doing that for years. But I don’t know what you want, darling. Tell me what you want.”

“Jungkook,” you wriggle in his grasp, suddenly needing to get away, to breathe, “Jungkook, he’ll find out- we can’t do this. What even is this? I can’t…I don’t even know you!”

He lets you go, allowing you walk toward the edge of the balcony as you greedily gulp down air. After a moment, he speaks up.

“You’re feeling again, aren’t you?”

It’s a silly question. It sounds like he’s addressing a child, but it hits a little too close to home.

Feelings, thoughts, desperation and something deep and exciting courses through you. Yes. Yes, you’re feeling. “Yes. But who says I can’t feel with him?”

Jungkook is silent for a moment. “Who says it can’t be me, instead?” He strides toward you, your heart hammering as he gently cups your cheeks. Stars must cry because his eyes are shiny with tears. Gently, so gently your knees nearly buckle, he caresses your cheek with his thumb.

Smiling sadly, Jungkook whispers, “I love you.” He takes a shaky breath. “I always have. From afar, so I don’t know if that counts in your book. I loved you before we shared a conversation. I loved you the second I first overheard you talking to that unnamed painting on the third floor of the gallery back home. You know the one, don’t you?”

You’re not sure he fully expects an answer as he leans closer, which is all the better as you’re completely unable to provide him with one.

“I love you,” he repeats, wide eyes dropping to your lips. “I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I wake up to you every morning.”

As his lips first graze your own, you remember him.

Countless times, that how often you’ve seen him. Passed him in the hallway of the gallery, trailing behind a busy Hoseok. Offering you a shy, sweet smile which you immediately assumed was meant for someone else.

He seemed to good, too kind for you.

But here he is, lips pressed gently to yours with a promise hanging in the air.

He asks for nothing in return.

When he finally pulls away, you gaze up at him with teary eyes. “Why?”

He knows what you’re asking. Why would he bare his heart and soul to you when he knows you’re promised to another? When you’ve never acknowledged his existence before?

Jungkook shrugs, then leans in for a short peck. He pulls back, allowing you to see the stars in his eyes.

“You deserved to hear it, at least once.”

Two Months Later

You have not heard those three words since, and you wonder if you ever will again. Glancing at Hoseok who peers down into the glass case, you don’t think you will. Hoseok will never love you.

He has you. He always has, you’ve been a constant in his life. What’s there to love about convenience?

He’s saying something to the jeweler, but the words are muffled. That’s how it’s been recently. People talk so much, but you hardly hear a thing. They so rarely say anything that matters.

Jungkook has been gone, still working to replace Hoseok, but off on business trips that you know aren’t necessary. Last you heard, Hoseok had sent him off to Mongolia on a wild goose chase for some long-lost painting. Chances are he wouldn’t be back for months.

Staring at the rings below you, you know that by then, it’ll be too late.

Hoseok is planning on proposing soon. You’re not exactly sure when, but it’ll be within a few weeks now. Perhaps sooner, you can’t tell.

When you leave the jeweler’s, Hoseok’s hand finds yours. He gives it a soft squeeze, but you can’t find quite enough strength to reciprocate the feeling.

He doesn’t comment on it.

In fact, the two of you hardly exchange two words until much later that evening when you dine together. It’s in his parent’s mansion, one of several. This is the one you’re meant to inherit upon getting married. The dining room is a bit too dark for your liking, but under the current circumstances, you bask in the shadows.

Hoseok is late to dinner. An uncommon thing, but you brush it off, quietly greeting him as he takes up his place across from you. When he doesn’t respond, you look up.

He’s already staring at you, but that’s not what sends a chill through your bones.

He’s looking at you with that sniper-like concentration that you only saw once before. It’s terrifying to be on the other side of that gaze; something you had hoped to never encounter.

“What’s wrong?” You mean to sound more caring, but the question comes out flat. Hoseok chews on his lip before releasing it.

He’s kissed you since the gala. He did as soon as the two of you boarded the plane, away from prying eyes.

It had been rushed and desperate, and you’d been shocked into stepping back, breaking the kiss sooner than he intended.

You’d stepped back and bumped into Jungkook, who gently caught you. Hoseok merely smiled warmly and explained that he thought you two were alone. Jungkook didn’t say a word.

Hoseok holds up a letter, unfolding it. “You received a letter today,” he responds. “Would you like me to read it to you?”

You frown, reaching out a hand but he’s too far away. “No, I’ll read it later-”

“My darling, I only just now found a post office that sends international letters. I apologize from the bottom of my heart, I hope you didn’t think I’d forgotten you.” Hoseok peeks at you from over the letter, arching an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell me you enjoyed pet names. Let’s see what else my apprentice has to say, shall we?”

“Hoseok-”

“Hold that thought,” Hoseok pulls a candle that burns in the center of the table closer to him, hovering the letter just above the flame. “Let’s continue. Something tells me that we’re just getting to the good part.”

“I hope this letter finds you before the wedding, although I can’t be sure. This post office looks a little sketchy, but it’s my best bet. Love, I told you once that I could live off of stolen moments. I can, I do. But I’m tired of begged and borrowed time at your side. Once was not enough.”

“How sweet. I never realized he had such a way with words.” Hoseok sighs wistfully, making you shudder.

“Run away with me, darling. Meet me in Italy, at the gallery. Come up with any excuse you possibly can – just find me. I’ll try to do my best to find a way out of this place, and I’ll wait for you every day. From open to close, I’ll be there. If you don’t come by the end of April, I’ll know that you decided to go forward with the marriage and I wish you all the happiness in the world. Just don’t forget: I love you. Wow, that was beautiful, wasn’t it? Who knew Jungkook was such a poet?”

Hoseok sighs again, meeting your horrified gaze. In one swift movement, he lets the bottom corner of the letter catch the flame. Smoke curls into the air, and you scramble to your feet.

“Hoseok!” You lunge for the letter, knocking over the candle in the process. With a shriek, you watch as the candle drops to the rug and catches fire. Rushing over, you begin to stomp out the flames.

“Let it burn,” Hoseok mumbles, still staring at the burning letter in his hands. “I always wanted to burn this house to the ground. It seems fitting to do so now.”

“You’ve lost your mind!” You shout, turning toward him once the rug is extinguished and snapping the letter from his hands. The flames bite as your fingertips, the letter unsalvageable. Hissing, you throw it into the fireplace.

“You know what?” Hoseok rises to his feet. “I think I will burn it down. Maybe move into one of those cramped apartments in the city. What do you think?”

“Hoseok, you’re not thinking straight. Let’s talk about this.”

His smile is melancholy, but for a moment his eyes clear up and you catch a glimpse of the Hoseok you’ve known for twelve years.

“Don’t you have packing to do?” With a shrug he adds, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“I-“ you stop mid-step. A series of choices flash before your eyes, but all you can see if Hoseok and the out he’s offering you.

Perhaps he wants to get out of this as much as you do.

As you pound up the stairs and begin to throw anything you can find into your bag, you realize that you may never know. You never did get to know the real Hoseok. His thoughts and inner feelings have remained a mystery to you.

When you rush out the door a few minutes later, Hoseok is already leaning against his car. There’s another car parked beside it, and he tosses you the keys. There are no parting words, no longing stares as he marches forward and strikes a match against the side of the house. Without fanfare, he tosses the flame inside the mansion. You watch with unabashed awe as he strides back to his car and hops in. There’s a small bag in the back, certainly not enough to hold his precious belongings.

Hoseok gives you a curt nod, tearing out of the driveway.

You’re gone before the sound of sirens cuts through the air.

The Accademia Gallery is packed today, more so than you’ve ever seen it before. Of course, the main attraction is The David. Tourists crowd around, trying to find the best angle to take a photo, grinning widely.

All of them except for one, who stares up at the sculpture with a keen eye. His dark brown hair is shorter than it was a few months ago when he stood in a similar position.

“Jungkook!”

Somehow, amidst the din of the crowd, he hears you. The stars in his eyes are bright as he turns around, acting as a beacon as you push through the crowd. They gleam and sparkle, rivaled only by the wide smile that overtakes his features. Those eyes, so dangerous yet so lovely. They invite you to get lost in them, to dance under Jungkook’s galaxy.

This time, you think you will.

main masterlist || Help support me? ko-fi

this was a wild ride, lemme tell ya

taglist: @baepsaetay @dreamcatcherjiah @kookie-vuitton @thecaffeinatedscribbles @moon-write @fangirl125reader @heishichoulevi @knjkitten @sacha-cff @vik7797 @eusticenatalie @hesmyphenominiall @miriamxsworld @kayahay @secretlycrazyhummingbird @marianeamine @hqtetsurou @protontippens @beginwithamin @limiworld @jeonyoongi-jimin @buttvi

#bts arranged marriage au #jungkook arranged marriage au #Hoseok arranged marriage au #jungkook x reader #hobi x reader #bts angst #bts fluff #bts oneshot #jungkook oneshot #hobi oneshot #hyunglinenetwork #armywriterssupport #armyadvocatesaapi #bts x y/n #jungkook x y/n #hobi x y/n

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manikas-whims · 3 years

Text

A Tantalizing Surprise

[Read on AO3]

for Kanej Week (@kanejweek) Day 5: Love (domesticity)

It took around eight years and a lot of mutual support to achieve this level of intimacy. But he was glad they never gave up..

• Friend 1: write Inej in a silk dress and some sexy Kanej moment Friend 2: No! Write injured Kaz being patched up by Inej Me: *an unbiased friend* mixes both requests into this fic ~♥ • I headcanon Liddies being a gang run by women :)

Kaz Brekker utterly despised private parleys. Majority of the time they were a farce. Excuses crafted in order to get him alone and put an end to his reign forever. Everytime a haughty barrel boss offered him a drink or a condescending mercher invited him for dinner, it wasn't for the sake of striking amiable business deals with him. But to drive a knife through his rotten heart or shoot a bullet into that scheming head of his.

And yet he had agreed to meet the leader of the Liddies in a small coffee house on the bustling streets of the East Stave. They were stirring up too much ruckus and if left unchecked any longer, they'd embolden every other gang to go against the Dregs. Dirtyhands couldn't let that happen, now could he?

As suspected, no pleasantries were exchanged. The door was jammed shut immediately upon his arrival.

Their lieutenant, a burly, middle-aged brunette, attacked first. She tried smashing her wooden bat into his face but thankfully Anika blocked in time with a crowbar. Two other females followed, swinging rustic metal pipes at him which he managed to counter with his cane. Roeder was struggling on the other side, engaged in a one-on-one with their spider.

"This ends tonight, Brekker." Their leader howled from her perch atop a stool. "Barrel needs a queen."

"Barrel already has one." He responded calmly.

"The little whore? The one who's barely in this city?" she grinned sharply, getting up.

"Careful." His gaze turned steely and his gloved fingers flexed tensely onto the crow head of his cane. "I can gut you and your ladies for insulting my Wraith."

"I'd like to see you try." She sneered, madly lunging at him with her bare hands.

He sighed. This was going to be a long night.

The fight lasted for an hour. Liddies finally ran off when more Dregs arrived on the scene and broke down the coffee house's door.

Kaz dictated his gang to double the security around the Crow Club and his other establishments just in case. He then dug his fingers into his right leg in hopes of quelling a little of the ache there as he dragged himself back to his place. Not the slat anymore but a luxurious mansion on the Geldstraat. He had purchased it under a pseudonym after Councilman Hoede had passed away three years ago.

Blame Wylan for making him waste his kruge on a deadman's house. Though the dark wood walls and coffered ceilings looked amazing upon his first visit, he did get a few things renovated. Such as converting the dilapidated Grisha workshop into an ordinary shed and the addition of wild geraniums to the vast variety of flowering plants in the gardens.

Despite his habits, he pulled out a key that he kept within the hidden pocket on the left side of his coat and swiftly unlocked the large, black, entrance gates. The next few minutes of the long walk through the front stone pavement didn't feel regal, atleast not to his leg. He retrieved another key upon reaching the main doors. It was an odd experience every time— to enter a house this big without utilizing his skills in lock-picking.

He didn't stop to admire the blown glass chandeliers hanging from the ceiling or the stolen DeKappel displayed mockingly on the opposite end of the hall. He simply braced himself for the walk up the long staircase leading towards the more private quarters of the mansion.

His steps came to a halt only when he reached the master bedroom. And that too, not because it had been his destination all along but because he felt her presence.

He shook his head in disbelief. Maybe six months of being apart were taking a toll on him, playing tricks with his senses. Or maybe it was just an effect of blood loss due to the cut he'd taken during the fight with the Liddies.

He turned the knob and entered, the room same as ever. A bookshelf tucked in the left corner from the door, a vanity table with a full-length mirror right next to it; a door leading to the balcony and another door to the bathroom on the other end. And of course, the king-size bed atop which his eyes found her tantalizing form, aglow under the golden flame of the dimly burning lone candle.

Kaz regarded her silently. Her lithe frame was covered in a purple, silk nightgown that left barely anything to his imagination. Or rather, it was exactly the sight he envisioned every night. An ideal reverie where he pulled her onto his lap and kissed down the delicious curve of her neck. A fantasy where he relished in her whispers of his name. A fantasy where they did all the unholy things they're capable of now. A fantasy he had been yearning for yet kept locked in the darkest recesses of his twisted mind.

But this was different. This woman in his bed had longer hair and was far more breathtaking than any imagery he could will his mind to conjure. This was real. She was real.

"Saints!" She slid off the bed. "Kaz, what happened?"

Yes, she was real.

And she had chosen an interesting outfit for their reunion.

But it was unusual of her to dock in Ketterdam and not send a runner to let him know. Not to mention, she had somehow managed to sneak into their mansion without any keys.

"You're hurt!"

He scoffed at her concern and proceeded to discard his coat. After all the times they've fought and bled together, she should be used to witnessing him a little roughed up.

He peeled off his gloves with methodical ease and tossed them onto the table. Then he tentatively reached for one of her hands, his thumb stroking along the pulse in her wrist. There was no harm in confirming she was real and alive.

"Welcome back, Wraith."

She freed her wrist, completely ignoring his greeting, and placed her palms over his stubbled cheeks. Fortunately, no waves lapped up his skin. So he let her turn his face this way and that to check for any signs of injuries. When she found none, she smiled in relief and pulled his face down so their lips could meet. His arms immediately snaked around her waist. And he was glad her only reaction was a soft sound of contentment, not tensing or vanishing in his hold. It took around eight years and a lot of mutual support to achieve this level of intimacy. But he was glad they never gave up and worked together to get accustomed to one another's touch.

The contact overwhelmed him everytime, in a good way of course. It was exhilarating to be able to brush his lips against hers. A common gesture for most couples but a very big accomplishment for them. Just like everything else.

Everytime they shed a piece of their armor, touched longer, touched more, they counted it as a new milestone. He was thankful to their patience and to whichever of Inej's saints had blessed them for their persistent efforts.

The kiss deepened with every passing moment, all those months of separation provoking their dormant desires. But as soon as his tongue slid past her mouth, he felt a twinge of pain in his abdomen and broke away. "Fuck! What the hell, Wraith!?"

In trailing her hands along his torso, she had accidentally discovered the cut wound on the left side of his lower abdomen. She glared down at the small dot of blood staining his clothes. "You have absolutely no sense of self-preservation!"

He laughed at the furrow of her brows as she pushed him back until he was seated in a chair. "Takes one to know one."

He heard her huff before she disappeared inside the bathroom and returned seconds later with a roll of bandage, cotton swabs, and a disinfectant.

The blade of the knife had torn past both his vest and shirt but fortunately, barely grazed his skin. The cut wasn't deep or life-threatening, only seeping slow trickles of blood. However, that didn't stop his fiercely gentle partner from worrying. She began undoing the buttons on his vest and in the heat of the moment, he joked. "Someone is eager."

This time she glared at him directly and resumed her task. She was cautious in shrugging off the vest. Even more whilst removing his sweaty shirt.

As soon as the disinfectant-soaked cotton pad grazed his wound, he pressed his lips into a thin line. "Care to explain why I wasn't informed of your arrival?" He gritted out through the light haze of pain. He wasn't mad. But had he known, he would've cleared his schedule for her. Denied that parlay altogether and avoided being injured.

Her hands hesitated in cleaning the blood. "I wanted to surprise you."

Now his brows quirked.

"And was this part of the surprise?" He stared at the thin slip of nightdress snug on the curves of her beautiful body. His voice lowered an octave. "You put this on for me?"

She chewed on her bottom lip, a small action he had noticed her doing when in contemplation. "My intention was to doll-up for the King of the Barrel."

He shook his head, tugging on the hem of her dress. "Seems to me the Queen of the Seas was intent on arousing me with her alluring silks."

She punched his shoulder lightly. "You're bruised and bleeding and this is what you think?"

"Inej," He spoke earnestly, his ardent gaze focused on her as she continued bandaging him, "I always think about you."

"Aside from when I'm out there making money." He added as an afterthought.

She giggled.

He waited until she was done tying the last knot of the bandage to stand up. His fingers disappeared beneath her dress, glided tenderly over the flesh of her thighs in the moment he lifted her up. Her legs naturally came to wrap around his waist and she looked at him. "Kaz?"

He responded with a soft, lingering kiss before pulling back, his breath fanning her lips. "Still in the mood to surprise me?"

She nodded, her eyes averted shyly for once as he carried her towards the shower.

#kanej #kanej week 2021 #kanej fanfiction #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #six of crows #day 5 #love #domesticity

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catsauceeartofficial · 4 years

Text

AFO Reigns (BNHA AU)

Whats up gamers.... I’m back with a new au..... now in bullet point form (u h o h)

Okay so

A BNHA AU where despite the many successors of One For All, All For One is still in control of Japan, striking fear into people and leading the largest organization of the world. Essentially, the world is in shambles. Fights are always happening in streets, there are gangs under the influence of AFO that do his bidding in every corner of the country.

Essentially, AFO is still as powerful as he was the day he rose in name.

In recent developments and interest, AFO is still interested in the idea of Nomu. But he needs people in order to make the Nomu.

And he finds that quirkless people make very good vessels, but because of the generational evolution, the number of quirkless compared to quirked is still 20%

And because he is still a psycho, he makes a sick power play in which if you offer your quirkless child to them, he will reward you, full protection from his subordinates for the rest of your living days in his reign.

As you can guess, people fear the man more than for their own child

All except for Inko Midoriya

Inko Midoriya and Izuku Midoriya have always been on the run. The moment the news that AFO is in the city, they move. Inko loves Izuku too much to give him up.

They end up in the UA Hideout, a quiet, highly secure and protected area where people against AFO live, building up a repertoire of growing heroes that aim to take down villain organizations and reclaiming cities from AFO.

There, Izuku meets Bakugou and they start a friendship, Bakugou aiming to kick villain butt, and Izuku following him because Kacchan is so cool!

Bakugou is there to teach Izuku how to fight in case some asshole wants to use Izuku’s quirklessness, and Izuku, no matter how many times he’s taken down, gets up.

They meet the others of “Class 1A” as they grow up in the UA Hideout, and Izuku forms a quick friendship with them, alongside a reluctant Bakugou.

Fast forward years later, All Might, the 8th holder of One For All, who works solo and distances himself from UA Hideout to keep it safe, and to preserve his animosity, encounters AFO and has a death match.

Mind you, AFO has many backers from all over Japan to help him, so as All Might fights about a thousand villains alongside some heroes and then AFO, he manages to at least critically injure him, blowing his head off, but at the expense of himself.

Villains are chasing him and he’s at his limit, almost on the brink of death until a certain Izuku Midoriya (Now 15 years old) steps in and pulls him into a safe area.

All Might, expecting this to be his last breath, frantically just shoves a strand of hair at him and begs him to eat it. Saying its important and that Izuku has to trust him.

Izuku, bless his soul, is absolutely worried and terrified for the bleeding broken man and also, utterly confused, but in a state of panic, he accepts the hair and eats it.

Fortunately, Izuku had the right mind to call for help, and the UA heroes arrive, rescuing All Might in time, and he lives, but definitely reaching his limit before OFA dies within him.

However, All Might has now risked the security of the UA Hideout, weakened and too injured to leave UA, and now has put a child in a dangerous position, being entrusted One For All, and ending AFO and his tyranny.

As terrible as it is to put this on Izuku, All Might tells him, in front of his friends, Izuku’s mother and the heroes protecting UA, because he also needs to explain why the hell he was confronting Japan’s (And even the world’s) most dangerous villain and for the sake of Izuku’s protection.

Bakugou is the first to be livid, yelling at this skeleton for just, of all the people he could have chosen, forcing a quirkless kid, not even a hero in training, a very heavy burden that could kill Izuku before he could even make it to 20.

Izuku on the other hand, stops Bakugou from blowing All Might up. Despite the burden, and Izuku’s confusion and fears, he trusts All Might, and just like Bakugou and all the other heroes in UA, he wants to help to save people.

And so, Izuku Midoriya becomes the 9th successor to One For All, and the only person who can end the tyranny of AFO.

Some things about the world building. Because sources are limited (Seeing as AFO controls almost all of Japan’s Suppliers to fund his empire), hero costumes are practically simplified. Not everyone gets the best gear to help enhance their gear so they have to think outside the box. (Thus the bullet vests, regular clothing, e.t.c)

The UA Hideout encourages its inhabitants to help as much as possible. From people who can produce materials, to cooks, to support heroes making costumes, and so much more.

Of course, Nedzu is one of the many leaders helping in the growth of UA, and most prominently in charge of its heroes and missions.

Some parts of Japan are relatively left untouched by AFO, since so many people fear him or come to him. He only ever does take over said city if they pose a problem, or if he feels bored.

You can bet there’s gonna be a shit ton of angst. What do you expect? Kids being heroes to help save whatever they can and seeing things they should not have to, growing up having to worry if you might die, and then shit happens that you can’t stop? big yikes.

#bnha #bnha au #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha midoriya #izuku mydoria #midoryia #deku midoriya #bakugou #bakugou katsuki #all might #yagi toshinori #AFO reigns #AFOR #mha au #mha

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queensofthekastle · 4 years

Note

For the dialogue prompt -- how's about 42?? :]

HOLY SHIT OK IT TOOK ME A MONTH BUT I'VE DONE IT. FINALLY. Life was just happening everywhere, thanks for waiting me out. 🙏

TW: descriptions and references to racist police violence.

The prompt was "I'm only here to establish an alibi." I was totally stuck--what could be blamed on Frank that he wouldn't have actually done? Canonically to the comics (though I commend the show for not giving a flying fuck about whether Frank went after glorified DHS cops who were dirty) the only things Frank won't touch are bystanders, cops, and active duty military.

And then I had it. Because 2020 has been A Year and I'm still processing some shit. So, here we go.

-Stellar

************************************

The door rattles under a succinct knock at 2:45 am—just when Karen had been so close to falling asleep, caught in that limbo of vague consciousness and wandering thoughts just on the cusp of falling into dreams. So, it’s with more irritation than concern that she drags herself out of bed after the second round of door-bludgeoning. It being post-closing time on a Friday—well, Saturday now—she's fairly confident what she’ll find through the peephole will be a drunk neighbor with the wrong apartment. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor, probably, the last.

A cautious look through the peephole does not reveal one of her gregarious bar-hopping neighbors though, but a still figure; hood pulled close around his face to shadow shifting eyes that look black as ink in the low, shit light of the apartment hallway. Frank has a lovely mouth, but it’s set now in a tense line. Karen’s heart picks up speed, a fullness in her chest and a pressure in her veins—middle of the night, tense Frank is never a good sign. Though he doesn’t seem to be bleeding from anywhere, which is more than can be said for some of his other visits.

She undoes the door chain, and she’s quietly but earnestly asking “what’s going on?” before she even has the door open wide enough for him to see her face.

“Nothing.” He says, voice rough and low, but calm. “I just need someone to know it’s nothing.”

He looks askance, looks at her. She allows herself a sigh.

“What does that even mean, Frank?”

He shifts his weight and looks at her from under the shadow of his hood.

“I’m only here to establish an alibi.”

“Because you didn’t do something, or because you did?”

“Didn’t,” he says, and she believes him. She always does. It’s one piece of why he’s so dear to her: Frank never lies to her, and she never lies to him.

“This should be interesting,” she says, and opens the door far enough for him to step through. When she’s closed it behind him she asks if he’d like a drink. He answers without looking her in the eye, mind working on something else far away from her little apartment—he asks for his usual, of course. Only Frank would suggest coffee this near to 3:00 am.

“Not sleeping tonight?” she asks. He shrugs one shoulder.

“Guess not.”

“Uh-huh. So you didn’t do anything, but you’re pulling an all-nighter in my apartment? I’m going to need an explanation here soon, Frank.”

He hovers beside the hutch that acts as her kitchen island without looking any more settled than he had out in the hall. His jaw works for a moment before he answers.

“I don’t know how much you want to know. Let's just say I ran into someone with a mission about like mine and I’m giving her space to work.”

“Oh. God. A Punisher copycat? Jesus, Frank. The law turns a blind eye to one of you, I doubt you’ll get away with two.”

“Nah,” he says, “nothing like that. I’m it. This is a one-time thing—lady's got some things to get out of her system. I only found out because she was after the same supply chain I was.”

“Supply chain?”

“Ammo,” he says flatly. Karen holds her next blink a little too hard and a little too long. But he is what he is—she accepts that again every time she opens her door to him—and she doesn’t comment except to ask:

“Who is this person after that you aren’t?”

“It’s probably better you don't ask. If someone comes sniffing after me about it you should be able to say you didn’t know anything.”

“So if one of your Homeland ‘friends' shows up to see if you’re testing their good graces what do I tell them, then? That you just showed up at three in the morning for a chat? No one is going to buy that.”

He shifts, not quite shrugging, looking off into space with the raised eyebrows of feigned innocence.

“Just say I saw your light on, came to say hi.”

“Right. And you were walking around Hell’s Kitchen to see my light on in the first place because . . .?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Hoping maybe if I tried my luck with a walk I’d find you up.”

Karen sighs, turning away to pour his coffee. She’s made it thick as hot asphalt for him, in part because she knows he likes that, in part because she’s so damn tired she’d lost track of how many grounds she was piling into the coffeemaker. Frank takes the mug she offers him with a low “thank you.” And sure enough, after a sip, he smiles.

“You always make my kind of coffee,” he says.

“It’s an easy recipe,” she says, leaning over the counter opposite him, “just make it so no sane person would drink it.”

He laughs, a very short, low sound that rumbles in his chest and rasps in his throat.

“Dare I ask what you were actually in the neighborhood for?” She asks. “If insomnia is your alibi?”

“Probably shouldn't. Let’s just say I had a meeting.”

Karen quirks an eyebrow, conveying as much skepticism with the look as she can.

“Meeting as in you’re probably accessory to whatever it is this friend of yours is doing?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Karen fixes him with her best piercing journalist stare. He drinks his coffee. They stalemate that way in silence for a minute or so before he meets her eyes and speaks.

“There are some things I don’t touch,” he says. “People doing their jobs, following shit orders and shit training and fucking up in the process—shit I’ve done, Afghanistan . . . I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. Would be a hypocrite. It’s not my place. And I guess you could call it self-preservation, too. Doesn’t mean I don’t think about it, though.”

“Think about…?”

He takes a long drink, eyeing her over the top of the mug, making some calculation she can’t guess at.

“You know any Latin?” he says finally. “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes mean anything to you?”

It does, and for a moment, she’s sure her heart has stopped.

“Oh, no,” she says. “Who watches the watchmen. Tell me this is what I think it is.”

“I’m not telling you anything, don’t worry.”

“Frank,” she hisses. She doesn’t need his sarcasm right now. She thinks she knows what it could be that he won’t touch and still endorse: with Frank it’s always either war or justice, and every headline for the last month has been about the absence of justice on a battlefield where he could never hope to win. Cops in the city conveniently overlook Frank. He gets the ones they can’t, they have no vested interest in handing him over so long as he doesn’t mess with them. It’s an unspoken arrangement that lets Frank do what he does—and what he does lets him stand to live. Karen knows that. They’ve been over it enough. The police let Frank slip through their fingers and he doesn’t pick a fight in exchange.

But it’s been a long summer, and every day of it has been a fight with police for the thousands of protesters gathering over and over throughout the city. In early June a beat cop—White, of course—used a kind of handheld Taser repeatedly on an unarmed Black man “resisting arrest" for a crime he didn’t commit. Cell phone footage from witnesses made it online despite the NYPD's best efforts, and all anyone saw when watching it wasn’t a criminal resisting, but a victim on his knees, clutching his chest, begging please, please, I have a heart condition, I have a pacemaker, before the cop shocked him again. And again. Until he wasn’t on his knees but prone on the ground, gone still and silent.

The officer was reinstated after a paid leave six days ago. The DA declined to prosecute.

And yesterday, the innocent man, having spent weeks in a coma induced by heart failure, was declared dead.

Frank looks Karen hard in the eye, an unflinching stare that says he knows she understands. She puts her face in her hands.

“There’s shitstorm coming, isn’t there?” she says.

“Probably.”

She shakes her head, drops it into her hands again. She can feel him watching her. A minute ticks by. Maybe two.

“Karen.”

She lifts her eyes just enough to meet his.

“You feel you gotta do something with this?” he asks. It neither a judgement nor a threat. She worries her lip for a moment before answering.

“This person you know of,” she says slowly, “they won’t implicate you?”

“No.”

“And do you know enough of their plan that you could stop them? Tip someone off?”

He takes a long drink, holding her with those deep inkdark eyes, and for the first time, he lies to her.

“No. Nothing.”

She knows it’s a lie. She knows he wants her to know. She could call him on it and he wouldn’t deny it. But she doesn’t.

All she says is “then I guess there’s nothing we could do,” holding his eyes while she speaks, making sure he understands what’s happening here.

Frank nods. It’s enough.

Karen looks away, stares at her hands folded in front of her, tracing the patterns of veins under pale skin.

After a moment she asks, “would you like anything stronger?”

Frank looks at her with cool appraisal that says what he won’t out loud—that somehow, on some level, he helped with what’s to come. And he knows she’s letting him get away with it.

“No thanks,” he says. “But you go ahead.”

And she does. She falls asleep beside him on the couch, drunk with her head resting on his shoulder, sometime after 4:30, an economy bottle of wine that started full and is now half gone still out on the coffee table.

On Monday, Ellison will ask her to look into the story of a body found charred beyond recognition in an NYPD patrol car.

She’ll tell him there was nothing she could dig up, and never mention it again.

#kastle #kastle fic #BLM motherfuckers #queensfic #someday someone at Marvel will have the guts to put Frank up against a precinct of horrible cops #and on that day my only request is they let Garth Ennis write it

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leviathangourmet · 3 years

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Back in 2008, American Enterprise Institute fellow Jonah Goldberg wrote the bestselling Liberal Fascism. With America’s entire political and media establishment claiming “right-wing extremism” as the most urgent national security issue, Goldberg’s book has more relevance today than when it was written.

Only slightly outside the mainstream, the far-Left press is explicit in its references to right-wing “fascism.” From the Daily Beast in January, “Donald Trump Is Leaving, but American Fascism Is Just Getting Its Boots On.” From Open Democracy, also in January, “Donald Trump’s Insurrection is the beginning of years of street violence.” And just in from the high-minded journal Foreign Policy, “Trump’s movement is a uniquely American fascism, built on a century of American imperialism.”

How is it that “Trump’s movement” can be the target of so much fearmongering and growing repression, when tens of thousands of black-clad Antifa and Black Lives Matter protesters have invaded the streets of countless American cities for over a year with rioting, looting, and beat-downs? Early on, Goldberg’s book made the claim, backed up now by ample evidence, that the Right has no monopoly on fascist violence.

Here is Goldberg’s definition of fascism:

“Fascism is a religion of the state. It assumes the organic unity of the body politic and longs for a national leader attuned to the will of the people. It is totalitarian in that it views everything as political and holds that any action by the state is justified to achieve the common good. It takes responsibility for all aspects of life, including our health and well-being, and seeks to impose uniformity of thought and action, whether by force or through regulation and social pressure. Everything, including the economy and religion, must be aligned with its objectives. Any rival identity is part of the ‘problem’ and therefore defined as the enemy. I will argue that contemporary American liberalism embodies all of these aspects of fascism.”

The book, which is scrupulously researched, describes the economic and political history of fascism, making the case that European fascism was originally a left-wing, socialist, populist movement, and thus the American counterparts of the European fascists were the Progressives.

Fascism is typically equated with anti-Semitism, militarism, dictatorship, demagoguery, genocide; all those phenomena historically associated with the extreme right-wing. But as Goldberg patiently explains, over and over, while one variant of fascism may have embodied all of this evil, it doesn’t change the fact that the modern political Left has the same intellectual roots as Europe’s fascists who emerged in parallel with American progressives about 100 years ago.

Around the time Goldberg’s book came out, a pioneering philanthropist in Sacramento, California, named Charles Goethe, who had founded the local university and donated large tracts of land for parks and schools, had his name systematically expunged from local history. He was an early victim of what we now call “cancel culture.” His crime? Notwithstanding his social consciousness and generosity, Goethe believed in eugenics. But the well-meaning people busily demonizing Goethe today ignore the fact that Goethe, who was born in 1875, was a progressive, and virtually all progressives believed in eugenics. And they were the intellectual counterparts of the European fascists.

A few years ago I watched a German-language version of the movie “Titanic,” released in late 1943. Watching the movie, I was struck by how obviously the plot was slanted to demonize wealthy profiteers; the villains were well-heeled capitalists whose desire to make a few extra dollars of profit spelled doom for the passengers on the Titanic. This was dissonant to me. Weren’t the fascists right-wing? Weren’t they the ultimate capitalists? This is a common misconception.

The Nazis were socialists—national socialists, but socialists nonetheless. They believed in a partnership of government and industry for the purported benefit of the working man. And their economic model was ominously similar to what is manifesting today in America—egged on as much by unwitting liberals as by errant conservatives. Neither wing has a monopoly on enabling behaviors to create this “third way” economic model—known variously as corporatism, socialism, or economic fascism.

Just as fascism is a widely debated, widely misunderstood term, liberal is also a word that has two meanings. Goldberg describes how the terms “liberal” and “conservative” acquired their modern definitions:

“In the past, liberalism had referred to political and economic liberty as understood by enlightenment thinkers like John Locke and Adam Smith. For them, the ultimate desideratum was maximum individual freedom under the benign protection of a minimalist state. The progressives, led by Dewey, subtly changed the meaning of this term, importing the Prussian version of liberalism as the alleviation of material and educational poverty . . . for progressives liberty no longer meant freedom from tyranny, but freedom from want . . . classical liberals were now routinely called conservatives, while devotees of social control were called liberals.”

If the rise of leftist street violence over the past year, in the service of an ostensibly liberal political agenda, validates Goldberg’s arguments, the “climate emergency” integral to today’s “great reset” is further evidence of his relevance. As Goldberg writes:

“The most tangible fascistic ingredient [of environmentalism] is that it is an invaluable ‘crisis mechanism.’ Al Gore constantly insists that global warming is the defining crisis of our time. Skeptics are called traitors, Holocaust deniers, tools of the ‘carbon interests’ . . . the beauty of global warming is that it touches everything we do—what we eat, what we wear, where we go. Our ‘carbon footprint’ is the measure of man.”

True to the economic model of fascism, the measures being advocated supposedly to combat global warming are the biggest gift to the “corporatists” in the history of the world. The powerful vested interests that constitute the “alarm industry” are the ones who, ironically, anyone who truly believes in individual rights and property rights should be worried about.

What is “the religion of the state?” It would be, at any cost, to fight racism, climate change, and wear your mask. That religion, increasingly enforced in the streets by thugs, endlessly blasted into our minds by corporate media, is the fascism of our time. A thoughtfully written article in the leftist journal Counterpunch makes the case that fascism and liberalism are false oppositions because they’re just two sides of a common capitalist coin. The author claims that “capitalist crimes” are only properly opposed by Communism.

Nice try. It is true that fascism preserves a role for mega-corporations to serve as junior partners to the state, but fascism’s shared affinity with Communism to brutally repress dissent is the more salient commonality.

It really doesn’t matter if they fall under the ideals of true conservatism, classical liberalism, libertarianism, or even enlightened conventional liberalism—the values of individual freedom, free markets, private property, and limited government are under attack in America. The “green” fascism of environmental extremists, along with the “antiracist” fascism of Antifa and Black Lives Matter, are being given cover and credibility by corporate interests.

It is the Left, not the Right, that informs America’s 21st-century version of fascism.

#fascism #authoritarianism #cancel culture #communism #socialism #neo-liberalism #politics #totalitarianism #article #intersectionality #antifa #anti-racism #antifascist #capitalism

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hellzyeahwebwielingessays · 4 years

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Super Heroes are a HUMAN power fantasy Part 1

Master Post

Super Heroes are a HUMAN power fantasy Part 2

Osvaldo Oyola , J. Lamb and Noah Berlatsky (who hates super heroes on principle btw), along with other dumbasses, have often said they are male/white supremacist power fantasies.

Nah fam. They are nothing more and nothing less than a HUMAN power fantasy.

Follow me along here for a while.

Human beings are animals.

We are. That’s a simple matter of scientific fact.

When push comes to shove we are really, really, really smart monkeys who share something like 50+% genes in common with chimpanzees.

As animals and all forms of life the overwhelming majority of us are biologically hardwired towards one ultimate goal: survival.

The desire to survive drives us innately in ways that go unnoticed most of the time. As we evolved into smarter creatures with higher brain functions capable of comprehending the world around us and constructing complex relationships and societies, that survival instinct was reinterpreted through various means.

The survival instinct in human beings and other mammals takes several forms but most commonly can boil down to two things:

a) Survival through preservation of the individual

b) Survival through procreation

Type a) involves getting food, shelter, rest, avoiding and recovering from injury and of course defending one’s self from threats, which can take the form of other living creatures, including members of our own species.

Type b) involves spawning offspring and at the same time looking after their wellbeing.

But the survival instinct goes deeper than that because we are biologically hardwired to work towards the protection of our very species. That is the very reason why type a) and b) even exist. By preserving ourselves and our offspring our species survives.

We are also communal animals. Much like chimpanzees and gorillas we live in groups for mutual benefit and protection. Thus, as part of survival of ourselves, our offspring and our species, we have a biological investment in protecting members of our group and of our species.

But seemingly paradoxically we are also hardwired to compete with and fight one another. This likely a by-product of how in the wild we’d have to compete for resources like food and shelter. Sometimes this involves two different groups from the same species competing with one another for survival.

Why am I telling you this? Well, because deep down all those things I have just talked about are innate to 99% of all human beings. It is little wonder that as we as a species evolved we expressed these biological driving forces in certain ways no other creatures could.

This is where the concept of our deities, Gods and figures from folklore and myth come from.

Jupiter, Vishnu, Thor, Hercules, Sun Wukong, Sampson, the Biblical version of Jesus Christ.

Whether they adopt the form of human beings or other entities, virtually every single culture on Earth, even those in isolation of one another, have conceived of beings greater than themselves. Beings with abilities beyond the average human being. And they’ve also conceived of those beings from time to time using their abilities to defy the laws of nature (such as averting natural disasters), combat dangerous or malevolent forces/creatures/individuals, and/or safeguarding the lives of others.

It is a form of explaining the world around us, and an act of wish fulfilment of the human experience.

We want to survive and since we are by our nature group animals we desire to be protected. Thus we conceive beings greater than ourselves who could potentially do that.

We want to survive by preserving our individual selves, so we imagined beings that are so powerful that they are not as reliant upon rest and sustenance like normal people. And who are powerful enough that they either cannot be easily harmed and are are capable of defending themselves from potential threats.

We have within us a vested biological interest in preserving our species, and so are hardwired to protect members of our family/group; our kin. Thus as part of our human wish fulfilment fantasies we imagine beings we’d like to be who could have the power to protect members of our species.

We then come to the modern superhero.

Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Spider-Man, etc. Fundamentally they are the exact same thing.

Individuals with powers beyond those of the average human being, who use those powers to help and protect people, typically from numerous threats (which most commonly take the form of individuals with malevolent intentions). This can include perceived social ills which plague society and by extension pose a threat to the survival or quality of life of ordinary citizens.

One can exchange Hercules fighting the mythological Hydra for Superman fighting Darkseid or Captain America fighting H.Y.D.R.A. terrorists and it is ultimately the same thing. Batman battling crime in Gotham city fundamentally is no different from Theseus defeating criminals and bandits on his travels. When Spider-Man swings into action to save Mary Jane from the Green Goblin, it is an expression of much the same thing the Indian deity Rama went through to save his bride Sita.

Many super heroes though are also vigilantes, someone who imposes their own sense of morality whilst working outside of the law. Vigilantes in the real world and in myths, folklore, fiction and so on can also be found throughout history. Perhaps the most notable example being Robin Hood, who denounced his noble status to steal from the rich and give what he took to the poor who were being over taxed and oppressed by a corrupt system. Other examples would be the Scarlet Pimpernel or Zorro.

What I am trying to say is that at their core, modern day super heroes are fundamentally modern riffs of the folkloric and mythic traditions and/or similar expressions of the universal human experience (which are informed by innate biological imperatives).

Ostensibly, in creating Superman (the first true superhero), Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster were either:

a) Consciously/subconsciously influenced by these older mythic stories when they created Superman (and thus birthed the entire genre), or

b) basically tapped into the same kind of thinking which birthed Robin Hood, Hercules, Sun Wukong, etc. in the first place. Across the centuries great minds seemingly thought alike

Superman in particular was possibly heavily influenced by the figure of super strong Sampson or the Clay Golem of Prague, both of whom are part of Jewish religion and folklore (Siegel and Shuster being Jewish immigrants). He might even be seen as a kind of Moses figure. Someone sent away from his natural people to grow up elsewhere, but nevertheless destined for greatness. Or maybe he was just a messiah figure. Whether Siegel and Shuster had Jesus Christ in their minds at all or not, the Jewish religion does (I believe) talk about a saviour figure and Superman could very well be an expression of that.

Figuring into Superman’s creation was 1930s depression and the shadow of impending global war as Hitler was gathering power and invaded Poland the year after Superman was created. In his debut Superman is not only superhumanly powerful but uses these powers as a vigilante to do things like:

· stop wife beaters

· rescue someone framed for murder, whilst apprehending the real murderer

· capture gangsters and rescue a kidnapped person (Lois Lane)

· bring a corrupt politician to justice

This was an expression of 1930s fears and frustrations. Of Siegel and Shuster’s desires to right the wrongs of a system which was perceived to be broken…or at least envision someone who could do that seemingly impossible task.

The next year in 1939, Batman would come along and express many of these sentiments even more acutely, in particular when it came to crime.

As time went by and the superhero genre was consolidated and evolved, many heroes had their histories altered in order to make them more coherent. In Batman’s specific case his home of Gotham city was painted as so utterly corrupt from the lowest criminal to the most powerful political figures that Batman was literally the one and only effective deterrent to crime. Hope of legal or political reform was next to impossible, thus Batman’s brand of vigilantism was the only thing which could stand in the way of criminals from just doing whatever they wanted.

Bearing all this in mind the idea that the superhero genre is an inherent white construction (and therefore inherently racist, deliberately or otherwise) is, you know…fucking bullshit.

There is a difference between something defined by someone of one race or another and it being something which in indicative to them ONLY. There is also a difference between something having ‘white supremacist undertones’ and something simply being created at a certain point in time when cultural norms were (sadly) different to what they became later on.

As originally created Superman (and by extension the genre) was functionally the same kind of wish fulfilment expressesed by countless storytellers from countless cultures across human history, all informed by universal biological impulses to survive.

Yes, the superhero genre was created and constructed by white people and is therefore literally a ‘white construction’. Yes there weren’t many (if any) non-white characters outside of horrible racial stereotypes. Yes many of them took the law into their own hands.

But that doesn’t mean they are in support of white supremacist notions ala the Ku Klux Klan.

In fact given that Siegel and Shuster were of Jewish immigrant descent, one could argue that Superman was a reflection of how minorities need to be BETTER than the majority to be accepted and/or he was arguably an expression of their frustrations at being mistreated themselves an minorities.

On the other hand let’s say that ‘white supremacy’ strictly meant that superheroes operated with the belief in white people being the default, and as the majority, they were better than the non-whites. Superman was created at a time of segregation after all.

The problem is there is no evidence I know in support of Superman, by his mere existence, is consciously implying that white people are better than non-white people. I wouldn’t put it past Siegel and Shuster to believe that given the times they were from, but ALL media was like that. To an extent they honestly didn’t know any better. But just because they believed that and the social context of the time informed people of this, that doesn’t mean that those ideas are inherent to the superhero genre.

Because again, the superhero genre ultimately embodies beliefs and practices which date back throughout human history and can be found in many non-white cultures.

Yes. Their brand of heroism and the beliefs about heroism they embody were gifted to them by their white creators. And those creators were informed by white social norms (as in the white society they grew up in informed Siegel and Shuster that wife beating was bad). But that doesn’t mean that the superhero moral compass is inherently something that is itself white by design. Rather, it goes beyond that to form a mostly universal form of morality. And lest we forget American society and its laws were mostly informed by Jewish and Christian religious beliefs and practices, which themselves were not only innovated centuries before American society, but by people who were NOT white.

Yes, these superheroes are vigilantes, many of which wear masks and employ secret identities. But not only is that a matter of practicality within their work, as well as part of generating drama within the narrative, but this does not (as the above mentioned dumbasses believe) mean they are inheriting a legacy from the Ku Klux Klan.

Theseus and Robin Hood acted as vigilantes of a sort who again predate the KKK. The Scarlet Pimpernel is widely regarded as the originator of the secret identity trope, and he was created by a Hungarian born British woman!

Just because a superhero might act as a vigilante and impose their sense of morality outside of the law (maybe even using force to do it) doesn’t equate them with the KKK, because it completely and utterly ignores the specifics of the circumstances. It is like saying anyone who kills is a serial killer, when they might have killed for justifiable reasons. Superman and Batman might be operating as vigilantes with secret identities but we the readers can plainly see that they are genuinely justified in what they are doing.

But that’s because the writer has established that!

I hear you cry.

Yes that is true...so what though?

If the writer has set up circumstances which justify the superheroes actions then you can’t just IGNORE those. You can’t just choose the evidence you take under consideration to fit the conclusion you want. In this case that’d be the interpretation of superheroes are endorsements of white supremacist notions ala the KKK or police officers who abuse their powers.

That’s like desiring to interpret Star Wars as the story of white supremacy because the ‘black’ clad figures of the Empire are ultimately overthrown by the white Rebel Alliance and the ‘light side' of the force. It ignores the respective actions of the Empire and Alliance in-story.

It’s is presuming the Empire to represent black people and the Alliance white people in the first place and then working backwards from there. Equally it is presuming superheroes to be stand-ins for ACTUAL police officers or KKK style vigilantes in the first place.

And that cop analogy inherently doesn’t work because superheroes are only SIMILAR to cops. The analogy ultimately breaks down because they aren’t subject to ANY legal sanctions, many of them do not kill and their crime fighting efforts stereotypically takes the form of them intervening ONLY if they hear about a crime/crisis ahead of time or if they observe it in progress.

I mean one of the above morons conflated Spider-Man’s Spider-Sense to be a stand in for racial profiling which is an utterly inappropriate analogy. The Spider-Sense was originally constructed as a clumsy plot device that first and foremost operated as a personalised danger sense to Spider-Man of threats. Outside of contrived writing it categorically doesn’t alert him to ANY potential crime or criminal. And it doesn’t discriminate the way racial profiling does. It more often than not allows him to pinpoint precisely who might be a potential threat because they ARE a potential threat.

Spider-Man or Superman or Batman in the course of their work have these skills and it enables them to be ABOVE things like racial profiling. Again, taking their stalking of a potential criminal to be a tacit approval of police methods is an interpretation being overlaid ONTO the superhero and then presumed to be factually what it is.

But it’s not.

It’s just an (mis)interpretation of what is going on informed by one person��s personal experiences and baggage through life. It is the same kind of logic which will take say a female character who has a male love interest as 100% definitely an enforcement of the idea that women ‘need a man’ to validate them when that isn’t necessarily the case of the story at all.

Building upon this is the oft-repeated interpretation that superheroes are fascists and are supportive of fascist values. That is an incredibly simplistic and literal reading of the superhero genre that ignores aspects plain as day on the page of the stories. It again is CHOOSES to see something in the concept which frankly misses the point but is nevertheless accepted as plain fact regardless.

An article in the Atlantic addresses this very eloquently:

This [fascist] reading of superheroes is common but wrong, a symptom of trying to impose political ideology on a universal, fictional myth. Superheroes do say something about the real world, but it’s something pretty uncontroversial: We want to see good triumph over evil, and “good” in this case means more than just defeating the bad guy—it means handling power responsibly.

The “fascism” metaphor breaks down pretty quickly when you think about it. Most superheroes defeat an evil power but do not retain any power for themselves. They ensure others’ freedom. They rarely deal with the government, and when they do it is with wariness, as in the Iron Man films, where Tony Stark refuses to hand over control of his inventions.

Indeed, superhero tales are full of subplots about how heroes limit their own power: hibernating once the big bad guy has been defeated, wearing disguises to live ordinary lives, choosing not to give into the temptation to ally with the villain or use their powers for profit or even civilizational progress. That’s because the creators of some of the most foundational superhero tales weren’t writing solely out of a power fantasy. They were writing out of a fantasy that a truly good people who find themselves with power might use that power only for good—and only in the face of extreme evil.

YES superheroes are a power fantasy.

But there is NOTHING wrong with power fantasies so long as one understands the distinction between the fiction and reality.

More than this...the hard truth is violence is part of being human. We are biologically hard wired to be violent and dominate others. That is innate to us like many, many, many animals. The flipside to that though is what also makes us human is the ability (and perhaps more importantly the DESIRE) to NOT be like that.

Most superhero fiction simultaneously offers us the opportunity to enforce those values whilst at the same time providing us with a safe outlet for our violent urges. We transfer those urges into the heroes and villains fighting one another. Kinda like how in Ancient Rome gladiator fights and other spectacles were used as a way of avoiding the populace of Rome from erupting into violence.

And don’t sit there and tell me that they ENCOURAGE violence.

If someone is going to be violent like that frankly there are almost ALWAYS further underlying factors often to do with their home life And

Human beings have been killing each other and acting in immoral ways LONG before the invention of popular media. Preventing ourselves from being like that is an act of learned control as we grow up. It is otherwise innate to our instincts.

Furthermore the concept of superheroes as being police officers who enforce the status quo and therefore help keep white people in power is incredibly flawed.

First of all Doc Ock nuking New York city hurts everyone regardless of race. Second of all Batman stopping a mugger in the middle of assaulting someone isn’t upholding white power, it’s just safeguarding life. Reading it as more than that is a projection these asshats are injecting INTO the stories themselves when they aren’t warranted.

Finally, the law might be stacked in favour of white power and minority suppression. But that not only has a lot to do with ABUSE of the law, but at the same time large chunks of the law are there legitimately for the well being of EVERYONE. It is illegal to murder someone, to mug them, to exploit them. None of that ensures white power, it ensures the well being of everyone. The problem is that those laws are often warped when being applied to minorities by the police force.

But superheroes don’t represent the police force. They represent something grander than the police force whilst at the same time representing what the police force SHOULD be like. The message isn’t ‘this is what the police are like’ or even ‘the police are heroes so anything they do is therefore a good thing’. It is providing a strong moral ideal and saying ‘You and everyone else should try to be like this’.

It is because of this that the superhero concept REVEALS the warts and shortcomings of the law and law enforcement as it really exists. Which was a part of 1930s frustrations Superman et al were giving vent to. Again, Action Comics #1 showed us corrupt politicians, commentating upon a flawed system.

Basically Superman being who he is doesn’t tell people that a police officer is justified when he racially profiles a black person as a criminal. Quite the opposite, he reveals us that they were WRONG in doing that because Superman would NEVER do that.

Ultimately, yeah these characters were created within a white context, but my point is fundamentally the same thing was created in non-white contexts as well throughout history.

Super Heroes are a HUMAN power fantasy Part 2

Master Post

#Marvel #DC #DC Comics #Marvel Comics #Super heroes #Superheroes #Superman #Batman #Wonder Woman #X-Men #Spider-Man #mythology #folklore #Robin Hood #Noah Berlatsky #Osvaldo Oyola

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lookbluesoup · 5 years

Text

OC Interview Meme

Tagged by @tarberrymentats and @wastelandwandererstuff B)

SORRY IT TOOK ME A WHILE TO GET TO THIS GUYS spring break kept me busy xD But I AM BACK NOW AND READY TO ANSWER THESE TAGS THANK U ALL <33 It’s been a blast getting to read about everyone’s Fallout characters ;w; I’m trying to get braver about leaving comments/reblogs but in the meantime just know I SEE YOUR AWESOME CHARACTERS and I APPRECIATE THEM.

This was actually a challenge answering from Nate’s POV xD There’s stuff that I KNOW ABOUT HIM AND WANT TO SHARE but he wouldn’t volunteer or he wouldn’t view the same way so… take it for what it is! And feel free to ask questions! ;w;

It is long. Long long long. Not sorry. 16, 19, 28, and 33 are my favorites c;

1. What is your name?

Oh. Wow. We’re starting this interview off with some tough ones, hunh? Uhh… hm. My name. My name… Let me think. (overly dramatic pause) Nathaniel Christian Ronan? Yeah. That sounds right.

2. Do you know why are you named that?

I was told my name means “God has given,” because my parents didn’t actually think they’d be able to have a second kid. That and Pops was an army chaplain - wanted me to have a name reflecting the faith. He was very literal in his approach. Ronan is an Irish surname, which seemed a lot more important 200 years ago than it does today. It means… uh, oh, shoot, I used to know… Don’t worry, it’ll come to me.

3. Are you single or taken?

(chuckles) Sorry folks, my roving days are over. Got a nosy reporter waiting for me back in Diamond City... whatever time I’ve got left I’m giving it to her.

4. Have any abilities or powers?

Powers? What, like, superpowers? That’d be awesome but, hah, no. Though I’ve been told my ability to talk myself out of trouble is uncanny. My martinis were legendary, and still would be if I find the ingredients for them in this apocalyptic wasteland. Friends say I’ve got a good ear for music… Oh, and ventriloquism. That’s always fun.

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

I know you are but what am I?

6. What’s your eye color?

Blue, like my grandmother. (blinks dramatically several times for emphasis)

7. How about your hair color?

Coal back. (runs a hand through it almost nervously) And holding up better than the rest of me, considering the complete lack of well-deserved grey hair.

8. Have any family members?

I have a son, Shaun. Piper gave me roots, and Nat’s pretty much my little sister, too, at this point. The Railroad’s been more family to me than most of my own blood ever was.

9. Oh? How about pets?

Legs Washington, an orphaned radstag I brought to the Castle. He’s a bit of a mascot for the men, follows Shaun everywhere. Yeah, it’s adorable.

10. That’s cool, I guess. Now tell me something you don’t like?

You guess? Look, after this interview, I’m taking you to the Castle to meet them yourself. Your life will be changed. There’s plenty to dislike about the Commonwealth, enough to go mad over. It’s not exactly the charming old homestead of days gone by. But we’re making it better one day at a time.

11. Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

Hah! “Duck and Cover” is a big one. Got me suspended from Railroad HQ once, though. I still say that was Deacon’s fault. I like long walks through the woods, playing baseball with Shaun, and a General’s work is never done but it does bring fulfillment. I like all those activities infinitely better when Piper’s around. Is that mushy? God, that sounds mushy. (smiles shamelessly)

12. Have you ever hurt anyone in any way before?

Yeah. Some deserved it… some I’m still trying to make up for.

13. Ever… killed anyone before?

(stops smiling) Yeah. I have. You want a kill count? Six-word soundbites about all the blood and screams and the way men look when they realize they’re about to die? It’s not a fun fact. It’s not fun. Next question.

14. Name your worst habits?

I’m afraid that information’s classified. I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. OH! LITTLE SEAL. That’s what Ronan means! Yeah, you know, like, selkie babies.

15. Are you gay, straight or bisexual?

Aha… seriously? I’m Pipersexual, end of story. Unless you count the undying affection between my best mate Deacon, and me, which I’ve been told occasionally inspires jealousy. Honestly, I never gave putting a name to my romantic inclinations much thought. It’s always been women, but maybe I just never met the right man.

16. Do you look up to anyone at all?

Piper, for sure. She’s - the way she sees the world? It gives me hope. She’s brave, brave enough to fight for what she believes in. No matter how bad it gets she always finds a light to hold onto, somehow, and keep going. And she’s genuine. I didn’t know what courage really was until I met her. Scribbles’ friendship is… a hell of a lot more than I deserve. I wouldn’t be the same without it. And, God, she’s funny. Sweet, and - a-ha, hm… we’d be here all day if I tried to list all the reasons why I love her.

I also have immense respect for Nick Valentine. He’s a good guy. Without ‘im, I might still be chasing my tail out in the woods somewhere. Or worse. Nick was a friend to me when I needed it most, put everything on the line to help me find my son - didn’t even hesitate. I’ll never be able to repay him for that.

17. What kind of animal are you?

One of a kind. (winks)

18. Do you go to school?

The Commonwealth has a way of schooling everyone, doesn’t it? I’m a bit too old for arithmetic and hall passes, but I never stop learning, if that’s what you mean.

19. Ever want to marry and have kids one day?

I’-ve… been down that road before. (breaks eye contact abruptly) Times were uncertain enough when Shaun was born. Now? Scribbles and I roll the dice every day of our lives. Asking her to marry me – starting over – was the scariest thing I’ve ever done. A baby would be, uh, a really big change. (smiles briefly, uncertain) Maybe if – no, I don’t know. Piper’s never shown any desire for something like that. If she did – even if she did... (sighs) I – look. Let’s just move on, okay?

20. Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

Oh yeah, I have an ensemble of groupies that follow me around the wasteland with a pack brahmin and an eyebot.They pitch my tent for me and cook all my meals. I pay for services with my autograph instead of caps. (rolls eyes, but keeps a smile)

21. What are you most afraid of?

Losing someone I love. I know we don’t get any guarantees out here in the wasteland, but… loss never gets any easier. It makes it hard to open up, y’know? I spent a long time keeping folks who cared about me at arm’s length, and some days it’s still a challenge.

22. What do you usually wear?

What you see is what you get! Derbys, slacks, a shirt as white as I can get it in these conditions, and a black vest, because that never goes out of style. My favorite hat is - take a look at this. It’s a bicorne. Has anyone worn that since the French Revolution? It’s great. I love it. Piper doesn’t.

23. What’s one food that tempts you?

You know what I miss? Chocolate. I’d kill for chocolate. … kidding.

24. Am I annoying to you?

Hah! I married a journalist. This is just another Tuesday.

25. Well, it’s still not over!

Look, if I’m not back by seven…

26. What class are you (low/middle/high)?

I mean… it’s not like anyone’s ‘wealth’ compares to what it was like before the war. I’m not living off charred molerat, but I certainly won’t be moving into the Upper Stands anytime soon. Most of what I have, I made myself.

27. How many friends do you have?

More than I deserve. Piper and Deacon are probably my two best friends though. Nick, Preston, and Kent oughta be mentioned, too.

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

You mean those damn perfectly preserved slices stuck in the Port-A-Diners? God, I’ve tried everything. I spent an entire afternoon trying to break in. What is the glass even made of? I couldn’t put a scratch on it. You have to just keep pushing the button. Over and over. I’m convinced it’s all some Vault-Tec conspiracy. There is no pie. The pie is a lie. Piper says she managed it once, but I don’t believe her.

29. Favorite drink?

Nuka cherry! No question.

30. What’s your favorite place?

There’s a spot up at the top of Diamond City. I mean the top top, even higher than the Stands. Clear night with a full moon? You can see for miles. Can’t be beat.

31. Are you interested in anyone?

You’ve - been listening, right? Aha, was I unclear about being madly in love?

32. That was a stupid question…

You’d be surprised how often it gets asked. (chuckles)

33. Would you rather swim in a lake or the ocean?

Lake. Definitely. I’m marginally less likely to get eaten there. That being said, I was up in Maine once, went out to pick lure weed. You know, those radioactive yellow flowers that grow in muddy ponds? Bad idea.Terrible idea. Maine is a terrible place and I will not be building a summer home there e-ver.

34. What’s your type?

Kickass reporters with the brightest hazel eyes you’ve ever seen, hair like Aphrodite, and a smile to make you melt.

35. Any fetishes?

Look, you’re very nice. Really. And I appreciate the interest, but ah, this isn’t any of your business. Only one person gets to ask me about those and - you aren’t her.

36. Camping or outdoors?

Camping? Oh man, those were the days. An RV trip would be the bomb. It’s not much of an option these days. But I’m used to sleeping rough, and I gotta admit, it has its charm.

#anyone who hasn't done this is tagged #nate ronan #meme #tag #oc interview #screenshot #pipan #piper x sole #fallout #fallout 4

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jokersmild · 5 years

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FANTASIA EVENT PROFILE !!

Basic !!

Name: The Joker

Age: ?? 40, perhaps. Or perhaps 50. Not even he knows at this point.

Race: Siren (Goblin Shark)

Race Appearance Details: While disguised, the Joker’s teeth are particularly sharp and thin as well as far more numerous than humanly possible. His nose is longer than normal, and his eyes are a beady black as opposed to their normal green. When not disguised, he has gills running along his neck, his skin becomes slightly pinkish as opposed to the normal white, and a fin at the base of his neck and another at his tailbone. His hands and feet become webbed and slightly claw-like (think Abe Sapien), and rather than 6′5, he stands at 7′6 and weighs in around 270 lbs. His body shape is still extremely ectomorphic, though in his natural state as a Siren, he carries more muscle than as a human.

Alliance: The Opalarian Empire

Arsenal !!

Canon Abilities: 1/3 Regenerative ability.

Racial Abilities: Able to alter sound waves of his laugh to lure people closer. As a Goblin Shark, the Joker is capable of extending his jaw further than should be possible to aid in the consumption of... food.

Event-specific Spells: Lightning, paralysis, charm, silence, lock/open.

Weaponry: An absurd number of knives that have been stolen, primarily from victims.

Proclivity !!

Commonly Found: Standing over the body of someone who didn’t get the joke, at carnivals/festivals/anywhere merry, eagerly avoiding the high and mighty of Yela Alora (unless it’s to bring them down a peg or two), setting up ambushes in the forests surrounding Airaisal, committing any number of crimes in his home city of Opalaria, and attempting to steal from or otherwise trick anyone who wanders a bit too close to the border of Xalphina.

Thoughts on Current Situation: It’s a joke, just like any other day - and as the Joker, he intends to be the one delivering the punchline. He’s saving up something big for when the war picks up intensity, because he knows it will.

Political Opinion: He thinks the people of Xalphina are pansies, those from Airaisal are no better than tree huggers, and Yela Alorans are boring, but Opalarians? Now that’s a good time. He might even fight for the city if it means it’ll stick around. It reminds him of Gotham, and he was royalty back home, he’ll have you know.

Level of Loyalty to Alliance: Fairly high, surprisingly! He would happily fight for Opalaria, though he holds no allegiance to any specific family. He skips between them, working for whoever makes the best offer.

Other !!

All of the Joker’s funds come from the various jobs he carries out for the families of Opalaria. He does everything from intimidation shake downs to murdering entire groups with no witnesses.

He takes great pride in his suit - always looking prim and proper with obnoxious purple pinstripes and green vest, but if you look closely you’ll see that there are some spots where dark purple is darker and redder than it should be. Yes, those are indeed blood stains. And they’re arranged on his back in a fun and friendly smile. Carefully calculated right down to the last drip.

Anyone with any sort of self preservation sense would be put off by the Joker’s appearance, even when disguised. He makes no effort to hide his sharpened grin, and he’s prone to getting a bit too close to others for comfort. You’re more than welcome to challenge him on it if you’re interested in a little combat!

He mostly stays in Opalaria, as it’s his favorite place to be for the time being.

As a siren, please remember that he has a number of bioluminescent freckles, these are concentrated most heavily in the T area of his face, shoulders, and upper back.

#ƃuᴉʍoɥs ʍou EVENT: FANTASIA WAR !!#sǝʅᴉɯs ⅎo ʇno OOC !!#ir fantasia info #[ finally... i can start liking ads! ]

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canadiangeekgirl · 6 years

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Photo, Canadian Press.

I’m scared about what’s happening in Canada.

When Donald Trump was elected in 2016, many of us Canadians wagged our fingers smugly at our southern neighbour. “What were they thinking?” we said to one another in line at Tim Hortons. We spent the next year or so glued to CNN, more captivated by American politics than what’s happening here.

We might have wanted to pay more attention.

The tide in the Great White North appears to be shifting right — but not in the way we’re used to. This isn’t a typical liberal-conservative tug-o-war, the ebb and flow we’ve seen throughout election cycles. This new movement is one that has already swept through Hungary, Poland, the U.S., it’s fuelled Brexit in the U.K. and has seen the rise of the far-right party Alternative for Germany, who have been compared to the Nazi regime. And it’s tilted so far to the right that it threatens to upend our democracy and the very liberties we’ve fought for.

While conservatives have historically called for less government regulation, lower taxes and a stronger military, today’s Canadian right-wing politics has rebranded itself to include more visible intolerance. Bigotry isn’t just bubbling under the surface these days, it’s out in the open and proudly displayed for when the guests come over.

This ugly, newfound boldness threatens to dominate the next federal election, impacting not only the world’s view of us a fair, diverse and welcoming country, but also the lives of all marginalized Canadians. That keeps me up at night.

As a gay mother with a trans child in the Ontario school system, and as a human rights advocate who spends a lot of time on social media, I’m on the receiving end of a lot of messages from people who think it’s “about time” politicians start standing up to “special interest groups.” We’ve been coddled for too long, they say, and we don’t deserve special treatment. They mock, namecall and outright threaten those of us who fight for the rights of marginalized people to be preserved. They’ve always done this, of course, but their voices, now embolded by the very politicians and public figures they support, are growing in number and getting angrier. I’ve had to file two police reports after my life was threatened — and those are only the incidents I reported.

This swing to the populist right is both in our face and insidious. Donald Trump might be loud and brash, but his win was unexpected by most. We surveyed the damage from up north, thinking it couldn’t possibly happen here. Surely, Canadians know better. We didn’t.

Modern populism has grown quietly, from the pages of right-wing websites to the birth of new neo-fascist groups such as the Proud Boys, now designated a hate group by the Southern Poverty Law Center. Support for the populism movement gained traction through one protest, one meeting, and one tweet at a time. Now it’s loud and it’s everywhere. It unseated Premier Kathleen Wynne and her Ontario government, with Premier Doug Ford and the Conservatives promising little more than a buck-a-beer and the end of teaching gender identity in schools.

And then, in October 2018, Premier Ford met privately with university professor Jordan Peterson. While the premier openly discussed other meetings that had taken place around that time, the public only learned of this one after the CBC obtained his itinerary through a freedom of information request.

Wildly popular in some right-wing circles, Peterson’s views have been slammed as retrograde, problematic and dangerous. He became well-known after taking a stand against using trans people’s chosen pronouns, claiming being forced to do so is an attack on free speech. He argued vehemently against the federal Liberal government’s now-passed trans rights bill, speaking in front of the senate committee overseeing the bill, and warned his followers about the dangers of “compelled speech.” Peterson has also proposed “enforced monogamy” as a way to reduce male violence and believes “crazy women” can’t be controlled by men because men can’t resort to physical violence against them.

Despite, or, perhaps, because of these views, Peterson, who teaches at the University of Toronto, earns tens of thousands of dollars monthly from his Patreon account, a site where fans can pledge financial support to creators of all stripes. These donations are given to him by admirers, many of them Canadians.

Ford, meanwhile, campaigned heavily on the removal of Ontario’s most current incarnation of the sex-ed curriculum, and followed through — a move that has earned much criticism and more than one lawsuit. However, it was also, in part, what earned his party a majority government. A slew of Ontarians has proudly come out in support of Ford’s policies, including the removal of mandatory student funding for certain college and university services, such as pride centres.

A week before meeting with Premier Ford, Peterson had spoken out in a tweet against the Ontario Human Rights Commission, claiming it to be the most “dangerous” organization in Canada, and calling for the Ford government to abolish it. Peterson has previously said he doesn’t agree with the OHRC’s support of gender identity and gender expression. The OHRC had just joined the legal fight against the Ontario provincial government’s removal of the sex-ed curriculum, which covered LGBTQ+ issues, consent and cyber-bullying.

The Ontario Human Rights Commission does exactly what the name implies: using the Ontario Human Rights Code as its guide, it strives to protect all Ontarians from discrimination and harassment. Those who are fiscally-minded might also appreciate how the OHRC first tries to resolve issues between parties out of court, taking the less-expensive mediation approach. It is not the country’s most dangerous organization, but its dismantling could certainly be very dangerous.

The timing of this secret meeting should ring alarm bells for liberals and conservatives alike. Protecting human rights is, after all, supposed to be a closely-held Canadian value.

Trump’s 2016 victory was a dog whistle for bigotry that reached the ears of Canadians. Doug Ford has proven Ontario will welcome similar politics, while Maxime Bernier’s People’s Party of Canada, a federal right-wing party formed in 2018, has over 30,000 members and a social media presence that speaks out against “political correctness” and “diversity nonsense.”

Taking a page from the Yellow Vest movement in France, the Facebook group “Yellow Vests Canada” has more than 100,000 members. What began as a place to organize protests around the country quickly became a spot where anti-Liberal sentiments and memes are circulated around the clock, several going so far as to call for the Prime Minister’s death. Immigration is regularly condemned, and Islamophobia is dismissed as a made-up word.

While some of the most offensive posts have been removed over recent weeks, the views are still crystal clear. This group isn’t just anti-tax and pro-oil, it’s filled to the brim with intolerance. This message is consistent throughout provincial groups as well, such as BC Proud, Alberta Proud and Ontario Proud. With a combined total of hundreds of thousands of members in these groups, cries of fake news and the danger of refugees abound.

These sentiments don’t just live online.

Statistics Canada reported hate crimes had reached historically high levels in 2017, rising 47 per cent over the previous year, with Ontario and Quebec leading the pack on reported incidents. Black, Jewish and Muslim people were targeted most. Quebec saw a 50 per cent increase in hate crimes overall, and crimes against Muslims tripled between 2016 and 2017. In January of 2017, a shooter killed six men and injured several others in a Quebec City Mosque. Meanwhile, Ontario saw a 207 per cent increase in hate crimes against Muslims, and an 84 per cent increase against Black people. Crimes against LGBTQ+ people have also climbed. Swastikas have been spray painted on synagogues and other buildings across the country. Intolerance is growing.

Populism has many sources. Perhaps there are people who are tired of looking inward and are now lashing outward. Maybe, for some, it’s simpler to blame immigrants when they can’t find work than the companies who cut minimum wage jobs and still pay their executives millions in bonuses. Maybe it’s easier to find a scapegoat, to call someone like me a child abuser for supporting my transgender teen, than it is to grow and broaden our ideas of what’s normal.

Societal change can be hard and it can make people uncomfortable, but that’s a flimy excuse for discrimination.

Intolerance has never gone away, it was simply out of fashion for a while. Now it’s back with a fresh new look and a boost from fake news and social media.

We should all care deeply about this frightening political shift and where it could take us.

I know I care, which is why I’m so scared about what’s happening in this country, and what’s yet to come.

Amanda Jetté Knox is an award-winning writer, public speaker and LGBTQ advocate. She is the author of Love Lives Here: A Story of Thriving in a Transgender Family, which will be published in August 2019 from Penguin Random House Canada. She lives in Ottawa with her wife and four kids.

#editor's picks #canada #White Supremacy #racism #trump #intolerance #LGBTQIA

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christineamccalla · 4 years

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McCalla, Christine Ann Presents & Solicits Treason or Ochlocracy: A Governance Tool Of Distortion, Distraction, Or Plato’s Defense Of Justice?~~~~~~~~ Generate Warrant For Service, by McCalla, Christine Ann, MBA, MS, CBME, CAHR, CBDE, CTW, CPA

Treason or Ochlocracy: A Governance Tool Of Distortion, Distraction, Or Plato’s Defense Of Justice?, by McCalla, Christine Ann, MBA, MS, CBME, CAHR, CBDE, CTW, CPA Embed Afrikaans Run lines & legislative clauses

Hamilton (2017) addressed the Publicus in a series of papers including, WHEN the people of America reflect that they are now called upon to decide a question, which, in its consequences, must prove one of the most important that ever engaged their attention, the propriety of their taking a very comprehensive, as well as a very serious, view of it, will be evident. Nothing is more certain than the indispensable necessity of government, and it is equally undeniable, that whenever and however it is instituted, the people must cede to it some of their natural rights in order to vest it with requisite powers. It is well worthy of consideration therefore, whether it would conduce more to the interest of the people of America that they should, to all general purposes, be one nation, under one federal government, or that they should divide themselves into separate confederacies, and give to the head of each the same kind of powers which they are advised to place in one national government. It has often given me pleasure to observe that independent America was not composed of detached and distant territories, but that one connected, fertile, widespreading country was the portion of our western sons of liberty. Providence has in a particular manner blessed it with a variety of soils and productions, and watered it with innumerable streams, for the delight and accommodation of its inhabitants. A succession of navigable waters forms a kind of chain round its borders, as if to bind it together; while the most noble rivers in the world, running at convenient distances, present them with highways for the easy communication of friendly aids, and the mutual transportation and exchange of their various commodities. With equal pleasure I have as often taken notice that Providence has been pleased to give this one connected country to one united people--a people descended from the same ancestors, speaking the same language, professing the same religion, attached to the same principles of government, very similar in their manners and customs, and who, by their joint counsels, arms, and efforts, fighting side by side throughout a long and bloody war, have nobly established general liberty and independence. Similar sentiments have hitherto prevailed among all orders and denominations of men among us. To all general purposes we have uniformly been one people each individual citizen everywhere enjoying the same national rights, privileges, and protection. As a nation we have made peace and war; as a nation we have vanquished our common enemies; as a nation we have formed alliances, and made treaties, and entered into various compacts and conventions with foreign states. At present I mean only to consider it as it respects security for the preservation of peace and tranquillity, as well as against dangers from FOREIGN ARMS AND INFLUENCE, as from dangers of the LIKE KIND arising from domestic causes. As the former of these comes first in order, it is proper it should be the first discussed. Let us therefore proceed to examine whether the people are not right in their opinion that a cordial Union, under an efficient national government, affords them the best security that can be devised against HOSTILITIES from abroad. The number of wars which have happened or will happen in the world will always be found to be in proportion to the number and weight of the causes, whether REAL or PRETENDED, which PROVOKE or INVITE them. If this remark be just, it becomes useful to inquire whether so many JUST causes of war are likely to be given by UNITED AMERICA as by DISUNITED America; for if it should turn out that United America will probably give the fewest, then it will follow that in this respect the Union tends most to preserve the people in a state of peace with other nations. Hamilton’s (2017) agreement is a reflection of Stern’s (1997) phronesis (wisdom) from Aristotle and Plato, objectivity in judgement regardless of circumstances including the particular, contingent, and fluctuating. Stern (1997) also describes the greatest competitor to the political systems as the greatest imitator and enchanter and sophists of sophists with the task to separate the imitator from the statesman, which is based on the ability to see the imitator as he is. There is also the distinction of Stern’s (1997) the Stranger between the statesman and politician-sophist which is, (a) rule by force or consent; (b) by the wealthy few or the man poor; (c) with law or without; and, (d) the distinction of rule between kingship and tyranny, aristocracy and oligarchy, and democracy.Being as the United States of America, a democracy is decided by ascension of the US Constitution’s Article II [The Presidency] (see explanation); Section 1. [Election, Installation, Removal] (see explanation), Section 2. [Presidential Power] (see explanation), Section 3. [State of the Union, Receive Ambassadors, Laws Faithfully Executed, Commission Officers], and, Section 4. [Impeachment] (see explanation), Stern’s (1997) Stranger already has a resolution to the dilemma of kingship and tyranny, aristocracy and oligarchy, and democracy. In the case of current day United States of America, it lies in the US Code’s Title 52 - Voting and Elections and Title 13 - Census. In the event of Stern’s (1997) rule or consent where Title 52 - Voting and Elections is nullified by corrupt and inefficient dynamics including the undue influence, burdens, and disadvantages, as well as the emoluments clause, marque and reprisal, and letters of marque and reprisal of Hamilton’s (2017) Publicus , a legislative alternative of the Gubernatorial (complexed intelligences and technologies, 2019) is available. The Gubernatorial option, is a legislatively selected entrant, to which Stern’s (1997) Stranger argue, in a certain sense, the legislative (art) belongs to the royal (art), the best thing is not for the laws but a man - the king with wisdom (phronesis) - to have strength. On account is what is more necessary to legislate? (1) The rule of wisdom must be qualified rule of law; (2) compare to rule by wisdom that which is most correct, rule of law that which is most necessary; (3) the error of law lies precisely in its pretension of providing a principle applicable with precision to each and all in its general and inflexible character, law thus mistakes the character of the human being, and ; and, (4) rule by law is like some self-willing and foolish human being who allows no one to do anything contrary to his own order, even for anyone to ask a question. Prof. Oakes (2012) describes Plato’s premise in introducing the Kallipolis as to construct a model of justice as it might be found in a political entity such as a city or state (First City, Second City, and Third City), divided into current day’s (2019) multi-district multi-jurisdictional entities (polis) comprising of the principles of, non-self-sufficiency (collaboration based on mutual self interest); principle of specialization (efficiencies in specialization), (Plato, & Jowett, n.d.); and, suitability principle (differences in humanity results in selection for communal tasks). Plato, & Jowett (n.d.). defines the statesman’s art as, (a) the science of rule or command; (b) command for one’s self and the selling of self; and, (c) project management in areas of knowledge limitation where only partial execution of the project may be present, e.g. driving of herds in agriculture. This modeling forms components of strategic planning and management.Qvortrup (2018) discusses philosopher Marsilius of Padua’s conference on the mob rule (ochlocracy), (a) collective wisdom; (b) wisdom of the crowds; and (c) the less learned citizen can sometimes perceive something that should be corrected with regard to a proposed law even though they would not have known how to discover it in the first place. Perhaps, this was or included Hamilton’s (2017) Publicus. Qvortrup (2018) argued the characteristic of democracy as being strange, as the ratification of a constitution is always valued by a dictator, e.g. Hitler, primarily that the authority of the state lies in its democracy. This is where the democracy must be separated from ochlocracy for fear of treason; nullification of the ratified contract that is the Nation State’s Constitution; and, legislative directives by and from a naive and more than likely mob.

McCalla’s (2019) Governance Management Tool in Defense of Justice

Plato, & Jowett (n.d.) describes The Statesman’s environment as comparable to current day’s United States of America, a democracy, valuing society, art, sciences, education, and a functional society. As described by US Code Title 20, access to solutions of complexed problems, advanced technologies, and an educated workforce. Bradizza (2013) describes the purpose of Plato’s intention with respect to justice in the city through reconciling men to their place and to bind them together into one community, a design and methodology of Community Oriented Policing (COPS). A function of the judicial, judiciary, and legislative systems results in Mandamus and Parens Patriae, the legitimate equivalent of Stern’s (1997) rule by force or consent.Prof. Oaks’ Kallipolis is a credible realism for today's judicial, judiciary, and legislative systems and infrastructure though an ideal conceptualization. This is due to the many defects involved in Qvortrup’s (2018) Marsilius of Padua ochlocracy and their (a) collective wisdom; (b) wisdom of the crowds; (c) less learned momentums resulting in naive, conceptually defective, and incoherent dynamics in which the positively incoherent cannot stand as models of anything, express any particular idea at all (arguably), (Qvortrup, 2018). A translation of this dynamic results in yields and key performance indicators that the violence of the mob governance and rule is counterproductive, expensive, and, an undue influence that is a burden and opportunity cost.Stern (1997) prevailed in which the statesman / legitimate politician including Ergrant, President Gubernatorial Entrant must prevail against anarchy; joint criminal enterprises; criminal street gangs; illiteracy and ignorance; and all other challenges and obstacles created by democracy’s greatest enemy, the greatest imitator and enchanter, applying the sophistication in law such as de facto and de jure doctrines; conceptualization models; violation of act of state doctrine; and, war powers clause laws and statutes, et al. Therefore, the judicial, judiciary, and legislative systems must execute in perfection Stern’s (1997) rule by force or consent including the application of the Gubernatorial option.To ensure the US Constitution is upheld according to its Preamble, a number of devices and mechanisms are available including, writ of injunction; writ of cure and remedy; writ of petition and appeal to the judicial, judiciary, and legislative systems to provide any relief the court is capable of granting and all actions other; subpoena duces tecum; subpoena ad testificandum; writ of res ipsa loquitur; and, writ of certiorari.A review of the US Constitution’s Preamble proved that it is not an unachievable goal, objective, or strategic plan. With diligence and good faith, it is achievable and executable. The Preamble reads,We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.Furthermore, its tenets and cannons, “... form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution...”, are built on ancient civilizations and eras values such as the Greek’s Plato and his Statesman with rivaling conman the imitator and enchanter, (Prof. Oakes, 2012; Plato, & Jowett, n.d.; and, Stern, 1997). The commonalities are similar including the need for multi-district and multi-jurisdictional identification and assessments; societal sophistication;education; vocations and professions; and, the professional sophistication of the denizenries. As such, War and National Defense; US Constitution; Education; Internal Revenue Code; and, Commerce, Trade, and Industry are present, and, more than possible malfeasance-capable.There are also the by-product of society including economics and its financing cycles, including economies of scale, balance of payments, and other key performance indicators. This proves ochlocracy cannot identify within a democracy and is a competing sovereignty, treason. With the existing judicial, judiciary, and legislative systems present, the systems thinking and theory required must be present and executed, including solutions the calibre of Gubernatorial.Bradizza, L. (2013). Plato’s Political Puzzle. Perspectives on Political Science, 42(1), 8. https://doi.org/10.1080/10457097.2013.738985Hamilton, A. (2017). The Federalist papers. Federalist Papers (Great Neck Publishing), 1. Retrieved from http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=f5h&AN=21212207&site=eds-live HTML 5 Physics Lab Simulations. https://www.thephysicsaviary.com/Physics/Programs/Labs/index.htmlhttps://www.law.cornell.edu/constitution Prof. Oakes (2012). Kallipolis, the Tri-Partite Soul, and Justice. Plato II - PHIL301.Plato, & Jowett, B. (n.d.). Statesman. Raleigh, N.C.: Generic NL Freebook Publisher. Retrieved from http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=nlebk&AN=1086205&site=eds-liveQvortrup, M. (2018). Mob Rule or the Wisdom of the Crowds? Reflections on Referendums and Policy. Brown Journal of World Affairs, 24(2), 57–69. Retrieved from http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=buh&AN=131613716&site=eds-liveStern, P. (1997). The Rule of Wisdom and the Rule of Law in Plato's Statesman. The American Political Science Review, 91(2), 264-276. doi:10.2307/2952355Infographic: 3 Branches of the U.S. Government. https://www.usa.gov/branches-of-government

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erasureeyes-blog · 7 years

Text

[[ Oh boy, 1am. The perfect time to make a post about my L.eague of L.egends AU ideas that I have lodged in my brain,,, because I think about it a surprising amount, smh @ myself. ]]

[Gameplay:] -Aizawa would be an anti-mage. -You’d want to play him as a Mid or Jungle (or maybe Top, if the other laner is a mage like R.yze/S.wain who get played Top sometimes). -He’d have a skillshot move that functions are a bind/root. -He’d have a cone skillshot move that functions as a silence. -If you’re affected by both of the above moves at once, he can deal extra damage to you. -He has a skillshot that deals damage, and when you’re affected by his bind/root, it also acts as a displacement (he flips his enemy over to the opposite side of him with his capture weapon) and deals bonus damage. -He is a burst Attack Damage dealer - he’s not meant for long fights. -His ultimate acts as a buff to his attack speed, damage, and the cooldowns on his moves lower by 2 seconds every time he successfully hits one of his skillshots. His ult also increases the range of his silence’s cone. -He is an Assassin/Fighter.

[General Lore Headcanons:] (note: not a happy backstory) -Aizawa was born in P.iltover, right on the cusp of Z.aun. Not quite into that cesspool of machinery and smog, but close enough to it. -Finding out that he had the ability to look at people who could wield magic and somehow stop their magic from working brought an odd mistrust and, worse, genuine interest in his ability even when young. -His parents generally rebuffed people that tried to come with enticing offers of potential jobs (for when he’s older, they say) because of his ability. P.iltover, like all city-states, needs to prepare itself as best it can for any potential wars or similar threats - and P.iltover prizes itself on its enforced law & safety. -Despite all the apparent attention, all it did was turn the kid away from all of it, never having wanted all of the attention in the first place. -Living in what would be considered as near to a slum-like setting as one can get within P.iltover, Aizawa’s upbringing was somewhat harsh in that he often had to fend for or take care of himself. His parents were often busy trying to scrounge up money, after all. They were not bad, but they were not there. -By the time he was a teenager, word had gotten around somewhat about a kid with his abilities and other city-states had offers a-plenty of various means to try and win him over to their side. -None of these offers were even so much as acknowledged, and the ones vying for the pawn that would be incredibly useful to them were tense, constantly wondering which city-state would or could have such a useful tool at their disposal. -No sides were picked - but one side did strike for themselves. On a night when both his parents were nowhere near, a couple Z.aunite thugs took him by force and no P.iltover police force even so much as came to his aid because of where he lived. -He was only about 15. -For seven long years, he was subjected to numerous medical tests and ‘training’ so that he could better use what they called his ‘latent gifts’. -The group that took him wanted to hone him as their own personal weapon - there is much in-fighting in Z.aun and, while technology and augmentation is their go-to method, the threat of magic as a weapon still remains and he was to be their perfect countermeasure. -They did not do much to try and make him into your regular Z.aunite thug via augmentation, but as his body was inevitably trained, they did do a couple small augments mostly in his arms and legs that make him physically stronger so as to enable him more of an upper hand in fighting mages hand-to-hand once their magic was blocked from use. -Because his ability stems from his eyes, he’s had numerous tests done on them specifically, but they did not want to augment them only to be sure that their ability is preserved. -At first, he wanted to go back to P.iltover and his family, but he gradually was weaned off of this by those that took him through mental manipulation. ‘P.iltover never helped you, they only wanted to use you. Their police force wouldn’t care about one missing boy otherwise.’ ‘Your parents aren’t looking for you, they’re too busy scraping by.’ -After years of that, it started to work and he started to resent the place that he originally came from. -After four years of being with the group that had taken him, their leader gifted him with what is now his capture weapon, made from Z.aun’s carefully crafted magitech. The following years integrated this weapon into his training until he was able to use/manipulate it perfectly. -When the time came for him to finally be of use to the group, he was the opposition of a small group that had a mage within them and he was set loose on that mage to subdue them - He did it, but he used the opportunity immediately after to run and free himself. -He never went back to P.iltover after he liberated himself, but instead he set out to travel the world as his own person - for himself and himself alone. Everyone seemed so obsessed with using him for their own gain, so he took that away from all of them by only using his powers for himself. -This mindset persisted for some time, though he did end up taking a vested interest in various street animals when he found them now and then. He would feed them on the basis that no one else was there for them, so he would be - because no one had been there for him when he was younger either. -Inevitably, word started to get around of a strange man with his particular abilities roaming from place to place and some city-states once again too an interest ( more persistent, now ) in trying to get him to the side one way or another - including but not limited to N.oxus, D’emacia, and I.onia. Other smaller groups that are not governments (ex: a few highly regarded B.ilgewater crews) also tried occasionally to seek him out. -Perhaps most prominent among them includes Z.aunites - more groups than just the one he’d run away from. -To this day, he roams and generally avoids said attempts, often keeping to himself. He can be found perhaps most often in places like B.ilgewater where he can move around a little more anonymously without too many people trying to come after him. He can also often be found in the countryside of various settings.

#[League verse]#No good hero is a one trick phony. [Headcanons]#Go beyond your limits. [OOC]#(( throws these all into a post so I have a place to put them tbh ))#v; Maintaining neutrality is surprisingly exhausting. [L.o.L.]

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wavervelvett · 7 years

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Tales of Femslash 2017

Pairing: Rose/Alisha

Day One: Flowers

“Take this with you,” Alisha had told her, and left a kiss lingering on Rose’s left cheek, so Rose tucks Alisha’s copy of the Celestial Record inside her robes and hops on the wagon out of Ladylake, still adjusting to the feel of the cape and the way it catches in the wind when she stands up to wave goodbye.

Lailah just smiles when Rose collapses next to her once more, that little sad smile of hers, and the two of them watch the scenery fall away as the Sparrowfeathers wagon trail winds its way towards Rolance. The twins let Rose off in Volgran Forest, and Rose sits in the grass and draws a game plan in the dirt with her finger. All the places the new Shepherd has to be, because not like the workload is letting up at all, or maybe it just feels that way without the rest of her companions beside her.

Still, Lailah is good company all by herself, those first few years. The others come and go. Edna wanders all over the map in a way Rose doesn’t bother to track. All she knows is every few weeks, she’ll wake up to Edna sitting on a tree stump a little outside the campsite or on a bench near the inn, twirling her umbrella and complaining about how long she’d been waiting for them to wake up. So Edna will walk beside them for a few days, maybe two weeks if she feels like it, and then she’ll be gone again, probably visiting Mikleo, the seraph Rose never sees, not unless she treks into the mountains to find him. Zaveid, on the other hand, she does see, though he never joins them for more than a night or two, telling unbelievable stories and trying to hit on Lailah some more before he either moves on or gets kicked to the curb. But somehow, they end up going where they need to be and doing what they need to do. It’s unconventional, certainly, there’s no denying that, but the four of them together are able to put in a good showing of being the new Shepherd, and eventually the robe didn’t feel so strange upon her shoulders.

At night, especially after they first leave Ladylake, Rose speeds through the Celestial Record, noting which pages have been worn thin or marked in some way. Some places Alisha has made it to, and some which are obviously a distant dream, judging by how the spine is bent open to select locations. One such place is the Plitzerback Wetlands, where Rose ends up with Lailah and Edna once again before too long, purifying some kid who’d ended up looking like a fish person until the Malevolence melted away. They sit as they wait for the kid to wake up, and Rose takes out the Celestial Record, notes the fold in the corner of the page that begins talking about Plitzerback and the ruins to be found, little underlines or circles from Alisha dotting the lines of text. Alisha probably won’t ever see the ruins for herself; it’s so remote and there’s no reason for a princess to be here, not unless Rolance and Hyland begin fighting again in really odd locations. Rose doesn’t think much of the scenery, but maybe Alisha would, if she were here. On a whim, Rose plucks a swamp plant out of the damp earth beside her and places it between the pages of the Celestial Record, and then wraps some cord around the book so the plant will be pressed properly instead of withering. She feels Lailah’s eyes on her but doesn’t react. So what if she wants to bring a little piece of Alisha’s dream back with her?

It too easily becomes a habit though, preserving plants and flowers within the pages of the Record. It doesn’t take long for Lailah to catch on to what she’s doing, and Edna begins to chip in as well once she knows about Rose’s interest, acting bored but actually going through some trouble to find nice blooms. She points them out for Rose to collect, sometimes at the most inconvenient times. “How about not when I’m trying not to die?” Rose suggests after Edna wanders off during a purification to find some little white flowers tucked beside a stream.

“You were fine,” Edna tells her flatly as she lays her palm out for the book. Rose grumbles a little but hands it over and watches Edna arrange the flowers neatly so they will press well. Lailah joins them at the last second with a larger purple bloom that Edna dutifully places on the next page over before shutting the Record and binding it tight. “Why are you suddenly a flower person anyway?”

“They’re for Alisha,” Lailah answers before Rose can, and Rose has travelled with Lailah enough by now to know she has her hands clasped together to match a beaming smile, that big huge one that is still kind of sad. Rose focuses instead on brushing some dirt off her knee and hopes it discourages Edna from coming up with sappy nicknames. Edna is gone the next morning anyhow, but she leaves some blue blossoms Rose hasn’t even seen before on top of Rose’s folded cloak. Rose presses them in the proper pages and hopes the color stays just as vibrant.

The next time she sees Alisha, Rose considers giving the book back, but it’s only a third of the way filled, and somehow she ends up walking out of Ladylake with it still tucked in her pocket. The same thing happens again a few months later, when a diplomatic mission brings them both to Marlind. Rose wants to think it’s because the quiet kisses exchanged in the night kept her distracted, but really she knows it’s this whimsical notion of bringing the world back for Alisha. Which is silly and overly romantic but mostly impractical, but also something she seems committed to actually doing now.

Over the next three years, she slowly fills the Celestial Record with plants and flowers from everywhere on the Glenwood continent. Desert flowers plucked from cacti in the desert and little flowers from beside the church in Pendrago. Wildflowers from the mountains and unusual plants she discovers in the ruins. Edna sneaks into the gardens around the palace in Ladylake and lifts some flowers from a topiary there. In that time spent collecting, Lailah tells approximately five thousand, six hundred and eighty-two bad puns and squeals in delight when they find pillbugs. Rose tailors the Shepherd’s outfit to be just a little more slim and a bit reminiscent of her assassin’s gear, much easier to move in. Zaveid starts braiding his hair and dons a black vest, which doesn’t actually make his fashion sense any less atrocious, to be honest. Mikleo builds himself a little house on a hill near Elysia. Edna begins to stay with Rose and Lailah for weeks at a time, and then sticks around permanently. On a grander scheme, Hyland and Rolance solidify a truce, a real solid one this time, the kind that will last. A certain princess has a lot to do with that. Alisha’s name becomes widespread, associated with diplomacy and peace and grace. Rose tries not to knock men flat on their backs when she hears them whispering between themselves about ‘what a looker’ that princess is. Lailah has talked her down out of it a number of times by now.

Time passes.

And suddenly one day, in Lastonbell, Rose presses a flower into the proper page and binds the book shut, and realizes there’s nowhere left to go. She’s visited each city, each mountain, each ruin, and collected it all to gift the world to Alisha all in this little book.

“I think I’m finished,” she tells the other two, sounding a little awed despite herself.

“Finally,” Edna mutters, and continues poking her umbrella at the cobblestones. Lailah is a little more enthusiastic and insists they head for Ladylake immediately.

Except when they get there, Alisha is actually in Pendrago and Rose is forced to wait an agonizing week for her girlfriend to come home. Which, you know, she’ll never actually complain about because Alisha has waited three years and there’s more waiting to come, but still. Staying in the same inn for a week sort of wears away at her romantic impulse.

She requests an official audience with Alisha the moment she hears the princess has returned, because that’s the quickest way, actually scheduling Alisha’s time before Alisha can get herself all busy again. Plus, Rose knows that the Shepherd still makes many politicians in Ladylake very nervous, so while Lailah reminds her almost every time they visit that Rose needs to remain neutral, Rose can never help throwing a little bit of public favor Alisha’s way. She straightens her cloak in the mirror and makes sure her hair is tidy, then sets off for the palace, hiding the Celestial Record in her pocket. Alisha is waiting for her in the hall, in her usual knight garb and looking vaguely amused at the way Rose bows a little bit to every minor lord who looks her way. “Princess,” she says, and bows down low before taking Alisha’s hand and giving it a peck. Alisha rolls her eyes and Rose grins.

“Should we hold our discussion in the gardens?” Alisha asks. “Shepherd Rose?”

Rose nods and reaches to make sure she still has the book in her pocket.

Alisha leads Rose through the castle corridors by the hand, which is more telling to how much Alisha missed her than any of her formal talk. Rose squeezes Alisha’s hand once as they enter the gardens and Alisha releases her, turning and hitting Rose with the full power of her eyes shining bright green in the sun and a shy smile to match, and Rose is so in love with this girl it hurts. There’s no one else around as they wander into the hedge pathways, neither saying another word until they’re hidden by flowering bushes and trellises, safe from prying eyes. That’s when Alisha takes hold of Rose’s cloak and pulls her close, pressing a kiss beside her mouth. “I missed you,” she whispers, and Rose shivers a little. Her hands fumble for her pocket and she pulls out the Celestial Record, pushing it between them without explanation. Alisha frowns down at it for a moment before recognition dawns. She takes the book from Rose’s hands and runs her fingers across the worn cover. “It’s a little thicker than when I gave it to you,” she says, tone asking for an answer.

Rose laughs a little nervously and turns her head to study the magnolias. “Well, I figured, I was stuck travelling all these places while you were stuck doing your own thing and I guess...it’s stupid, but…” She hears the pages rustling as Alisha opens the record.

“You collected all these?” Alisha asks after a moment of silence.

“...yeah. Over the last few years. I figured…” Rose glances at Alisha, who just keeps staring at the book as she flips through the pages, “I figured you might not be able to see some of these places anytime soon, so I...I thought I’d bring them back to you.” She looks away again, feeling her face gradually heating into red. This was a stupid idea. Why would Alisha want a bunch of mummified flowers? And Rose practically ruined her copy of the Celestial Record. This was a very, very, very bad idea that Lailah and Edna had completely enabled and…

Alisha says something, very gentle and soft. Rose counters with a very intelligent, “Huh?”

Alisha flushes pink. “I said you forgot my favorite flower.”

Oh. Damn it.

“Well, I mean…” Rose fiddles with her sleeves. “Sorry. Should I have asked? I mean, is it a rare flower? I can go back and get one if it’s that important to you…”

She’s gone red. Alisha is still pink. Rose tilts her head to the side. “I feel like I’m missing something here.”

“Rose!” Alisha launches herself unexpectedly at Rose and throws her arms around her neck. Rose squawks as she catches her and spins with the momentum, teetering a little but not falling as Alisha sets her feet back on the ground. She buries her face in Rose’s shoulder as Rose steadies tries to enjoy the hug and ignore the pointy metal bits of Alisha’s uniform at the same time. “I can’t believe you did all that!” Alisha gasps, and hugs Rose even tighter.

“Wow, yeah...okay, your knee is killing me,” Rose manages to throw in, and Alisha jumps backwards, using the Celestial Record to cover her mouth.

“Sorry, I forgot.” She peers at Rose over the book, eyes bright and crinkled by a smile. “Was it fun, going to all those places?”

Rose rubs at her thigh where the armor had been poking. “It’s my job now. But sure, it was fun. I’ll take you with me sometime though. So you can see everything for yourself. And you can find your favorite flower too.” Actually, given time to think about it, she’s a little miffed Alisha had to bring up her big mistake right away. But Alisha just starts turning pink again and hides her entire face behind the book. “What?”

Mumble mumble.

“What?”

“Rose,” Alisha whispers, eyes peeking over the pages. “Rose...is my favorite flower.”

They stare at each other silently for a moment before Rose feels the grin spreading across her face. “Oh, that was so sappy.”

Alisha clutches the book to her chest and turns her nose to the air. “You were the one who brought me a book full of flowers. You’re the sap.”

“Rose is my favorite flower,” Rose teases, sidling forward into Alisha’s space. “And if I give you a Rose, just what are you gonna do with it?”

Alisha blushes again and lightly thumps Rose on the head with the Celestial Record. “Well, I was considering kissing you, but I might change my mind.”

Rose laughs and pulls at the hem of Alisha’s coat. “No, kissing sounds good, kissing is…”

She doesn’t get to finish that thought.

That night, the two of them steal roses from the royal gardens and press them into the pages about Ladylake, right beside the flowers already resting there. As Alisha says, it’s a perfect finishing touch.

#talesfemslashweek2017 #rosali #tales of zestiria #myfic #wow late but okay it's done at least!!#:')#unbetaed all mistakes are my own etc etc

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militant-holy-knight · 6 years

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Christians in Iraq Dwindle and Struggle to Survive

The numbers of Christians in Iraq have plummeted and those who claim to help ensure their survival, often don't even understand what they need.

Christians in Iraq are dwindling. Chased out, targeted and caught in the middle of rival sectarian conflicts, the minority religious sect is struggling to survive.

The country once held over 1.5 million Christians, but since 2003 and the American invasion and occupation, the numbers have dwindled. The population had shrunk to under half a million in 2013 and after the rise of Daesh, it is estimated there are just 250,000 left.

Many have fled – first to surrounding countries, like Jordan and Turkey, but this still only makes up a small percentage of the total. As many as 20,000 are estimated to be in Lebanon, whichs holds one of the largest Christian populations in the region. Christian political parties in Lebanon have influence, were combatants in their own civil conflict, and have supportive communities.

Many Christians from Iraq are hesitant to go back. Some Christians of Arab descent say they’d consider going to the Kurdish region in Iraq—which thrives on ethnic over religious governance—but still others say they’ve been targets of Kurdish authorities pushing for ‘Kurdification’ in the northern Iraq region and have been subject to threats and intimidation.

In 2016, the US admitted at least 37,000 Christians, most of them from Syria, but only 7,800 were from Iraq. Interestingly enough, Christians in Iraq have been at a higher risk of being targeted by extremist groups because in Syria for example, they are either protected by the Assad regime, which carries joint minority support, or have family members in Lebanon.

Nevertheless, despite US President Donald Trump’s claims that it was more difficult to get into the country as a Christian, only 32 percent of Muslim refugees have been admitted since 2003 as compared to 46 percent of those with a Christian background.

Even so, for the ones who stayed in Iraq, they’re not getting the help that the West promised. Earlier this year, US Vice President Mike Pence said, “Christianity is under unprecedented assault in those ancient lands,” as the US cut funding to the United Nations aid services and committed to giving money to smaller organizations for minority groups in Iraq and Syria.

Pence, a self-acclaimed Christian, has been key in leading the agenda for US evangelical groups who want to preserve Christianity in the Middle East. And since then, Pence has put pressure for at least 35 million dollars in funds to be released to Christian and Yazidi groups.

But many organisations supporting Christians in Iraq have been turned down by USAID – where much of the funding is funnelled. And with tens of thousands of Iraqi Christians outside of Iraq and hesitant to return, it will be hard to rebuild the communities.

Vested interests

Sadly, Evangelical groups in the US rave about protecting Christians in the region, but rarely do they actually understand the needs of their counterparts. And to make matters worse; they fail to understand the life or philosophy of their Middle Eastern counterparts. They are under the impression that they’re pushing for the survival of some Western brand of Christianity - as a way to realise an end-times prophecy that will bring historical Jesus to earth.

This is not how Christians from Iraq see their own preservation. They’re considered one of the oldest sects in the world, some still carrying out church services in Aramaic, the language, believed to be spoken by Jesus, and their expansion into the region dates as far back as the first century.

For centuries after, they coexisted with other groups and after Arab conquests in the 7th Century; they still found some favour under historical Muslim empires. While it’s important to note that by the 13th and 14th centuries Christians faced persecution amid war and regional conflict, the Chaldean and Assyrian traditions survived.

Christians practiced their faith openly, and were often unified with their neighbours – who came from Sunni and Shia Islam and Yazidi faith. But many say that changed after 2003.

And the lack of services, like electricity, water and jobs made it harder to survive particularly in Nineveh Province, in northern Iraq – even before the Daesh occupation.

Overall the last four years, many of the Christians scattered south to Baghdad, others north to Dohuk, where there are more resources – and don’t foresee going back to Nineveh, which still sits under a lot of rubble and debris.

But there is also a lack of knowledge and education among American Christians about the Chaldean and Assyrian factions – who are part of the Catholic umbrella.

The rivalry between Catholics and Evangelicals in America is an age-old theological conflict, where Evangelicals see themselves as the ‘right’ kind of Christian. It’s also worth noting white Evangelical Christians don’t find ethnic Arabs synonymous with Christian, branding them all as Muslim.

According to the American Civil Liberties Union, over 100 Iraqi Christians were held up in airports across the country after Trump’s ban on Muslim majority countries was signed in 2017 – despite promises to prioritise Christian asylum seekers.

Many Christian towns and cities felt betrayed by the West during Daesh’s onslaught — forgotten and even abandoned. And now without security or funding, they don’t have an interest in returning home.

The Christian tradition in the Middle East is about a lifestyle and identity; it’s about unity with their neighbours and friends from other faiths. They are far less worried about a Biblical theology in the future than they are worried about feeding their children and having somewhere to rest their head at night.

And it’s important to remember, Iraqis across all faiths believe if the Iraqi government doesn’t priorities rebuilding Mosul and if the international community doesn’t help, the economic disparity could lead to further tribalism and another version of Daesh, or another sectarian conflict.

For now, the pews in the churches are seeing less people attend services, and like other minorities in Iraq, the Christian communities are fighting to survive. The priests, comforting and working with surviving families, can only pray more will come home and rebuild their lives and their history.

#news

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savingpartoftheworld · 7 years

Text

Saving Part of the World - Part One - Chapter Eleven

Summary: Set after G-Rev, the World Championships have come to Belfast, Northern Ireland in the hopes of spreading the interest and drawing in tourists. In between all the teen angst and the team drama, something powerful and hungry lurks on the horizon and with the help of the beybladers, it may just destroy part of the world.

Rated: T for cursing and mild violence

Ships: Hints of Mariah/Rei, Hilary/Tyson, Enrique/Julia

Previous Chapters: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten

Chapter Eleven

When the Voice had first urged Amber to go to Belfast, the idea of living alone excited her. At fifteen years old, she’d never had the opportunity to stay anywhere on her own before. Even at home, her mother insisted on leaving her at her Nana’s or with uncle Rory when she, her mother, had a night shift. So just the thought of Belfast had been filled with potential and she figured the experience would help her mature. She imagined late nights drinking coffee and watching documentaries. Of sitting at the table doing research on bladers and feeling like a badass because she was saving the world — all in secret, just like Batman.

Instead the cold reality revealed coffee to be a bitter substance that tasted nothing like the stuff from the cafés, documentaries were boring, and after her third meal of water and cereal — she’d run out of milk the day before — she was getting quite homesick. Milk never ran out at home. She lived on a dairy farm, and should the animals stop giving milk, there was always the milkman who delivered seven cartons to the house each week for her aunt who couldn’t stomach the idea of unpasteurised milk. Honestly, Amber found the idea of a world without milk horrifying, which just backed up the theory that Ireland was going to hell in a beydish.

She stirred her lumpy cereal — even the liberal sprinkling of her father’s artificial sweeteners (because the man didn’t have sugar) hadn’t helped. The apartment was silent but for the ticking of the clock on the mantel piece, which chimed away the hours, and the buzz from the fridge. She’d debated putting on the TV but the concern that it would block out foreign sounds in the apartment put an end to that thought. It wasn’t like her father’s apartment was in a dangerous part of the city, on the contrary, it was probably positioned in the most secure section of Belfast, but she wasn’t afraid of thieves, no her fears were much more sinister.

She shivered and rubbed her arms. Her eyes lifted to the hazy blue sky above the chaotic city and she yearned for the sweeping hills of green that created the valley of her home town. Which she was not going to think about because then she’d feel homesick, and that sucked because it made her think of her mum and tempted her to jump on the train home.

She blew out a breath and shut those thoughts away. Maybe tonight, when another tournament battle took place, she would go down into the city and gather a few supplies. Less chance of running into trouble.

Okay, time to throw out the cereal. It wasn’t like she was going to eat it and sitting in the kitchen stirring it could only waste so much time. Easing her leg off the chair opposite her, she pushed to a standing position and grabbing the bowl, she hobbled to the sink. At least one good thing had come from her self imposed imprisonment. The stack of dirty dishes were gone and the apartment was relatively clean. Her Nana would be so impressed - except she’d never know because if she contacted her Nana, her mother would find out and be pissed.

Fixing herself a hot mug of black tea, Amber settled at the table again and opened her dad’s laptop, shoving her long, dark hair from her face. Maybe she could find a bit of good news, or at least something that mentioned the broken bench. It seemed suspicious that no one had even made a comment about that incident. Were the bladers really so indifferent to the destructive powers of their bitbeasts? Probably. She’d seen clips of battles on YouTube, though the images were often blurry because, while all battles were broadcasted live, none of those videos were available after the event, so she had to rely on videos that came from smuggled in cameras.

She’d also read some articles that talked about bloody beybattles, hospitalised bladers, rifts in the sky, and some that called for the sport to be banned. Blogs, Tumblrs, the whole she-bang. The sport covered the internet, and all of it seemed excited by the prospect that bitbeasts could damage stadiums and harm competitors, though the fact that those competitors were children did terrify people.

It also made some sense, Amber mused. If Bitbeasts, like other spirits, needed faith to be powerful, who better to believe in them than those who had the most powerful imagination, the most powerful intent to succeed. She bit her lip and began to tug that thought, unravelling the thread to follow it to its conclusion. Teens always felt confused and pushed down by society —

The buzz from the intercom startled her into knocking over her cup of tea. Hot liquid ran across the table and began to dribble to the floor while the cup rocked. Another buzz and her heart thudded hard in her chest. Amber scooted to her feet, freezing by the chair. Was it him? Had he found her? She crept to the door, even knowing that the person ringing was downstairs at the main door. Grabbing the baseball bat she’d slept with, she lifted the phone and held it to her ear, trying to listen over the frantic beat of her pulse.

“Hello?”

“Ah, hello, is this the, uh, residence of -“

“Give it here, stupid woman.”

“Don’t call me stupid!”

“Ow! Violent woman!”

Amber sagged against the door. “Hilary, Ian? What are you doing here?” How did they know where she lived?

“We came to… return your wallet.”

“My wallet?” Oh crap, had she lost her wallet? Her shoulders sagged further. She really failed at living on her own.

“Yes. Can we come up?”

“Ah, yeah, push the door when you hear the click.”

Setting the baseball bat down, she rubbed her cheeks and grabbed a cloth to mop up the spilled tea. Dumping it in the sink when she was finished, she set the kettle to boil.

She heard their footsteps slapping against the laminated wooden floor in the hallway. Then they shuffled to a halt before there was an obnoxious pounding on her door. She limped to open it, not caring that she was still in her striped pyjama bottoms and a grey tank top. At least she’d remembered to put on a bra and she had sneakers on so she didn’t feel completely undressed in front of them. She opened the door in time to see Hilary retract her first from Ian’s head, while he winced and carefully massaged his skull under the thick cap of purple hair.

“She-hulk.”

Before Hilary could spew a retort —there already seemed to be steam coming from her ears— Amber opened the door a little wider, her eyes flicking over the corridor to ensure it was empty. “Come in, please.”

“Thank you for welcoming us into your home,” Hilary said, stepping inside and bowing formally.

Welcoming was a strong word; it was more a case of self-preservation. She certainly didn’t want to venture down to the front door if there was a chance that Eoin might appear. Since she was hardly a threat to him, she doubted he would.

Ian elbowed Hilary out of the way, surveying it as he lugged his tripod towards the middle of the living area. Amber frowned. Why was he setting up a camera? Was he planning to film the return of her wallet?

“I’d offer you both something to drink but I don’t actually have anything…” She trailed off as Ian and Hilary exchanged a pointed look. Yeah, the wallet was such a lie.

“No, we don’t need refreshments. We came to give you your wallet,” Hilary said, motioning to Ian.

He tsked under his breath and reached into the pocket of his anorak vest, before retracting and tossing the square black purse at Amber. She caught it and quickly checking it - not caring how rude she might seem - she nodded and placed it on the table. “Thanks. Um, do you want to sit or something?”

“No, no we won’t stay long. Though, we have a few questions we’d like to ask you.”

“Oh.” Bracing herself on her chair, one foot crossed over the other at her ankle, Amber began to gnaw on her lower lip.

“Well…”

Ian grunted. “Stop pussyfooting.”

Yes, Amber mused, it would be handier if they’d just ask her a question and then she could answer. It would be less painful than this.

Hilary sent Ian a disgruntled look, then raking a hand through her short brown hair, she blew out a breath. “Okay, you owe us answers. You said things yesterday that were confusing and you keep acting suspicious. Who are you and what do you want?”

Oh, good, she started with easy questions! How bloody marvellous. Suddenly Amber needed a drink, instead, she stubbed a foot against the ground and tried to think of how to answer the questions in such a way as to inspire sympathy. After all, she needed allies in this battle right? An army to fight back should the being break through the Veil? Maybe Ian and Hilary weren’t the best of allies, but surely they would be easier to convince considering neither of them had a bitbeast, nor were they bladers.

“Answer!”

She lifted her head to glare at Ian, then frowned. “Wait, are you actually recording this? I’m not going to answer anything if your whole scheme is to humiliate me.”

“No,” Ian mumbled. “Just… you have nice view.” He swivelled the camera around and made a sound like he was impressed. “Nice apartment. Big for little girl.”

“Says the midget.”

“You two, please.” Hilary sighed and dropped onto the couch, massaging the bridge of her nose. “Ian, turn off your camera. You can’t record without her permission.”

“But - this is my exclusive with Crazy girl.” Ian all but pouted.

“My name is Amber, and I’m not crazy.”

Hilary continued to stare Ian down until the midget finally took his camera from the tripod and capped it, all the while muttering under his breath about injustice and freedom of speech. Hilary showed no sign of caring about his righteous fury, instead she turned her attention to Amber. “Now tell us the truth.”

“The truth?” What truth did she want, exactly? ‘Hey Faeries are coming to steal back Ireland’ hardly sounded like the most convincing statement ever.

Ian rolled his eyes and drew out a small black device. “I take it you didn’t see me being attacked then? Typical. I bet all you little bladers stick together all for the sake of your stupid-ass tournament. You don’t care what the consequences are, do you? As long as one of you wins, you couldn’t give a flying feck. Well, the joke’s on you. You’ll lose your bitbeasts, you’ll lose everything and you’ll have to deal with the guilt when the Fae arrive - I won’t care. I’ll be dead, but you guys will just have to live with your selfishness.”

Horrified, Amber felt her mouth drop. “You recorded me? That’s so uncool!”

Hilary flinched. “I’m sorry. It was Ian, he does things like this.”

“Ian, you’re such a dick!”

She stomped forward to grab the recorder, her insides seething and roiling with compressed violence but the boy danced out of the way with a sneer.

“Uh-uh, you need to answer a few questions, crazy girl.”

“Stop calling me crazy.”

“Ian, stop it. Amber, focus. Are you a threat to my team?”

“I give two flying fucks about your team, Hilary. I’m not a threat to them. They’re a threat to me.” She sucked in a breath and rubbed her temples; she was going to get a headache, she just knew it. “Look, I just want you all to leave my country. I don’t care where you go, or what you do there: have the most epic tournament ever, I don’t care, but you have to leave Ireland.”

Hilary stood up, and suddenly Amber was aware that despite the fact that Hilary had long willowy limbs, she wasn’t actually much taller than her. “Why? Is this something to do with Eoin? Is he going to try to harm the bitbeasts?”

“Eoin?” Amber shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s a psychopath but I don’t know what his deal is.”

“But he attacked you for going to Dickinson about him.”

“Oh, so you did follow me from there.” Scowling, Amber pulled herself up onto the table and settled her chin onto her fisted hand with a petulant scowl. “No, I didn’t talk to Dickinson about him. I don’t know what the hell Eoin’s problem is. Do you know he attacked me with his bitbeast? It sliced a bench in two. I didn’t even know they could do that!”

Ian jerked a shoulder. “Manipulation of elements, any bitbeast can do that.”

And there was that flippant attitude again. How could he be so blasé? Rocking her head back, Amber stared at the ceiling. “And that’s why I want them out of here. I mean, do you not see how dangerous that is? They’re not toys, they’re weapons.”

“No, they’re friends, family.”

Amber rolled her eyes, swinging her feet. Hilary was so naive. “Yeah, well your friends-slash-family are monsters that can destroy things and in the hands of children, don’t you think that’s a little dangerous? You wouldn’t hand a loaded gun to a child, but you’re okay giving them a beast that can literally demolish something? Eoin attacked me.”

“Why?” Ian demanded, folding his arms stubbornly.

“How do I know? He’s probably got anger issues, and someone thought it was a good idea for him to get a psychotic spirit creature that slashes things with a scythe. That’s not even the point.”

Hilary’s head shook a little, her expression more confused than actually concerned. Her priorities were so skewed it wasn’t even funny. Propping her fists on her hips, Hilary began to pace. “It’s just, that’s not how it is.” She quickly looked at Ian. “A person must earn the respect of their bitbeast to be able to use it. Not all bitbeasts and bladers are that aggressive. Tyson would never hurt someone with his bitbeast. Neither would the others, or your team, would they Ian?”

Ian froze, a deer caught in headlights, and he jerked a shoulder. “Maybe? Not? Beside point,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand. He pointed at Amber. “You were in changing room. You were stealing!”

“No, I was not stealing.” Stealing implied she would take the bitbeast chips and use them or sell them for her own gain, she never intended to do that. She was merely borrowing them to move them somewhere else. Or that had been in the plan. Unfortunately no one seemed to leave their bitchips down.

“Stop evading the questions and tell us what you’re up to.”

Blowing out a breath, Amber rubbed a hand over her face.

Perhaps you should start from the beginning. If you even remember when that was.

Oh shut up. The last thing she needed was helpful aides form the peanut gallery inside her head.

“Excuse me? You don’t tell someone to shut up. That’s rude.”

Amber blinked. Oops. Did she say that out loud? “Sorry, I wasn’t really… I didn’t mean you.”

“Told you she was crazy!” Ian crowed, pumping a fist triumphantly; then his expression became murderous. “And you stopped me from filming her!”

“Ian, stop jumping to conclusions.”

Groaning, Amber dropped her face to her hands. Taking a deep breath, she whistled sharp and short. “Okay stop. Just stop, please. Hilary, I’m sorry, I’m not really a threat to your team but I am after their bitchips. I don’t have any intention of using them for foul means, quite the opposite actually.” She leapt off the table, flinched when her knee throbbed, and rubbed her arms, warding off the chill beginning to settle in them because she’d forgotten to turn on the heating. “Just don’t say anything and hear me out. I’m not your enemy but I’m also not exactly a normal girl who came to cheer on the great bladers. In fact I have no clue about Beyblading—”

“Then why are you after our bitbeasts?” Ian demanded, fists tightly clenched.

“I told you, because I need to get them, you, all of you to leave Ireland. I don’t care how it happens, but before the end of this week, you must be gone. It’s nothing personal… against you. It’s very personal for me. It’s a matter of saving my part of the world.”

“What do you mean?”

Sucking in a hitched breath, she braced herself for condescension. “What do you know of the mythos of Ireland?”

Ian shrugged. “Mythos? No clue. Why does it matter?”

“Ireland’s mythology is rich and vast, ah it’s the land of leprechauns and fairies and… magic.”

Amber nodded. Hilary really was one of those exceptional students. She had to be like a sponge, just soaking up every bit of material she got. Amber’s teachers would have loved her. “Exactly. That mythology is based on fact, on a long time ago when Faeries were real. They’re still real and they’re dangerous. Scary.”

Ian’s suspension of disbelief shattered, she could see it in the way his expression closed off and a vicious light gleamed in narrow crimson eyes. “Bull shit. You are crazy woman. Fairies, Tinkerbell, you expect us to believe little fairies come out hills and destroy country? Bull shit.”

“Not bullshit, Ian,” Amber snarled into his face. “Fact. Honest to God fact.”

He shook his head. “You are crazy.”

“Ian,” Hilary snapped, clashing him around the ear. “Stop being rude. We said we’d hear her out; let us listen.” She turned to Amber. “You said… fairies were to blame.”

Hilary made an embarrassed face but she was clearly in Ian’s camp. Fairies equaled insane.

“Right. Faeries don’t exist but bitbeasts do? Do you understand how weird it is? These are powerful spirits,” — ones that could split a metal bench in half — “and they choose to possess a small plastic toy and take part in a kids’ sport?!”

“It’s not a kids’ sport and they’re not toys.”

Amber groaned. It was like talking to a brick wall. “Look, how about I don’t call them faeries. They’re kinds of Irish spirits then, not bitbeasts, but spirits none the less. Sidhe. You’ve heard of the Bean Sidhe right, or Cait Sidhe?”

“Banshees? Yes, I’ve heard of them. They’re monsters, like vampires, werewolves? From horror movies.”

Something flickered over Hilary’s face at Ian’s scathing words and Amber quickly hurried on, sensing she might have an opening.

“No, not really… Look, you accept that ghosts are spirits of people, right?” When they nodded, she rubbed the back of her neck hoping to ease the crick in it. That headache was getting worse, locking up the muscles supporting her head. “Well, Sidhe are spirits, ghosts of Irish creatures and they’re — they’re warriors from long, long ago during a time when Irish people worshipped them like Gods. Then Christianity came, Jesus and the bible, and people stopped believing in the Sidhe. They became obsolete and lost their powers so they retreated behind this veil thing that separates them from our world. And in that place — I guess it’s Tir na nÓg only I’m not sure — they rest.”

“Rest?”

“Well, they’re spirits, immortal, they can’t die and they’re not powerful enough to come through, so I dunno what do. But see, that’s the problem now, you guys have brought something for them to leech off.”

“Like batteries?”

“Yes,” Amber seized on the word with a wild gesture. “Exactly. Your bitbeasts are batteries for them.”

“So you plan to get rid of them?”

With a sigh, Amber rolled her aching shoulders and spread her hands helplessly. “Yes, that’s what has to happen.”

“What’s so wrong with those spirits coming through? Maybe they’ll pick people and help them blade better, become bitbeasts. I mean Dragoon and the others weren’t always bitbeasts. They’re the four Guardian spirits of Japan.”

Well… well.

“No.”

“Why not?” Hilary asked.

“Because, there’s something bigger behind the Veil and if it gets enough energy, when it comes through, everything I know will be gone.”

Ian growled. “Girls. Know nothing. If spirit come through, then, like all bitbeasts, spirit will need a medium. That is why there is bitchip and beyblade. Without that, they are useless.”

“Do you know that for certain?” Her voice sounded desperate which matched the feeling clogging her throat.

“Of course.”

Closing her eyes, Amber tried to focus her thoughts. “I want to believe you. I want so much to be normal, and to go home, but I’m not normal. I never have been, and there must be a reason that I was told that Ireland is in danger. That means there’s a chance you’re wrong.”

“Told? By who?” Hilary’s voice was gentle with concern.

Ah. She flushed and set the mug on the coffee table. “Well, I was told by my grandmother.”

“How does she –“

“And,” Amber continued over Hilary’s question, “I was told by the Voice.”

“The voice?”

“It kind of lives in my head.”

A silence descended as feverish heat rose over her neck and face. Yeah, that had gone great. Her throat filled and her chest constricted, making it hard to breathe.

Ian snorted and rose to his feet. “I told you, I told you,” he shouted at Hilary. “She is crazy.” He swung to face Amber, finger quivering as he pointed at her. “You are crazy. It was interesting at start, but you are… Boris crazy. You should seek help and leave us alone.”

“I’m serious. I have a voice in my head that has told me that teens with spirits will come to Ireland and the thing behind the Veil will rise and Ireland will be lost.”

“Amber,” Hilary tentatively spoke, but Amber held up a hand silencing her.

“I am not crazy.” Her voice may have screeched a little and her flush grew darker, hotter. “My grandfather had the same voice, his father before him, and his great-aunt before that. My family has been cursed with this ‘spirit’ thing for a long time, and I know there’s a reason for it.” There had to be a reason for it.

“Why your family?”

“Because some idiot in my family was stupid enough to marry a druid? I don’t know, okay? We’re talking generations back, and one of them must have gotten on the wrong side of something, so here I am, trying to understand what’s going on.” And failing miserably. At least her mother swore she wasn’t in need of psychological help, and her mother was a nurse, she’d never neglect such a thing.

Ian just shook his head and grabbed laptop bag. “I’m going back to hotel.” He looked at Hilary. “I’d advise you to do same.”

“Look, just hear me out.”

“I did.” Ian stopped to send her a sneering look. “And you’re talking about Tinkerbell and spirits and show no evidence. I have other things to do. Go home kid and grow up. Pretend is only for children.”

Amber flinched and forced her eyes to the ground, closing them to prevent the well of tears. She refused to cry over something so stupid.

Ian let himself out and left Hilary alone in an apartment with a girl she just didn’t understand. Folding her hands in her lap, she struggled to focus the questions in her mind. There were just so many and she was so confused.

It seemed so ridiculous that she was half tempted to follow Ian, but unlike him, she’d experienced the surreal during her time with the Bladebreakers. She’d seen an invisible beast form before her eyes just because she’d believed in it; she had heard Rei’s grief as he mourned his btibeast’s loss. She shared Tyson’s shock on learning Zeo was a cyborg; had worried when the boys faced Team Psykick. She’d heard the tales of the Dark Bladers, the cursed team the boys met in Europe. She’d seen Kai almost break under Brooklyn’s mind games; offered comfort at Tala’s bedside, and prayed that Tyson would survive Brooklyn when the world had dissolved into chaos and buildings had crumbled. She knew there was weirdness in their world and that not everything was clear cut. Cynicism had long been banished from her mind.

“Say I believed you,” she began carefully, “is there evidence? Can you give me anything to help me explain it to others?”

“I don’t – I tried before to show people the spirit that talks to me but… well…” Amber steepled her fingers before her lips, then brightened. “Actually, I think I can but it requires you to come somewhere with me. I promise, I’m not going to hurt you or anything. In fact, you should text your friends and let them know we’re going somewhere.”

“Where?” Hilary watched as Amber surged to her feet, suddenly animated in a way Hilary hadn’t seen before.

“The Park! There’s a Faerie circle there that on its own, can be kind of potent but with the bitbeasts here in Ireland, it should have amplified the energy enough for the ‘thing’ in my head to appear.”

“It’s inside you? Not just communicating but living?”

Amber shrugged making a face. “I’m not sure how it works to be honest. I think I’m more like a medium or a portal. However it works, all I know is that it’s tied to me but it is real so it can manifest. If you trust me, I’ll try my best to prove that I’m correct and maybe, hearing it from the Voice, you’ll begin to believe me.”

Hilary stood. “Then I guess you should change out of your pyjamas.”

Amber faltered in putting on her jacket and looked down at herself, blushing softly. “Oh, yeah. I should — would you mind waiting while I grab a quick shower?”

“Don’t take long but I can spare the time.”

As Amber grinned, Hilary sank back into her seat and considered what she was doing. She plucked out her phone and texted Tyson to let her team know where she was; it wouldn’t do for them to be looking for her. She justified blindly following Amber as seeking out answers. She wouldn’t feel comfortable in Ireland until she knew what was going on and at least she would have information for Kai when he asked where she had been. The whole thing seemed… overwhelmingly surreal and yet some of the pieces were finally beginning to make sense.

Hilary just hoped she wasn’t wasting her time with this trip.

#beyblade #beyblade fanfiction #saving fanfic #saving part of the world #fanfiction

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