#all opinions are welcome so long as everything remains civil and kind

[donutloverxo]

A Royal scandal 4

Modern royalty au

Image from Instagram

cowritten with @lizzygal​

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Summary - Modern ruler, His Majesty King Steven G Rogers, is on a quest to make his long term secret relationship the real thing. He is a man in love and wants his lover and partner to be his queen.

Warnings - Smut (m/f), dub con/non con, sex tape, scandals, mentions of past domestic abuse, soft dark Steve, possessive Steve, spanking, power imbalance, mentions of previous domestic abuse, somnophilia, talks of virginity.

Pairing - King!Steve x reader

Word count - 7.8k

Story masterlist

Valkyrie, or simply Val, watched the entire thing unfold before her eyes and was helpless to stop any of it. All of it. All she could do was watch. Much like one would watch a train accident happen before their very eyes.

She had tried. In truth she had.

However, Sarah was the Queen Mother and Val was a member of the Royal Guard.

There was little she could do.

“Your Majesty,” she purred one last time, in one last attempt to save a situation that she knew deep in her heart was not going to go well at all. “Perhaps you would prefer to go inside and I’ll bring them into the reception area?”

Everything was wrong. So very wrong.

Outside the palace was normally empty.

As it was located in the center of the capital. An old historic building from imperial days that covered numerous city blocks, was where the government was run and where King Steven resided. Press knew better than to hang around outside the imposing palace gates as the king never left out them and was uninterested in opportunities to have his picture taken. As did the Queen Mother.

And yet, that morning, a whole gaggle of photographers were lined up and waiting for the visiting royals. Or so they had shared with Val.

Her Grace, Hope van Dyne, never went anywhere without getting her picture taken. In Val’s opinion, she probably had the phone number to every tabloid office in the world.

Sarah’s voice was kind. Soft. Gentle. It made Val want to wrap her queen up in a blanket and make her go inside so she could deal with their unwelcome guests. She stood beside Val at the top of the steps of the palace, provided with a great view of the black sedan that had pulled in through the gates. The flashiest possible way to enter the palace instead of through the underground garage like everyone else.

“Oh no. That’s hardly necessary. They wanted a scene. Let us give them one.”

Not liking the sounds of that at all, her brown eyes flickered over to look at the slim woman with a head of artfully styled strawberry blonde curls, a button nose and rose petal lips. She was every bit as regal as her title, even if she had not a drop of royal blood in her body.

“You can’t think that they actually called the press to say that the Duchess Hope was the woman with His Majesty on the video from the royal banya?”

Sarah’s cool blue gaze flickered to her royal bodyguard before returning back to the sedan so she could observe her former friend climb out, followed by her raven-haired daughter who waved to the photographers on the other side of the iron gates.

That was exactly what Sarah suspected the second she’d seen it in the morning paper. Though she doubted she would ever find out who had started that rumor.

“Have you found out why they’re here?”

Grimacing, Valkyrie shook her head, unhappy to not have an answer for her queen beneath the cloudy chilly winter day. “Not yet Your Majesty. We have reached out to the Maharaja’s Staff and are waiting to hear back. Soon though we suspect.”

Any second now Val hoped her phone would ring so she could tell the queen.

Which led to Sarah turning her head to look away from her guests as they climbed the stairs. She looked away from the large fountain that the sleek luxury car was parked beside and gave her last true smile for what she suspected would be till lunch. Reaching out, she placed her hand on Valkyrie’s wrist. One of her preferred bodyguards. She’d been loyal and had on two occasions nearly given her life in service of her country. “I trust you will find out and inform me as soon as possible. Do not fret. I doubt they will be leaving anytime in the near future.”

Only a lifetime of service kept Val from cracking a smile.

Instead, her dark eyes watched the silver haired Queen of the Netherlands climb the steps towards them. Smiling. Dressed expensively with a heavy coat made from numerous small furry animals.

Queen Janet van Dyne approached as if it hadn’t been years. She came to stand beside Sarah and greet her in such a way that would make for a perfect picture. Or so Sarah noticed. She greeted her as if they were still friends who spoke frequently on the phone and still sent one another gifts. As if their children had married and everything was fine.

“Sarah! How wonderful to see you, you have not aged a day.”

Janet reached out with gloved hands trimmed in mink, leaned forward to place a polite kiss on Sarah’s cheek in greeting and was more than a little surprised when Sarah stepped away. Her own hands remaining clasped in front of her and out of Janet’s. Greeting or otherwise.

“Janet,” was all that came from Sarah’s mouth. A look went from Janet’s coat down to her dress and then shoes, pausing there before coming back up. “Is that the dress you wore to Lizzie’s grandson’s wedding?”

Surprised by the greeting, or lack thereof, Janet paused and then smiled brightly, knowing that though the cameras could not hear them they could capture this image on film. “Yes. We’re focusing on becoming sustainable out in the west. Going green isn’t merely a project meant as royal busywork.”

Sarah could actually feel Valkyrie stiffen beside her at mention of the Green Initiative that Steve had tasked her with and had been far from busywork. It was something that Sarah could go on and on about, one of her many efforts that she busied herself with and yet, she found she didn’t want to expend that much energy on her once friend.

Hands still in front of her, fingers laced together where she could feel her wedding band. Sarah tilted her head slightly to the side. “I wouldn’t know. We remain a governing monarchy here.”

Janet blanched. Her lips formed a straight line, nearly as straight as the way her spine stiffened.

Though Sarah was unable to enjoy it as she turned her attention to the daughter. Hope van Dyne. Formerly Princess Hope but now Duchess Hope, after having been stripped of her title and recently reinstated to a lesser one, in Sarah’s opinion anyway.

Hope looked lovely as ever.

Tanned. Dressed exceptionally well. Smiling exuberantly.

It almost warmed Sarah’s icy heart.

“Sarah! How are you? You look wonderful!” Exclaimed Hope, sounding genuinely thrilled to see the woman who might have been her mother-in-law had things gone differently. She stepped on up with outstretched arms and was greeted with a serene face that looked at her in confusion.

Sarah said nothing. Not a word. Sarah maintained eye contact and looked at Hope as if waiting for the younger woman to say or do something.

Thus leading to Hope blinking in confusion and lowering her arms, looking to her mother for assistance as this clearly was not the welcome she expected.

“Is something wrong,” Hope asked a bit nervously as a winter breeze ruffled the fur on her mother’s coat. Sneaking under the cashmere of her own, as she hadn’t had time to properly shop for winter here. This was her mother’s idea. It was her last hope. Her father had refused to hear her and not even her mother could plead her case this time. This was it.

“I was about to ask you the same.”

Val watched Hope’s confusion and fought hard to not say anything at all, and it was becoming painful to watch in her opinion. Her gaze veered over to all the photographers that were watching more than taking pictures. Even they seemed to realize this visit was not starting off smoothly.

“I’m-I’m sorry?”

Val risked a look over at her queen. Her queen who was peering at the young woman who had referred to Val’s people as ‘war criminals’ or ‘superstitious backwoods fools.’

Unable to take another moment of it, Valkyrie cleared her throat.

Finally making Sarah take mercy on Hope who really should have known better in her opinion. “In civilized societies, a duchess would curtsey to a queen. Perhaps things are different for those who are merely ceremonial in purpose.”

***

Someone called your name and for a second, you were terrified that Wanda had come for your ass.

Not that you could blame the best friend you’d had since high school.

Upon heading into the offices of the royal palace that morning, you had intentionally avoided her , secure in the knowledge that she was pissed at you and you really did not want to have the fight you knew was coming someplace public like the office.

So, you’d been groveling via text and promising to go out with her that night for a girls night, swearing on your honor that you would tell her everything! Because Wanda was no fool.

Wanda saw the new dress you had on. Wanda saw your new shoes. Wanda noticed your perfect makeup and styled hair. Wanda also brought up the facts that you’d not been home that night or early morning, as well as the crucial one regarding your flatiron that was still in the bathroom the two of you shared.

Needless to say, you had a lot of explaining to do.

There was no getting around it. You were going to have to tell her about Steve. Sure, you’d swear her to secrecy until everything came out. The palace had made its announcement this morning about King Steven being in a relationship that he would make public soon. A second public statement had come from the Palace PR Guru, Maria Hill, stating that without a doubt, the king was not involved with Duchess Hope after a few rumors had burnt their way through the palace and news cycles.

Besides, Wanda should know. Wanda deserved to know. You and Wanda had come on this adventure post university together. Wanda had to know before it came out in the form of an official palace announcement, or else Wanda might very well skin you alive.

Hearing your name on a female tongue had you snapping up, your attention diverted away from the emails you were checking.

Wanda?

No.

It was not Wanda.

It was an Indian woman in a well-tailored pantsuit. Her dark hair was swept up in a chignon. Her lips a shade of red that had you lowkey thinking about asking for the name and shade of said lipstick. Her dark eyes bore right through you. As if spearing you from your chair and to the wall of your office.

“You are the King’s Chief of Staff?”

While your natural first instinct was to report that was what it said on your door. Professional-you put the kibosh on that right away. Inner you was somewhat intimidated by this powerful woman who looked as if she knew your every last secret.

Head held high this woman so informed you in a tone that let you know she was here for nothing less. “The Maharaja has sent us. Duchess Hope of the Netherlands has stolen from us and is here with the intention of pleading political asylum. While the Maharaja would like nothing more than to have her brought back for trial of the theft of our priceless treasures. I will settle for what was taken and no less.”

Ok. Well. Maybe you thought too soon.

Maybe Wanda was preferrable over this person.

“Oh…goody…” came from your lips with a frown.

“General Odinson sent me here. He told me that you would be able to help resolve this issue for me post haste.”

Oh of course General Fucking Thor Odinson would send this person your way so he didn’t have to deal with this international nightmare of an incident.

Letting out a deep breath, you held up a finger. “Let me just send this out real quick…what’s your name?” And you typed as quickly as humanly possible on your encrypted laptop.

“Ekta. I am with the Maharaja’s Royal Guard.”

Because of course she was. Why wouldn’t she be? Why wouldn’t Hope have stolen from the Maharaja and bounced? Though you’d never had the pleasure of meeting her face to face, you’d heard more than your share about the infamous Duchess, then Princess, Hope.

Typing. Typing. Typing.

“You’ve got any pictures or detailed descriptions of what the items stolen look like? I’m sure His Majesty will be very curious. And, you know, the more information of what we’re looking for the better.”

And done.

With a tap on your laptop, you’d sent out an email to the Finance Minister. Then up you stood.

“Of course,” Ekta answered coolly.

Not that you blamed her. If you were in her shoes, you would have been super pissed off too. Being robbed was never fun.

“Let’s go see if we can track down His Majesty. If not, we’ll make an appointment with his secretary and then go see who is in the office of our Royal Guard. Someone is always in there and I know that Carol, she’s Captain of the Guard, is working right now.” You explained, as if you felt that telling this unhappy woman all these things could somehow make everything right. Probably not. But you still had to try. It was in your nature to fix problems and you most definitely wanted to fix this problem.

Ekta said nothing.

She merely followed you out of your office and into the hallway which was lined with doors and walls of tasteful and probably expensive original art.

You looked to the left.

Then to the right and nearly died then and there at your luck.

How had you gotten so lucky?

There, mere feet away and closing, was not just Carol but His Majesty, deep in discussion about something that was irritating them both.

You had an inkling that you knew what was at the heart of their discussion.

The sight of you made them stop talking and pause in their tracks, which told you that you had been the one that they were seeking.

Before anything could be done, you bowed. “Your Majesty, just the person I was hoping to find.” Up you flourished your hand to gesture at Ekta, who you could feel was beside you, practically putting off rays of righteousness. “We have a visitor from the Maharaja’s Royal Guard. This is Ekta. She is here because of something that concerns the Duchess Hope.”

The reaction that came was almost immediate from both Steve and Carol.

A look as if Steve had suddenly smelled a dead animal came over his face. Carol however cocked her hip to the side, lifted her chin in a dark blue pantsuit, almost demanding in a knowing sort of way. “What’d she steal from you guys? Art or jewelry?”

For the first time ever, you noted a moment of Ekta’s veneer breaking. Like she was taken off balance. “The duchess stole from you too?” Then, almost as an afterthought came, “Your Majesty?”

And this was news to you too.

You had no idea that Hope had taken souvenirs with her that weren’t free to take when she fled the Royal Palace for India all those years ago.

When Steve spoke, his teeth were clearly clenched together. “Yes. Both. She raided my mother’s room as well as the halls for art and pieces that are priceless. Sacred treasures from my countries history that can never be replaced. She filled her suitcase with on her way out.”

“Every now and then an item will appear on the black market. We can only assume that she is selling them when she is in need of money.” Carol helpfully added.

Beside you, you could practically feel Ekta tremble. Shake out of control one could say.

“Is the Duchess Hope here?”

For that you had no answer.

Carol however had one. “Yes. Her Majesty is taking tea out in the gardens with the Duchess Hope and her own mother.”

After being brought abreast of that development, you had a statement to make. One you thought was obvious. But none-the-less, out it came. Maybe none of them knew? “It’s snowing outside.”

Thus leading Steve to turn his attention on you. Finally. And when he did so, he looked at you as if you were only his Chief of Staff. He looked at you kindly without the heat in his eyes from earlier that morning, when he’d woken you up by pushing himself deep into your body until the both of you reached a climax that made your eyes cross and left an impression of his teeth broken into your shoulder.

“Yes. Mother wanted to be sure that the Duchess Hope did not steal anything else from within the palace walls whilst they are here.”

Well then.

Even you had to admit. The Queen Mother could be downright frosty when the occasion called for it. Pun intended.

“She’s having tea with Queen Janet and Duchess Hope outside? In the frigid temperatures?”

You couldn’t quite make yourself believe it. You blinked. You looked from Steve who appeared casual after his statement, like he just told you the winters here were cold. Over to Carol who was pulling out her phone from her pocket. Acting like you hadn’t said anything out of the normal.

“Your Majesty, I’ll take care of Ekta and deal with this issue. If anything arrives concerning this issue. I will contact you. Nakia will come fill my place today.”

If Steve was greatly upset by any of his, he made no outward indication of it other than a nod of his head that he both heard and understood and accepted what Carol had told him. His attention was instead focused on you.

“I have a meeting concerning the Switzerland trip about the proposed embassy. Go get your notes. You’ll be joining me.”

***

Her Grace, the Duchess Hope van Dyne, had finally made it in the palace after that psycho, the Queen Mother Sarah, had the audacity to serve tea in the garden as flakes of snow drifted down. And if that weren’t barbaric enough, afterwards, she then led them around the winter garden as if Hope gave a damn.

Hope had problems and Queen Sarah was not very receptive to any of her attempts to thaw the ice that had formed around Sarah’s heart. Nor did her mother, Janet, have much luck.

When did Sarah turn into such a bitch?

Sarah should have been ecstatic that Hope would even return to this shithole. Sarah’s son was still single, he needed a queen and his backwoods hovel wanted a queen and Hope had royal blood. What more did Sarah need? Did she need it written down?

When did Sarah turn into such a horrible host?

Hope remembered a distinctively different Sarah. When she had lived in this palace, Steve’s mother had coddled her, practically waited on her hand and foot to be sure that Hope was happy and settling in so far from civilization. Where was that Sarah now?

Somehow, Hope had managed to break away, pleading a need to use the powder room around the time her toes and fingers went numb. As she hadn’t had the time to properly shop for clothes to wear in this frigid shithole. India had been so gloriously warm. She’d loved India. Hope would have loved to stay there but things had gone south.

Eventually, like everything else, it’d blow over.

Until then though, she needed someplace safe to stay. She needed to stay somewhere that the Maharaja couldn’t get her. What she needed was diplomatic immunity. However, that wasn’t going to happen since her father refused to even see her, so she’d just have to settle for sovereign immunity. Granted, Hope hadn’t expected it to be this difficult to see Steven and tell him that she was ready to get married now. For crying out loud, he should have been groveling at her feet for her to come back to him. Especially after that sex tape which had been burning up the internet and royal circles. If there was anything that Hope could do, it was bounce back from a scandal.

This was just ridiculous.

The Queen Mother should have been inviting them to this lunch with her son, instead of practically throwing Hope and Janet out. Which was exactly why Hope was wandering the halls in the search for Steven’s office. Toes tingling in her fashionable pumps. Her fingers burning from the warm air in the administrative offices.

Hope would need a whole new wardrobe once she got Steven onboard with her plan. As his current plan of ignoring the sex tape was absurd. These things needed to be tackled head on. With her as his queen by his side, Hope could handle all of it.

Ah, she found herself pleased at the sight of the royal seal over a doorway marking it as the king’s office.

Valkyrie followed her closely. That bitch.

As soon as Hope was queen, she’d be one of the first on the firing block. Following her around like some manner of commoner who might fill their pockets with royal gold. It was absurd. Hope was born a princess and one day she would become one again.

Hope remembered Valkyrie from when she was a young member of the guard and now, she was a Captain and just as irreprehensible as Carol, who Hope also despised. Both of them had to go. Reaching out with a hand that held a ring belonging to the sister of the Maharaja, Hope opened the door and marched right into the office of Steven’s secretary. Who was apparently gone for lunch.

Not that the room was empty.

Nakia, who had been seated on a couch in the office, stood. Dressed in a dark blue suit that all the royal guard wore. Her face stony at the sight of Hope and then darkened further in disgust. She stood tall. Regally. Holding her head high when she spoke down to the former princess. “The king is busy.”

Not that Hope would settle for anything less than seeing Steven in person immediately. She stepped forward. “The king is having lunch with his mother in fifteen minutes. I know for a fact he’s not doing anything of importance. Get out of my way, or I’ll have you selling souvenirs from a cart outside the palace when I am queen.”

At such a statement, Nakia found herself wanting to both laugh and spit in the face of this western woman. One who had referred to her people and country as little more than a backwoods hellhole full of illiterate stone pounders.

How often Nakia had dreamt of being so close to the Duchess Hope, how she thought of ripping out this woman’s forked tongue.

“Let her in,” came Valkyrie’s voice in their native tongue from the eastern regions of the land.

Sending Nakia’s dark eyes past Hope. A knowing expression claimed her features. “His Majesty is in there waiting for our queen.”

A shrug came from the senior guardswoman.

Nakia would be the first to admit, she had not been hopeful when the crown prince had been coronated as a teenager. No one in the country had been particularly hopeful but now, nearly everyone supported their king. His Majesty was a good king who served them all as much as they served him.

Nakia was protective of her king. She wanted her king to marry his Chief of Staff yesterday. Her land was in need of a queen, a woman’s touch one could say.

Knowing what was at stake with the coming lunch that her king would attend with his mother and lover, a visit from the Duchess Hope would not put him in the best of moods. The Queen Mother always grew quiet when King Steven was in such a mood. Why would Nakia allow such a thing to happen?

“Perhaps if he tells her she isn’t wanted here she’ll leave sooner? Let her in. That is an order.”

Pursing her lips unhappily, Nakia stepped back.

She wasn’t about to open the door to His Majesty’s office for this interloper. However, she would no longer stand in the way. Nakia even made sure to send a look that screamed impending homicidal violence. Spurring Hope quickly through the door without another syllable directed at Nakia.

Which was fine with Hope.

Hope couldn’t get away from Nakia quick enough.

Wanting distance sent Hope into the king’s large office without much thought. Looking as if it belonged in an old Victorian estate with dark wood, so many books, old art and thick dark Turkish Rugs.

What Hope did not expect was how much the prince had grown.

No longer a gangly young man whose mother had to have padding sewn into the robes that he was coronated in. This man sitting at his desk was big in every way. Exuding power in a manner that most could only dream and for a second, seeing Steven look at her with shocking blue eyes and stubble darkening his face, she was rendered speechless.

“What do you want Hope,” came Steven’s voice, more than a little annoyed. Far more emotion than she’d ever seen from the young man. Who was now very obviously a man.

This was not the Steven she remembered.

Before her was not the young man she remembered at all. Every last bit of him was very much a king and Hope suddenly, possibly for the first time in her life, found herself regretting many of the past choices she made. It seemed her mother was right. She’d been far too hasty in her youth. Her mother had told her that the prince would mature like a fine wine. Hope had written that off as nonsense meant to trap her into an arranged marriage like so many women before her.

Now?

Now she was looking at a tall powerful man close a very modern looking laptop and turn his attention on her in such a way that made her gut coil. What would it have been like to be the woman in the video? And where the hell did that thought come from? She had been wrong. So so very wrong.

Finally, gathering herself, Hope peered around the office and fussed at the pearl buttons on her coat. “I saw the video…” A noise came from Steven that she’d never heard before, yet, she went on. “…and since we’re still technically engaged, I thought I would return to help you put out the fires of this scandal.”

Another noise came from the king, a derisive snort.

“Wow. That’s cute. Highly amusing coming from you.” Though there was no hint of heat or passion in his words that had been so evident on that video. In her opinion, he didn’t even sound bored. Worse. Steven then leaned back in his seat, peered around her and asked, “Who let you in here?”

Those words, those uncaring words as if she were little more than the two guards outside his office made her burn, bristle.

Which had Hope clearing her throat, bristling one could say. “Actually, it’s more than cute. If you recall, I come from a distinguished royal house. Our engagement is a legally binding agreement.”

For the reaction she got, she might as well have told him it was showing outside.

As she was prone to when there was silence that needed to be filled, Hope pushed the waves of dark hair over her shoulder. She shifted from one foot to the other and watched Steven lean back in his chair.

Finally, as if sensing that she wasn’t going to leave, Steve offered her a shrug. Finding the mere sight of her numbing. He could have cared less what she did one way or the other. So long as she stayed out of his room. He had valuable things in there that he was fond of. “I’m not marrying you. Do with that as you will, you’ll find no sanctuary here.”

This was most certainly not the Steven that she had left all those years ago. It took Hope a second to collect herself, to steel herself. No one had spoken to her in such a way in quite a while. Her brain screamed at her that damage control needed to be done but she was not sure how. In what way? What did she say?

Hope’s brain screamed at her that the plan was failing, everything was going wrong. This was not supposed to happen this way and now she was failing horrendously. What did she do? How could she fix this?

Pricks of pain came from her fists as her nails dug into her palms. Telling Hope that when she unclenched her fists, she would see blood. “You have to marry me!”

Oh this was bad.

This was really really bad.

Across the expanse of his desk, Steve remained calm. Almost to the point of uncaring and such demeanor was reflected in his words. In the way his broad shoulders shrugged and how he rubbed his rough cheek, as if that were more interesting.

“I do not need or want your assistance for anything, forget that video. There is no reason for me to be ashamed of it.”

“Steven! Listen!”

He could see the desperation on her face, hear it in her voice and after so long, he wished he could say that it was rewarding. He wished that he could say it made him feel better after everything that had happened.

It didn’t.

There was just nothing. Little more than cold numbness. Steve felt absolutely nothing.

Nothing was there anymore.

When he looked at Hope there was nothingness.

It reminded him of his father. He hated when he felt that way, when he thought of his father. There was no one on this earth that Steve loathed more. It was his very purpose for being, to not be his father. To end that cycle. To let it die with him.

Most irritably, he shifted in his seat. His eyes found the picture of you both on his desk from a trip to Scotland.

Hints of his father swirled with every syllable only furthering his inner revulsion with himself, his genes and heritage.

“When you left, I did not officially break our engagement as a common courtesy to your father. No more no less. I am a king. You cannot compel me to do anything.”

Pools of blue found Hope again though. A little bit of serene malice hovered between them.

“If you continue to be an annoyance, I will. I am a king now. I have a country to govern. I do not have time for the childish games and pursuits that occupy the western families.”

“Steven this is serious! I could go to prison! In India!”

May his ancestors help him, his first initial response would have been to remind her of her place, remind her of how he should be addressed.

His Majesty.

Exactly as his father would, he swore he heard his father’s voice in his ear.

“You have to help me out! I’m begging you! I don’t care about that other woman. You can have all the mistresses you want!”

A peek down at his watch told Steve that he had minutes to wrap this up and go collect you. Minutes. He had minutes to regain his sanity before he saw his mother.

Minutes.

“Steven!”

Standing from his chair, he shook his head. Doing his best to silence the sound of his father telling him he was not good enough, was not worthy, was not fit to rule. His voice was soft because Steve would not yell like that man. “No Hope. I’m sorry, but no. You remind me of my father. You make me feel like him. You bring him back to life and I cannot live with his ghost. So no. You will have to deal with the consequences of your actions like the rest of us.”

Her eyes went wild.

Steve could see it and was glad he wasn’t within reach of her. He watched her grab a Fabergé Egg from the end of his desk.

Colorful glass accented in gold with rubies around the middle. It fit in her hand but only just, being the size of an ostrich egg and then it went soaring through the air where it smashed loudly into a wall. Denting the dark wood and shattering. Smashing into dozens and dozens of colorful pieces that fell to the floor.

Having felt the very loss of hope itself, she turned to set her storm on him. “You’ll regret this, Your Majesty.” Before turning and leaving, slamming his office door behind her as hard as possible. Leaving Steve with the sound of his father telling him that he wasn’t worthy.

***

Lipstick?

No lipstick?

It was a question for the ages.

A swipe or two of lipstick always gave you the courage you needed in any occasion. But then again, this was not merely any occasion. This was lunch with your boyfriends mother to officially meet her and get to know her, because you were in a serious committed relationship with her son. Because you loved her son.

Oh, and her son was the king, so there were expectations on that already plus with her being the Queen Mother, that was sorta already an expectation of its own.

Lipstick?

No lipstick?

You wanted to look your best because the Queen Mother always looked immaculate. But you also didn’t want to risk getting lipstick on your teeth. Leading you to peer once more into the bathroom mirror.

No. No lipstick. If you put on lipstick you’d be thinking about your lipstick and you needed to focus on making a good impression.

Otherwise, your makeup looked fabulous. Really. Five stars. Two thumbs up.

This had you stuffing your makeup back into your purse and kinda sorta looking up when the bathroom door opened, shut and was locked. Because really. Why would the door be locking?

In the art deco styled bathroom, Steve’s form was very clear and your eyebrows shot up.

Luckily, you were alone, considering how beyond pissed off he looked. One hundred and ten percent not fit to have lunch with his mother. Not with him in this condition.

You had no idea what happened, but something had happened.

He crossed the red and white marble tiled floor. Walked past the gilded edged stalls and stained-glass doors to where you stood at one of four sinks with bronze fixtures and ornately framed mirrors.

To be honest, it was your favorite bathroom of all time. Your Instagram was full of pictures of this bathroom, selfies in this bathroom, up-close pictures of the stained glass.

“Are you ok?”

Beneath his smoothly shaven face, his jaw twitched. “Fine. Are you ready?”

He was tense enough you wouldn’t have been shocked if his joints started to pop, or his teeth cracked from how hard he was clenching his jaw.

Seeing him like this was a no go for Queen Sarah. Everyone knew that she hated to see her son like this and at first you never knew why, not until someone had told you that her husband had the same mannerisms. Steve’s father done the same thing when he had been angry.

While it was common knowledge that Steve was not his father, Steve would never hit his mother.

Some memories could just never be wiped clean.

Having Steve like this was not how you wanted this first lunch with his mother to go. Not one bit. Both of them needed to be on cloud fucking nine. Meaning you were going to have to do something.

“Almost,” was what you told him. A plan already set into motion as you grabbed a few paper towels from the bronze dish that held them between sinks.

One last peek at your hair and you were set. Purse in hand. You stepped on over to press your lips to the flat firm line that was Steve’s mouth. “Could you hold this for me?”

Steve never questioned you or thought twice.

Whether it was from love or trust, or he was too angry over whatever? No one would ever know.

But you seized the moment! Pounced on the opportunity.

You acted as if you were going to check your pumps and instead, set down the paper towels so you could kneel at his feet. Before Steve even had a second to think about it, you had his pants unbuttoned, unzipped and down around his knees. Knowing that the king went commando that morning worked seamlessly into your plan.

His dick hung softly between his muscular creamy thighs.

“What are you doing?”

“Hold my purse with both hands, Your Majesty.”

Though soft, his size was still above average. His penis was solid. Thick. A pink tip peeked out beneath foreskin that was stretched over his member. Soft as velvet, you kissed his slit as you pushed his foreskin up to reveal his shaft.

“Remember the first time I ever saw your dick?”

You sank down on his soft flesh after, sucking him in till nearly all of him fit in your mouth. It rarely happened. Only when he wasn’t erect. When Steve was erect, it wasn’t physically possible unless you unhinged your jaw and didn’t have a gag reflex.

“Oh god…” he gasped out at the warm and wet sensation of your mouth closing around him. Cold air on his ass cheeks. Exposed. Vulnerable. His sac hanging heavy and you down on your knees, taking nearly all of him in your mouth.

Steve clung to your purse like a lifeline.

Thinking back, you hummed out thoughtfully, knowing how fantastic the vibrations felt on him. Knowing that the warm softness that was his dick would soon harden. Until then, you enjoyed how you could take him like this. You relished the smell of him, musky and male. Savored how smooth his skin was on your tongue. Reached up and cupped his testicles that hung down for you.

It’d been at a fundraiser.

A black-tie affair for something or another, who could remember?

The two of you had stolen away towards the end, snuck off when everyone was mingling together and socializing. Slightly tipsy or buzzed from the open bar.

Not the two of you.

No.

Both of you had barely drank. Focused instead on getting away so you could steal some moments together. Moments like these. Moments where your hands were all over one another, your mouths hungry for one another. Frantic for that connection between your bodies that nature demanded and you both were trying so hard to make happen.

Tonight was the night though.

You were determined.

Sucking him deep. Swirling your tongue around him. You could feel Steve starting to thicken up which had you popping off his mouth and surveying the sight of his dick taking on a pinkish hue as blood filled it.

“Are you thinking about it, Your Majesty? About how fucking big your cock is? About how it shocked me? Remember?”

Based alone on the sound that came from Steve, you could deduce that he remembered. Possibly even vividly.

“I remember,” you cooed, licking his pink head and suckling on the end of his dick. Flicking against the hole with your tongue. Massaging his balls. Taking his hardening shaft in your other hand. Needing him to feel only you. Needing him to be here with you. “It was the biggest dick I’d ever seen in my life.”

”You don’t have to.” He had whispered to you in a dark corner of the atrium. Hidden by plants and furniture.

Not that you’d cared.

By that point he had gone down on your countless times and you’d never seen it. Only feeling it through his pants when you’d made-out or groped him, when your bodies rubbed against one another in a frantic urge for completion.

“Jesus Christ Steve! You’re the only man I know who doesn’t want his dick sucked.”

“It’s not that…” he came back with, pausing and finally giving in, allowing you to unzip the black pants of his tux and yank them down. Pull them down and out it popped.

Erect.

Hard. So hard.

Foreskin drawn back to reveal an angry red head smeared with pre-cum.

It was massive, a beast, the hugest dick you’d ever laid eyes on and from on your knees, in a ballgown, made up to feel like a princess. You gasped. You straight up gasped like you were a teenage girl seeing your very first penis. Albeit, the one that was so full of blood it bobbed eye level with you, pointing upwards, was considerably more impressive and probably five inches longer than that first ever dick, easy. As you didn’t exactly have a tape measure on you for comparison.

“Oh my god…” you whispered, well aware that your eyes were wide and mouth was very likely a perfect O. “It’s so big! It’s like the biggest I’ve ever seen! Steve your dick is huge! What do you feed it?”

His voice was a bit concerned. Embarrassed even?

Was he embarrassed about this behemoth in his pants?

“I’m sorry, I know. It can be uncomfortable to give me oral sex. You really don’t have to. I don’t expect.”

But you had cut him off with grabby hands wrapping around his erection, pushing up his foreskin and licking the salty jizz that was starting to ooze out. “Shut up, Your Majesty. Tell me how you want it.” In your ministrations you had lifted up his generous manhood and set eyes upon the heavy balls that hung down between his thighs. “Holy Canada! You have a set of balls to match. You have no idea how much fun I’m going to have fitting those in my mouth.”

When you finally ripped your eyes away from his sexual organ, you shook your head and admonished him severely. “I cannot believe you’d keep this from me!”

Exactly how you knew Steve liked, you sucked on his head and played with the tip of your tongue on his hole. You took him as deep as you could as his erection grew harder and harder in your mouth. Tracing your tongue along the sides and pumping him with your hand until his girth grew so wide, you were unable to touch your fingertips around him.

Up and down you sank on his cock. Till he was rigid beneath your lips and you drug your teeth along at times to heighten the sensation.

Slurping. Squeezing his balls. Hollowing out your cheeks and swallowing any salty release that began to dribble out. You savored the sight of his fingers clenching your purse tightly and his eyes screwed shut.

Between languid trips up and down his length, you pulled off to lick his blunt tip with the flat of your tongue.

“What are you thinking about, My King?”

At first, you didn’t think he would or could answer, which was fine. Your attention was on the round edge of his organ. Licking it. Flicking it with your tongue. Playing with it till you sank back down.

After a few seconds.

After a deep breath from Steve.

After that, he managed to get out.

“Thinking about that night. The night I took your maidenhead.”

Your maidenhead?

Well, that was a trip to past. It sent your eyes up and your mouth back off him so you could speak without a mouth full of dick. “Mmm. Thinking about how you went crazy? How you went all feral and popped my cherry?”

In your hand his penis twitched.

It was too perfect an opportunity to not pounce upon it.

If you couldn’t make him come from saying these filthy disgusting true things to him, did you really deserve to marry this man? “Your Majesty? Does it turn you on to think about my having been a virgin? About how you’re the only man to ever be in my body? Do you remember how tight I was? How hard you had to push to break my hymen?”

Little motions came from Steve. Whether he knew it or not. He was making small thrusts into your mouth that you hummed around, sucked on.

Something hit the floor.

Hands were on your head, fingers were in your hair. A wicked smile curled over your lips and Steve was methodically pumping into your mouth.

He sounded strained. He sounded like he was in pain.

“Felt so good. You’re so good to me. My angel. You were so tight.” He declared, announced, would have shouted to the heavens if he was capable. Each word came out in cadence. Almost in a chant. “Felt so good. Feels so good still. You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine.” On top of feeling you sucking him deep. Paired with your fingers holding his testicles tight. Mixed with your fist wrapped around his base. It was a glorious storm coming together to make him shatter.

Steve was going to come. He was going to come like right now.

It sent his thoughts spiraling along with his words.

“Love you. Love your body. Love being in you. So warm and tight and mine. All mine. All of you is mine. Want you. Want to fill you. Want want want.”

Gasping out. His breath gone. All air left his lungs when Steve climaxed into your mouth. A pitched noise did come that was followed with his fingers pulling your face against him, his pelvis pushing into you. A moan that made him weak in the knees followed that told him you were pleased with him. You were happy.

If he died in the next moment, he would have been a happy man.

All Steve could feel was pleasure. It consumed him body. It whited out his mind. It made his balls empty into the warmth of your mouth, till he was certain that nothing remained.

Even then you weren’t done.

Helpless. Awestruck.

Hopelessly devoted, Steve watched you drag your tongue around him to clean him up. Catching the last few spurts of ejaculate on your tongue before you showed him, then swallowed his seed.

Rendering him panting and sweaty.

He dropped down onto his knees and he kissed you. Mindless. Unable to think about anything else other than your mouth and being lucky enough to have convinced you to be his woman. Steve kissed you deeply, uncaring about the fact he could taste himself, unconcerned when his tongue curled around yours that he might have gotten some of his own ejaculate. His Majesty didn’t care.

Nor was he overly concerned about his knees being on the cold marble tile when he groaned against your mouth. “Love you. Love you so much. Love you to the moon and back.”

[ardellian]

The European Union and the Internet

Regarding this post, which I’ve seen a lot on my dashboard now. It contains a bunch of old information about EU copyright reform, and then recent reblogs with statements on the line of “it’s too late.”  

No.

It is never too late for political action. Laws can be reformed, politicians can be replaced. Even if a certain political action did not achieve it’s full goals, it does not mean it was in vain.

(Sorry, but I would hate to see especially young people become disillusioned with their chances of changing the world and the society they live in because of fatalistic statements on social media.)

Anyway, I would like to share a few things about EU copyright reform in particular. 

Disclaimer: I am writing this as a private citizen with access to no insider information, only google and my own personal experiences. Make your own judgement on whether you find these sources reliable. The European Pirate Party are a political party not an NGO, all their statements should be interpreted accordingly. 

From Juila Reda of the European Pirate Party, which belongs to the the Greens/EFA in the European Parliament:  (Emphasis mine)

For years, my colleagues in the European Parliament and I worked on the EU copyright reform – on improving the Commission’s original proposal, but above all, on preventing the worst. More than 5,000,000 signatures made the petition against Article 13 the biggest in EU history. Many activists invested their time and passion into the fight. By taking to the streets, 200,000 protesters ensured that our concerns became impossible to ignore. 

[...]

Member states now have two years to implement the reform into national law. [As of April 2019] The wording of the Directive does leave some leeway – for example, in the specific interpretation of what constitutes a “large amount” of user uploads, and thus how many platforms fall under the scope of Article 17 (formerly 13).

The publishers’ lobby will without doubt advocate for the strictest possible interpretations of the Directive – civil society must resist, and we must do this in all member states. So please stay involved – or at least support NGOs like EDRi and Epicenter.works, who will continue lobbying for our rights. SaveTheInternet.info, the activists who started the petition, have also announced that they will keep working on the subject.

From savetheinternet.info who started the change.org petition: (Emphasis mine)

What can you do?

As it stands, the reform of the copyright in the EU digital single market was accepted as such. Now it is the responsibility of the member states to adjust this and to integrate it into national law. If you don't agree with the reform in its current form you can inform your government about that. Contact your delegates through a letter, a phone call, or a personal e-mail and ask them to consider your concerns. Furthermore you can speak up during public election campaigns and discussions and share your concerns on the matter.

That means your voice (assuming you are an EU citizen) is stronger now! You can contact national politicians and annoy the heck out of them! Find out timelines for specific legislation in your home country! Engage your family and neighbors! Write a strongly worded passive aggressive letter! (Maybe that is just a Swedish thing...?)

Anyway. 

As far as I know, the European Pirate Party and it’s national-level associates are the ones who are the most engaged in this issue. After some cursory searching, I’ve found at least two current issues that are being processed right now on the EU-level that you might want to look up if these things interest you (they should):

The Digital Services Act package

This is an upcoming overhaul of European law regarding all things online. It is yet in a pretty early stage - which means that we should all try to stay informed about what’s happening as much as possible since similar things to what’s in Article 17 (prev. 13) might make it in. 

From the EU webpage: (https://ec.europa.eu/digital-single-market/en/digital-services-act-package)

What is the Digital Services Act package?

The new Digital Services Act package should modernize the current legal framework for digital services by means of two main pillars:

First, the Commission would propose clear rules framing the responsibilities of digital services to address the risks faced by their users and to protect their rights. The legal obligations would ensure a modern system of cooperation for the supervision of platforms and guarantee effective enforcement.

Second, the Digital Services Act package would propose ex ante rules covering large online platforms acting as gatekeepers, which now set the rules of the game for their users and their competitors. The initiative should ensure that those platforms behave fairly and can be challenged by new entrants and existing competitors, so that consumers have the widest choice and the Single Market remains competitive and open to innovations.

As a part of a robust and active consultation process, the Commission has initiated a public consultation to support the work in analysing and collecting evidence for scoping the specific issues that may require an EU-level intervention. All European and non-European citizens and organisations are welcome to contribute to this consultation. The consultation will be open until 8 September 2020.

All European and non-European citizens are invited to provide their opinions on this! You can speak up! This questionnaire is super long and involved and requires some nuance and thought. It’s not a petition. I have no idea how much your/my voice will matter. But they’re specifically asking for public opinion here. 

TERREG (TERror REGulation) or TCO (Terrorist Content Online)

From the European Pirate Party: (https://european-pirateparty.eu/lifting-the-veil-on-the-secretive-eu-terror-filter-negotiations-heres-where-we-stand/

Commission and Council want: Hosting service providers shall use automated upload filters to identify and block alleged terrorist content.

Response: Automated upload filters are censorship machines that have been proven to suppress completely legal content (e.g. documentation of human rights violations in civil wars). Even a filter with an extremely high accuracy rate close to 99% would delete more legal content than illegal content, because terrorist material is extremely rare compared to the overall number of uploads.

This would, according to my understanding, impose the similar kind of upload filters as Article 17 (prev 13), i.e. what the original post was about. The negotiations have been delayed due to COVID-19, and the vote is planned to take place this autumn. Find out who from your country will be voting, and contact them! 

Social media posting about political issues seem to always reduce things to visibility, outrage, and maybe petitions. Political work is slow and boring and about details. It’s work. But it’s work worth doing. 

So find your national Pirate Party or equivalent (even if you don’t want to vote for them or agree with everything they say), and follow their updates on the process in your country. Find the party you will vote/voted for, and find out what their stance is on these issues. Find your country’s representatives in the EU, ask them to explain and maybe reconsider their positions. 

And finally, to all Europeans:

VOTE IN THE ELECTIONS TO THE EUROPEAN PARLIAMENT! 

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Tony Stark Is An Emotional Man - My Unpopular(?) Take

So, I’m rewatching the MCU - because of course I am - and I just realized something watching The Avengers for the first time in probably 10 years.

While everyone believes Tony is a prick - and don’t get me wrong, he is 60% attitude in a small package - until he saves the damn planet; the statement he gives to Banner about the Hulk saving him is very heartfelt. He opens up about his own condition with the shrapnel, which is a rare moment of him being openly vulnerable - especially in the earlier phase of the MCU. He is being genuine, and he is trying to make Banner see the positives and understand that perhaps, the situation isn’t as bleak as he’s been thinking.

Tony is trying to provide help, to comfort Banner; not for his own gain but because he recognizes himself in Banner, in spite of their very different ways of handling their inner demons, and their wildly differing personalities. Because he knows what it’s like to lose your way and your self worth, and he wants to see Banner regain some sense of himself the same way he has.

It’s nice to see the kind side to Tony, and for him to expose it willingly to help a fellow team mate - and eventually friend - accept himself and his inner struggle. Tony does not get credit enough for the fact that he always did have that side to him, he just didn’t know how to show it. Even his jokes and snarky sarcasm get less “mean spirited” as he evolves, and grows as a person.

I feel like Iron Man 2 coupled with The Avengers (and of course Iron Man 3 added onto that) are a perfect portrayal of how Tony’s more outward sense of caring for people, despite his awkward sense of socializing, was already beginning to shine through the cracks.

To me, Tony Stark is by far the most compelling character because while I am not entirely like him, I recognize so much of myself and my own hardships. It’s never too late to reinvent yourself, and Tony is the perfect metaphor for that. He even directly likens himself to a phoenix in Iron Man 2, although played for laughs at the Stark Expo.

But not only that, later on in the movie when Steve insinuates that Tony is not a hero, that he would never sacrifice himself on behalf of another; that he fights for himself alone, and tells him he's basically nothing without the suit - you can see it's hurting him. Tony never really holds eye contact unless it's worth while; unless it's getting to him and requires his full attention coming from someone he truly trusts, unless it means something. You see him keep his eyes off of everybody in social situations before he knows them or they have earned his respect; you see him avoiding getting in neck deep, avoiding and brushing off comments on his distant persona.

But that insult right there; from the man his father would rave about, that's taking. You see the pain in his eyes, you see the fact that he's being torn open. You see that he's brought right back to who he once was, reliving the guilt of every mistake he ever made. All because of Steve's judgmental, misguided perception of him. Tony hides his true self; hides his suffering, and his internal grappling with his shame and guilt over every problem and death he's directly or indirectly caused. The fact that Steve Rogers - of all people, as the revered Captain America - cannot see through his surface disguise is really getting to him. I believe Tony had assumed Steve would be superhuman, and he's struck by the realization that Steve is no more human than he himself is. He has imperfections, and flaws, and jumps to conclusions.

And the fact that it is Steve, of all people, making these assumptions of him and taking these jabs at him makes it all the worse. You need only watch for Tony keeping eye contact throughout the verbal onslaught to know it's hitting home; and to know that Tony feels, Tony knows this is what people all initially think of him. He had just hoped that somebody as subjectively righteous and morally good as Steve would have the ability to see through the facade. The fact that he doesn't, and that he doesn't hold back on his opinion, is what hits the hardest.

Another point is when Fury informs the remaining team of Coulson's (faked) death. Tony doesn't look at anyone, he sits turned completely away from the conversation. You can see he's close to losing it, and if he were to speak, if he were to look up, were to make any sort of eye contact directly - he would crack. That's one thing I love about RDJ's portrayal of Tony; the fact that he is so terrified of showing his vulnerable side in front of others, even when he is grieving or blaming himself for any mishap. He feels like he has to be the strong one, like he has to keep it together. Not for himself as much as for everyone else - because if the unfeeling, arrogant Iron Man breaks, how are any of the other team mates going to make it?

If Tony of all people reveals he takes it harder than almost anyone else present, how are they going to see him as the same man? I love how it is only later in the MCU, that he exposes this side of himself more willingly and freely - like in Endgame where he mentions how he lost “the kid” while referring to Peter. He not only maintains eye contact with Steve as he admits that, he chokes up. This same theme is prevalent between them in Civil War when Tony asks Steve to lay down his guard and hand over Bucky, “because it’s us” - which is a testament to the fact that Tony has now accepted Steve as a friend and ally, and this betrayal of his hard earned trust is breaking his heart. But this early on, none of this has become a valid option to him yet. So he keeps it inside; refusing to show his true colours.

And in this moment, what does he do when it gets too much? When he's required to speak up, to acknowledge Fury's mention of The Avengers project? He ups and leaves. Because if he speaks; judging by the eyes alone (which is yet another credit to Robert) he's going to tear up. And hence, he walks out to get it under control, to reil himself back in. It’s a habit he throughout the franchise will begin to display less and less; as he learns to be more comfortable with the team as friends, as well as openly displaying his own emotions.

We see another side to this later when Steve approaches Tony alone one on one; and Tony initially attempts to make quips about how Coulson shouldn't have gone alone, how he was an outgunned idiot. Steve cuts straight to the core, and Tony snaps. You see him nearly tear up, you see how upset he truly is deep down and how he was only doing his best to play it off the only way he knows how. But as soon as he is spoken to, is forced to make an assessment, to actually talk about it; to look Steve in the eye and defend himself - that's the exposed vulnerability that is the real Tony Stark.

Behind the snarks, behind the facade, behind the charade of the arrogant, nonchalant prick he’s been trying to make the world see him for. He's as human as he could ever be; and I believe this is also the first time Steve notices that there is more to Tony than he had presumed. He too, had assumed Tony is too wrapped up in his own ego and lavish life resume to care for the smaller man. But here, he sees that Tony feels, Tony sympathizes, and Tony is deeply traumatized by the fact that he - as he feels - allowed this to happen. He sees that Tony believes this is on his conscious.

Tony's glassy eyes and emotional turmoil betray him, and even though he jumps right back to his intellect and brains as a safety net and a defense mechanism - addressing Loki's plan to hit them at home and split them apart - this is the first time Steve is exposed to Tony's determination, ability to assess and deduce the situation, as well as his belief in doing the right thing (another theme seen later in Age of Ultron regarding Tony’s creation of Ultron himself, as well as in Civil War where Tony is adamant that the Sokovia Accords are the right path to take to pay for the critical mistake Ultron turned out to be.) And as they assemble, you're struck with the realization that this has been enough of an eye opener for Steve to realize that there is more to Tony Stark than meets the eye.

And who is first to the tower, leading the charge if not Tony?

And despite his blind faith in his own skill and ability to stall Loki just long enough; there's the epitome of the courage Tony possesses. He knows that without the suit, he has no fighting chance. He knows Loki could snap his neck in the blink of an eye. And still, he never backs off. Indeed, there is an underlying death wish or at the very least a sense of him subconsciously feeling he deserves and is fated a grim deminse - but it does take unprecedented bravery to put yourself in such clear danger.

Tony Stark could be called many things; but a coward is not one of them. Sure, he does have the untested suit on hold, but he did not know 100% it was going to work as planned. He was counting on it, but you know a part of him knew it was a long shot and might not work out in the end. The suit could have been faulty, Loki could have cracked his head open; the cavalry could have been running late. Still, Tony gambles with his life and luckily barely comes out on top.

At last, we have the finale. What can be said about it, except the fact that it shows exactly who Tony truly is? He knows he's going to die - indeed he doesn't - but he is intent on that, he is accepting death and welcoming it. If it helps save the world, if it will keep Pepper and everyone he loves, everyone he knows; everyone alive safe.

Here, the decision from the first Iron Man to actually show us Tony's eyes and face behind the mask is a godsend. Seeing as RDJ is an actor who communicates so much of his emotional range with his eyes only; we are given an easy access to see everything Tony is experiencing flash through them. We see the fear, the pain, the uncertainty; the acceptance of the inevitable. We see his eyes convey the jumbled mass of conflicting emotions speeding through his mind, we see how he finally just relents and gives in to what he thinks is going to be his time of dying. His final moments.

And he has made them worthwhile, he has already achieved what Yinsen begged of him in that cave in Afghanistan - he has made his survival count. He has saved numerous lives, and if his death is what it takes - so be it. Cue the parallel to Endgame. Hell, even Age of Ultron has elements of this as previously mentioned; although that one was on Tony himself, and his irrevocable fear and flaws as a human being. However, here the team sees Tony's will to sacrifice himself firsthand, for the first time; and contrary to Steve's initial assessment that Tony would never put his life on the line for anyone but himself - he does just that.

This is what makes this movie so powerful.

Sure, it builds upon every team member’s arc; even Fury's. But it is Tony who proves himself above all; who shows the team what we the audience already knew. That he is a hero, that our past does not define us. That Tony Stark feels, that he knows right from wrong although he's still stumbling blind half the time - just like the rest of us. And it proves to Steve - to the entire team - that he is not merely the selfish, arrogant asshole only sticking up for himself. He is a man, albeit a flawed one, who cares deeply. Who feels, who mourns, who appreciates life and the people around him; and who is - behind the barrier he's placed between himself and everyone else to avoid getting hurt - extremely insecure. He is fearful, apprehensive, sensitive, and well aware of his shortcomings.

And Tony Stark is, first and foremost, a good man.

Repost from my previous blog.

[hoodwinkd1]

the stars that shine - Ch 1

Fic Summary: “Eva, darling, Dorian has a few questions for you,” Lysandra interrupted. She tilted her head as she looked Hollin over, an eerily animalistic quality in her gaze. “Will you be attending the same classes?”

He turned his head to Dorian. “Will I be what?”

His brother took a sip of wine. “I’m sure I told you about this. Evangeline will be staying with us for the next few months to expand her education.” Placing the glass down, he looked at the girl in question with clear affection in his eyes. ------ Coming of age in a post-war world could never be easy. Growing up under the watchful eye of Erilea's most powerful and famous heroes is just a little bit harder. Figuring out what the hell they're supposed to do in this big, wide world might require a little more teamwork than either of them realize.

Ch 2 here.

Chapter 1: just two kids

The first time they met, neither of them knew what the hell was going on. The adults spoke in whispers and shed tears that they couldn’t understand, being only eleven years old. Evangeline grew tired of hiding behind Lysandra and clinging to Aedion; she wanted to explore this massive palace that served as her temporary home. Aelin had insisted that they all remain together for a few weeks after her coronation, giving them all some time to figure out how to be a court and a family.

For once, Evangeline’s short stature helped her as she ducked behind people and columns until she found the exit. She picked a direction at random, happy to wander around the hallways and take in the décor, even if some of it looked worse for wear. She hummed to herself as she walked, so focused on absorbing every piece of Terrasen that she could glean from the paintings that hung proudly (if not a bit slanted).

Terrasen. Her new kingdom. Evangeline had never felt any sort of connection to Adarlan. No one had ever held her hand at a celebratory parade or taught her the national song, if there even was such a thing. Her childhood contained no memories of pride or patriotism, nothing beyond a lingering resentment for what her parents did to survive.

“Evangeline! What are you doing away from the party?” She nearly jumped out of her skin at that cheery voice, her eyes darting up to meet the King’s kind smile. Dorian might have deserved her patriotism, if Lysandra and her had remained in Rifthold.

“I was exploring.” She shifted her weight a couple times. Although his face was kind, she really didn’t know him that well. And grown men, especially those with power, cause her to clam up. She remembered her manners just in time to add: “I hope I’m not disturbing you, Your Majesty.”

He waved a hand. “Please, just Dorian. We’ve all been through too much for fancy titles, don’t you think? We were just about to say our goodbyes and head out.”

At his statement, Evangeline finally noticed the boy sulking behind Dorian. Hollin didn’t acknowledge her at all, never even looked at her despite their similar age and forced proximity. She shoved down her irritation, choosing to be the mature and polite one.

“Are you excited to go home?” she asked sweetly, staring directly at the prince. He continued to study the wall next to him, ignoring her yet again, until Dorian shoved his shoulder lightly.

Hollin sighed in a way that made Evangeline’s blood boil. “I cannot wait to sleep in a chamber that doesn’t look like it might collapse on me in my sleep,” he answered, scrunching his nose in disgust.

Her eyes widened. She could have died, not a full two weeks ago, during the final battle against the Valg and Hollin was complaining about the state of his bedroom? Hundreds of replies ran through her mind, most of them including telling him where he could shove that selfish opinion--

“What my brother means to say, is that he wishes Terrasen a speedy recovery after so many trials,” Dorian interjected, placing his hand on Hollin’s shoulder. His grip tightened as he steered his younger brother around Evangeline, mouthing a quick “sorry” as they passed. “I hope you know that you’re welcome in Adarlan at any time. Until next time!”

“Thank you,” Evangeline replied uncertainly, spinning on her heel to watch them walk away. She still couldn’t truly say how she felt about Dorian, but she had never been more grateful for the crown on his head. At the very least, it kept that nasty little boy from having any sort of power he would surely abuse.

She kept walking. Sparing a glance over her shoulder to make sure they no longer lingered, Evangeline pushed into the chambers the royals had just vacated. She wasn’t snooping, just curious if their bed was bigger than hers.

The room was in perfectly fine condition, maybe lacking some of the over-the-top amenities that the former conquering nation of Adarlan could afford. She peeked into the first bedroom and let out a small gasp. So Aelin had given them nicer accommodations. The bed was massive, even bigger than Aedion’s bed (which Lysandra snuck into every night when she thought Evangeline was asleep). Logically, the larger man deserved the larger bed, right?

She looked into the next bedroom. This one was much more comparable to her room, only containing a queen-size mattress and a dresser. Evangeline ran her fingers along the silk sheets, wondering if it would be selfish to ask for these chambers for herself. She might enjoy having the space to herself, and Lysandra might not feel so guilty about spending time with her beloved.

A ray of the setting sun cut through the curtains, reflecting sharply off something in the corner of her eye. There, mostly hidden beneath the dresser, was a small piece of metal. Evangeline dropped to her knees and reached for it, fingers closing around the wiry texture.

It was a ship. Fashioned out of a long piece of aluminum that may have once been a large kitchen utensil. She examined the trinket, trying to imagine how one might have bent the shape hundreds of times to form a tiny replica of the boats that floated in the docks of Ilium.

Evangeline happened to love trinkets and tiny things, so she shoved it in her pocket, considering today’s exploration a wonderful success.

---

Hollin stared at the feast in front of him, wanting nothing more than to snatch up a plate full of food and run to his rooms to devour it in peace. Unfortunately, if he vacated his hiding spot behind one of the larger ice chests, the kitchen staff would surely see him and report his location to Queen Mother Georgina. And then she would surely force him back into the dining room to rejoin the most boring conversation he had ever had to sit through.

As part of his education, Hollin’s tutor taught him the importance of treating guests with civility and respect through proper socialization. While the prince normally managed to suffer through an entire dinner without running away, Hollin simply couldn’t pretend any longer. Not after he stayed up almost until dawn the night before, completely caught up in a new research project.

And although the prince had managed great strides in the two years since the war, shedding some of his more immature and selfish tendencies, he had never learned how to love a crowd the way his brother could. Dorian positively thrived in front of an audience, telling witty stories and navigating even the trickiest of topics with an easy smile.

He watched the head chef finish plating the soups, adding a fried green leek to each bowl. Hollin’s stomach growled, hidden by the noise of crashing plates and rolling carts.

“Hollin!” A sharp voice cut through the clatter. “If you’re in here, come out at once before you embarrass us any further.”

“Fuck,” he muttered. His mother had caught on to his hiding spot far too quickly. Rather than facing the indignation of getting literally dragged out of the corner by the indignant queen, he stood and brushed the lint of his pants.

Walking towards where Georgina stood, her arms crossed, Hollin searched his mind for any excuse that might explain his absence. “I wasn’t feeling well?”

“I planned on serving dinner as soon as the last guest arrived, but now everyone had to wait. Does that make you happy?” she demanded, reaching over to shove some of his hair back. “Remind me to send Donya your way tomorrow. This is getting out of hand.”

Hollin preferred his hair long, brushing his forehead and the back of his neck, but there was no arguing with her. “The dinner?” he prompted, warding off any further complaints about his appearance.

“Go, now. I need to run a final check on everything.” She made a shooing gesture with her hands. Hollin ran out the door at that point, marveling at how much better the dinner party sounded after one simple interaction with his mother.

Pushing through the swinging doors, he was relieved to find most people standing around, finishing up their chatter and their drinks. Darting past a couple of particularly dull nobles and keeping his head down to avoid detection, Hollin scanned the table for his name card.

“Your Highness!” He winced at the nasally voice of Lord Ramdon and the impending doom of yet another economic lecture. “I was just telling your brother about the effects of his new trade agreement on the price of coal over the next five--”

“Please take your seats. Dinner will be served momentarily.” The voice rang out through the room, giving Hollin the opportunity to escape and finally sink into his seat, two chairs away from the head of the table.

Dorian slipped into the massive chair a moment later. “Mother tracked you down?” he asked, offering Hollin a sympathetic look.

“Obviously.” Hollin grabbed his napkin and threw it on his lap, a bit forcefully. “Enjoying the stimulating conversation tonight?”

Dorian laughed. “It was getting a bit dull for awhile there. Thankfully, some more exciting guests showed up at the last minute-oh, speak of the devil!” He stood up, waving to someone over Hollin’s shoulder.

The prince stifled a groan. He glanced at the nametag to his right, at the same time as the person in question filled the seat.

“Hello,” Evangeline smiled at him. “I didn’t notice you when we first arrived.”

Aedion Ashryver and Lysandra Ennar took their places across the table, also smiling warmly at him. Hollin never understood how these people managed to be so happy all of the damned time. Something like jealousy always churned in his stomach when he saw the familiarity and love shared between them, as if a devastating war hadn’t almost ripped them apart.

“I had a...prince thing to do.” He winced at how weak the words sounded. “I hope the journey was easy for you.”

“It was! We travelled quite light for this visit, since it’s much more informal and last-minute” Evangeline perked up as she spoke, starting on a tangent about the route they had taken. In all his fourteen years, Hollin had never met a group of people who talked quite as much as Queen Aelin’s court.

At least he grew out of his snark and pettiness since he left Terrasen for the last time. He forced a polite smile on his face as she rambled.

“Eva, darling, Dorian has a few questions for you,” Lysandra interrupted. She tilted her head as she looked Hollin over, an eerily animalistic quality in her gaze. “Will you be attending the same classes?”

He turned his head to Dorian. “Will I be what?”

His brother took a sip of wine. “I’m sure I told you about this. Evangeline will be staying with us for the next few months to expand her education.” Placing the glass down, he looked at the girl in question with clear affection in his eyes. “I wanted to know, are there any additional activities you’d like to pursue while in Rifthold? Perhaps something in the arts?”

“Oh goodness, I’d love that,” Evangeline gushed. “I know that the theater here is beyond what we have in Terrasen; I’m sure there’s so much to learn from the actors and writers there.”

Hollin’s head hurt. He knew that Dorian would try to force them to get along while she stayed with them, in some bizarre attempt to expose him to so-called good people.

Even after the king had dedicated his time to being an older brother, even though Hollin tried so hard to avoid being another problem Dorian had to handle, he would never garner the look of affection that Evangeline did. He would never be Dorian’s friend in a way the Terrasen court was.

“Hollin attended one of the performances last week.” Dorian leaned forward, catching his brother’s eye with a meaningful look. “Perhaps you could take a look at the upcoming schedule, recommend something for her.”

The meddling had begun a whooping five minutes into the first course.

“I would be happy to,” Hollin replied. “Do you have any particular interests?”

For better or for worse, that question set Evangaline off on another tangent. Dorian gave him a subtle thumbs up as she chattered away, returning his focus to Lysandra and Aedion.

Hollin took the reprieve gratefully, digging into his soup. He mentally calculated how many minutes stood between him and the final course, already considering the night a massive failure.

[junkrxt]

NAME: CYREX “JUNKRAT” KAIZEN GOES BY: JUNKRAT, REX, JUNKER. FACECLAIM: BERK ATAN AGE: 29 PRONOUNS: HE/HIM ZONE OF ORIGIN: ZONE 2 STATUS: MECHANIC @ CHQS & CHAOS JUNKER ON THE DL

TRAITS

+ PRECOCIOUS + SHARP WITTED + SLICK 

- CHAOTIC - DISORDERLY – TUMULTUOUS

HEADCANONS: 

Calloused fingers pick at the wrapping on Rex’s left hand, wet where an unhealed injury lies underneath. A honeyed crimson seeps through the brown-stained brace and the Junker’s stabbing his right thumb into the palm of his hand – stems the flow (so he imagines.) and eases the pain vibrating through his hand as it shakes under irritated tendons. There’s an abundance of cusses slipping from Kaizen’s lips that remind him that it’s his clumsy manner of battling through an uncharted junkpile; sharp is broken metal; like glass at its edges when a hand catches the tip ever so cleanly. He’s surrounded by chaos (that’s how everyone else would see it, at least.) when in fact, it’s an organised catastrophe of scrap and mechanical-potential. He’s sprawled on the roof of a broken vehicle, indented under the weight of the man and his gizmos as he looks at the rising sun above; streams of light reflecting off his steampunk-esque glasses that are strapped to his forehead and shield the rays that have every likelihood to burn his sockets – one of the more horrific of instances for a man who prides on reparations to sustain life.

Black boots thump on the concrete rooftop – Cyrex convinced that his hole-up of a headquarters (the one he doesn’t act like a screwed-on being for.) is on the collapse, every day, something new crops up that he’s tinkering together. Never is anything broken for too long, tarps overhead that form a blockade from overheating, a gentle whir in the background of a refrigerator-like device that he’s storing scraps in. Junkrat is the perfect calibre of a name – though, the tailed creatures that scutter along the floor between overgrown ivy would probably argue against the moniker. Not that Rex sees them as junk, but they’ve got a nice crunch – kind of like bone, some would say. He finds use for that too; perfect sounding alarm for little junk boobytraps that put him on the other end of a Raider’s alert.

Kaizen’s got a favourite rat, she’s called Tess, surname, Tickle.

Distinguished is his attire; braces, ripped, torn and an eyesore of a mechanic in the walls of CHQS. Though unquestionably talented when challenged in the art of techno talk and rather a soloist if it were chalked down to a performance. An old, carcinogenic aroma is distinct enough that it is only outweighed by burnt oil and rubber of the rover’s Rex is known to fasten together; call him a motorhead; will race you to any milestone; all territories and let unforgiving crashes be their end. It’s not obvious with how he behaves that the tinkerer is any gifted in the maintenance department; but he’ll outdo any upgrade with a toothpick and package tape and make it work if that’s the only things available.

BIOGRAPHY

There’s never a need for anything to be fixed if the world remains perfect. Those phrases that cover the ‘if it’s not broken don’t fix it’ never really apply to Amhaven – in Rex’s history, never has.

Never short is the demand for skilled hands; quick fingers that have developed based on a world gone mad.

Goggles on, sparks alight like fireworks spraying directly from the ends of Junkrat’s fingers; he’s constructing. Machinery in brutalised hands and a lazy kind of roll of his head side to side like he’s impatient to finishing this particular project. Always the mechanic, likes to think he’s often the best of them. Anyone else is a lesser – comes to be why he’s always remained fairly isolated, rooted himself in places nobody else dares risk; a building (like most of them in the concrete jungle) on the brink of collapse; perfect headquarters for privacy, to build a retreat from stolen tarps and sticks. Old timber that’s got such rot through it that even woodworm doesn’t want to touch it. Metal, bone and the world at the scrapper’s fingertips; his haven.

Kaizen remembers his early years – sort of, a collection of memories compiled of gathering trinkets and gizmos that he wrestled with concaved vehicles for. Once wore a truck’s steering wheel like it was a new age war accessory – popped out the centre, acted like he was some kind of Havoc (also, a stolen shredded zone one relic of a comic book that he lost in two days to his own fire friendly hands.) Though, it stuck, as did the vision of his first taste in the Junker, Raider clash – he’d never seen a nose pop like a grape til then either, splat; a sound that really buries deep into the core of anyone. Crunch of ivory beneath Ransacker’s boots that had once belonged to his guardians; mentors; parents and fast does Rex learn some things simply cannot be fixed with even the fastest, adroit fingers.

Death’s permanent – no fixing that.

Scrambles away from the wreckage, a slick coating of red that decorates skin and clings like oil to every crevasse. It stains, both physically and mentally and if souls were ever an interest to someone like Junkrat, it probably has a mark there too. If only as a fuel to the man’s vigilance to the way of being a junker; more than just shiny things and scrap metal to be forged and utilised to self-serving purposes, an adaptable lifestyle that Kaizen blossomed into and now – in adulthood, understands rivalry with R&R and all its complications.

Though, the chaos is also welcomed when Cyrex has his gadgets in place like mines on a field. He often watches with botched binoculars in one hand from the rooftop of an abadoned multi-storey, legs swung over the edge with something to snack on in his other hand. It’s like cinema, the way incoming Raiders intend to… raid – so Rex assumes, and there’s just explosions followed by traps that provide all levels of lethality. A kind of wry smile as he throws offchunks of meat into his mouth and chews with amusement as stolen trucks attempt to barrage in and end upturned in a ditch; flames dancing along the dry grass in some mad max-esque carnage.

Friday night entertainment at its finest.

Deserved after a hard working week as recruited mechanic at CHQS – ha.

But yes, he does do that too, snags a spot in the mechanic ranks and enjoys the minimal joyride of liberating labrats whilst he’s maintaining the safety of those traveling between. How he got there – questionable. What isn’t, is how adept he is at doing it. Therefore, the carbuncle that he is in homemade tarp cargos and some form of fabric adoring his torso; a kind of armouring of metal and scrap that seems haphazard in its placement (though entirely logical if Junkrat were to think on it) are certainly, even in Amhaven, not the best of business attire, but it works. The scrapper always remains glad that his only requirement in the building is maintenance; tinkering upgrades that have every kind of ability to be less lackluster, more dangerously eccentric.

Tess Tickle as his right hand lady; lucky charm; never does his tinkering fail.

Until well, sometimes, it does.

And he has to go back and repair it.

Cue the sounds of thunder when he approaches in his jacked rover with enough modifications that would kill half the zone if the vehicle were to explode. Don’t touch it, he’ll probably show you how many uses a screwdriver actually has.

CONNECTIONS

RAMESES "RA" EL AYOUBI | Other half; the Mother to the Rat Pack Collective where Junkrat’s the father. (In Rex’s opinion.) Chaos fuelled duo that has probably been responsible for at least sixty percent of both missing objects and rats that eventually end up in The Collective; living in the shared homebase (the one that’s not on Rex’s rooftop because... Ra says he needs... walls.) within a formerly desolate Chuck ‘E’ Cheese sign. Kaizen’s built a runway for the RPC out of it, a few acquired and repaired neon bulbs very reflective of Z1 in the odd letterings. Yes, Ra and Junkrat (more Junkrat... probably) are this delinquent-like at most times. And yes, they really did argue about walls; their first domestic one could say.  

FURTHER DEPTH

Named his rover/machine of a car, Hyena because, sometimes feral; sometimes doesn’t listen; often acts out and well; makes a lot of noise. 

Will greet you with a wrench in the shoulder, or a spanner to the stomach. Ultimately depends what he has in his hands when you look at him odd. 

Odd does indeed mean just be in his general vicinity. 

On a good day, he might grin and look more like he might either kiss you (not that you’d want to) or ask you to race him and Tess Tickle to the meeting room. Yes, the one he definitely should not be in. 

Almost always covered in grease, oil, lubricant, some other unidentified roadside substance and excess foodstuffs if not all at the same time. 

Don’t mention the smell. He can’t fix that, it’s natural. 

Probably replaces most civility with unpleasantries in regards to verbal communication, otherwise, he’s probably throwing peanuts at someone when waiting for something to boot up and he can work on it.

Generally goes by Junkrat due to many obvious traits, also does carry Tess Tickle around in a lil self-made backpack-like cage with a totally safe exercise wheel to keep her entertained during transport if she wants to go out on days. 

Yes, he talks to the rats, there’s a whole liberated Rat Pack Collective. Where did they all come from? Don’t worry about it. Ask Ra. 

Wears everything out of Mad Max, scraps of brown and dirtied attire that makes him look like a wilderness explorer; totally on brand, absolutely his style, the red stains... don’t recommend asking about those either. 

TBA

QUICK LINKS

THREADS

SELF PARAS

MUSINGS

CHQS

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 11

Previous: Tailing Taehyung 

Pairing: Min Yoongi X OFC

Genre: Angst, Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Government Agent AU

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Swearing, Kissing, Mentions of Consensual Sex

Summary: The final part of Suga’s orders are carried out. 

Codename Another Shot at Love Pt. 4

Winter After Graduation

           December and January passed without much to report. That being said, everything that OT7 had planned went swimmingly, with one singular exception.

           The dinner at the Lee estate had sent a wave of insecurity through Euna, which made it easy for Yoongi to feign ignorance when he began, deliberately, to pull away from her.

           The first few weeks after dinner were filled with Yoongi convincing Euna that he was going to stay, that he was all in, that he wanted to be with her. She believed him, and by believing him, started the early drafts of their futures together. He hated the deception, the lies he strung together as easily as breathing, the files and documents charting his deception updated daily by Hoseok.

          Hoseok had the unpleasant task of transcribing all conversation and interactions between marks and members of OT7, his specialized training and exceptional hearing made his job easy. Yoongi was instructed to record everything, except sex or any hooking up that went down. Being in charge of most of the tech, he wielded his glasses and watch, set to record when they were on his person, set to turn off when they couldn’t detect his body heat. He could manually turn them off, a button on his watch near the band allowed him to with ease. He’d only fucked up once or twice, not recording when Cupid spilled important info, which angered Namjoon to no end. They weren’t amateurs, Yoongi should know better. Regardless, everyday Hobi transcribed the conversations between Yoongi and Cupid, adding more to the list and charts of the lies being told.

           “Jun-Seo said that Jimin wanted to send you something, a welcome to the gang, gift,” Euna said over dinner.

           Surprised and pouting, Yoongi responded, “A gift?”

           “Knowing Jun-Seo and Jimin, it’s probably a Dae-Seong voodoo doll,” Euna shrugged.

           “Okay, did they want to drop it off or give it to you?” Yoongi shrugged it off.

           “Jimin wants to have dinner, the four of us,” Euna told him, sipping her wine.

           Nodding again, Yoongi asked, “How do you feel about that?”

           “I would rather not,” Euna said.

           “Then we won’t.”

           “Isn’t it part of being a family?” She asked, unsure what the protocol of a functioning family was.

           “Having dinner? Didn’t we just witness Guadalcanal? You think the troops wanted to hang with the natives after they slaughtered them?” Yoongi scoffed. He hated how docile Cupid was towards her family, always doing what she thought was right, rarely what she wanted.

           “Eh, it wasn’t that bad,” Euna responded.

           “You’re shitting me,” Yoongi’s eyes were wide. “War is not normal, I mean, besides Iraq and Afghanistan, that’s normal.”

           “No, I’m not. We’ve had far worse, that one was honestly, average. At least my mom made it through the entire meal, and no one broke a glass or threw a plate at Dae. They weren’t on their best behavior, but it was better than most meals we share,” Euna informed him.

           “That’s toxic, psychotic, that’s fucking horrifying, Euna. You don’t have to put up with that.” Yoongi took her hand in his while she watched her roll her eyes.

           “Didn’t you know that, though?” She snapped.

           “Know what?”

           “The Lee family, and Lee Enterprises, breeds nothing but toxicity and wages psychological warfare on every member of the inner circle. That’s why no one leaves,” Euna’s temper continued to flare throughout the night, sleeping as far from Yoongi as possible, barely acknowledging him as he slipped from her home the next morning.

           Arriving at work the next day, Yoongi and the OT7 team spent an additional week tracing the longevity of careers at Enterprises, as well as tracking hirings, firings and workers who just disappeared from records.

           “Who’s been there the longest?” Namjoon asked, files scattered across the conference table, writing strewn on the glass between offices. He was growing tired, a sign from the cold he’d acquired running a surveillance mission with their recent acquisition, a trainee ready to be put into the field.

           “Not including the Lee family, that would include a somewhat distant Vanderbilt relative, a Henry Claypoole,” Yoongi said.

           “Not a Korean?” Seokjin asked.

           “No, the Lee’s didn’t rise into prominence until, well, it looks like the late 80s, when they did a market sample and it became apparent that an Asian-American owned company would serve better in the future than another fortune 500 owned by a white family, that and Vietnam had ended and American sentiment towards Asians of all kind was changing,” Namjoon responded.

“Once the Civil Rights Act passed, and the government continued to allow Asians immigrate, opinions were changing.” Yoongi added.

           “It wasn’t that long after Vietnam though,” Seokjin was skeptical.

           “It didn’t go over well, they hadn’t gone public until the early 2000s, so it balanced out. It was pretty hush-hush until the mid 90s when Claypoole died.” Namjoon pulled up the paperwork, passing it to Jin.

           “Still, Vietnam, AIDs, their investors were okay with this?”

           “At the heart of the Lee business model, is a relentless grab for power. They were making ins with the wealthiest families in Asia, Europe, UAE, Middle East and South America. There wasn’t a royal family or billionaire who hadn’t put their money in,” Namjoon told the men.

           Curious, Seokjin asked, “Before it was Lee Enterprises, what was it called?”

           “Claypoole & Lee Enterprises,” Hoseok responded. He’d forged a few older documents with their old insignia and water mark.

           “CLE?” Jin had looked at their old stocks, comparing them to other companies when he was in college. They were a fickle company, always hard to pin down or predict.

           “Yes,” Hoseok answered again.

           “They changed their name?” Jin confirmed.

           “It was a complete rebranding to help with their demographics, but it also made sense once Claypoole was six feet under.” Namjoon replied.

           “The less American, the better?” Jin clarified.

           “Exactly, better for the global image,” Namjoon adjusted his glasses before running a hand through his hair. Dark and quaffed, it fell back into place in gently swoops.

           “Claypoole worked in the bank from day one,” Yoongi addressed the three men.

           “Claypoole was just a figurehead, the original chairman of the board while Lee and his crew ran the company,” Namjoon said.

           “How do their hiring practices measure up?” Hoseok asked, he spent zero time reading and understanding the internal workings of the company unless he has to write in a specific person’s voice.

           “They accept applicants in pools, hiring in spring/summer, train in fall, then reevaluate the following spring. Their classes or cohorts are no more than ten people, with a few exceptions based on the market demands and company growth. Some years, specifically at the beginning of the tech boom, they hired fifty people, other years, six. It is fairly unpredictable,” Namjoon passed around another set of documents.

           “The most tenured staff has been there for thirty years,” Yoongi said sipping his coffee.

           “Yoongi, you haven’t had to sign an NDA?” Hoseok asked.

           “No.”

          “What about retention?”

          “No one talks about retention. It wasn’t in my contract at all, no blind clauses or double language.”

          “Has anyone left in the year you’ve been there?”

          “Not that I’ve seen. No one talks about contracts or negotiation outside of the speculation of what will happen come May.”

          “Their plans for negotiating contracts also vary by years spent, first years going through a level of hell that slowly descends as you work your way up the ladder,” Yoongi informed.

           “Why would they want people to stay?” Hoseok asked.

           “They’re all complicit? They knowingly are committing felonies, so staying means no one can hold it against them?” Yoongi suggested.

           “An entire company of 200 people, all insider trading? All embezzling? That’s inconceivable,” Namjoon was unsure how realistic the possibility was.

           “An entire company, minus one,” Jin whispered.

           “Yoongi, how is our Cupid doing?” Hoseok smirked.

           “She wants to move in,” Yoongi muttered.

           “What?” Seokjin yelled.

           “Yeah, oh, and her clothes have begun to infiltrate my closet,” Yoongi sipped his iced americano, his own making, a product of the espresso machine he had begged Namjoon to buy. The coffee ice cubes, a stupid idea from a pop-up video, had turned Yoongi’s favorite addiction into a godly experience.

           “She wants to move in, with you?” Hoseok was shocked.

           “Fuck off,” Snapped Yoongi.

           “What else?” Namjoon asked.

           “She’s been calling a lot, at random times in the day. She’s got snacks in her apartment for me, like really niche stuff. She bought a thousand-dollar bottle of whiskey for me, bought me a pair of silk pajamas that cost near $550. The worst of it all, and I swear, I swear, she’s developing an impregnation kink.”

           Namjoon and Hoseok laughed, doubling over to hold their sides as they became consumed by the idea.

           “Seriously?” Hoseok gasped.

           “Whatever happened at that dinner has her scared shitless,” Seokjin remained calm, though the shock etched into his ageless features. “She’s never wanted kids.”

           “Which is why it’s concerning,” Yoongi said.

           “You stopped using condoms?” Namjoon dropped the laughter to stare at Yoongi. “Don’t tell me you stopped using-

           Yoongi’s eyes widen, cheeks tinting pink as he blushes. “No, no, that’s how I know she’s developing this, obsession. She very vocally, wants my fucking seed.”

           “Does she ask you not to use one?” Hoseok inquired.

           “Yeah and tells me I can take it off and I don’t need to because she’s on birth control, which she isn’t.”

           “Pull out?” Hoseok suggested.

           “Oh yeah, the second least successful method to avoid pregnancy,” Namjoon laughed again.

           “You can tell her you don’t want STI’s,” Jin offered.

           “She’ll ask if I’m sleeping with other people,” Yoongi had gone through every option, there was no good solution. He pissed off Cupid, or he put himself at risk. Unwanted pregnancy was not how he was going to start off his mid-twenties. Fatherhood was not on the table, especially not with someone he at his core, didn’t love.

           “Are you?” Jin wondered.

           Rolling his eyes, “When would I have the time?”

           “You’ve always been a one partner kind of guy,” Hoseok responded.

           Confusion in his eyes, Yoongi tilted his head. “What does that even mean?”

           “Just that-

           “Yoongi, start distancing yourself, as gradually as possible,” Namjoon redirected.

           “Roger that.”

           It was a cliché, become a horrible partner to get the other person to break up with you so you didn’t have to. It’s even more of a cliché for the person hoping to be dumped to revert back to their pre-relationship behavior in order to get their partner to dislike them, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, that was exactly what Yoongi did. Frankly, he didn’t have to try very hard, though, to get Euna to be hurt by him.

           Introverted in nature, he began by closing himself off to her, cancelling plans, bailing at the last second. He became withholding of sex and general intimacy, being standoffish when she tried to get him to open up, annoyed when she tried to use her wiles against him. He tapped into all the flaws past partners had accused him of and let them run wild.

          It was slow at first, building up Cupid’s resentment towards him, for every step away from her he took, she took three more towards him. Her internet searches became solely based on ways to keep Yoongi, entrapment through a hole in the condom, or preying on him after a night of drinking. She lost all sense of what was acceptable, what was normal, and spun out completely. Cupid tried to track his phone, bought burners to call and catfish him, put extra security in place in his corner of Lee Enterprises to ensure she had eyes on him all day. Paranoia and obsession have no place in a healthy, stable relationship, but Yoongi couldn’t fault her for feeling both towards him.

          The final straw, on Yoongi’s end, was a confrontation the night following Cupid’s weekly family dinner.

          “Why didn’t you come to dinner? Who were you with?” Cupid demanded when she called Yoongi.

          “I told you, I have a deadline and Matthew needs the plans before the market opens on Monday,” Yoongi reminded her.

          “You’re not at work,” She snapped.

          Calmly, Yoongi exhaled, “I’m at my apartment.”

          “Why are you lying to me,” It wasn’t a question, but an accusation.

          “I’m not lying, Euna, I am at home working,” Yoongi answered.

          “Why don’t you ever come to dinner?”

          “You said I didn’t have to, after the first one,” Yoongi reminded her.

          Cupid scoffed, as if that was a true reason. “Jimin’s there, and recently, Dae’s wife has been making an appearance.”

          “I would prefer to not engage with your family unless I have to. It blurs the lines of work and personal –

          “But you’re dating me! You’re fucking me, you’re in love with me.” She rattled off, “Why does my family have to be the problem? What’s really going on?”

          “What do you mean?” Yoongi was already tired of the conversation.

          “You’ve been acting weird for months. You don’t want to sleep with me, you hardly stay over, you’re distant and weird,” Accusation after accusation, Yoongi had made a list himself of what she could potentially throw at him.

          “I have been going through a lot, can’t you understand that?”

          Scoffing again, Cupid responded. “You’ve been going through a lot? What about me?”

          “Euna, I know I’ve been shit, I just-

          “You don’t love me anymore, do you?” Bingo.

          “What?” Yoongi feigned hurt.

          “You’re not denying it,” She snapped.

          “Do you really think that?”

          “Yes, Yoongi, I do. I think you used me to get into good graces with the company so you can move up the ladder. Now that you’ve got some traction, you fucking don’t care about me or our relationship.”

          “That’s crazy! When have I ever shown any sign of wanting to move up the corporate ladder? It wasn’t my idea to fall into bed with you, Euna, your mother set this up,” The angrier he pretended to be, the faster this would be over.

          “Why are you acting like this if you’re still in love with me?” She demanded to know.

          “I told you, works been chaotic and I –

          “If work’s chaotic, why not tell me? I can change that.”

          He held in a laugh, “That would be like nepotism but worse.”

          “Are you saying this to make me feel better?” She asked, voice softening.

          “Euna,” If only she could see him, eyes closed, glasses on his desk, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He was tired. Tired of Euna, tired of working at this company, tired of lying. He didn’t often burn out on missions, but this had taken him to his edge.

          “You don’t want to have sex, you don’t want me in your space, you cancel plans, you never answer my calls. Yoongi, are you cheating on me?”

          “What?”

          “You are, aren’t you?” She could feel the tears breaking through, the resolve of anger she had disappearing.

          Yoongi took a deep breath, knowing she was going to throw up whatever she could until it stuck.

          “Euna, stop,” Yoongi sighed.

          “Then tell me what’s going on,” She whispered.

          He had to say it, he had to otherwise this fight would continue on, resulting in an in person confrontation. “We should break up.”

          The silence on the other end was worse than her screaming at him.

          “What?” Her voice was still soft, a heartbroken whisper.

          “We want really different things, and I don’t know if I can or will ever be able to give you what you need. I’m sorry, Euna, I am,” Yoongi said. He wasn’t a heartbreaker, he loved fiercely and passionately. But Cupid was a mark, plain and simple.

          “Fuck you, Yoongi,” She spit.

          “I’m sorry, Euna,” He laid on the apology.

          “You had my heart,” She sniffled.

          “I know,” He sighed.

          “And you stomped on it, ran it over with an 18-wheeler, and threw it into a blender. Fuck. You.” Cupid was back to anger, coursing through her like lava down the side of Kilauea.

          “I’m sorry,” He repeated.

          “I want my stuff back, and I want you to put in your transfer at Lee Enterprises,” Her voice was fueled by anger and sudden heartache.

          “A what?” Yoongi was shocked.

          “Transfer, you can’t work under me after this,” She had switched to business mode. There was one thing Yoongi had remained impressed by, and that was Cupid’s ability to put the job over everything else, everyone else, not because she had to, because she wanted to.

          “That’s unlawful,” Yoongi warned.

          “I don’t care.”

          “Euna,” He pleased.

          “Transfer, or I will fire you.” An ultimatum, something she never wanted to be faced with.

          “You can’t –

          “Don’t. Test. Me.”

          “Okay, I’ll do it Monday,” Yoongi compromised.

          “You can send my stuff back, I don’t want to see you.” Cupid hung up. In her home, she threw her phone against the wall, watching it rebound onto the carpet before she fell to the floor, tears abounding. How many heartbreaks could she withstand? How many tears would fall at the emotions of another man, breaking her spirit? In some deep recesses of her subconscious, Dae-Seong’s words played through without a scratch. Maybe he’d been right.

          Yoongi texted OT7, who no doubt had already known through the rapid transcription Hobi was almost certainly completing, or through listening to the fight go down. The receipts would show that Yoongi had followed orders as directed, he completed his mission, his mark had been hit. Hook, line and heartbreak. Looking at the calendar, he laughed darkly. Of course, he would break up with her days before Valentine’s Day.

Next: Codename The Mochi of It All

[tlbodine]

Pandemic and Pandemonium: Sickness in Horror

Well, it’s official: Novel Coronavirus, COVID-19, has been declared a pandemic -- ie, a new and widespread infectious disease actively infecting people throughout the world. For most of us currently alive, this is the first time we’ve seen a pandemic. It’s certainly the first time any of us have seen the kind of city-wide or country-wide quarantine measures currently being employed. 

It’s an anxiety-inducing situation for sure. And people are dealing with that fear in different ways. Some folks are hoarding bottled water and toilet paper. Some folks are checking the news compulsively. Some folks are finding 20-second-long songs to sing while washing their hands. 

And some of us are looking for horror fiction that might just mirror our anxieties and give a momentary but welcome catharsis. 

Germs have existed since, well...the beginning of life as we know it. And for as long as humans have been alive, we’ve sometimes gotten sick from these microscopic invaders. It’s just a part of being alive. Everything gets sick sometimes, and humans -- who live in large complex groups and have a lot of casual contact day-by-day -- get sick a lot. 

There’s a lot to fear from widespread illness: 

Germs are invisible to the eye, so you can’t necessarily see the threat coming for you

Because infection is carried from person to person, mistrust and even hostility can grow toward people who appear ill (whether or not they really are sick)

Controlling the spread of disease often requires social isolation and can invite a loss of rights (ie, confinement)

The disease itself can have terrifying effects, from gross symptoms to death 

If enough people get sick, it can disrupt the machinery of society, causing problems with food, electricity, healthcare, law enforcement, you name it. 

Now, in real life, things don’t usually get that bad, especially in modern times when we have advanced healthcare and science and great communication. History’s greatest pandemics, from the Black Death (bubonic plague) of Europe in the 1300s to smallpox in the US in the 1700s to the worldwide Spanish Flu epidemic in the early 1900s, have been devastating -- but obviously, humanity has survived them all, and the numbers have been less terrible each time. With the power of antibiotics and vaccines and anti-virals and advanced medical interventions, we can save a lot of lives. 

But we can’t save all of them -- which is why anxiety still lingers, and why stories about pestilence remain compelling. 

The Magic of Fictional Viruses 

When it comes to fictional illness, viruses usually end up in the spotlight. Some of the nastiest diseases in history have been bacterial infections -- Bubonic Plague, syphilis, typhoid, tuberculosis. Now that we have antibiotics, these once-deadly illnesses are essentially wiped from the modern consciousness. 

But viruses are trickier. We have not yet developed a singular treatment as effective against all viruses as antibiotics are against bacteria. Instead, we rely on vaccines to immunize us against them. But vaccines are individualized, working only for the specific disease they’ve been developed to treat -- and if a new virus pops up, it takes time to craft the response against it. 

Viruses also function in ways that make them especially attuned for horror: 

They are smaller and less complex than other microorganisms, and it’s debatable if they are even, strictly speaking, alive.

Their only method of reproduction is by invading a cell and injecting it with its own genetic material; viruses cannot reproduce without a living host.

Because they reproduce quickly and rely on their host cells, viruses can swiftly mutate and change 

Some people can be carriers, able to spread the virus without ever knowing that they’re sick or showing any symptoms 

It’s little wonder then that viruses in fiction can cause all kinds of things -- zombies, werewolves, insanity, infertility, even turning your body to stone. In modern horror fiction, viruses often fulfill the role previously occupied by magical curses. 

Horror Recommendations for Disease Fiction 

With a global pandemic currently active, the CDC is recommending that people self-isolate whenever possible -- working from home, avoiding large crowds, and abstaining from touching people. So do your part to protect yourself and the vulnerable people around you by staying home and watching movies or reading a book instead. Here are some thematic lists. 

“Realistic” Contagion Stories

If you’d like to watch a tense medical thriller rooted at least partly in realism, try one of these: 

Outbreak - A california town is quarantined to stop the spread of an Ebola-like virus.

Contagion - A woman brings home a deadly virus that triggers a quarantine, complete with social upheaval and looting.

Pontypool - A radio disc jockey reports on a dire, apocalyptic pandemic while in isolation in Ontario

Containment - A TV series about a city that falls under a quarantine to prevent the spread of an Ebola-like disease; it's partly medical drama, partly commentary on social conflict

Apocalyptic Stories 

Curious about what happens after the fall of mankind? So are a lot of authors and filmmakers. 

The Last Man - Did you know Mary Shelley wrote an apocalypstic novel about a world-ending epidemic as a way to process grief about her husband's death?

The Stand - Perhaps Stephen King's greatest epic, the book details the fall of civilization as we know it and its brutal, power-struggle-fueled rebuilding in the wake of a devastating flu.

Oryx and Crake - Margaret Atwood conceived of a trilogy of near-future dystopia focused on genetic engineering, a plague, and the horrors of technology. Start with this one and read all three if it grips you.

I Am Legend - Richard Matheson's short novel is often adapted, but you can't beat the original. A plague novel, a zombie novel and a vampire novel all rolled into one.

It Comes At Night - A story of isolation following a deadly outbreak, and also a question of sanity and the choices people make in difficult positions. (full disclosure: I didn’t like this movie much, but it’s very well-reviewed so you might like it more) 

Weird Chaos Viruses 

I’ve talked about zombies before at great length, so I won’t recommend anymore traditional zombie tales -- just go read my other list for those recommendations! But sometimes apocalypses come by not-quite-zombies, so let’s talk about those: 

Bird Box - The novel by Josh Malerman or the film starring Sandra Bullock, take your pick. Both are about a woman trying to survive in a world torn asunder by a an eldritch evil that drives you to madness if you see it.

The Happening - One of M. Night Shyamalan's more ridiculous films, but one I can't help but guiltily enjoy. An unexplained event drives people to commit suicide (in increasingly ridiculous ways), creating a world-threatening pandemic.

The Crazies - The original 1973 film and the 2010 remake both deal with an outbreak of a bizarre illness that causes people to go, uh, crazy. In a murder way.

Cabin Fever - Eli Roth’s directorial debut, this is a classic gross-out film franchise about a flesh-eating virus that chews its way through a bunch of young campers. 

Dreamcatcher - Basically exactly the plot of Cabin Fever, except with aliens and some It cross-over cosmic horror. A decent Stephen King novel and a fun, if cringey, film, take your pick. 

Mimic - A sci-fi approach involving cockroaches, genetic engineering, and bad ideas. Did you know this was co-written and directed by Guillermo del Toro and was the first Norman Reedus movie? 

Cold Storage - A wonderfully gross debut novel by David Koepp featuring mind-controlling fungus. 

The Troop  - Nick Cutter’s gross-out novel is billed as “28 Days Later meets Lord of the Flies” which is basically everything you need to know. Monstrous tapeworms + boyscouts = bad times for all. 

The Thing - A research team encounters a terrible alien parasite in an isolated frozen wasteland. 

Historical Horror

The Black Death is one of the oldest, best-known, most-historically-significant illnesses in the Western world, so lots of people have told stories about it -- but it’s not the only epidemic in town. If you prefer your disease horror with a side of history, try one of these: 

Black Death - Not a great movie, but it has Sean Bean and Eddie Redmayne and some exceptional gore, so it gets a vote just for that. It’s not about the plague so much as it’s about witchcraft, but it fits. 

The Masque of the Red Death - One of Edgar Allan Poe’s finest stories, in my opinion. You can read this online in multiple places if you don’t have a Poe collection handy, and there’s a lot of audio and short films for it too so take your pick. 

Love in the Time of Cholera - Like it says on the tin, this is a book about life and love and a cholera epidemic. Gabriel Garcia Marquez is a masterful writer, so this is well worth picking up for the quality of prose and storytelling alone.

The Plague - Part social commentary, part plague story, this Albert Camus novel is heavy on philosophy, if you’re into that sort of thing. 

Cabin Fever and Isolation 

A lot of the stories already mentioned touch on themes of isolation, quarantine, and cabin fever, but if you’re staring down the long barrel of social distancing and want more stories about going crazy in enclosed spaces, consider adding: 

The Shining  - The Stephen King novel and the Stanley Kubrick film are both excellent in their own ways, and I recommend both. A family makes the unwise decision to stay alone in a haunted hotel through a long snowed-in winter. It ends badly. 

Devil - However bad your life is, it’s probably not as bad as being trapped in an elevator with the literal devil, which is the premise of this film. 

The Cabin at the End of the World -- You didn’t think I’d write about apocalypse scenarios without finding a chance to plug my favorite Paul Tremblay novel, did you? Part home invasion, part psychological horror, part cosmic apocalypse, 100% terrifying. 

Now, go forth and enjoy many a movie night, or curl up and treat yourself. Social distancing never felt so deliciously spooky ;) 

[lucacangettathisass]

how the light gets in (ch. 9)

SUMMARY: After your home is ransacked by a group of strange men, you and your cousin are taken in by a group of outlaws. And that’s when the trouble really starts.

PAIRINGS: John Marston x Fem!Reader, Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

check the fic tag for previous chapters!

TAGGING: @mountainhymn @kindred-hopes if you would like to be added to the tag list lmk!

NOTES: happy new year everyone!...and a little over a month since the last update LMAO this chapter is a long one so hopefully that makes up for it! just wanted to say thank you again for all the kind words and support y’all have shown! it really is so heartwarming and encouraging and is just genuinely lovely to see! anyways hope you all enjoy this one!

In the week that followed your meeting with Mr Van Der Linde and Mr Matthews, you remained inside with the other women, doing a bit of talking, but mostly listening, and learning what they were willing to share about themselves. When you were a child you learned that most people enjoyed talking about themselves in one way or another. Just make sure to listen and at least seem interested, and you could learn all sorts of things that you could later use to create a deeper relationship, and that was what you were doing with the women.

Despite your earlier shyness and anxieties, you found yourself enjoying their company, and while you couldn’t confidently say that you were all friends, you hoped that they would grow to see you as one.

In particular, you had grown rather fond of Miss Roberts. She reminded you of Sadie in a way; both were strong and resilient women, bold and brave. Every quality you ever felt like you lacked, you saw them wield with expertise, and it awed you just as much as it made you envious.

You also saw some glimpses of your mother in Miss Roberts, as both had been young mothers in undesirable circumstances. Admittedly Miss Roberts had a wider circle of support than what your mother had, even with your aunt and uncle, and Jack’s father was still in the picture, but the similarities were very much there. You found yourself wanting to befriend Miss Roberts, and lift some of her burdens, in a way that you couldn’t have done for your mother when you were a child.

“I’ll tend to Mr Marston today.” You said to her. “You should rest and try to take your mind off things.” You knew that that was of course far easier said than done, but you hoped that not having to see Mr Marston’s injuries would do her some good. In truth, you didn’t really know what Miss Roberts and Mr Marston got up to when she went to see him, but it didn’t always seem to be pleasant, as Miss Roberts would sometimes return looking upset.

Yesterday had been one of those days, so you imagined that Miss Roberts wouldn’t exactly be eager to be by Mr Marston’s side, and you had turned out to be right.

As you made your way to the mens’ house, you found the snow to be easier to navigate through, softer somehow, although you couldn’t pinpoint why, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

When you entered, you smiled at them all. You hadn’t spoken to all of them yet, Herr Strauss had remained the friendliest out of them all, although Mr Escuella wasn’t trailing too far behind. It was nice knowing that you had established something of a rapport with the two men, it made you feel more comfortable among everyone.

You gently approached Mr Marston, sitting in the chair by his bed. Someone, you guessed either Miss Roberts or Miss Grimshaw, had set up a small medical station with extra bandages, disinfectant, and a face cloth. It was by no means sophisticated, but you didn’t expect nor needed it to be. You looked over at Mr Marston and smiled at him.

“Did you sleep well Mr Marston?”

He didn’t immediately answer, and for a moment you were afraid that he was in a bad mood. “Fine.”

You let out a small sigh of relief, smiling. “I’m happy to hear it.” You inspected his face for anything of concern, as you have before. Just as your fingertips went over his scar, you felt Mr Marston shiver and you immediately stopped. “Is everything alright Mr Marston?” You asked. “Are my hands cold?” You brought your hands to your face and winced when you found that they were a little chilly. “Sorry.” You said sheepishly. “I should’ve thought about that.”

“It...it’s fine.” Mr Marston looked away. “It was colder out there.”

Of that you had no doubt. You got to work redressing his wound, taking care not to cause him any more discomfort. “Jack is doing well.” You said, in an attempt to make conversation. “He’s a very good boy, you must be very proud.” Mr Marston grunted. “I would be if he were mine.”

You stopped completely, looking up at Mr Marston in surprise. “Oh! I-My apologies, it’s just-well, Miss Roberts-”

Marston snorted. “She wants him to be mine, but I’m sure he ain’t.”

You weren’t entirely sure what to say. You assumed that Mr Marston would know whether or not a child was his, but why Miss Roberts would specifically name him as Jack’s father was beyond you. Well, no matter. That wasn’t your business, so you weren’t going to worry about it.

“You’re uh...you’re good at this.”

You smiled, blushing at the sudden compliment. “Thank you, I’ve had practice.” You gently re-applied the bandage on his face. “Although, I must say, your wounds are worse than others I’ve seen.”

Mr Marston snorted. “Don’t imagine you see a lot of this with rich folks.”

You pause, and glance over your shoulder at Mr Escuella. You had suspected that he would tell the rest of the men what you had shared with Mr Van Der Linde, Mr Matthews, and Mr Morgan, but you hadn’t expected to be questioned about it so bluntly.

“Well, you’re not wrong about that.” You admitted. “I doubt any of them would be brave enough to venture out into the mountains in these conditions.”

A look of surprise comes over Mr Marston, although you couldn’t say what he was surprised about. His mouth twitched into something resembling a smile. “You know, you’re alright for a girl raised by rich folks.”

You blinked. “I...Thank you Mr Marston.” It certainly sounded like a compliment, although a rather confusing one. But then, you imagined that he didn’t have a high opinion of ‘rich folks’. You gently discarded the soiled bandages before looking over Mr Marston one last time. “We should really get you to a proper doctor.” You muttered with a sigh. You knew a number of fine doctors, all of whom would be able to give Mr Marston the treatment he needed, but you had no way of contacting them. And even if you did, you doubted any of them would come out all this way for an outlaw, no matter their condition.

“I’ll be fine.” Mr Marston said dismissively. “I’ve faced worse without one.”

You furrowed your brow, wondering what on Earth could be worse than this, but you knew better than to pry. You stood up, giving Mr Marston one last smile. “I’ll check on you again in a few days.”

Mr Marston nodded, looking down. “Th….thanks.”

You looked at Mr Marston in surprise, but smiled all the same. “You’re welcome Mr Marston.” You gave each of the men a smile as you left, feeling a new lightness in your step.

When you stepped outside, you almost slipped, before righting yourself at just the last second. You stood up properly and looked down at patch of snow that had given way beneath your foot, and saw that it had turned into sludge, almost like dirt after a heavy rain. Your heart began to race and noticed that the usually biting winds that had been keeping you all company had finally decided to leave. You walked as carefully as you could back to the house with the other women, watching as the snow offered much less resistance than usual.

“How is he?” Miss Roberts asked after you had shut the door behind yourself.

“Fine.” You replied, turning to all the women. “And I think we will be too.” You smiled widely.

“What makes you say that?” Miss Jackson asked.

“Everything’s starting to thaw.”

You could almost see and feel a weight being lifted off everyone, as excited looks were passed around and you sat beside Sadie. “Looks like we’ll be off this mountain soon.” You said eagerly.

Sadie nodded. “Regardless of where we end up, I want you to stay close to me.” She said in a low voice. “I don’t want you out of my sight for a second.”

You could only nod, you were too excited at the prospect of going back to civilization to argue.

-

Funnily and luckily enough, the thaw had come in just days before Mr Cornwall’s train was set to pass through the mountains, allowing Mr Van Der Linde to go through his plan. And while he and the men he would take with him were doing that, the rest of you would pack everything up, ready to leave as soon as the men got back.

Of course, Mr Morgan was chosen to go along with the job, which meant once again riding Gladys, an idea she clearly still didn’t like.

“She’s probably still trying to adjust to all of the changes.” You said as you firmly held her reins, trying to calm her. “It isn’t like her to have this much of an attitude.”

Mr Morgan grunted. “Well, if I were her, I wouldn’t want to have me in the saddle either.”

You frowned, unsure as to what he was getting at.

“Why are we doing this?”

You turned around and saw Mr Matthews approaching Mr Van Der Linde, who was also saddling up.

“Weather’s breaking, we could leave.” You could hear the worry in his voice, and it was painfully obvious that he was skeptical of Mr Van Der Linde’s plan. “I-I thought we was lying low.”

“What do you want from me Hosea?” Mr Van Der Linde asked back, sounding equally exasperated.

“I just don’t want any more folks to die, Dutch.”

You frowned and looked away. You could definitely empathize with that.

“We’re living, Hosea, we’re living…” Mr Van Der Linde turned to the older man, “look at me, we’re living...even you.”

You frowned. What was that supposed to mean?

“But we need money, everything we have’s in Blackwater. You fancy heading back there?”

“No.” Mr Matthews still didn’t sound convinced, and you pitied him. “Listen, Dutch, I ain’t trying to undermine you, I just…” He sighed heavily. “I just want to stick to the plan...which was to lie low, then head back out west. Now suddenly, we’re about to rob a train.”

You exchanged a glance with Gladys, who also seemed to be interested in what Mr Matthews had to say. It wasn’t a bad idea, and from what you had heard, the western territories hadn’t seen as much development, it would be easy for someone to disappear out there. Possibly even a whole gang.

“What choice have we got?”

Mr Matthews sighed again. “Leviticus Cornwall’s no joke, Dutch…” He looked up, and saw you. “You heard what [Name] said.” He gestured to you. “He’s powerful, rich, and has a fragile ego. He isn’t the sort of mark you want to go after lightly.”

Immediately you felt your face flush, and you tried to hide behind Gladys, who seemed to have sensed your discomfort and took a few steps forward, shielding you from the mens’ gazes.

“It also sounds like he has more than enough to share.” Mr Van Der Linde said, in a tone that left no room for argument.

“Dutch-”

“Gentlemen, it is time to make something of ourselves.” Mr Van Der Linde called out, prompting some of the other men to run out to their horses. “Get your horses ready, we have a train to rob.”

Still holding onto Gladys’s reins, you kept her steady as Mr Morgan mounted her. “Behave yourself.” You muttered to Gladys. “I don’t want to hear any complaints from Mr Morgan.”

She huffed, as if offended by the idea of accommodating Mr Morgan in any way.

You stepped back, giving Mr Morgan room to turn Gladys around. “Good luck.” You said anxiously. “Be careful.”

Mr Morgan nodded. “‘Preciate it.” He said, turning away to ride off behind Mr Van Der Linde with the other men.

You watched them all go, hoping that Mr Matthews’ concerns would come to fruition. You turned to face the older man, who still looked troubled. “Are you alright Mr Matthews?” You asked gently.

“As alright as I can be.” He said with a sigh.

You gently placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.” You said with a smile. “And as long as no one is able to recognize them, then there won’t be any trouble, right?”

Mr Matthews still appears unsure. “I suppose.” He sighed again. “I’m just getting too old for this kind of life I think, but it’s good of you to care.”

“Of course, it’s the least I can do, considering everything you all have done for Sadie and I.”

Mr Matthews smiled a little. “That’s very sweet of you.” He patted your arm and gave you a kind look. “Would you mind checking up on John? Just to make sure he’s ok and ready to go when we need to.”

You nodded. “Of course Mr Matthews.” You made your way to the house, a little more confident walking in the partially thawed snow. 

When you opened the door, you were surprised to see Mr Marston on his feet, putting on a jacket. “Mr Marston!” You squeaked, rushing to him. “What are you doing? You need to rest!”

“I’ve rested enough.” He grunted. “I should be out there too, robbing that train.”

“Mr Marston please sit down you’re not in any state to do anything like that.” You gently held his arm. “Mr Van Der Linde has more than enough men to help him.”

“I should still be out there.” Mr Marston gently took his arm out of your grasp and took a step forward, wincing as he did so.

“Mr Marston please.” You quickly stood in front of him, stopping him from moving. “You’re clearly still in pain. I implore you, go back to bed. The more you rest, the faster you getter better, and the sooner you can help Mr Van Der Linde.” You kept your tone as gentle and kind as possible, not wanting to further wound Mr Marston’s clearly aching pride. “Please. For your own sake.”

Mr Marston stared down at you, dumb founded. He seemed to be genuinely surprised that you were this concerned. He looked like he was about to argue, but his bad leg began to wobble and he winced, falling back to sit on the cot. He sighed irritably. “Looks like you’re right. I’m no use to anyone right now.” He took off the jacket, angrily throwing it to the ground.

You frowned, feeling bad for him. You couldn’t imagine how upset he must be, seeing all the other able bodied men go off on such a daring job. You carefully picked the jacket up, folding it up gently and placing it on the seat beside his cot.”You just need to get your strength back.” You said kindly. “You’ll see, you’ll be fighting fit in no time!” You smiled encouragingly, hoping that some of this was working, even if only a little bit.

After a brief pause, Mr Marston chuckled. “Javier was right.” He looked up at you, with a small smile. “You really are too nice for us.”

You blushed a little, not entirely sure  what to make of that. “I don’t know about that.” You said, embarrassed. “You’ve all been kind to Sadie and I, it’s only fair I return the favour.” You cleared your throat. “Now, please Mr Marston, get back into bed, and I won’t tell Mr Matthews about this.”

Mr Marston chuckled again. “Alright alright, ya twisted my arm.” He lay back down on the cot, using both hands to lift his bad leg up and onto it.

You heaved a sigh of relief and smiled. “How’s that wound of yours?” You moved closer to this side to properly inspect it.

Mr Marston waved a hand dismissively. “I’m fine, I just need to…” He sighed heavily. “Wallow in self pity for a little longer.”

You hummed. “I’m familiar with that feeling.” You said softly with a small smile. “And if anyone here is entitled to feeling like that then it’s definitely you. You went through a lot out there.”

Mr Marston snorted. “I wouldn’t say that. I just…” He trailed off, and you waited for him to finish. But instead he sighed and turned away. “You go on and help everyone else. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

You bit your bottom lip, reluctant to leave. But it was what he wanted, and you had to respect that. “Just think, before long, we’ll be warm again.” You said brightly as you left. “At least then it’ll be far more pleasant for you in bed.”

You thought you heard a soft chuckle as you closed the door, but you couldn’t be sure.

-

That night, most of the men returned from the train-most, because Mr Morgan had been notably absent, on account of him being left to deal with the remaining train guards and send the train back on it’s way.

The robbery had been very successful, producing a number of expensive items, stacks of money, and best of all, bearer bonds. You had no doubt that Mr Van Der Linde and Mr Matthews would be able to find a buyer for them.

It wasn’t until the next day, when Mr Morgan finally returned with Gladys, that you were all able to finally leave Colter.

You heaved a sigh of relief when you saw Mr Morgan return and allowed herself to smile. Your smile grew when Gladys trotted over to you the second Mr Morgan was off her, clearly not wanting to spend any more time with him.

“You’re going to have to learn how to deal with him.” You reminded her when she nudged your shoulder. You gave her a face a quick stroke before going back to loading up one of the wagons. Or, at least, trying to. You were trying to stack a crate into the back of one of the covered wagons, but it was becoming very clear very quickly that you were sorely lacking when it came to upper body strength.

“Hey, lemme help with that.”

You jumped, surprised, and turned to see one of the men approach you. He was large, larger than Mr Morgan, with a thick dark brown beard and a heavy brown coat. You had seen him join Mr Van Der Linde on the train robbery, and while the two of you hadn’t been formally introduced yet, by going through the process of elimination, you guessed that it was Mr Williamson. “Thank you.” You said. “Mr Williamson right?”

He nodded, looking a little surprised. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Well it’s very kind of you to help me Mr Williamson.” You crouched, digging your hands under one end of the crate so that you had a good grip on it. “You can take the other side.”

“I don’t mind taking the whole thing.”

You shook your head. “I insist Mr Williamson. We’re all supposed to help, and I would feel bad if I left you to do this by yourself.”

Mr Williamson gave you a strange look, but he conceded and took hold of the other end of the crate, lifting it with extreme ease, and putting it into the wagon without you really having to do anything. “Thank you.” You said. “You’re very strong Mr Williamson.”

Mr Williamson’s face was red, most likely from the cold. “It-it’s nothin’.” He cleared his throat. “We should uh, get the rest of this done.”

You nodded. “Of course.”

The two of you were able to fill up the wagon quickly, although of course you would attribute that to Mr Williamson’s far superior strength. By the end of it you smiled gratefully at him. “Thank you so much Mr Williamson! I really do appreciate the help.”

Mr Williamson looked down and cleared his throat. “It uh...it ain’t nothin’.”

“[Name]!”

You and Mr Williamson both jumped, turning to see Sadie staring both of you down. “We need you for something [Name].”

“Coming Sadie!” You turned to Mr Williamson and smiled. “Thank you again Mr Williamson.” You took hold Gladys’s reins and lead her with you as you made your way to Sadie. “Yes? What do you need?”

“Hitch Gladys to this wagon.” She said. “Then you can help load it.”

You did as you were told, and you were relieved to see that Gladys needed little encouragement to behave and was actually doing what was asked of her for once. After that, you helped her and some of the other women load up the wagon, thankfully with things that were much easier to lift. Out of the corner of your eye you saw that Mr Smith and Miss Roberts were helping Mr Marston into another covered wagon. You winced a little at the way Mr Marston moved, he was clearly still in a lot of pain and you felt horrible for him.

‘We’ll be off the mountain soon.’ You kept telling yourself. ‘And then he can get proper help.’

Within the hour you were all on your way down from the mountain, away from Colter, back to civilization. You sat with the other ladies in the wagon that Gladys was helping to pull, with Miss Grimsahw at the reins.

“Can’t wait until we’re warm again.” Miss Jackson said with a shiver. “Won’t be keeping myself awake with my teeth chattering.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” Miss Jones said teasingly, causing the rest of you to laugh.

You sat across from Miss Roberts and Jack, both of whom looked equal parts excited and anxious, especially Jack. You smiled kindly at them and leaned forward to put a hand on Miss Roberts’s knee. “Once we’re down from the mountain we can take Mr Marston to a proper doctor.” You said softly. “And he can get the proper help he needs.”

Miss Roberts sighed. “I hope so.” She stroked her son’s hair tenderly, smiling down at him before looking up at you. “I wanted to thank you for helping to take care of him. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did.” You said kindly. “After everything you all have done for Sadie and I, it’s the absolute least I could’ve done.” You smiled widely at her. “And even if I didn’t know any of you, I still would’ve done it.”

The other women seemed surprised to hear that, and exchanged glances.

“You really are too kind.” Miss Roberts said, trying to smile back despite how tired and haggard she is.

In this lighting, she truly could’ve been your mother, and it made you squeeze her knee again. “We’ll be ok.” You said.

(A part of you pretended that you truly were saying that to your mother. You didn’t think she heard it enough when she was still around.)

[ourkinfolx]

No. 1: Fania

Fania Noel is a woman with plans. And not just the vast, sweeping plans like the dismantling of capitalism and black liberation. She also has smaller, but no less important, plans like brunch with friends, hitting the gym. 

“Every week, I put in my calendar the times I need to be efficient,” she explains. “So I put what time I work out, with my friends, my time to watch TV shows, to read. And after, I can give people the link to put obligations.”

The link she’s referring to is her online scheduling system connected to her personal website. It’s one I’ve become well acquainted with after our first two failed attempts to schedule interviews. We had plans to meet in person, in a Parisian Brasserie she’d recommended, but between canceled flights and buses, Skype turned out to be the most practical option. Our disrupted travel was just one in a long list of inconveniences brought on by the virus safety measures. It might even be said that the coronavirus also had plans. 

The global pandemic and subsequent slowing of—well, everything comes up a few times in our conversation. Like some of the other activists I’ve talked to, Fania sees a silver lining, an opportunity.

“This might be the only sequence of events in the history of humanity that you have the whole planet living at the same tempo, being in quarantine or locked down or slowed activity,” she says. 

“So we all have a lot of time to think about how [society is] fucked up or the weight of our lives in terms of this society. And I think we have to ask if we want to go back to this rushed kind of living. It’s really a game changer.”

I first heard of Fania, a Haitian born afro-feminist, earlier in the year, while talking to a Parisian friend about the need for more black spaces in the city. She angrily described how a few years ago, Fania tried to have an event for black women, only to be met with fierce backlash and derision from not just right-wing groups, but anti-racist and anti-Semitic groups. The event wasn’t actually Fania’s alone; it was an effort by Mwasi Collective, a French afro-feminist group that she’s involved with. 

Either way, it was a minor scandal. Hotly debated on French TV and radio. Even Anne Hidalgo, Paris’s mayor, voiced disapproval. Critics claimed the event, called Nyansapo Festival, was racist itself by exclusion because most of the space had been designated for black women only. 

Despite all the fuss, the Nyansapo Festival went on as planned. Several years later, following the killing of George Floyd and the international movement that followed, Anne Hidalgo published a tweet ending with the hashtag #BlackLivesMatter. I found it curious, she’s always struck me as more of an #AllLivesMatter type. 

I ask Fania if, given the tweet and possible change of heart from the mayor, she thinks her event would be better received in the current climate. She points out that there had been two Nyansapo Festivals since, with little to no media coverage, but seems overall uninterested in rehashing the drama. 

“We’re way beyond that now,” she says, shaking her head. She ends it in a way that will be familiar to anyone who’s ever been almost imperceptibly corrected by a black woman, and I quickly move on to the next topic. 

It’s not until later, when reading some of her other interviews, that I’m able to fully contextualize our exchange. It’s common for activists, especially those working in or belonging to a culture where their identity makes them a minority, to be asked to view their work through the lens of conditional acceptance of a larger group of oppressors and/or gatekeepers. Asking feminists what men think, asking LGBT how they plan to placate heterosexuals. In her dismissal, Fania resists the line of questioning altogether, and in another interview, she makes the point more succinctly when explaining why she doesn’t believe in the concept of public opinion: 

“As an activist, the core ‘public’ is black people and to think about the antagonism and balance of power in terms of our politics rather than its reception. It’s normal in a racist, capitalist, patriarchal society that a political [movement] proposing the abolition of the system is not welcomed.”

One might argue if you’re not pissing anyone off, you’re not doing anything important. 

Rolling Stone’s July cover is a painting featuring a dark-skinned black woman, braids pulled into a round bun on her crown. She has George Floyd’s face on her T-shirt and an American flag bandana around her neck. One of her hands is raised in a fist, the other holds the hand of a young black boy next to her. Behind her, a crowd, some with fists also raised, carry signs with phrases like Our Lives Matter and Justice For All Now. 

According to Rolling Stone, they tasked the artist, Kadir Nelson, with creating something hopeful and inspirational and he “immediately thought of Eugène Delacroix’s ‘Liberty Leading the People,’ the iconic 1830 painting that depicts a woman leading the French Revolution.”

Regarding his choice to center a black woman in the piece, he explains: “The people who were pushing for those changes were African American women. They are very much at the forefront in spearheading this change, so I thought it was very important for an African American woman to be at the very center of this painting, because they have very much been at the center of this movement.”

During our call, I mention the painting and ask Fania her thoughts on why, so often, we find black women at the forefront of any social justice or human rights movement.

“Women have always organized,” she says simply. “Women work collectively, they run organizations.” She points to the church and organized religion as an example. 

“Look at the composition of church. Who’s going to church, who’s going to ask for help from God?”

Anyone who’s spent time in the houses of worship for a patriarchal religion has vivid memories of the very present men in the room. From the booming voices and squared shoulders of the pulpit to the stern, sometimes shaming looks of brothers, uncles, fathers. But the women, often more numerous, run the councils and the choirs. Around the world women pray more, attend church and are generally more religious. And the men?

“In a context of church, it’s really acceptable to ask for help from God. Because it’s God,” Fania says. “But you don’t have a lot of black men, a lot of men in any kind of church.”

That isn’t to say that men, especially black men, are complacent. Fania notes that traditional activism goes against the patriarchy’s narrow view of masculinity. 

Activism, she explains, requires one to acknowledge they’ve been a victim of a system before they can demand power. And for a lot of men, that’s not an option. 

“They want to be seen as strong,” she says. “As leaders. They want to exert control.”

In short, both black men and women acknowledge the system would have us powerless, but while women organize to collectively dismantle it, men tend to stake out on their own to dominate it. 

Black capitalism as resistance isn’t new, and was more prominent during the civil rights movement, which was largely led by men. In 1968, Roy Innis, co-national director for the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) opined, 

“We are past the stage where we can talk seriously of whites acting toward blacks out of moral imperatives.” While CORE’s other director, Floyd McKissick, reasoned, 

“If a Black man has no bread in his pocket, the solution to his problem is not integration; it’s to get some bread.”

More recently the dynamics of this played out in real time on Twitter as Telfar, a black, queer-owned fashion label, sent out notifications of a handbag restock only to be immediately descended upon by a group of largely black, male resellers. Telfar describes itself as affordable luxury for everyone, and for many of the black women who buy Telfar, it exists as proof that class and fashion need not be so inextricably linked. But for the men who bulk purchased the bags just to triple the price and resell, these were just more items to wring capital out of on their quest to buy a seat at the table. 

Of course, it’s not unreasonable to argue that the purchase of a product, regardless of who makes it, as a path to liberation is still black capitalism. And in another interview, Fania specifically warns against this type of consumption. “Neoliberal Afrofeminism is more focused on representation, making the elite more diverse, and integration. This kind of afrofeminism is very media compatible. Like great Konbini-style videos about hair, lack of shades of makeup, and [other forms of] commodification.” But, she explains, “The goal is a mass movement where our people are involved, not just passively or as consumers.” 

But can consumption be divorced from black liberation if it’s such a key aspect in how so many black people organize? I bring up all the calls to “buy black” that happened in the wake of George Floyd. Some of it could be attributed to the cabin-fever induced retail therapy we all engaged in during quarantine. And for those of us who, for whatever reason, were unable to add our bodies to a protest, money seemed like an easy thing to offer. Buy a candle. A tub of shea butter. A tube of lip gloss. But what did it all really accomplish, in retrospect?

“We have to think about solidarity,” Fania explains. “Solidarity is a project. When we say support black-owned business, we still have to think about the goal, the project. So if we support coffee shops, bookshops, hair dressers that have a special place in the community and are open to the community and in conversation with the community, it’s good and it can help. But if it’s just to make some individual black people richer, it’s really limited.”

Black capitalism vs anti-capitalism remains an ongoing debate, but shouldn’t be a distraction. In the end, everyone will contribute how they best see fit and we still share a common goal. Besides, we’ll need all hands on deck to best make use of our current momentum. And that’s something Fania underscores in one of the last points she makes during our conversation:

“Something we have to repeat to people is that these protests: keep doing them. Because you have years and years of organization behind you. People came out against police brutality and a week later we’re talking about how we move towards the abolition of police, how we go towards the abolition of prison. How we move towards the end of capitalism. And this is possible because you have a grassroots organization thinking about the question even when no one else was asking it. So now we have the New York Times and the media asking if these things are possible. But that’s because even when we didn’t have the spotlight, we were working on the questions about the world after. And every day radical organizations, black liberation organizations, are thinking about the world after and the end of this system. And when protests and revolts happen, we can get there and say ‘we have a plan for this.’”

[theclanscript]

the five keys to lee jooheon

⋈ pairing: jooheon x reader ⋈ word count: 4,058 ⋈ genre: fluff ⋈ notes: i was s t r u g g l i n g with this but finally it’s time for our sugar sugar honey ♥

1.      He doesn’t believe in taking things slow

Behind Lee Jooheon’s soft smile lies a sharp mind.

From the day you had met him, you had known that he was ambitious, confident, focused. His eyes had bent into dark crescents as they had studied your face and your movements without making you feel self-conscious. He had been sitting in a folding chair across from you near the river; the smell of smoke, grilled meat, and summer in the air. He was the friend of a friend – and even then you had thought that he seemed like he had many of those. Jooheon was approachable, easy-going, and so, so fun. It hadn’t felt like you were just getting to know him.

It had felt like you had known him all your life.

And just like old friends you had been far from running out of things to talk about even long after the sun had set and the fire had been reduced to weakly flickering ember. It had felt like you could have easily sat through the night and the rest of the weekend just talking to him. You had no inhibitions about telling him everything from mundane trivia about yourself over very personal anecdotes to long-forgotten memories that seemed to be ignited by his engaging personality and all the little and not so little stories about him he offered you in return – at some point, you had been almost convinced that Lee Jooheon himself was one of those memories; a part of your life that had always kind of been there, even when you hadn’t known it was.

Maybe that was why you hadn’t thought much of it when he had asked you out to dinner the next evening; it hadn’t felt rushed, in fact, it had felt like it would have been unreasonable to put even a single day between your first meeting and your first date. Like any more time spent apart would be time wasted.

And so, you had gone out with him.

He had asked you to make your relationship official one week later.

He had kissed you for the first time three seconds after you had said yes.

It had been two months since then, and every day you were more and more amazed by how well you worked together – and how readily you both worked for your relationship. Jooheon was busy, but he was reliable, devoted, never made you feel like you were not a priority. You had learned to be flexible, patient, and a little more romantic in your text messages than before. It didn’t feel like you were making many concessions, but of course people were people, and people had opinions.

You’re moving too fast.

You barely know the guy.

You’re taking care of his cats again?

You tried not to let it get to you, but unfortunately you were only human, too. Were you moving too fast? Jooheon had free access to your apartment and as for the boys’ dorm, you were welcome to come and go as you pleased – granted, meeting Kihyun and Minhyuk had felt more like FBI vetting rather than a casual first encounter, but apparently you had met their standards. As much as you wanted to remain skeptical and dreaded the idea that you may have been too naïve about this whole thing, try as you might you had not been able to spot any red flags.

It seemed like your relationship defied the laws of dating just like it had defied the laws of time.

The keypad beeped cooperatively before the door opened and you could hear Jooheon’s heavy footsteps in the hallway. You felt almost silly for the way your heart sped up and a smile spread across your face; the way your legs automatically carried you toward him so that he could greet you with a wide grin and a lingering kiss.

“Hey baby,” he mumbled as if he was telling you a secret.

“You’re early,” you replied, standing in the dimness of the unlit hallway.

“Yeah, we’re going to finish recording tomorrow because Kihyun’s having trouble with his throat.” Jooheon set down his bag, hung up his jacket, and kicked the sneakers off his feet. “How was your day?”

“Quiet,” you said and smiled at him. You didn’t mind the quiet, you didn’t mind being alone – but you much preferred Jooheon.

“That’s nice, you deserve some relaxation.” He gently put a hand on top of your head and pressed his lips to your hairline. “Hey, I have a question for you.”

“Then I suggest you ask it.”

“Do you want to meet my mom next week?”

You looked up to stare at him. Suddenly, the walls felt very narrow. Suddenly, his hand felt very heavy.

Suddenly, two months seemed very short.

“Well, you look uncomfortable,” he said nervously, half trying to sound joking, half plainly commenting on your anxious expression. You reached in front of you to knead the hem of his sweater between your fidgety fingers, fixing your eyes on your own hands.

“Don’t you think it’s a little early for that? Wouldn’t that be a little – fast?”

“No,” he shot back so quickly your movements stopped and you raised your gaze again to meet his eyes.

“How can you be so sure?”

“One good thing about meeting tons of people all the time is that you learn to read them pretty well. You meet many people you hate on sight, people you can be civil with, people you like well enough, people you kind of vibe with.” He leaned in a little to look at you intently. “But you do not meet many people that make you forget heat and humidity, mosquitoes and every single person around you – especially not ones that are as goddamn beautiful as you are. Those people are special.” He gave you a tentative peck on the lips. “You are special.”

“Really?” you pressed, your hands now calmly resting on his hips.

“Baby, trust me on this” he grinned and moved even closer to tightly wrap his arms around you. “I will be truly surprised if we don’t end up staying together for a very, very long time.”

And so, you did. You decided to believe in Lee Jooheon’s sharp mind, in his loving words and reassuring touch, and his intuition.

But most of all, you decided to believe in your own.

2.      He is a little jealous (and not afraid to show it)

“Go on, do it.”

“No!”

“Do it, you coward!”

Minhyuk laughed and somehow managed to shoulder you in the arm without losing control of the virtual car he was driving – or rather, the virtual cart.

“Just use the shell, see if it helps,” you kept taunting him, knowing full well that he would most likely overtake you if he gave in to your pestering. But what was a gamble without a good bluff.

You were seated on the floor of the dorm’s living room, your backs resting against the sofa. At first, you had actually sat on it, but soon the heat of the competition had caused you to slide down the leather and closer to the action – that was, the TV on the wall a few feet in front of you.

You had been supposed to meet Jooheon here, but something had come up at the studio and somehow you had found yourself talking to, and shortly after, being challenged by Minhyuk. The stakes were high. The loser would have to go out in the freezing cold to buy pizza for everyone. Delivery services were strictly against the rules.

And both of you were hungry.

“Come on, Minhyuk,” you teased. “Don’t hold back. Come out of your shell.”

“God, I wish I could strangle you with the controller cable.”

“What do you think this is, 2001?”

“How do you think we charge these babies?”

“Point,” you replied and grinned devilishly. “And now, Lee Minhyuk. Farewell.”

You heard a gasp next to you as you released the blue shell Minhyuk hadn’t even noticed you got along the way – apparently, he had been too wrapped up in nerdy murder fantasies. As a result, his cart got launched into the air and you easily won the game, causing him to basically riot.

“What the-“ he yelled, jumping up and putting one foot up on the sofa, his whale tattoo staring you comically in the face. “You distracted me! I demand a rematch!”

“I won fair and square,” you shrugged, smiling up at him innocently. “I like pepperoni. Please.”

“You-“ Minhyuk started, reaching for you with both hands as if to choke you when you heard someone enter the room.

“What are you guys doing?” Jooheon was standing next to the sofa, his frown giving away the fact that he had not picked up on the harmless playfulness of the situation – or maybe that was exactly what had soured his mood. He moved around the short part of the sectional and hovered above the both of you, thinly veiled jealousy and possessiveness clouding his dark eyes.

You deliberate chose a soothing tone. “We just-“ you tried to explain, but Minhyuk cut you off.

“Your wench cheated at Mario Kart.”

Jooheon blinked, confused. By now you were used to his bouts of jealously – it wasn’t that he suspected you of possibly getting romantically involved with anyone else – especially not the other members – or that he didn’t trust you. It was more of a fundamental state of jealousy triggered whenever he was reminded of the fact that he wasn’t able to spend every waking minute with you; that you laughed with and talked to and existed in the world of other people, and that he missed so much of that. He never picked fights or threw a fit over these kinds of situations, but he had yet to learn to control his childish poutiness.

“What?”

“Your girlfriend cheated,” Minhyuk conceded and crossed his arms in front of his chest, his scandalized expression almost making you laugh. You had to give it to him – he knew how to play Jooheon like a fiddle. Nothing could have soothed your boyfriend quite like reassuring him that you were his – and that you had beaten Minhyuk’s ass at Mario Kart.

“I did no such thing!” you protested, looking up at Jooheon from your spectator spot on the floor. “I swear, baby.”

“If you wish to restore her honor, grant me my revanche – mano a mano!”

This time, Minhyuk’s dramatics did make you laugh. You climbed onto the couch to let Jooheon quite literally take your place, placing your legs on either side of him and watching him and his friend battle out who would have to get dinner.

It became obvious very soon that Jooheon was going to lose the race, but he did not care. How could he with your arms around his neck and your laughter in his ears.

Who, he thought, is the real winner here?

3.      He loves rituals

As irregular and busy as his schedule was, there were certain little rituals Jooheon insisted the two of you maintain. Maybe it brought some stability into his whirlwind lifestyle, maybe it was another effort on his part to reinforce the importance of you in his life.

Maybe he simply liked everything that was only yours and his, little things the world didn’t know about or had any part in.

Whatever it was, it had left both of you with a collection of keychains from every place you had gone separately, regardless of whether it was Brazil or Wolmido. It had left you with dozens of airport selfies, hundreds of goodnight texts, and thousands of precious memories, some of which had started to fade away a little, but that would always be there.

And most importantly, it had left you with countless hello and goodbye kisses – Jooheon’s favorite tradition. He made it a point to get in a smooch whenever you met, even if you had already seen each other earlier that day, and he refused to leave without his kiss.

Today, though, he had forgotten. Or you had – you weren’t sure. You had been running late to get to the airport for a trip to Japan and everything had been pure chaos. Your bag had only been half-packed, your passport had been god-knows-where (nightstand drawer under the physical copy of his mixtape Jooheon had made you), and you had been near tears, which in turn had sent Jooheon into caretaker mode. He had pushed you down onto a chair at the kitchen table to get you to eat the sandwich he had made you and drink a cup of coffee while he had finished shoving the clothes you had lain out for the trip into your bag, putting it into the hallway next to the shoes you were going to wear – along with the purse that had your passport on it – and calling a cab for you. Still chewing, you had thanked him and grabbed your things and hurried downstairs when the driver had called to say he was outside.

And so, you had forgotten the kiss.

You had half a mind to jump out of the car and run back upstairs, but the cab was already moving so you just sank back into the seat, feeling like crying all over again.

You had never realized how much those little rituals meant to you. You missed them already.

You missed Jooheon already.

It had been over three years with him, but you were still just as in love with him as ever. Your heart still started beating faster at the thought of him, and your legs still automatically carried you toward him, anywhere, anytime. The thought of him alone was enough to make you smile. Even now, your relationship was still transcending time.

It felt like no time had passed at all. And yet, now more than ever, it felt like you had known him all your life.

You couldn’t imagine a life without Lee Jooheon – past, present, and future.

When the car stopped at a red light, you reached for your phone to call him, but froze when the door was torn open from outside. A panting and grinning Jooheon stuck his head into the cab, wordlessly took your face between his large hands, and kissed you so deeply, the driver awkwardly started playing with the GPS.

“Have a safe trip, baby,” Jooheon mumbled after he had broken the kiss, as if he was telling you a secret. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Lee Jooheon.”

He seemed momentarily confused at the graveness of your voice and you using his full name. Then he beamed at you, quickly kissed you again, and wiggled his body out of the car to close the door. He stood at the side of the street waving until he couldn’t see the taxi anymore.

Then he turned around and set his plan in motion.

4.      He likes to show you off

Jooheon was leaning with his back against a wall, a glass of champagne in his hand, his neck sweating beneath the tight collar of his white dress shirt. In front of him, Kihyun and Minhyuk were bickering about something or other, but he was barely listening. The large venue reminded him of a ballroom from movies; the decoration was delicate and flawless, all the people were dressed to the nines, and the music was fast enough to dance to, but pleasant enough that it didn’t interfere with people’s conversations. It was the perfect setting. The perfect day.

The perfect woman.

You were talking to someone Jooheon didn’t know on the other side of the room. You were more beautiful than all the flowers in the room, more vibrant than all the colorful dresses around you.

Brighter than the sun had been that afternoon when you had said yes.

Three seconds later, Jooheon had kissed his wife for the first time.

The reception was going great. You had been apprehensive about a big wedding at first, but Jooheon had quickly made all your financial, logistic, and personal worries disappear. His reason for wanting a big party was as simple as it was childish – he wanted to make you happy, of course, to make it the best day of your life. But just as much, he wanted to show to as many people as possible, to everyone he knew and everyone you knew, that he was with the most gorgeous, wonderful person on earth.

And that, somehow, he had gotten her to marry him.

Fortunately, everything had worked out and you seemed to be enjoying your special day. Jooheon smirked. He had known two hours into meeting you that you were his forever. Of course, he hadn’t told you then.

Even Lee Jooheon didn’t move that fast.

He had told you three years, two months, and eighteen days later, on a warm day somewhere between summer and fall, over the sound of a crackling BBQ fire near a river; just you and him and a ring he had had custom-made so you would always remember. So his promise would never become a distant thing of the past, a long-forgotten memory.

Forever.

Jooheon stood up straight when he noticed you looking around, scanning, searching. He knew what you were searching. No matter how many people were around, no matter who was around, there was only ever one person you were looking for.

Him.

“I’ll be right back,” he lied to Kihyun and Minhyuk and wedged his body through the small space between the two to walk across the room. As he got closer, he took in the white dress, the artfully styled hair, and the familiar face that he felt he had known all his life.

The face he wanted to wake up next to for the rest of his life.

You smiled when you met his eyes and waited until Jooheon was standing in front of you.

“I was just going to go look for you,” you said.

“I know,” Jooheon answered and took your hand to pull you toward the dancefloor. A slow song had started playing, so he pulled you close; one hand on your back, the other holding onto your left hand. He started moving you to the melody of the song, so naturally, so calmly, so effortlessly.

“You knew?” you teased and gave him a fake scolding look. “Were you surveilling me?”

Jooheon chuckled. “No,” he whispered, as if he was telling you a secret. “It’s just that I can’t take my eyes off of you.”

You blushed a little and moved to slap him on the shoulder, but Jooheon caught your hand again and brought it to his lips, kissing each pad of every finger so slowly, so tenderly, your face started burning with embarrassment and happiness.

“Jooheon,” you hissed. “The people!”

“People?” He pulled you flush against his body, the wicked grin matching the look in his eyes. “What people?”

When he kissed you, it was as if the world around you fell away, vanished, leaving behind only you and Jooheon; and then, you only had each other.

And it was all you really needed.

5.      He loves with more than he’s got

The house was quiet and dark when you stepped through the door. It was only the afternoon, so you figured Jooheon must have gone out. You weren’t supposed to come back for another couple of hours, so maybe he had used the time to get some fresh air.

He had been cooped up in his studio for the better part of three weeks now, although he made sure to be home in time for dinner every day. Sometimes he had to head back right after, sometimes he waited until you had fallen asleep before sneaking out and returning to work. Rarely had you woken up to him next to you in bed during that time.

It had started to wear on you.

Finally, you had snapped; indelicately telling him that you were going insane in the house and that you needed some time outside, some time for yourself. Jooheon had been understanding and apologetic, and you had almost felt bad.

Almost.

It wasn’t his fault that his job was keeping him busy, and in many ways it was a good thing. But soon, a decision on his part would have to be made.

You were a little afraid of how he was going to choose.

Yawning, you walked toward the bedroom to get some more comfortable clothes; you were determined to seem like relaxation personified when Jooheon came home. The truth was, your day off – your day alone – had not quite gone as expected. The Seoul summer was sticky and miserable, your dress was clinging to your sweaty body. But that was not the problem. There was something that you hadn’t been able to anticipate and it had hit you like a blue shell on the subway somewhere between City Hall and Dongdaemun.

You sighed, opened the bedroom door – and almost wept at the sight. Jooheon was lying on his back, passed out on the bed, snoring lightly. One arm was lodged under his head, the other was safely cradling your daughter who was also fast asleep, snuggled into his side. Gingerly, you walked over to the bed and took a few seconds to appreciate the scene, the moment, and your heart soared at the love you felt for your husband.

You thought you had wanted quiet, thought you had wanted to be alone – but you much preferred Jooheon.

Much preferred your family.

You felt a pang of guilt. Jooheon was working so hard for you and his kid every day; he was stressed, exhausted, torn between the two things that meant the world to him. But he had still made the time to stay home for one day so you could get a break. You smiled and snapped a quick photo.

Behind Lee Jooheon’s soft smile lay a sharp mind.

And a little underneath that mind beat the kindest, bravest, most loving heart you had ever known.

Carefully, you lay down next to him and inched toward the side that was not occupied by a three-month-old. You reached out to put your hand on his chest to feel beating of the heart you had fallen in love with many years ago and that you would love until yours stopped forever.

“Baby?” Jooheon mumbled and turned his head to look at you; his arm automatically wrapping around you to pull you close.

“Sshh, it’s okay. Just sleep. I’ll watch her.”

“No, it’s okay, I’ve got her.” He seemed to find his bearings a little, glancing at the sleeping child before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “What time is it? Why are you home already?”

You hid your face in the fabric of his hoodie to hide your blush. “I missed you.”

“Aw, baby,” he chuckled, half teasing, half touched. “I missed you, too. I miss both of you.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, your hand still firmly covering the spot where you could feel his heartbeat. “You gotta do what you gotta do, babe.”

There was a brief silence, the only sound being the rhythmic breathing of your daughter as Jooheon idly caressed your arm.

“The album should be done in a couple of weeks,” he finally said. “I’ve already given my notice. I’m going on hiatus.”

You swallowed, letting the words hang in the air between you for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I need a break. I need my family. I hate missing all this time with you.”

“Yeah,” you replied. “All the Mario Kart we play without you, baby. You’d be furious if you knew.”

“Funny,” he pouted, childishly, a habit he still hadn’t discarded. You tilted your head upward to kiss his jawline.

“We should go somewhere when you’re done. To celebrate. Just the two of us. Only for a day or so.”

“Sounds good,” Jooheon agreed and then lowered his voice, as if he was telling you a secret. “How about BBQ?”

You laughed softly and snuggled deeper into his side, and soon you were drifting off into sleep, enveloped by the happiness of the moment, dreams of the future, and long-forgotten memories of moments of a relationship that had stood the test of time.

[welcometothemusic]

Shopping during Reopening

Shopping Experience During the Pandemic

Remember the times when shopping in stores, malls and grocery outlets were so simple and convenient? Going into your local grocer or retail outlet was a blissful, quick and an escape from the everyday lives of many. Shopping for guitars, music gear and used music stuff was my outlet. I would spend hours, literally hours, looking for the perfect tone of a guitar, amp and guitar shaping pedals. I would stop in to buy new guitar strings at my local Long and McQuade and end up trying random guitars, amps and pedals. Instead of buying my strings, I would end up playing my original music, and older originals I’ve performed with past bands, on brand new gear. Ah yes, the music store was a buffet of musical and social dopamine, derived from experience and conversation.

During that time, shopping was also a social event, where you can talk about life, music, gigs, past gigs and future endeavours with the music store staff. Learning new tone tips, gig recommendations, music venue reviews, the latest gear trends and balancing music with family life were my topics of choice. Watching more talented and technical musicians play in L & M was extremely motivational, as a guitarist always dreams to play better. Watching the elite guitarists, play the most complicated riffs with relative ease gave me the desire to woodshed as soon as I got home. The safety net of touching everything, talking with everyone and sitting in a store for hours was beautiful, as there were no concerns for catching anything with a potentially life-threatening virus.

Do you remember when the shopping experience felt safe, secure and stress relieving? Those days existed only a few months ago since the pandemic of 2020. Now, the shopping experience is a whole new animal. Preparation to leave the house, travel to the city, take extra precautions for safety and distancing is unpleasant, to say the least. For some, the new shopping experience turned into a danger zone, where threats of the virus lurk on every potential surface, within each potential person and attached to every item you bring home. Horrible, nonetheless. For others, the shopping experience remained the same, as they take little to no precautions, and/or live their lives as if there was no pandemic. Hats off to everyone, wherever they are in their opinion on this virus and how it reflects in their everyday lives. Things have certainly changed.

There is another grey area that I back burn, or pay less attention to, when it comes to everyday shopping experiences. A part of my life I rarely share online or with others, for the sake of the topic being “too negative”, “racializing” or because I’ve been told to “get over it” by others. The area I am referring to is shopping while Indigenous. Here in Canada, it is no secret that Indigenous People are discriminated against on a systemic level and personally within our day-to-day lives. The notion of Shopping While Indigenous dates back long before the Pandemic was thought to be a threat to humanity. We know that we have to be hyper aware of our surroundings when shopping in malls, stores or grocery stores for our own liability. For instance, when we walk into a store with a bag, backpack or an item in our hands, we better have a receipt or keep the items in plain sight of the store employees, just in case. This dates back to Western Times (1800s-1900s) when “Indians” were seen as “thieves”, “Savages” and “Heathens” by Non-Indigenous settlers. The mentality carried over into modern times, as we are still seen as thieves or less human than others. An example of discrimination against Indigenous customers, which happens more than it is reported, is when a Canadian Tire employee in Regina, Saskatchewan accused of stealing, without evidence or proof (CBC News). The Indigenous shopper was wrongfully kicked out of the store and later went public with his experience. Again, these are not isolated incidents and an appropriate age of the accused is not considered. For instance, a 7-year old Indigenous girl was accused of shop lifting a key chain and was forced to publicly empty her pockets (CTV News Winnipeg). These types of incidents, and many more, show that there is a bias towards Indigenous people while shopping in Canada.

In my own personal experience, I have been kicked out of malls for not having cash on my person; I have been kicked out of restaurants for complaining about a long hair in my food and told to pay for the meal; I have been followed by floor walkers in 80% of my shopping experiences, while Non-Indigenous shoppers are ignored by staff; I have had my shopping bags searched upon arrival and departure of a store in the past. Another factor to consider is, as an Indigenous person, the fear of the anti-theft devices wrongfully going off as you go through them are always present. Yes, lots of people can go through the anti-theft device and it wrongfully go off, which would be seen as not a big deal. Often, people are shoed through the door without a search or care. It has been my experience that the door greeter of the store will instantly come towards me, and or other Indigenous People and ask to see a receipt. This might be store protocol, but the manner in which the request of the receipt, or the searching of shopping cart/bags is done as if something was stolen. Don’t get me wrong, there has been times when I’ve got the “ok” to proceed through the machines, but the lingering feeling of needing to show a receipt to avoid an unnecessary police call is always present.

There is clearly a sense of cynicism coming from many front-line store staff, when it comes being an Indigenous shopper. Allow me to clarify that these bad apples do not represent the entire front-line service workers, nor am I saying that I believe this attitude exists with all store staff. I have been in many situations where I walk into a retail store, clothing store or a mall store and receive a forced smile, followed by a small “hello”. From there, I notice a non-Indigenous shopper walk in and that same worker greets them with a lit-up face, and a proper greeting, asking them if they needed anything. I agree, this could have been just a random moment where I caught the store worker at a bad time, so, I would keep a close ear to eliminate any bias I might have. The next non-Indigenous customer walks in, sure enough, they receive a warm greeting with a welcoming smile. In many cases, I would select my item and head for the till. The worker begins to bag my items and starts with the standard store script of “did you find everything ok?”. I would answer, “Yes, thank you”, and try to engage in awkward small talk. The store employee would then say thank you, with the same cynicism as when I entered the store. Normally I go about my day, and think nothing of the behaviour, as it already seemed normalized to me. However, I began to try a personal test of my potential bias with these encounters, by walking out slowly and browsing. Once another non-Indigenous shopper followed up to the till behind me, I clearly notice that they do not have that same cynicism with the other shoppers that they have had with me. I would leave the store and carry on with my life. This type of shopping experience happens a lot to me in such stores, but I never really voice my concerns to the manager or supervisor. Again, I do not want to give the impression that this experience happens to me all time at every store, as I have had amazing service from places that I now make part of my shopping routine.

Since the COVID 19 Pandemic, our malls reopened at minimal capacity. My partner and I wanted to experience shopping again, as three months of lockdown was really arduous on us. We walked into two separate hot-spot shopping malls in Regina, Saskatchewan. What a strange difference. The malls were empty with very few people browsing and shopping. The earie sense of abandonment filled the entire building, as if many retailers made a “midnight move”, leaving empty shells. We would walk by abandoned restaurants and store buildings and take a peek inside the dark, vacant shells. Memories flood in of a time when those stores were filled with people, energy and life. Now, empty.

On a positive note, the attitude and environment has changed to a completely new atmosphere. Since the pandemic caused so much unfortunate hardship on businesses, the stores seem to give a more welcoming feel to their environment. When we shop in stores that normally ignore us as customers, we are greeted much like a person stranded on an island for months had finally seen civilization for the first time. This is new for me. Most big label stores wouldn’t look twice at me, as if they knew that I didn’t have money or planned to browse and leave (in most cases I couldn’t afford to shop there to being with). Now, I am treated like a valued customer. I feel as if my dollar counts and my presence is appreciated as a customer. The experience is so foreign to me, that I began to buy items I would never think to buy, because I actually now feel like a valued customer. I am very impressed with the attention to safety and concern for the well-being of their customers.

Overall, our experience in the malls are different in a great way. If there is one thing that this pandemic has taught me, it is the value of people and how important they are to us, especially front line workers. Even though I had a sour taste in my mouth for shopping in the past, I am thankful to the front-line staff for their bravery to be at work everyday, throughout these trying times. I have a whole new respect for the front-line staff at these stores. The same kind of respect I would direct towards our military and veterans. I no longer test my and the store workers’ biases while shopping. I admire their bravery and wonder if they are as frightened to be out in public as I am, because of COVID. I reflect on the fact that they have to be there 8-12 hours a day, constantly serving people, putting their lives at risk, to sell products for a store that may not offer danger pay. I then wonder how they feel when they get home after a shift. I wonder if they have a decontamination routine like I do. They cross my mind from time to time and I hope and pray that they and their families are safe. Hats off to all of you workers. Ekosi

References

Agahi, E (2016) CTV News: Security company apologizes to 7-year-old after false shoplifting accusations. Web. Date Accessed: June 24, 2020. Accessed from: https://winnipeg.ctvnews.ca/security-company-apologizes-to-7-year-old-after-false-shoplifting-accusations-1.3221543

Cowan, M (2017) CBC News: Canadian Tire apologizes after Indigenous customer thrown out of Regina store: 'If we were white and walked into the store, this would not have happened,' says Indigenous man. Web. Date Accessed: June 24, 2020. Accessed From: https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/saskatchewan/confrontation-canadian-tire-regina-1.4224714

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

Assassin’s Greed: The Story of Charles Guiteau

My favorite historical figure has got to be presidential assassin Charles Guiteau, a person you’ve likely never heard of.  You probably know John Wilkes Booth and Lee Harvey Oswald, but Guiteau (pronounced get-oh) is not a household name.  Where Booth and Oswald shot famous presidents, Guiteau shot James Garfield, who had served for only four months at the time and is best known for having been assassinated.  Guiteau was cartoonishly twisted, with delusions of grandeur and a Type A god complex.  He believed himself to be faultless, guiltless, a renaissance man, a master political advisor, and perhaps even the Third Coming of Christ (yes, third; you’ll see what I mean below).  His life story sounds like something scripted to be as pathetic and conceited as possible, and it would be funny were it not so tragic.

So come with me on an adventure back to the gay old days of the 19th century, so we can delve into the mind of America’s least favorite assassin.  Strap in, cause this is a long one.

Charles Julius Guiteau was born in 1841 to a family of French descent (you may have been able tell because he’s an -eau).  Despite this, it is important to remember that he never learned to speak a word of French.  Keep that in mind.  He flunked out of school because he never felt the need to study for any exams.  He was convinced he already had perfect knowledge on any given subject, “why fix what ain’t broken?”

In 1860, he joined a cult because his dad was friends with the leader.  (Side note: this cult would later dissolve when a tornado destroyed their headquarters, transforming into a company that made spoons.  This has nothing to do with the story, I just thought it was funny). This cult coined the phrase “free love,” which at the time just meant everyone was allowed, nay, encouraged, to bone everyone else; older women were ordered to act as “sexual mentors” for adolescent boys because they were the least likely to conceive. It was messed up.  The cult also thought that Jesus had already come a second time, in 70 AD, so they had free reign on Earth to do whatever they wanted with no consequences.  The end of days had come and gone, so it was smooth sailing from here on out.

Guiteau idolized the cult leader, believing him to be the perfect man in every way.  The cult leader however believed Guiteau was unstable and unfit for the community.  Do you know how messed up you have to be to get kicked out of a cult?  People were so put off by his behavior that they gave him the nickname “Charles Get-Out,” and when he sued the leader for mistreatment his dad wrote a long apology letter saying “I’m sorry my son’s a weirdo, please don’t think less of me for it.”

He became a lawyer by sheer blind luck, barely passing his bar exam because he just so happened to work as a clerk at the Chicago law firm in question.  He lost the one and only case he argued in court, and spent the rest of his career as a corrupt bill collector.  He short-changed all of his clients, overcharging and under-refunding, pocketing the difference before skipping town to avoid the police.  He did this often, hopping from town to town and leaving right before they could run him out on a rail.

In 1872 he endorsed Horace Greeley for president against incumbent Ulysses S. Grant; both men were Republicans, but Greeley caucused with the southern Democrats and became their nominee.  He lost in a landslide, and died less than a month after the election, but again, that’s not important to the story.  What is important is that Guiteau was convinced that had Greeley become president, he would have rewarded Guiteau’s endorsement with a federal appointment.  Guiteau was just some schmuck, a nobody, but he believed that his approval was somehow the most important thing a candidate could receive, and that they would be undyingly grateful for it.

Guiteau believed that he was ordained by God to spread His word, and so concluded that his own word was therefore the word of God.  He tried to start his own cult, plagiarizing the text from the cult leader he idolized, but it never got off the ground.  In 1877 he was on a boat that collided with another; theirs sunk, but his made it back to port, so he was further convinced that his life had been spared for a higher purpose.  If Christ had come again in 70 AD, Guiteau believed he had returned for the Third time this very day.  At this point, his dad thought he was possessed by the devil.

You could say they didn’t exactly see eye to eye.

1880 comes along, he’s been embezzling and stealing even more money from even more cities, avoiding consequences all the while, and decides to once again throw his hat in the ring of politics.  He endorses Grant for a third nonconsecutive term, despite having “campaigned” against him in 1872.  Guitaeu changed his mind with Orwellian confidence, “oh, I always supported Grant, Greeley was destined to lose, I knew it and actually did my best to make sure his campaign floundered, I was always looking out for my main man Ulysses!”

Guiteau handed out leaflets and gave a speech endorsing Grant to basically no one; he may as well have just stood on a street corner shouting his opinion at passersby.  Grant lost the nomination to one Congressman James Garfield, so Guiteau took the leaflets, crossed out Grant’s name, wrote in Garfield’s, and continued passing them out. The rest of the text remained the same though, so it made no sense, praising Garfield for leading the Union Army to victory during the Civil War, and saying he deserved a third term despite this being his first time running.  Garfield won the presidency, and Guiteau was absolutely convinced that it was because of his leaflets.  “What else could it have been?”

March 1881: Being wholly responsible for Garfield’s election, he starts writing him fan letters singing his own praise.  “As you already know, I got you elected (you’re welcome, by the way).  I did this out of the kindness of my heart, and all I ask in return, all I feel I deserve, is an ambassadorship.  France will do nicely, I’ve always wanted to live in Paris!”  As you remember, he can’t speak a word of French, “but I can learn on the job!  I’m the best at learning things, but I’m sure you already know that about me.  I look forward to our partnership. Your biggest fan, Charles.”

No word from the president, but Guiteau doesn’t worry.  He just writes more letters.  “Didn’t hear back from you, don’t know if you read my first letter, but just in case you didn’t, I’ll recap; you won because of me, I’m ready for my federal job whenever you are.  Thanks and you’re welcome.  Your smartest and most qualified fan, Charles.”

Still nothing.  He moved to Washington, DC and became a homeless vagrant.  He went from house to house, spending a night, eating the food, then leaving before rent was due; classic Guiteau!  The White House kept ignoring his letters, so he decided to take matters into his own hands and personally confront the Secretary of State.  “I’m sure you’ve read my correspondences, you know my qualifications, I am ready to go to Paris, just say the word.”

“Oh my God, we’re not giving you a federal job, stop writing us letters, leave the president alone, you’re a total nutjob.”

Guiteau was heartbroken.  He couldn’t understand how Garfield could be such an ingrate!  “I gave everything for that man, I sacrificed so much, and this is how he thanks me? I campaigned for him, I gave speeches, I handed out, like, so many leaflets!”  He felt ignored, he felt BETRAYED.  “How dare he? How DARE he?!?  He owes me! He’s got to be the least considerate person on the planet!  I put him office, I-”  At this, he had a horrible realization.  “Oh my God, I put him in office... He’s only there because of me... It’s all my fault!  I gave this bastard the key to the White House... I gave him the nuclear codes!” [Guiteau was again misinformed, because nuclear weapons wouldn’t be invented for another 64 years]  “I’ve created a monster!  I put him there, and only I can take him out!  I need to assassinate President Garfield.”

And so the pieces begin to fall into place.

He borrows money from his brother-in-law to buy a gun at a pawn shop.  He believed God was telling him to kill the president; either that or he was telling God that the president needed to die and was just giving Him a heads up.  At the pawnshop he specifically chose an expensive revolver with an ivory handle because he thought it would look better in the display case of the museum they would eventually build for him.  He even managed to haggle down the price one whole dollar (about $26 today, so good on him, master deal maker).

July 2, 1881.  President Garfield arrived at a train station in DC, and Guiteau is there waiting for him. He had no body guard because this was the 1880s, and nobody thought someone would be crazy enough to shoot the president in peacetime.  The only government employee present with Garfield was the Secretary of War, a young man by the name of Robert Todd Lincoln.  Yes, that Robert Todd Lincoln, son of Abraham, the first and so far only president to be assassinated.  And he got to witness the second, firsthand.

Guiteau shot Garfield twice, but only wounded him; he fell to the ground, bleeding but very much alive.  Despite this, Guiteau was confident the job was done. “Don’t worry everyone, you don’t need to panic, the tyrant is dead, you can thank me later.”  The police ran at him, “officers, please, take the former president’s body away, it’s bleeding all over the train station. He’s as much a nuisance dead as he was alive, am I right?  Wait, why do you have those batons?”  The tackled him to the ground, as police are wont to do to people who shoot the president.  “Okay, o-ho-ho-kay, I get it, you guys need to put on a show for the crowds. I understand, I shouldn’t have used a gun in public, I should’ve waited until I could had him alone, I get it, you don’t need to be so rough with me. Listen, just talk to President Arthur, he’ll have my back, I just put him in office, he’ll vouch for me, it’s cool.”

Garfield lived for two more months, wasting away in agony from infection because his doctors didn’t even think about washing their hands.  They would poke around his bullet holes with their fingers to fish out fragments, poking organs, tearing muscle, just making it much worse than it needed to be.  Garfield may have survived if they had just left him alone; years later, Teddy Roosevelt would be similarly shot, and survived with the bullet in his chest for seven years.  Garfield died on September 19, 1881, at which point Guiteau was officially charged with murder.

Being a lawyer, he wanted to represent himself in court, but he was appointed a public defender instead.  The defender quit after a week because Guiteau was impossible to work with, so his brother-in-law came on as his new lawyer; he wasn’t a criminal defense lawyer, just another bill collector like Guiteau, he was literally the only person willing to help him out for free.  Guiteau claimed he was not guilty by reason of insanity, that God had possessed him, simply using his body as an avatar and smite Garfield.  “It was divine intervention, nothing could be done to stop it, it was out of my hands.”

He made a mockery of the trial, cursing at everyone from the judge to the jury to his own lawyer to the crowd.  He ignored his lawyer and started asking courtroom spectators for their advice, he wrote his testimony in the form of poems and delivered them to the captive audience.  He reveled in being the center of attention, ignoring the fact that literally everyone hated him for killing the president.  He expected a swift acquittal, and started planning his own campaign for president for 1884, “President Arthur owes me for putting him in office, so I’m sure he’ll step aside and let me run in his place, it’s the least he could do.  Maybe I’ll choose him as my running mate, I haven’t decided yet.”

January 1882, he was found guilty and sentenced to death, to which he responded by calling the jury a bunch of “consummate jackasses” (and yes, that’s the real, actual quote, no joke).  He was dragged out of the court, screaming obscenities at everyone within earshot.  He wasn’t worried though, because he was convinced Arthur would pardon him.

In jail, he composed more poems singing his praise, “Ding dong, the witch is dead!  Which old witch? The Garfield witch! Ding dong, the Garfield witch is dead!”  Arthur didn’t pardon him, so he called him an even worse ingrate than Garfield; Guiteau tried to appeal his case so he could shoot Arthur too, but it was rejected for obvious reasons.

June 30, 1882, he is led to the gallows to be hanged.  For his last words, he delivered yet another poem, this time an epic ballad about how he was now leaving this mortal coil to return to the kingdom of Heaven.  Entitled “I am going to the Lordy,” it had a second or third grade reading level, with lines like “I wonder what I’ll do when I get to the Lordy?” and “I saved the party, glory Hallelujah.”  He wanted to have a full orchestra come and give the piece musical accompaniment, but the jail told him no, again for obvious reasons.  He didn’t even write music for it, he just thought it was so inspiring that the orchestra would know exactly what he intended and improvise something great.

He read the poem out loud to the crowd gathered to see him die, and was so overcome by how good it was that he broke down crying multiple times, “I’m such a genius!”  He may or may not have done a little jig to go along with it, as you do when delivering the world’s greatest poem about the world’s greatest man.

Black hood, noose, trapdoor, neck snap, dead.

The jail refused to turn over his body to his family because they were too poor for a proper burial service (he had wasted all of their money on his defense).  An autopsy showed that he was unable to retract his foreskin, so doctors theorized that was what drove him crazy enough to kill the president.  Gotta love 19th century psychology; Freud has been largely discredited in 2019, but in 1882 he wasn’t even credited yet, he was just some random doctor, not famous for anything.

The warden sold pieces of Guiteau’s noose as souvenirs, and eventually disinterred the corpse to donate to a museum so people could pay money to see the man who shot the president.  They cut out his brain to figure out what was wrong with him; one of its membranes was thicker than normal, possibly syphilitic, and modern medical professionals debate over which topical mental illness he likely had (some say schizophrenia, most agree that Narcissistic Personality Disorder had a huge part to play).  They also spit-polished his skeleton and turned it into a dummy to hang up in the corner of a science class, but for some reason they hid it away in a storage room rather than giving it to a university as intended.

And so ends the story of Charles Julius Guiteau.  He was a man without reason, without honor, without a lick of common sense or self-awareness.  I feel bad for him because despite how horrible a person he was, he was clearly sick and needed help at a time when no such help existed.  His life story is comical and tragic.  He’ll never be as well known as John Wilkes Booth or Lee Harvey Oswald, and that’s probably for the best.  A fitting end for a narcissist, to be mostly forgotten by history.

His gun isn’t even in a museum, the police eventually misplaced it.  And I’m sure THAT is what he’d be most mad about today.

[kcwcommentary]

VLD5x05 – “Bloodlines”

5x05 – “Bloodlines”

This is another episode full of inconsistent writing. It’s inconsistent not just from one episode to the next, but also inconsistent within just itself. I feel such frequent inconsistencies in the writing is significantly the fault of Tim Hedrick as the show’s Story Editor. Maybe I’m wrong, but I would think that that job title would come with the responsibility to organize, inform, and edit the writing of each episode so that it remains consistent. In interviews, the staff of the show have talked about the show’s writing process including receiving notes from various parties and making revisions, but so many of these episodes feel like they were made off of a first draft script.

As much the inconsistency of writing is my biggest complaint about this episode, the behavior of Lance, Hunk, and Pidge in their final scene in this episode really disturbs me.

We start with Sam is getting ready to leave on a shuttle and head home to Earth. Shiro jokingly tells Sam to tell Iverson he’s “going to kick [his] butt for strapping [him] to that table,” seemingly referencing the first episode when Shiro returned to Earth after his year in captivity. This feels so weird because Iverson, what little we’ve seen of him to this point in the show, is not someone I would think as being the kind of person who would be receptive to a joke like this.

Hunk gives Sam some messages he had everyone record to be given to family back home. I really like this touch, and I like that Hunk specifies his message is for his mom only. This is the 44th episode of the show, and we mostly only know about Pidge’s family. There’s been some of Allura’s relationship with her father and a little with Keith’s dad (though that was a hallucination). We really should know more than we do about their families by now. Sigh, the show has Hunk joke about how Lance’s message is probably just flirtation to a girl. It clearly bothers Lance, and Hunk responds, “I was just joking around.” Personally, I severely hate that phrase because of how often people who say it use it as a way to dismiss a person’s clear dislike of how they’re being treated.

Lance gets teary thinking about his family. This is a nice side of Lance to see.

Sam’s plan upon return is to get the Galaxy Garrison informed about the conflict in the universe and try to build some form of planetary defense system. I assume he’s taking some Altean schematics or something with him? Because Earth’s technology couldn’t possibly be advanced enough to fight back against Galra on its own.

Sam says his goodbyes and leaves through a wormhole.

This feels weird to me: Last episode ended with such a fundamental shift in the status of the Galra Empire, Lotor was able to take the throne because Shiro acted in defiance of everyone else’s desire to do nothing (even if they did show up at the end to finally help), and this episode’s first scenes are as if nothing has happened, as if last episode didn’t exist. I know the show has been holding off getting Sam out of there for a while, but still. Given the significant change in the story and the specific conclusion of last episode, this beginning is unexpectedly casual.

We finally touch on the recent events with the next scene, not through the Paladins, but with Kolivan and Keith. I had to rewind and watch this scene twice because it confused me. It starts with an establishing shot of some base close to a star. Inside, Kolivan says, “This base was, until recently, run by a Galra commander named Ranveig.” I thought Kolivan was talking about the base he and Keith were standing in. The images on their display are so small, at a sharp angle, and not prominent within the frame, that I didn’t realize that Kolivan was talking about one of the images on the display.

Also, Kolivan’s dialog seems anachronistic. He says to Keith, “a Galra commander named Ranveig.” Keith already knows who Ranveig is since last episode he got to the Kral Zera by sneaking onto Ranveig’s ship and spent some time listening to Ranveig talking while on his ship. But here, Kolivan’s dialog is as if this is Keith’s first exposure to information about Ranveig. Ranveig has apparently been developing a superweapon, which seems odd since Ranveig is supposed to be a frontline battle commander, a position which would not involve him in research and development. 

Kolivan tells Keith that the Blades “have a spy in Ranveig’s camp who’s managed to acquire high level security clearance. Since Ranveig’s departure, it’s possible she’s assumed control of the base, but we can’t be sure.” She apparently hasn’t been able to communicate with the Blades because two other Galra, Trug and Ladnok, who we saw last episode, are fighting one another in that area of space. Kolivan wants Keith to infiltrate Ranveig’s base, extract the spy, and destroy Ranveig’s weapon. 

Kolivan then launches into saying to Keith, “You cannot allow your feelings to cloud your judgement. […] Remember, the mission is the only thing that matters. Emotions are a luxury we cannot afford.” He then shows a picture and tells Keith the name of the spy he’s to extract: Krolia. Since this is not my first time watching, I know Krolia is Keith’s mother. But, without knowing that, Kolivan’s critique of Keith’s emotions seems like a total non-sequitur. It feels to me now that this line bit of dialog was written solely because the writer knows what’s coming, not because it would make sense for Kolivan to say it now. 

It’s also weird that Keith’s here with Kolivan. Last we saw Keith, he had been on Feyiv. Team Voltron was there too. Did they not bother talking to one another? It kind of feels like the EPs are trying to punish the characters and viewers by having this severe lack of communication between Team Voltron and Keith. It feels spiteful, like they’re keeping Keith totally disconnected because they were upset that they weren’t allowed to have Shiro dead and Keith replace him. Throughout the show, we’re told that Team Voltron, Keith included, are friends, but they’re never shown acting like friends. No one ever expresses concern about him while he’s gone; it’s like the Paladins don’t even know him.

The Paladins finally have a scene that connects to last episode. The Castle Ship is journeying to Zarkon’s old ship/base.

Allura says, “We have to do everything we can to support Lotor. This is our chance to promote a new era of peace.” Is she being a hypocrite here or has the show just been written inconsistently? Both last episode and the episode before that, Allura was against helping Lotor. Here, she’s talking as if she’s been supportive the whole time. Where was this perspective and attitude from her during the previous two episodes? If this is supposed to be a change in her opinion, it would be nice for the show to have her acknowledge having been wrong to reject Lotor. I wonder if the EPs and the writers even realize that she’s behaving fundamentally differently here than she did previously? And since everyone had rejected Shiro’s argument that they should help Lotor such that Shiro had to act on his own, where is the conversation between them now to reveal the aftermath of that socially?

Lotor welcomes them on board. He refers to them as “my friends,” and he sounds genuine when he says it. Like I mentioned last episode, I wonder if the voice actor for Lotor had been informed that his character was not being genuine during all these episodes because I very much imagine most actors would produce a different performance if the character is being genuine versus being manipulative and deceptive. He has had a banner hung from the ceiling displaying an old symbol from back in the days when the Alteans and the Galra weren’t at war. It’s so hard to read these statements and gestures from Lotor as if he’s a villain. Even if you want a character to be a villain who’s deceiving the story’s protagonists, you have to write that character differently than you would if they were being genuine. 

“Since I ascended to the throne, the Galra Empire has been torn apart.” Again, how much time is supposed to have passed between last episode and this one? Also, since Voltron was present for the different factions fighting each other at the Kral Zera, and Voltron specifically landed on Feyiv in observance of Lotor lighting the flame, I would think they already know the Empire is effectively in a state of civil war. But this line is as if it’s been a long time since Kral Zera and that Team Voltron doesn’t know what’s been going on.

Lotor again presents the idea that limitless quintessence (or seeming limitless, the show never really explains how the rift has quintessence in it, so we don’t know of any limits on it) is the key to getting the conflict within the Empire settled. He tells Allura that she’s the key to acquiring that limitless quintessence.

With Lotor’s consent, Shiro and Coran work to update their intelligence files with files from the Galra records system. Lotor invites Allura to come with him, and he leaves Hunk, Lance, and Pidge with an escort who’s ordered to take them wherever they want to go. For someone who’s supposed to be secretly manipulating everyone, Lotor is way more open in sharing what’s under his command with Team Voltron than a normal allied leader would be, let alone a deceptive villain. It makes Joaquim Dos Santos and Lauren Montgomery’s claim that Lotor is still being a total villain here seem dissonant with what’s actually on the screen.

Of course, Lance is jealous of Allura going with Lotor. Ugh.

Pidge decides to reprogram their sentry escort so that it can have fun. Sure. And then the episode undergoes tonal whiplash by transitioning hard into a scene of a space battle between Trug and Ladnok. It feels weird, but I actually find myself more interested in Trug and Ladnok than I do most of the show’s main characters so far in this episode.

The space combat scene is short, and then it’s back to Pidge and Hunk having successfully hacked the sentry. They blow up packs of food and run from some Galra who tell them not to. And then back to Keith arriving at the battle between Trug and Ladnok. This continual, rapid, drastic shift in tone is disruptive to the narrative.

Despite Kolivan having earlier told Keith that Trug and Ladnok “are at war over the territory,” Keith, upon arrival, remarks, “Looks like things have escalated.” They were literally described as being “at war” with one another, so what exactly was he expecting that would make this look like an escalation to him? Fighting like this is exactly what I would expect. It’s hard to not feel weird when this show has characters say things so nonsensical. His fighter gets hit by some debris, and he crashes into the planet. Despite the fighter being totaled, Keith is uninjured. He conveniently crashes near the base.

Inside, he sees Krolia, who sees him, but he reacts as if he doesn’t want her to see him. He sneaks to follow her, but she sneaks up to him too. He reflexively pulls his Marmora blade on her, while she simultaneously pulls a gun on him. This feels awkward, and not in the way the show wants it to be awkward. With them at a standoff with their weapons, Keith says, “Krolia,” in a way that sounds like he’s surprised to see her, it has the vocal inflection like he’s thinking, what are you doing here. But he was specifically following her after she had seen him, so why is he surprised that it’s her? She then responds, “You’re late.” So, she was expecting him? Why did she pull a gun on him then? The tension of this moment feels totally fake.

Meanwhile, Lotor is showing Allura “Haggar’s lair.” Allura sounds incredulous that he would show her this place. Lotor says he thinks the only reason the old Paladins were able to go into the rift was because of “Alfor’s Altean alchemy.” Okay. But then, he says he thinks there might be something hidden within Haggar’s room that will contain information she hadn’t been able to unlock. The Alfor statement does not connect to the Haggar statement, so it’s lacking a transition to explain the relevance from one to the other. Lotor thinks Allura can figure out whatever Haggar could not. Okay, but what does that have to do with Alfor?

Allura reacts harshly, walking away and saying, “I shouldn’t be here” like she’s intruding or in danger of being tainted by being in the room. I don’t understand this reaction. Why does she think this? The scene gives literally nothing to explain this reaction from her. It’s like her reaction was written for no other reason than to give an excuse for Lotor to take her hand, which he does and says, “Please. I cannot do this without you.” The tonal quality of his voice is not that of deception, even though that’s supposedly what he’s doing here.

She finds an Altean science log, which Lotor identifies as a science log written by Honerva. The fact that he can identify this information as written by her so quickly is unexpected. Has he read through these files before? He never knew Haggar as Honerva back in the day, and he doesn’t seem to know that Haggar is Honerva now either.

Allura’s surprised to hear that Lotor’s mother is Honerva. “The Honerva that discovered the rift on Daibazaal?” she asks. Odd phrasing since we know she didn’t discover the rift; Honerva was brought in by Alfor after he discovered it. Allura continues, “Then you’re half-Altean.” It feels weird that she doesn’t already know this.

Lotor says that despite his bi-species nature being considered bad by most Galra, he considers it a strength. We’ve seen more than enough to know that’s very true. The way Lotor talks, back in the day, Altean technology was superior to Galra. That makes it weird that the Galra were able to destroy the Alteans.

Allura ponders how Haggar could have gotten Honerva’s data, and Lotor responds that Haggar was “constantly seeking Altean magical knowledge that she could pervert for her own power.” I would expect Allura to bring up right now that she knows that Haggar is Altean. At the point of the finale of season two, Allura thought the only surviving Alteans were her and Coran. Learning that Haggar was Altean is not something that would ever cease to be eminently on Allura’s mind, yet the show has had Allura behave since then as if she hasn’t learned that about Haggar. Even if they don’t realize that Haggar is Honerva, the fact that Haggar is Altean yet Zarkon was so reliant upon her should tell Allura something. At the very least, she should be asking Lotor where Haggar came from, why Zarkon would put so much trust in an Altean since he hated Alteans. This episode does eventually get Allura thinking about this later, but I can’t help expecting it right now.

The episode returns to Pidge, Hunk, Lance, and the sentry goofing off. I don’t find any of it to be interesting.

Back to Keith and Krolia. Krolia asks Keith, “Why did Kolivan risk sending you here now?” This is more of the show being inconsistently written. Krolia’s question makes no sense given that in her previous scene she said to Keith, “You’re late.” If she was expecting him to be there, then why is she baffled that he’s there?

Keith answers that he’s there because Kolivan “has heard about Ranveig’s superweapon.” Kolivan specifically told Keith that they know of the superweapon because of Krolia having provided the Blades with that information. This line is like Kolivan got that information from someone else – he’s “heard about” from the woman you’re speaking to right now, Keith. Sigh.

Krolia details that whatever the weapon is, it’s the result of Ranveig experimenting with some “undocumented shipment of quintessence” that he seized. Is this the quintessence shipments that the Blades were tracking back last season, the quintessence shipments that Keith was so focused on investigating with the Blades that it caused everyone to yell at him in 4x01 “Code of Honor?” The way Krolia describes it, it’s like she doesn’t know anything about this quintessence. Whatever. Trug’s fleet has moved to assault the base.

Back with Lotor and Allura. He’s bothered by Honerva’s logs, saying that by the end of them, “it’s like they’re written by a different person. She’s frantic, paranoid, erratic. Her reason and intellect are gone, replaced by fear and paranoia.” This later description of Honerva doesn’t seem to me to be that different than how she behaved pre-quintessence poisoning.

Allura ponders about if Honerva “became corrupted the same way Zarkon did.” What’s kind of weird about this is that 3x07 “The Legend Begins” is framed as Coran telling a story. By nature of that episode’s use of a frame tale, anything revealed in the flashbacks would be part of Coran’s telling of the story. That episode tells of Zarkon’s quintessence poisoning, and it depicts Honerva’s poisoning too. The difficulties this show has had after that episode in trying to keep characters from realizing Haggar is Honerva makes me wish even more so that “The Legend Begins” didn’t exist.

Allura suggests that Honerva and Haggar are the same person, but Lotor instantly reacts harshly, saying, “That witch is not my mother.” Allura still doesn’t emphasize that Haggar is Altean, and I’m surprised. Lotor’s reaction hints that he’s constructed an illusory idea of what his mother was like, since he never knew Honerva.

Lotor asks Allura to close her eyes and “feel the energy around [her]” to continue looking for anything in the room connected to Altean alchemy. There’s some old rock with glowing marks on it. Lotor recognizes it enough that it makes him think of ancient Altean ruins on some planet. At some point in his life, he has investigated these ruins. Lotor in this episode is being depicted as someone who’s been eagerly seeking to connect to his Altean heritage. Again, this makes Lotor feel like a very genuine person, not someone who’s a villain secretly manipulating Allura. He describes the carving in the ruins he found as depicting the Altean use of a “compass stone” to lead to “the magical realm of Oriande, which houses the secrets of Altean alchemy.” Allura says she’s only ever heard of Oriande as a folk tale. If this planet Lotor references was held by Alteans, I would think Allura would know of that planet since she’s the princess of the Alteans, but she doesn’t seem to.

Keith and Krolia continue struggling on the base. They eventually get overwhelmed by Trug’s forces, who capture Keith during a fight scene. During that fight, Krolia had been using Keith’s blade, and she causes it to reshape. Keith is surprised. Trug tells Krolia to surrender, and Krolia offers to make a deal. Keith immediately yells at Krolia, “What are you doing?” Even with Keith’s primary characteristic in this show being him being hotheaded, I would think he would have something resembling a little patience in this moment.

Krolia tells him, “I left you once. I’ll never leave you again.” Seriously, she thinks bringing that up right now is a good idea? It’s like the show is more interested in performing the big reveal that Krolia is Keith’s mother than it is in having Krolia act like an experienced spy would act in this moment. It’s one thing for Keith to have issues with self-discipline and controlling his reactions to his emotions, but it’s another for Krolia to do so too. This one line is the only one in this scene she makes hinting at her being Keith’s mother, so it makes the line feel incomplete since the scene cuts after she offers Trug access to the weapon in exchange for her and Keith being allowed to leave.

Back to Allura, who thinks the compass stone should open. If I was holding a chunk of rock I had never seen before, I would not think it would open, so I don’t know why she does. Lotor is again supportive. Holds her hands in his. He is drawn with a soft, concerned look on his face. Nothing about him here reads as villainous manipulation. “I know you have the power within,” he says. That’s faith. Having and expressing faith in the protagonist is not something a manipulative villain would do.

Allura reacts to Lotor’s statement by saying, “What if I don’t?” She says that Alfor’s alchemical ability is one “few Alteans possess” and cites that Coran doesn’t have it. This is weird for her to say since she has frequently used power that Coran can’t, like every time she creates a wormhole, like when she healed the Balmera, like when she overcame Haggar’s effect on Voltron on Naxzela. It would be one thing for her to wonder if she could ever become as skilled as Alfor, but for her to doubt she has the ability whatsoever makes no sense.

She gets sad and cries and somehow that causes the compass stone to activate. That makes no sense either. It projects a map to Oriande.

Pidge, Lance, and Hunk strap the reprogrammed sentry to a Robeast coffin and launch it into space, the sentry saying it has “always wanted to see the stars.” One, it’s on a space ship, so just look out a window. But two, this sentry is someone that these three have been running around with, acting like they’re becoming friends, and they just strap it down and blast it off into space, some kind of in-vacuum functioning fireworks trailing behind it as it goes? This scene is disturbing. Lance says, “He’s my hero.” The three of them then salute the sentry. What the…? No wonder they were so easily able to write off Shiro as dead in season three, no wonder they’re able to so easily write off the clone’s death as insignificant in season six and beyond, they’re written to be weirdly dismissive of the death/destruction of people they pretend are their friends. Again, this scene is really disturbing, and it’s played as being humor.

Trug seems to have agreed to Krolia’s bargain. Krolia and Keith leave on a  fighter as Krolia gives Trug the access code. Trug orders them to be shot down. Trug is opening the doors to the weapon. Keith keeps yelling at Krolia about “handing that weapon over to Trug,” but Krolia counters, “No, Keith, I handed them over to it.” Krolia’s line is a really good one. Something growls in the shadows and walks out of the room and attacks Trug, who screams off screen.

Krolia gives Keith’s blade back to him. He asks her how she could use it, and she tells him that it used to be hers and that she gave it to Keith’s father. Her use of it was enough during the earlier scene to connect to this moment to let the reveal she’s his mother happen now. The line she spoke earlier – “I left you once. I’ll never leave you again.” – would work better here, allowing her to preserve her training and composure in the earlier scene, but still communicate the same information as a result of this story’s events.

The episode ends with a smash cut as Keith says, “You’re my” but before he can say, mother. I’m not sure the reveal is dramatic and unexpected enough to not have him say, mother, though.

So, this episode is weird. It doesn’t give me a sense of follow-up that I would expect given how the previous episode ended, nor follow-up on the social schism that was so prominent between Shiro and the rest of Team Voltron. It feels like this episode takes place a lot longer after last episode than it should. There are a ton of inconsistencies in the writing between this episode and others, both recent and more distant, but there are a lot of inconsistencies just within this episode alone.

I love how Lotor feels genuinely supportive of Allura, and I love learning that he seems to have spent time in his life trying to connect with his Altean heritage. That the EPs viewed all this as Lotor just being manipulative and deceitful makes me question their ability to even reassess their own creative work-product after it’s been produced. They might have had a goal in mind of having Lotor be a villain this entire time, but what they made does not depict him as a deceptive villain here. Writing a character to be a villain who’s being deceptively good is fundamentally different than writing a character as being good and then retconning them to be bad all along. This show does the latter with Lotor, even though the EPs think it does the former. This comes down to them not knowing how to construct a character.

I’ve grown tired of how disconnected the show has made Keith from Team Voltron. While I would have preferred the show to have retained the Paladin lineup as it was in seasons one and two, I’m not against Keith working with the Blades. But it would be nice if the show didn’t have the other characters act as if they don’t even know him. 

But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Pidge, Lance, and Hunk wouldn’t care about Keith given how they blast off the sentry in this episode. Though they treat him through most of the episode like they’re becoming friends, they end by disposing of him while enjoying doing so. They would not have treated Rover in season one of this show the way they treat the sentry in this episode. That they could take pleasure in disposing of someone is disturbing, and it’s more disturbing that the EPs and writers thought this was an acceptable behavior for the show’s supposed heroes.

[the-walking-memelords]

Allegiances: Chapter 5

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 6

Series is rated M

Word Count: 2600

Cracks have been slowly forming since the beginning, but when does the weight become too much?

Read it on Ao3!

Read it on Wattpad!

Three days had passed since the group voted for Marlon to stay with the group. Louis eventually managed to convince Marlon to leave his room, though it was rare for him to speak to anyone else other than his best friend. Shame seemed to be eating Marlon alive, choosing to complete whatever tasks he’d been given without help from anyone else. Marlon wouldn’t so much as make eye contact with Clementine or Brody. At least Rosie treated him as if nothing had changed.

Tension still ran between the group’s members but some of the cracks had begun to close over time. Another day of damaged relations came to a close as the sun set over the forest. The final rays of sun shining through the orange leaves left a warm golden glow over the school.

Clementine was unable to feel the warmth, however, as the final breaths of day faded away to night, she prepared herself for the next step in her mission.

---

The halls of the dormitory grew still as its occupants drifted off to sleep. All but one, that is. Only the faint creaking of the floorboards could be heard in the otherwise silent night as Clementine snuck away from her temporary home. The harsh brick scraped her hands as she scaled the outer wall of the school, landing in the dirt on the other side with a thud.

The overcast why made it difficult for her to see. Clementine relied on her ears to signify any dangers nearby. Pulling her denim jacket tight against the chill of the wind, she trekked further through the forest towards the rendezvous point.

She had been dreading this night for a while. Being around people her own age was comforting. Clementine hated most adults. They seemed to rather solve problems with bullets rather than actual civilized solutions. She pushed her opinions out of her head.

Thinking too much will get him killed.

Her mind wandered instead to AJ. That sweet little boy was all she cared for in this shit world. She could be free if she so chose. Missions like these offered ample opportunities for escape, but how could she? Clem had promised so many people that she would keep him safe. So many of her friends, dead. All so she and that boy could live. It felt as though Alvin and Rebecca were with her. Watching her. Begging her to save him at every turn. Their screams only becoming louder in her dreams. Just thinking about their broken family caused her chest to hurt. Her heart raced, she steadied herself against a tree and tried to calm her breathing.

Why am I like this?

Her legs felt weak underneath her but she pressed on still. The trees began to clear as she made out the shape of the weather-worn roof in the distance. The train station looked more like a junkyard. Decayed boxcars littered the area, the wind whistling through the rusted out holes. Hopping the fence, she stepped over the dead plants that used to make up a garden.

Someone must have been living here at some point.

This placed seemed to be as dead as the rest of the outside world.

She took one final deep breath, staring at the cracks in the old wooden door.

Don’t fuck this up, Clementine.

Two knocks.

Then one.

Then three.

The door swung open, the toothy grin of Abel visible in her peripheral vision as she stared blankly ahead.

“Right on time as always.” He greeted, stepping aside to let her enter. The smell of his hand-rolled cigarette filled the small room.

The inside of the small building was trashed, clearly unoccupied for some time and picked over again and again by any scavengers who’d come across it. Her foot crunched over the remains of a glass jar as she moved to stand at attention before the woman she dreaded seeing.

“Welcome back, soldier.” Lilly smirked, leaning back in one of the chairs. “How was your first week of school? I trust you learned a lot?”

“Yes, commander.” She said flatly. “It has been quite eventful these past few days.”

“I can tell.” Abel stood uncomfortably close behind her. He reached around, harshly flicking her bruise causing it to sting.

She tried not to flinch.

Clementine recapped the events that transpired surrounding Marlon and Brody and the revelation of what truly happened to the twins, a devilish smirk across Lilly’s face all the while.

“I told you that little bastard was a pansy, Lilly.” Abel laughed. “I’m surprised he didn’t run away or just off himself once they found out. That kid has coward written all over him.”

“They’re suspicious that our forces might be in the area.” Clementine warned.

“Not of me, but the robbery of the fishing shack has them a bit on edge. New management wants to significantly upgrade the defences just to be sure.” She mentally cursed out Abel for doing something so pointless. Everything was a lot more complicated now because of him.

“On what grounds?” Lilly asked, leaning forward.

“Pure anxiety, I believe. I disposed of the bible cigarette that had been left behind before they discovered it.”

A sloppy and careless mistake. If Brody had seen it…

“Are you saying I almost blew the operation?” Abel accused, his hand grabbed the back of her neck tightly.

“No, sir.” She spoke through gritted teeth.

He released his hand, but never backed away.

“Tell me some specifics about these kids. Basic rundown.” Lilly ordered. “I want to get to know your new friends.” The smile on her face was sickening

“There’s ten of them in total, eight of them are of a decent age to fight being between about sixteen and eighteen.” She began. “There are two kids about twelve or thirteen who would be better used as… leverage pieces.” She winced internally at the thought of Willy and Tennessee in the same boat as AJ.

Clementine continued to describe the members of the boarding school.

“Marlon is as you remember. Emotionally weak, quick temper, but a good shot.”

A coward who did the wrong thing for the right reason.

“Violet is their new leader. Typically uses melee weapons, but I’ve observed her being pretty accurate with a bow. She was Minerva’s girlfriend.”

A good friend who had her heart broken too many times.

“Brody is emotionally unstable. Her anxiety causes her to shut down, which has only become worse as of late.”

Brody and I really are alike, aren’t we?

“Mitch is a fighter. Ruthless against walkers. He hand-crafts tools and weapons for the group.”

Fiercely protective of his friends, especially Willy.

“Omar is the cook of the group. Knowledgeable about spices and local plant life. Appears physically strong but I’ve never seen him fight.”

Kind-hearted soul, looks out for everyone.

Clementine’s heart ached as the list went on. She forced herself to keep her voice steady.

She couldn’t lose it here.

“Tennessee and Willy are the younger ones. Tenn is the younger brother of the twins. Both are usually given watch duty since they can’t really do anything else.”

A couple of sweet kids, they’re not going to last once we take them.

“Aasim is a hunter. Practical dead-eye shot who knows how to track game through most conditions. He does whatever it takes to make sure everyone gets fed.”

He was never afraid to challenge any of Marlon’s decisions. One of the bravest.

“Ruby is the group’s doctor. She was trained by an actual nurse who worked at the school. She knows how to patch people up, medicine and such. She often looks out for the kids the most.” A sweet person with a big heart.

Someone was still missing. The one she could never quite figure out. Emotions were a tricky business, and he made her feel all kinds of those.

“Louis is…” She trailed off, trying to get her thoughts aligned. There were so many things she could say about him, but she had to be careful which ones she vocalized.

“...an optimist.”

That’s safe, right?

“He always looks out for everyone.”

A shoulder to lean on so we don’t have to suffer alone.

“His weapon is a makeshift bat.”

Heh, ‘Chairles.’

“He lives life in the moment and doesn’t like to think long-term.”

This moment is all we have after all.

“Louis…” She bit her lip, trying not to get carried away. Everything here seemed wrong. Her heart was beating so loud she wondered if Lilly could hear it.

Clementine started to lose herself again. Her throat dried up as she struggled to find the right words. A thousand words could be used to describe Louis but none were safe to say. If she showed any real attachment to these people she would be pulled immediately, but she couldn’t help how she felt, even if she couldn’t explain why. Her knuckles went white as she clenched her fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms.

“Louis is going to die when we send him to war.”

“They all will, Clementine. You know that.” Lilly hissed, raising an eyebrow at her.

She stood from her chair, approaching her. Clementine felt infinitely small practically squished between the two towering adults. She shuddered as she tried to retain her composure. Lilly grabbed Clementine’s chin, her sharp nails scratching her skin.

“Don’t forget what’s at stake here.” Lilly leaned in until her face was only a few inches from hers.

“Are these people really worth his life?”

“Never.”

“That’s what I thought.” She finally let go.

“You are dismissed, soldier.”

---

Clementine was a mess by the time she was far away from the train station to feel alone. A walker emerged along the path, no doubt drawn by her breathy sobs. Its boney fingers clawed at her jacket as she struggled against it. The stench of death stung her nose as she kicked its leg out. She threw herself on top of the walker, her sorrow turning to rage as she plunged her knife into its face over and over, splattering her tear-stained face with its dark rotten blood.

“Come on then!” She screamed at the darkness surrounding her. More undead snarls came from the blackness as she raised her knife. One by one they fell. Each stab not nearly as satisfying as she wished it was.

There was something odd about the next walker that challenged her. Something about the way it carried itself was unnervingly alive.

“Stop.” Clementine’s eyes shot wide as the walker spoke to her. She tried to convince herself she imagined it, knife still poised to attack.

To her further surprise, the walker backed away, pushing past two walkers headed in her direction. Picking up a sizable rock, he threw it far into the trees with a few loud thunks that drew the walkers in the other direction.

Clementine stood there shocked, knife still in hand.

“I-I uh…” was all she could muster.

“I’m sorry the herd attacked you. I tried to steer them away but we were already too close. Are you alright?” He spoke lowly, keeping his distance.

As Clem looked closer, she could see human skin peeking out behind the rotted mask. His soft brown eyes clearly not matching the clouded-over look the dead had.

“A Whisperer…” She had heard rumours about a group that wore the skin of walkers in order to live among them, but she could hardly believe such a group actually existed. This boy was young, too. Couldn’t be much older than her.

This world is always full of surprises.

“Not anymore but… I used to be.” He rubbed his arm.

“I’m surprised you’ve heard of them. Most people who encounter the Whisperers aren’t so lucky as to tell the tale.”

“I’ve heard stories.” She sniffed, finally lowered her knife and trying to act composed.

“Didn’t think they were true.”

“You’ll find truth in a lot of stories these days.”

The two stared each other down for a moment. Both unsure but neither threatening. The boy was the first to break the short silence.

“I have a small camp nearby if you’d like you can stay there for the night, and I’ll take you to the school in the morning.” Her eyes widened at that.

“How did you know I was from the school?” Has he been watching them?

“Good guess, I suppose. I’ve lived in this area for a while. I usually stay away from your territory but I know a group of kids live there.” He didn’t mention her only recent appearance. Maybe he was just a loner trying to survive after all.

“I uh, appreciate the offer…”

“J-James.” He studdered, almost unsure.

“I appreciate the offer, James, but I need to get back before they know I’m gone.” She wiped the blood off her face with a shaky hand.

“I’m not supposed to be out by myself. I just needed to get out for a bit and got carried away.” A convincing enough excuse, not that it really needed to be. She could feel his eyes wander to the purple mark on her cheek, but he didn’t bring it up.

“As long as you know your way back. Safe travels.” After that, the two parted ways. James disappeared to rejoin the herd as Clementine continued on towards the school, reaching the walls just as the sky began to lighten.

---

She snuck back into the school the same way she had gotten out. Clementine was exhausted both physically and mentally, her body still shaking and her chest aching with every rapid beat. Even though she was incredibly tired she knew no sleep would come to her in the few hours she had left to rest. Her sloppy footsteps were met with a more steady sounding set as she realized she wasn’t the only “Early Riser” in the dormitory.

“Someone’s up early.” The quiet yet cheerful voice of the exact last person she wanted to see at that moment whispered from behind her.

I hope he didn’t see me sneak in.

“Good morning, Louis.” She stopped for only a second, not turning towards him before continuing to walk towards her room.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” She didn’t answer him as she closed the door behind her.

“Clem?” He sounded worried.

“Are you alright?”

She tried to muffle her sobs with her pillow gripping it for dear life as fell from the bed to the floor. Why did he have to make her feel this way? Why couldn’t she just ignore it?

“Clementine?” Hearing the thump his voice became frantic. When his knocking received no response, he tried the unlocked handle.

Of course, I didn’t fucking lock it.

“Oh my God.” He rushed to her side immediately.

“Clem, please, tell me what’s wrong.”

Clementine couldn’t do this. She just couldn’t take it anymore.

She abandoned her pillow, throwing her arms around Louis’ torso and burying her face into his chest. He didn’t hesitate to return the embrace, resting his chin on the top her head as he stroked her hair.

“It’s alright, Clementine.” He tried to calm her as she practically hyperventilated in his arms.

It wasn’t. It really wasn’t, but her throat was too tight for her to do much but choke out sobs as she sunk into the warmth of the hug.

“Shh… I’m here. I’m right here.” He continued to hold her close as she continued to stain his shirt with tears.

“Please don’t leave.” Her hoarse voice made the words barely audible

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” Louis pulled his coat around them both.

“Ever.”

[geek-gem]

Crossover Head Canon: Gems and Predators

I'm finally gonna make it. The head canon post. I've thought of this for months or something. Before this I tried to look for my old Knight Predator with Pearl pic with the Gem Predator but it's gone where I first talked about of how this would work.

Basically even though I have other posts it almost feels like I'm starting over luckily I've talked about this before. I don't wanna make this too long. So be warned in case if it does go a bit long.

What goes along with this head canon is that Predator 1 and 2 are in the same universe as Steven Universe is. While I know the Earth in Steven Universe is a different kind of Earth because of what the Gem war did. I'll try to make sense of it. Especially it might seem weird combining probably, "The most manliest film ever made" with what I consider it's true sequel that's still manly in ways, with a show while deep and dark is quite feminine or whatever else.

I want opinions on this and you have the right to be critical about what could be wrong with this. Even though such a idea like this is crazy where I've said I feel Rebecca Sugar would slap me for making this or meh. I adore the Predator franchise and Steven Universe.

Including the first AVP I've been thinking about but it might clash with the Alien series. But back to the point. Especially no Robert Rodriguez's Predators in this or Shane Black's The Predator 2018. Let's get started.

The history of Gems and Yautja.

For as long as time went on ever since the Gems first came into existence as well as the Yautja probably. Gems were considered to Yautja as their greatest prey.

While they respected humans and the Xenomorph's. The Gems were something else. Unlike humans who were slowly involving, and the Xenomorph's who while the most deadly species in existence probably had a hive mindset and both species weren't as advanced as the Gems.

The Gems were basically in some way a weird form of equal to the Yautja. Even before they advanced more in technology as time went on. They had a civilization, technology as amazing and strong as the Yautja's own. Especially as intelligent. But what also matter the most were their abilities and powers. They were beings who can take weapons out of their Gems, shapeshift into different things, and fuse with other Gems to form even more powerful Gems. This made the Gems worth prey in the eyes of the Yautja.

But they are different. Especially their beliefs. While the Gems expanded on colonizing other planets expanding their species. The Yautja were much more ritualistic in nature despite their vast and powerful technology.

It was mainly during the Gem war on Earth between the Gem home world and the Crystal Gems. Which went on for thousands of years. This conflict was basically a gold mine for the Yautja. Especially with two warring factions of Gems. Plenty of trophies.

While it would be less messy to kill a Gem since they had no blood or organs. They were just poof if stabbed or blasted at. But the Gem was the main target. Yautja would shatter Gems and keep the remains as best as they can.

Most Yautja would wear shatter Gems as trophies on them to show Gems and other Yautja of their achievement in killing Gems. To the Gem species themselves when they ever saw this. This was as if seeing actual corpses being worn by such creatures.

Even during this era clan leaders would take their unblooded Yautja during this war. Not that similar to the whole Rite Of Passage when killing a Xenomorph but it was similar. When a young Yautja kills a Gem. They would be officially considered hunters.

But even so death by a Gem wasn't necessary a bad thing to the Yautja. If a Yautja was killed by a Gem of any kind. It would be considered the greatest honor. Especially during this time when Jasper, Bismuth, Garnet, and all other sorts of Gems kill a Yautja. They would some times see the face of their foes smiling as if they were ready for their death blow.

Including during the war between the Crystal Gems of Earth and the Gem home world. Crystal Gems Pearl, Garnet, Bismuth, and their leader Rose Quartz would face a group of young bloods who were ready to kill a Gem or die by a Gem. Who wanted to shatter who could be some of the most dangerous Gems on the planet Earth. It was a messy battle but the Crystal Gems won as they killed the determined young bloods who fought with skill and brutality.(I thought of it like Celtic Predator fighting an Alien for the first time or anything you want)

But if their was one thing the Yautja would dare not try despite their determination. Is the idea of attacking the Great Diamond Authority. Consisting of Yellow Diamond, Blue Diamond, Pink Diamond, and the worst of off White Diamond.

While maybe Pink Diamond might not be much of a challenge to the Yautja she was mainly ignored and considered not a threat. It was Yellow and Blue that were the ones Yautja set their sights on. But despite all they could do. Each attempt would end in Yautja being killed. Whether they be young bloods proving themselves as great hunters, elites, clan leaders, the females even as well, not even elders could kill them to take them as trophies. Eventually they stopped trying. It was mostly massacres when trying to fight the Diamonds.

But White Diamond is a different story. Especially after the incident with one young blood who thought killing White Diamond would make him the greatest hunter who ever lived.

While on the Gem home world a young blood and his clan were hunting. Even though the young blood killed multiple Gem warriors. His main sight was on White Diamond. It was considered suicide in a way despite their beliefs to even try to do that. The young blood made his way towards the place where White Diamond remained. She was just standing there, welcoming the young Yautja intruder into her room. As the young blood ready his weapons for the fight of his life.

A Yautja roar in pain was heard that was so loud that many Gems and Yautja heard it across the land. As if White Diamond wanted everyone to hear it. It was a cry of agony and pain like no other, almost unnatural.(think of Ghost Predator's screaming in pain in the final battle before he dies in Predator 2 it's just heard across everywhere)

Because of this the clan left, worried for their lives and realized it wasn't worth it. They already had their trophies so they no longer needed to be there. The young blood never left the planet, his clan never saw him again.....until the next time they visited the Gem home world.

What happened to the young blood was unknown at first. Many thought he was completely destroyed and White Diamond made him ceased to exist....but his real fate was far worse.

His clan and other Yautja hunting on the Gem home world have caught glimpses of something. It actually horrified them to their core, it was against everything they stood for.

Basically what the Yautja saw. Was in a similar vain as White Pearl....the young blood Yautja was what White Diamond considered to be her way of, "fixing" him. He would be mostly sent on certain quests if their were any Yautja's around on their home world. But nothing else much mainly a servant similar to White Pearl.

When Rose Quartz supposedly shattered Pink Diamond. The Diamonds attacked the Earth and anyone caught within their blast was killed, or corrupted. For Gems most or all were corrupted. But also their some Yautja caught in the blast radius. They were all killed. Their were luckily plenty of Yautja survivors.

It was the end of the Gem war. After that conflict between the Yautja and Gems were smaller now. They hunted them on their own colonized planets. Especially once a group of Yautja hunted on Pink Diamond's human zoo. Two were killed by Blue Diamond when she was visiting before the remaining three escaped with their lives. Especially the Famethysts while putting up a good fight were terrified because hearing stories of the Yautja. Especially Holly Blue while trying to maintain her cool was terrified the most. Considering these group of Yautja have killed Gems especially quartz's like Amethysts on other colonized planets.

As the Crystal Gems went on through life especially with Amethyst joining the group. They found Yautja who dared tried to take them as trophies but lost. In Beach City it was mainly rare. Because of how peaceful Beach City is a Yautja would mainly make a trip there to see it's beauty in certain parts but it wasn't a place of so much conflict. But when their were corrupted Gems that was perfect. Yet also the remaining Crystal Gems Rose Quartz, Garnet, Pearl, who were all considered legends to the Yautja. With Amethyst being considered worthy despite her being the youngest yet very unpredictable. It would usually be one Yautja or more but it was rare and they were always defeated which is why they kept coming back.

Back on the Gem home world after the Gem war. Yautja would be marked killed on sight. If we're to spot one you would have to inform every Gem on the planet. Yautja were now seen basically in a way similar to how Diablo Predator was seen in the original film. They were seen as intergalactic demons who would shatter Gems for sport and the thrill. Feared by Gems of all kind yet many willing to take a stand for their lives.

The Yautja try to keep themselves hidden from the Gem home world like they would with all species. But this time it's a bit more serious. If the Diamonds ever discovered their planet Yautja Prime. It would be possible they would colonized their planet or even worse considering the how much hunting they had against Gems and still hunting them to this day. But it's the idea if beings like the Diamonds would to ever find them especially God help them if White Diamond ever found them. While the Yautja had the power to fight back. They don't wanna risk it. Because of how much they would be at stake. For their race, and them exposing themselves to more races. It was better to keep their planet a secret.

Especially just in case all Yautja tech was designed to stop working if a Gem ever tried to hack into their systems. In case if a Gem tries to locate their home.

Even after the defeat of Diablo by Dutch Schaefer in 1987 and the defeat of Ghost by Mike Harrigan in 1997. Which gained the respect of the Yautja even more. The Gems will always be held in high regard.

Especially because of the events in 1987 and 1997 the OWLF organization we're learning more. While the Gems were considered aliens but because their were rarely any these days that we're non corrupted. Humans never cared to try to make more contact with Gems. Especially when OWLF especially Peter Keyes tried to make contact with the Crystal Gems they were mainly ignored.

Gems were considered normal these days and people these don't give a damn about what the Gems are. Especially of how their war changed history. But the Yautja was a whole different story.

Throughout this whole time, after Steven's birth and as he grew up. Including the unfolding events happening more and more especially everyone learning Rose Quartz was Pink Diamond. Steven hasn't been told about the Yautja.

While he has matured and learned more things. The Gems think to themselves even after everything that's happened. What could Steven react and deal with the idea of a species like the Yautja whose main goals all to hunt other species for sport, the thrill, and honor.

Dear God that took me forever especially other stuff was being with family twice a bit. Sorry that it's long but I hope you enjoy this.

[ariespageofbreath]

Monster Summer Mash: Surface Road Trip

This is legit the longest oneshot I’ve written for this event wow-

Partially dedicated to @thelazyhermits for your love of the Gaster Bros (and also taking the inspo of the bros travelling) and @ut-stuff, because I know you like G. ^v^

I hope everyone enjoys reading this as much as I liked writing it. <3

(Also may or may not write more for this idea later-)

Your parents may not approve of you going on your little cross-country trip, but in your opinion, this was the best choice you could have made. The sense of freedom you gain from driving along the wide open stretches of country road, elbow resting on the rolled-down window sill of your old RV and wind in your face and radio turned up loud, is more more than you could have ever asked for. Things were so stifling back home, but here, you could do and go wherever you wanted, experience new things, and no one could tell you not to.

Your trip had started three weeks back. You were tired of being stuck inside for such a gorgeous summer, so you had called in your unused vacation days, packed up your bags, and broke out your parents��� untouched RV. You were gone within a night, and so far, you hadn’t regretted a moment of it.

About the only thing you missed were the people, especially when you were on a road like this without much to distract you. You’d kept in contact with any friends via social media, but beyond messaging a few of your closer friends, you tried to stay away from such apps. The last thing you wanted were your parents breathing down your neck, disappointed in you for dropping everything to “live like a hooligan.”

You were plenty civilized still, thank you very much. It could be worse. You could have decided not to take the RV and just walk out with only the clothes on your back and live in alleys for the duration of your trip.

You’re pulled from your thoughts by the honk of a car in front of you. It’s a cute little white van with several children in it, from what you can tell. They’re honking at the cars in front of them, who have slowed down for some reason. You stick your head out the window, curious about what’s causing such a ruckus.

Oh. It’s a pair of people, standing on the edge of the road, thumbs out in the universal sign of hitchhiking. From what you can tell, they’re wearing giant straw sun hats and dark coats, which you don’t understand, given the fact that it’s so hot out.

For a moment, it looks like the car might let them on, but then they simply start driving again. Their thumbs falter minutely, but remain stubbornly in the air. The next several cars drive past as well, leaving you feeling sorry for the poor pair loitering on the side of the road. However, as you pull forward, you think you understand why the others rolled past them.

It’s a pair of monsters. Skeletons, from the look of it, with a pair of matching scars and the same grim look of determination. The taller of the two has a long, black coat, a grey turtleneck sweater, and fancy black slacks. A pair of forest-green irises float in the black expanse of his sockets, though the one in his right-which is sagging-is much smaller and dimmer. He does not look like he belongs on the side of the road with a crappy straw sunhat. His companion is dressed almost similarly, with a cream sweater and a black, cropped jacket with the sleeves rolled up. A pair of tight black jeans and a brilliant yellow eye finish off his look. He gives you a lopsided grin from beneath his sunhat. Both of them are carrying a heavy backpack, and Yellow-Eye has a guitar case resting at his feet.

Smiling down at them, you lean out the window, reaching over blindly to shut off the radio. “Howdy, strangers. You two look like you could use a lift.” You jerk your thumb at your vehicle, throwing in an enticing wink. “I’ve got a real nice rig here. Got full plumbing and everything.”

They seem very surprised you’re actually willing to offer them a ride. Yellow-Eye gives you a look of thinly-veiled suspicion, drawling, “Uh, heh, you sure about that, buddy? It doesn’t bother you that we’re, y’know, monsters?” Wow, that’s a nice voice.

“If it bothered me, I wouldn’t have offered,” you reply, unable to stop yourself from chuckling. He still doesn’t look convinced, so you decide to throw in, “Of course, if you really don’t wanna trust me, I don’t blame you-no offense taken. I’ll just be on my way, in my nice, air conditioned, comfortable, fully stocked RV…”

You watch them exchange glances. Yellow-Eye holds up a finger and grabs Green-Eye, turning him so they can huddle together and whisper. You rest your chin on your arm, watching them with an amused grin. You can tell how badly Green-Eye wants to get out of the heat, and Yellow-Eye looks like he hasn’t had a decent nap in years. These poor saps are in bad need of a break, and you’re more than willing to give it to them.

Finally, they turn back to you and grin. “Think we’re gonna take you up on that, buddy. Thanks for the lift,” Yellow-Eye says, reaching down to grab his guitar and adjust his bag.

You sit up, smiling wider. “Hey, it’s my pleasure, friend. Bring your stuff on around, I’ll let you in through the side door.”

They obligingly carry their things around to the side, where you’re already waiting with the door open. You reach out to take their things, and while they protest a little, assuring you it’s no trouble, you refuse to let them haul all of it around a moment longer. As you expected, this crap is heavy, and you have no idea how long they’ve been trudging along with all of it one their shoulders. You can’t imagine it’s very good for their spines.

Once you’ve set everything down, you turn and extend your hand, introducing yourself. Green-Eye takes your hand first, smiling warmly down at you. (It’s at this point that you realize they’re both very, very tall compared to you. Like, probably pushing seven feet, in Green-Eye’s case.) “My name is Aster. Thank you very much for your hospitality, my friend. I has been quite a while since we’ve had somewhere to rest our weary bones.”

Yellow-Eye takes your hand next, giving you the same lopsided grin, though it’s much more sincere now. “Yeah, thanks, buddy. We were starting to think we’d just have to walk to the nearest town. You can just call me G.”

“Well, there was no way I could just leave you standing out there all day,” you reply, brushing off their gratitude with a slight blush. Clapping your hands, you draw their attention away from thanking you and to their temporary ride. “So! Welcome to scenic my RV! Right back there is the bedroom; I’ve taken the top, but I don’t mind sharing rooms, so one of you can take the bottom, if you want. I’ve also got a loft up above the driver’s seat-” You gesture to it. “-and I’ve got a little futon right here.” You gesture by your knee. “So feel free to take any of those!”

You wander further towards the back, pointing things out as you go. “This is sort of our kitchen space, including those cabinets of there. My food it yours, so feel free to raid it whenever. We’ve got a bathroom right here, fully equipped with sinks and showers and toilets and things. I’ve got shampoo and stuff too, but uh…” Here you sneak a glance at them, grinning. “I don’t think that’ll be much of a problem for you two.”

Your efforts are rewarded with a grin from Aster and chuckles from both, leaving you slightly giddy. “I’m currently on a little cross-country adventure, but if you guys have got somewhere specific you need to go, I’d be glad to take you there.”

“Honestly, we were just lookin’ to hitch a ride to the nearest town,” G replies, glancing around your RV curiously. He fixes you with another look and grin. “Wherever you’re headed is fine. We’re sort of on our own road trip, you see. Just sort of… exploring.”

“Well…” You pause, uncertain, but you decide just to go for it. You give them a grin. “If you’d like, then… you could tag along with me until I’ve finished up my journey. I’ve been out and about for a few weeks now, but I still have lots of places I wanna go, and I don’t anticipate stopping anytime soon. So if you wanted, I’d be cool with you hanging around. Unless you just wanna leave after the first town we hit, I don’t mind that.” You punctuate this statement with a careless shrug, although you’re sort of hoping they say yes. It’s pretty lonely being the only one here, and you’ll admit, you’re very curious about your companions.

They exchange another glance. You have expect them to turn around to consult again, but instead they simple smile down at you. “Thanks for the invite, kid. If you’re serious about that, I think we’ll take you up on it,” G says, reaching out to nudge your shoulder lightly.

Aster nods, adding, “We’d be delighted to join you. Thank you again for your assistance.”

You snort, giving them a nonchalant smile to hide your excitement. “Hey, it’s no big deal, don’t mention it, really. I’m just glad to have some travel buddies. It’s more fun running around the countryside with someone else, you know?” You nod towards the driver’s seat. “I’m gonna head back up there, so make yourselves at home, and lemme know if you need anything.”

They both agree, so you pick your way back to your seat and start up the vehicle. It’s weird to hear two additional voices in the background, but it’s a good kind of weird that makes you happy.

You could get used to this.

____________

Picking up G and Aster was probably the best choice you could have made.

The brothers (step-siblings, apparently, though they got a little funny about it when you asked) were a riot. Not a moment passed by without some kind of shenanigans from them. They could not be more opposite. Aster was sweet, soft-spoken, eloquent, and a huge book nerd; most of is stuff were books he’d collected from places they’d already been. G was funny, spunky, loud, and laidback. He loved playing the guitar, and after hearing some of your favorites, he’d start playing for you when there was nothing good on the radio. (Admittedly, you’d taken to turning it off completely just to hear him sing. He was so dang good at it.)

With their different personalities-and senses of humor-they often got into little play fights and good-natured bickering. There were times when Aster would be trying to help you navigate the roads and G would come up and distract him, so you ended up hopelessly lost. Those were usually the best trips, however, as you could never quite expect what you were going to get, and it resulted in some pretty crazy and wonderful adventures. You knew more puns and jokes about literally everything than you’ve ever known in your whole life, and take every opportunity to get into a joke fight with G, which you’ve learned Aster hates.

(Or so he says. You’ve seen him crack a smile sometimes when he thinks you’re not looking, and he’s even made a few very subtle and clever ones himself, so you’re pretty sure it’s all for show.)

You learn a lot about the brothers as you travel with them, from little things like their favorite drinks or songs to interesting habits and personality quirks. You’ve noticed they both have a knack for sensing and subsequently evading trouble, and they’ve got quite the silver tongue. It’s bailed you out of more tough situations than you can count. You’ve also seen quite a bit of their magic as this point, from the mundane acts of dishes and laundry to teleportation and summoning bones. You’ve never actually seen them fight, but it’s come close a few times, and you know you never want to see them when they’re not holding back.

(Friendly skeletons or not, they can still be spooky.)

As the days pass, your RV starts to look less like your parents and more like yours-all or yours’. Aster’s books fill up certain shelves, and G’s clothes can be found scattered on all the furniture, mixed in with yours. Sheet music and coffee takes up the counter, and if anyone would to check your trash, they’d find an odd mix of tea bags, energy drinks, and condiment bottles. The previously pristine beds below your and in the loft are now rumpled with use, and even a few stuffed animals or other knick-knacks. You have tons of pictures of the three of you pinned to walls or tucked in books, and a skeleton charm dangles on your rear-view mirror.

It’s the most homey the RV has ever felt, and it’s all because of these two. These are the days you never want to end.

And of course, that’s just when they do.

You’ve been just about everywhere by now. You’ve met thousands of people, and seen thousands of things, and done thousands of things you’ve never done before. There’s not much else for you to do anymore, and you dread to end it, but you’re on the road back home.

You’re pulled up at a care to eat when it comes up. The skeletons notice that you’re not your usual exuberant self and, exchanging telling glances, G speaks up. “Okay kid, time to come clean. What’s been eating you?”

Snickering half-heartedly, you take a sip of your drink. “Good one, G.”

He stares at you blankly for a moment, before realizing that he’s accidentally making a pun and snickering. Aster sighs, apparently taking it upon himself to figure this out, hopefully without punning. You give him a startled look when he grabs your hand. Seeing he’s got your attention, Aster smiles soft and says, “My dear friend, it is obvious that something is troubling you. G and I are worried. I know we are heading towards your home; is it your parents?”

“Sorta?” you question, making a convoluted face. Aster tries to puzzle out your emotions as you speak. “I mean, yeah it’s kinda my parents. I know they’re not gonna be happy about this. Especially not that I’m practically living in an RV with two monsters.” You roll your eyes, clearly annoyed with their attitudes.

G snorts, taking a swig of his coffee. You can smell the espresso from here. “Your parents are lame. And you’re a grown adult, you can decide who you hang out with and whether you live in an RV with two monsters.”

This seems to make things worse, as your frown twists deeper and your grip on Aster’s hand tightens. Aster directs his glare at G, who holds his hands up meekly, looking bewildered. He has no idea what he’s said to upset you. Aster rolls his eyelights and returns his attention to you, gently squeezing your fingers. “My dear, please, do tell us what is the matter.” He hesitates, then asks, “Is it… That you are, currently, living with… us?”

Your head snaps up, and you give him an appalled look, as though offended he would even suggest it. “What? No! No, that’s not it at all, I love living with you guys! Living with you guys is the best thing that’s ever happened to me!”

Silence. A few people at the surrounding tables glance over, curious. Both skeletons are giving you a startled look, a faint blush on their cheek bones. Your face heats quickly to match them, so you duck your head and continue in a lower voice, “You guys are my best friends, no doubt. Living with you has been great, and I… I wanna keep living with you,” you finally admit, meeting their eyes to prove your sincerity. “I really do. But it’s just… We’ve been everywhere. There’s… There’s really no where else to go. We agreed you’d tag along with me until the end of my journey, but… This is it. The journey is over, so I was worried you might wanna… leave.”

More silence. Neither looks like they know what to say. Suddenly, G starts snickering, quietly at first, and then louder and louder. You glance at Aster, but he looks just as lost as you, and a little embarrassed when G starts pounding on the table lightly, rattling the silverware.

It takes a moment to collect himself, but when he finally does, he looks up to give you a surprisingly intense look, if not still amused. “Sweetheart, journey ain’t over ‘til you says it’s over. There’s so much more to explore out there. There’s a whole world, for Asgore’s sack!” He reaches over the table, grabbing your free hand firmly. His eye glows brightly, like it’s responding to his determined statements. “We’ll stay with you as long as you want to. We’ll go wherever the journey takes us. You’re not gettin’ rid of us that easy, buddy.”

Aster grins as your starstruck face, affirming, “That’s right, my friend. As long as you want to continue travelling with us, we will not leave you. You are part of our family now, my dear, and we won’t be so easily shaken.” It’s not often you see him look so sure of himself, so confident-it looks good on him.

You don’t know what to say. You’re overwhelmed with happiness and content, sitting across from them in a warm diner with their hands firmly in yours, smiling at you. Your family. Two people you’ve chosen to care about, and who’ve chosen to care for you.

Their expressions soften slightly, and G reaches out, brushing your cheek with his fingers. “Why you cryin’, sweetheart? You really wanna get rid of us that bad?” He’s teasing, you can tell; there’s no way he could miss the giant smile on your face.

You shake your head, firmly gripping their hands. “I don’t ever wanna get rid of you two.”

They nod approvingly, and after mopping up your tears, breakfast continues like normal. When you’re done, you all pay and clamber back in the RV, heading on your way. You’ll drop by your parents, just for a bit, to let them meet your boys, and then you plan on finding a new route to take with the two of them.

You’re not quite sure where you’re going yet, or where you’re going to end up, but you know as long as you’re with the two of them, you know it’ll be a worthy adventure.