#and elected to go with my voice because i finally have a working headset

[blindrapture]

(”A Decade,” a post for the blog What is the Fear Mythos?)

Today is February 14th, 2021. Today is the birthday of our mythos's primary founder, CuteWithoutThe. On Cute's sixteenth birthday, they began organizing the Fear Mythos, getting into contact with the other two founders, alliterator and LizardBite, and planning some of the first stories. Because of this, it is tradition to consider the anniversary of the Fear Mythos to "begin" on February 14th.

Two weeks later, on the last day of the month, Cute posted a thread on TVTropes officially laying out the plans and inviting participation. While by this point we still were not even called "the Fear Mythos," it is tradition to consider the anniversary of our mythos to "end" on February 28th.

Again, today is February 14th, 2021. Cute's sixteenth birthday was ten years ago.

The Fear Mythos is turning ten years old.

Now, in practice, this might not mean much out of the ordinary. Members of the community generally collaborate for the "Fearniversary" in writing an anniversary tournament blog, and this year that is definitely a thing, this is a nice celebration. Getting to an anniversary at all is a cause worth celebrating.

But ten years, wow. There probably is a lot that can be said, in a sentimental sense. Our mythos has seen a lot of blogs over these ten years. We've seen some vlogs too. And we've even seen some games and musical outputs. There have been physical books, podcasts, communities on various websites; there have been busy years, quiet years, and years in between. People have come and gone, the popular monsters to be used in our stories have changed back and forth, and.. well, ten years have passed and yet this mythos does not die.

I have to acknowledge that not one of our three founders has been active in the mythos for some time. I, DJay, am the "oldest" member still sticking around, and even then I'm not that active, not even in my own stories. For some, this is an appeal of our community: It's quiet, a place to read stories and throw ideas around. I did oversee an overhaul several years ago with the express purpose of "futureproofing" our central concepts, the hope being that, no matter how quiet our community became, the ideas would stick around. For better or for worse, the quiet is something for which we were prepared.

I bring this up because something about a "tenth anniversary" feels like the sort of Big Deal that may bring about a change in activity. It's probably the significance inherent in a double-digit number. That's a very human thing. (Like, seriously, very human. The number 10 is only significant to us because we operate under base-10 assumptions, and those are predicated on the number of fingers we have. But I don't need to tell you any of this, not on the surface of what this post is about.) A group that has persisted for a decade has relative age, and age is associated with experience, experience with knowledge, knowledge with a social fertility that "could go Big with just the right input." All of which is to say: Ten is a very different age for a single human than it is for a group of fiction writers.

We have been quiet. Next, we might try something else. That's a scary idea in and of itself, isn't it? A good creepy story: The Day The Mythos Went Big.

I'm playing around, here. The Fearniversary is a communal event, like a damn two-week festival; this is the most appropriate time to dress ourselves up in masks and pretend to be what we haven't yet been, to turn our thoughts to the stars and dream big, to hit upon emotional changes which take us resolutely into the new year renewed and ready for what it may bring.

The Fear Mythos, you see, is yours. Our monsters, the Fears, are legally considered "Creative Commons Attribution," meaning you can do whatever you want with them so long as there's even an implicit acknowledgement of the greater mythos's existence. This is worth spelling out, even to veterans, because it's a strength that's easy to overlook. We can't always guarantee you an immediate active audience, but we can promise you this: Place. You and your creations have a place here, here where not even a decade has erased us, here where the future can still grow, here at the online intersection between fiction and reality. You are free to take our creations as a model to build your world, experiment, see what becomes.

I know. I'm wordy, and if I have any points I'm trying to make they don't consistently come across. Yet still, this mythos has given me place as well. When I've had nobody else, this mythos has been there for me for ten years. Without it, I wouldn't have published two books, written three rock albums, made dozens of surprisingly close online friends, and been exposed to media that has in tangible ways changed my life. I'm maybe a little too close to this mythos to make a proper grand statement in overview, which would be more appropriate for this celebratory post, but I can speak emotive, I can light a signal to confirm to the world that we're still going. To a degree, I can speak both to and for our community in saying: We have known activity, and we have known rest, and somehow out of the ambiguous murk in between the two we have found our Voice persists.

Those of you who are only now finding us, you've got so much to see. Those of you who are sticking around, you're in for a treat.

Another thing I'm doing here is clumsily segueing into another subject: seven years ago, on our third Fearniversary, LizardBite privately proposed setting up a semi-"official" ARG in celebration. (You know the kind: Codes hidden across the web that, when solved, lead down rabbit holes to even more codes, accompanied by some sort of story.) alliterator and I took up the suggestion and spent some time planning behind the scenes. I sought out the consultation of CuteWithoutThe, as well as mythos veterans The Visitor, Omega, and Squeek, in order to work out a setting of lore and game mechanics which would be both ethically appropriate and compelling. This proved fruitful, and when we launched the ARG our players uncovered novellas, audio logs, myths, and art (contributed by the likes of The Visitor, Logic, Wiratomkinder, and alliterator). The subforum on which their efforts were contained still exists, though you may need an account to see it. The ARG went on hiatus two years later, and it has been dormant ever since.

Those who currently frequent the discord community may know that I have been digging the old plans back up, that I intend on bringing the ARG back. It was my intent to bring it back in time for this Fearniversary. I, uh, may still be able to do so in time for the 28th of February, but I am not going to push it, as the content I have under works demands rigorous iteration and testing. I bring this up in this post because it is, by its nature, relevant to celebrations of our mythos, and this news is relevant to this Fearniversary in particular.

So. To conclude.

Happy Fearniversary 2021! We're celebrating a decade of the Fear Mythos!

and

As soon as it is ready, you will know: Nine is God is coming back. New players will be welcome.

[until-theend-oftheline]

Calm in the Storm

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader 

Warnings: None 

Word Count: 800ish 

A/N: This is for 100 drabbles to say I love you. Any Marvel fics will be posted here while all SPN related fics will be on my main blog @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​ You can find the masterlist with all the fics if you click on the link above. 

The prompt is: “Take my jacket. It’s cold outside” - requested by @patzammit​ 

Betaed by: noone all mistakes are mine

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

You had been working air control for the Avengers Compound for about a year. It had been a challenging task from the get go, with planes flying undetected by normal radars and coordinating with the normal planes that used the same airspace. You couldn’t depend on other control towers around the country. You and your team had to be in complete control, always knowing exactly where your jets were along with both military and commercial planes. 

Normally you loved your job, but not on a night like tonight when you were alone in the control tower. Most people were either stuck somewhere or had elected to stay home with their family due to the massive hurricane coming in, which also meant personale on the landing stripe were sparse.  

You had two jets coming in, flown by Nat and Clint and Bucky and Steve, on two different stripes with about 30 minutes apart. They were dependent on the lights and your staff on the landing stripe doing their job. Especially since you had Sam and Tony coming in any second now too. Not that they needed to use the landing zone but you kinda preferred none of the Avengers colliding and being injured when returning safely two different missions. Sam and Tony were out working with the national guard, because of the weather and it would be nice to not have them end up on the windshield of one of the jets, though you suspected Bucky would find that very amusing. 

You took a deep breath seeing the first jet carrying Steve and Bucky touch down safely. It had taken a bunch of yelling at the staff on the ground, since they were also short handed and at least one of the guys had the IQ of room temperature. Working with that guy was stressful on a good where one of your more competent co-workers was on the ground to pick up his slack and half trees and depree weren’t crashing against the windows of your Tower every few minutes. 

You were just about ready to start pulling out your own hair, trying to get him to replace the lights right on the stripe so Clint wouldn’t crash right into the jet Bucky had put down just a few minutes ago when the door to the control room opened and two very wet super soldiers walked in. 

“Hi sweetheart,” Steve greeted, bending down to press a quick kiss to your lips, and you sent him a brief smile. 

“Good you’re here. Take this,” you pulled off your headset, handing it to Steve ignoring the amused look on Bucky’s face and the confusion on Steve’s. 

“If Sam and Tony check in tell them to come in from the east and west. I got Clint coming from the North. Please tell him to circle once if he checks in before I give you the all clear,” you ordered, as you looked out of the window groaning in frustration. The guy on the ground had now placed the lights opposite of what you asked, meaning Clint would now take the roof off the Tower if all he could see coming in was the lights.

“What… Why?” Steve shook his head in confusion, before grabbing your arm finally realizing what you were doing as you headed for the door. “You’re not going out there.”

“Steven Grant Rogers,” you scolded as you shook yourself loose of his grip. “Drop that Captain America voice in here. There is an idiot in the landing zone trying to guide the jet in backward so yes I am going out there unless you wanna be a few team members short when they die in a horrible explosion landing on the Tower or a fuel truck or something.”

You crossed your arms across your chest staring Steve down, who stood up straight, opening and closing his mouth a few times, before finally sighing. He quickly shook off his jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders. 

“Atleast take my jacket. It’s cold outside,” Steve muttered, making you smile. You ignored Bucky’s roaring laughter behind you as you stood on your toes and pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek. 

“Thank you. I know what I’m doing,” you assured him, before turning around and heading for the door. “See you in a bit.”

“I’ll help,” Bucky offered, heading after you when you nodded, yelling back at Steve. “Don’t worry Stevie. I’ll make sure your girlfriend doesn’t fly away.”

“Careful Bucky,” you smirked back at him, “Or I’ll make you circle the compound 50 times before your next landing.”

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky grinned, still grabbing a hold of your arm as you opened the front door and the wind almost made you take a step back. Suddenly you were very happy to have Bucky next to you and you probably should have listened to Steve and just sent the two of them earlier, but you were never going to admit to that. 

Reblogs spread my work and make me happy. Got a favorite part/line? Did something touch you? Do you relate in some way? Please tell me and make my day. 

Steve Rogers Tag Team

@feelmyroarrrr​ @princess-evans-addict​ @littlebittcrazy​ @roxyspearing​ @jewels2876​ @hellaqueerangelofthelord​ @danijimenezv​ @becs-bunker​ @smoothdogsgirl​ @blacktithe7​ @avengerscompound​ @grace-for-sale​ @barnesrogersvstheworld​ @averyrogers83​ @girl-next-door-writes​ @docharleythegeekqueen​ @erosbellarke​ @slowlywithfreedom​  @the-wayward-robot​ @super100012​ @myfanficlibrarium​ @patzammit​ @awkwardfangirl2014​ @dottirose​ @panicatttckiss @kimmiestrawberrykiwi​ @cosicas-cuquis​

@miraclesoflove​ @badassbaker​

[avengersassemble-fics]

Lost and Found

Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Summary: Set slightly before ROTS, the war with the Separatists was at an all time high. The war was being fought on all fronts, with the Jedi at the forefront of almost every battle. Anakin and his 501st regiment are on their way to meet up with Obi-Wan and his fleet to help protect a planet that’s about to be attacked by the droid army. Anakin begins to feel something in the Force, that leads him to finding something he thought was long lost.

part 01/10 “a surprise”

Word Count: 4.5k

an: so this is kinda like a mix of the movies and tcw series. as far as anakins mannerisms and development but!! i hope you enjoy, im very passionate about these star wars stories right now :) also!! don’t come at me for anakin/padme’s relationship sorry but im working around that

thank you again to @omg-i-am-lord-voldemort for reading through this. you’re the best :)

spotify playlist to listen to while you’re reading!

There was a disturbance in the Force.

It felt like a cry for help, it felt like a desperate clawing at a life that is fading. But one thing that Anakin Skywalker knew was that he heard his name being called for.

It happened in the dark moments of the night, the stars laid out around the cruise ship he commanded, somewhere near the Outer Rim. He had just managed to fall asleep, but the voice still rang in his ears.

Anakin-

He had stirred awake, his eyes staring into the darkness of his small cabin, and he sat upwards, the blanket he had over his torso falling into his lap. He was confused, but he knew, he knew, he had heard the voice, felt it in his soul. He had tried to meditate to reconnect with that voice, that feeling, but he couldn’t find it again.

He was scheduled to meet up with Obi-Wan the following day to continue on a joint mission to an Outer Rim planet that the Separatists were attempting to invade. There was a large colony, an ally of the Republic, that was facing imminent attack by the droid army, and Obi-Wan and him were being sent to protect the people, along with the 501st squadron.

Obi-Wan stood alongside Anakin as they were being briefed on the mission at hand, but all Anakin could think about was speaking with his master about what he had felt, and if maybe he felt it too. He wasn’t paying much attention as Captain Rex went over the information they had on the colony, the man who was their elected ruler, the terrain, everything Rex had said went in one ear and out the other. Not that Anakin would ever admit that to anyone.

Finally, Obi-Wan had motioned for his padawan to follow him to their ships to leave to the planet below. Anakin’s strides matched his, and Obi-Wan was the first to speak.

“Is something troubling you?”

Anakin shook his head, “I was hoping to speak with you about something I had felt last night, there was a disturbance in the Force, I felt.. Like something, or someone, was calling for help.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied, “I felt it too.”

“I had never felt something that strong,” Anakin continued, “it felt.. close. And I could’ve sworn I heard my name as well.”

“Hm,” Obi-Wan paused, as the two men waited for a lift to arrive, he stroked his beard, “I can’t say I felt that presence.”

The turbo lift had arrived and opened for them to enter. When they did it proceeded to close, and whisk them towards their ship bay.

“But I know it,” Anakin said, “someone called for me.”

The lift opened, and Anakin took a step out, and Obi-Wan followed, “You may be right, but Anakin,” he paused and Anakin looked behind him at his Master, who held a stern gaze, “please be alert on this mission, I fear we are closer to the source than anticipated.”

“Yes, Master.” Anakin answered. The two men nodded their farewells and went their separate ways - Anakin to his ship and Obi-Wan to his. Both ships were to lead a handful of Clone ships down to the surface, and to begin setting up a defense against the anticipated attack. Anakin neared his ship and nodded towards the Clones he passed on the way, and set his hands on ship, his pal R2-D2 whirled around to face him in the droid slot.

“You ready R2?” He asked, climbing into the small cockpit, and settled in for the relatively short trip down. R2 chirped happily at him, and he smiled, flipping a few switches and the engine of the aircraft coming to life. The clear top slid closed as Anakin put a lightweight headset on, and he readied his ship to lift from the ground.

“Try not to fly too hastily,” Obi-Wan’s voice rang in his ears, and Anakin just grinned.

“Can’t promise you that Master.”

The sunlight was prominent through the sparse trees that lined the ground of the city. Mostly a rocky terrain, absolutely not to be confused with Geonosis he’d say, there was a bountiful piece of land the city resided on that was home to a trickle of a river, and a few trees that stood gorgeously large in the middle of the city. The hot planet was otherwise rather calm and cool here, the old natives would say this was because of the fact it was a holy place, but he chalked it up to just being one of the planets characteristics. He was standing in front of his humbly appointed advisors, each who had their eyes locked to the ground, and watched as the Republic vessels landed before him.

How lucky for him to be the host of two Jedi and the famous 501st regime. What an honor!

He cared deeply about honor.

He watched for a moment as the two Jedi hopped out their respective ships, and the large carriers opened to reveal dozens of clone troopers. He smiled at the two gentleman who began to make their way over, and he moved to meet them halfway.

“Master Kenobi and Master Skywalker,” he greeted, clasping his hands together and bowing his head slightly, “it is the highest honor to meet you, even under the dire circumstances.”

“Governor Shuule, thank you for offering to meet with us,” Obi-Wan greeted, his padawan quiet as he observed the surroundings.

“Of course, once we were paid a visit by Count Dooku, I had to alert the Republic immediately,” he nodded as he spoke, “my highest concern is the safety of my people.”

“As is ours,” Obi-Wan replied, and the governor motioned for the two men to follow him into the polished government building.

The words leaving Governor Shuule’s mouth seemed lined with honey, sweet and silky but sticky. He spoke about how the residents of this “fine city” were those who fled their worlds seeking a safe place to call home, and every person they passed by offered a smile - yet they didn’t feel genuine.

There was a disturbance in the Force.

Anakin could still feel it! It kept him on edge, and he allowed his Master to do a majority of the speaking. His mind, on the other hand, wondered, trying to make sense of this feeling-

-that’s how most of the day had passed without him even realizing. The Governor was offering them a chance to clean up before dinner was served. But of course we’ve already sent some food for your troops, he said as they were leaving the room. Anakin let out a pent up sigh, and Obi-Wan chuckled.

“I have never seen you so pensive, Anakin.”

“I’m sorry Master,” he replied and the two began to walk down the corridor towards the exit to outside, there, Rex and Fives were standing with a couple others, discussing something, “but honestly this place gives me the chills.”

“It feels too perfect,” Obi-Wan replied, earning a nod of the head from his Padawan, and as they neared the clones, all but Rex and Fives went off to their posts, and the two remaining clones stood a little straighter, holding their helmets on their hips and ready to give their reports.

“Sir, the outside wall has been secured and set with troops around the perimeter, keeping watch for the night. Most of the civilians have been accounted-“

“Most?” Anakin interjected, receiving a nod from Fives.

“Yes sir, there’s about 3 dozen unaccounted for.”

“That’s far too many,” Obi-Wan replied, there was a happy holler from down which they came. Looking over their shoulders the Governor was waving to them from near the room they came, dinner must have been ready. The two Jedi glanced at one another, almost like reading one another’s mind, and Obi-Wan nodded, leaving Anakin alone with his troops.

“I want you two to search this place, top to bottom,” he ordered, talking lowly for only them to hear, “something feels off, and I want to know what that is. Especially with that many people just unaccounted for.”

“Yes sir,” the two clones said in almost perfect unison, and Anakin nodded, following his Masters footsteps to join the Governor and a few others for a meal.

-

The sun had set a while ago, the grounds were dark all along the buildings, some lights illuminating the small residential buildings, others turned off as the two clone troopers walked down the road. The city was like a large circle, making it a bit easier to know where they were going. Both men were chatting as they walked alongside one another, glancing in either direction for anything they hadn’t yet noticed.

“It’s getting late,” Fives commented at one point as they were about to round the corner back towards the front of the largest building, the center of it all, that housed the Governor.

“You heard Commander Skywalker, search top to bottom.”

“Yeah,” Fives scoffed, “search top to bottom of what? Dirt?”

Rex stopped and faced the other clone, tapping his friend on the arm, “We do what we were told, take a look again and see if we missed anything.”

“Alright alright, fine,” the other replied, and they both faced the front of the city, but Rex shoved his arm forward for his friend to stop, giving a quiet stop order, and Fives followed his gaze.

In the distance, they saw Governor Shuule exiting one of the resident buildings, glancing around for anyone who was watching. The two clones quickly stepped around the corner of the nearest building to hide in the shadows, kneeling to the ground to stay as quiet as possible. Rex quickly turned his helmet light off and peered around the corner once again.

Governor Shuule quickly moved around the corner of the door, shutting it tightly behind him and seeming to release a pent up breath. His body relaxed for a moment before straightening and spinning around to face the entrance of his own palace (although he wouldn’t call it that, it was a “home to many”).

Rex’s stomach dropped for a moment, watching the man almost float back inside, carrying himself with as much pride as Dooku did.

“What was that about?” Fives finally spoke, and Rex looked back at him.

“No idea. Wanna find out?”

“Don’t even need to ask,” Fives replied, and both clones carefully made their way to the dark home the Governor had just left.

It was a normal cottage, well as normal as the other ones had looked at least. The outer wall was made of rock, keeping with the design of the tall mountains found nearby, with a metal door and normal windows. Not suspicious at all, unless someone is sneaking out of it of course. Of course, it was locked by a hand scanner, but Rex scoffed.

“Easy,” he mumbled, pulling something from his utility belt and dusting it onto the panel. It was silent for a few moments before beeping happily, and the metal door slid open. Both clones stepped carefully inside, and activated the lights on their helmets once again.

The outside of the building made it look as if there was a large room you were entering into, but that wasn’t the case. The clones stood on a small landing, but the ground beneath them descended down into a dark pit, stairs seeming to twist around a corner. Rex took the lead, taking quiet steps down the stairs, Fives just a few steps behind.

“What do you think he is keeping down here?” Fives questioned, earning a shrug from his companion.

“Something he doesn’t want us to know about,” Rex offered.

The stairs seemed to just keep spiraling, leading the two men deeper and deeper into the ground. The rocky texture was similar to the rest of the planet, with a hung light every once in awhile. How anyone could see down here without proper light, they didn’t know. The deeper they went, there were noises that seemed to resonate louder with each step.

Rex lifted his hand and stopped walking, Fives halting his movements and glancing down, “What is it?”

“There’s an opening,” Rex replied, motioning to the few steps left that were brightly lit, indicating an opening that had some source of light in it. The noise they could make out clearly now sounded like chatter around a room, “Proceed with caution, we don’t know what we’re about to walk into.”

“Yes, sir,” Fives replied, and the two made their final steps down, not prepared for what they were about to see.

The room was a large cave, littered with what they could imagine were the 30 missing souls. There were so many different species, and as they stepped down into the opening, in awe, a group off to the side turned around.

“What the-“

“Clones! We’re saved!”

“They’ve found us!”

Voices began to radiate in the rocky cavern, and with a glance between the two, Rex and Fives took a couple steps forward towards the group that was approaching them. A Twilek, a couple humans, and a Quarren stood in front of them.

“What is going on here?” Rex questioned.

“Shuule has imprisoned us down here,” the Quarren replied, his voice hoarse, “many of us are sick, in desperate need of medical attention.”

“How many of you are there?” Fives asked next.

“Thirty in total,” the Twilek spoke next, her eyes were dark and droopy, “about a dozen are sick, we haven’t eaten in days.”

Fives looked to Rex, who glanced only for a moment at him, “Why would Shuule hide his own people down here with no food?”

“His people..” a human voice managed from the back, causing the Twilek and Quarren to move out of the way. Behind them stood a human female, whose face looked hollow around the cheeks, and skin that had hints of purple like they were freezing. Definitely the worst of the crowd, they were being helped stood up by another on their side.

“Shuule has made his mark in this world by.. by stealing people from their homes.. families,” their voice shook with each word, and as they spoke the crowd only seemed to grow, “and bringing them here to be his slaves.”

Slaves.

Anakin hated slave owners. It made his skin crawl and blood boil when Rex told him over their comm links. Obi-Wan and Anakin had excused themselves when their commas blinked green, indicating a message coming in. Obi-Wan quickly turned to his Padawan, who he had to grasp onto.

“Anakin-“

“That dirty, no good lying son of a-“

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan’s voice was more forceful this time, making his Padawan stop, breathing heavily with his fists clenched, “We cannot make a hasty judgement right now, we don’t know what Shuule is capable of.”

“Oh I can tell you what he’s capable of that disgusting-“

“Our best course of action,” he interrupted, “is to have Rex and Fives evacuate those who are locked away, get them to a medical ship and then the rest to safety. Return them to their homes if we can.”

Anakin shook his head, finally letting out a more calmed tone of voice, “You’re right, Master. We‘ll distract him, and have the men evacuate those people.”

-

Looking at the same rocky walls everyday was torture in a new way. And you had been a slave on Tatooine until you were of age and your parents debts were paid off. Needless to say, these orange rocks made you feel crazier then the hot sand of your early life.

You were the first to revolt against Shuule. You had earned you freedom from Tatooine and he stole that from you the day before you were set to leave that desert planet. You were tired of having to wait hand and foot on a man you had hoped to just perish one day.

It’s what he deserved for everything he had done, to everyone here.

You said no to his orders, stunning him and others. He turned around so quickly with his hand fiercely against your face. It had stung, but you didn’t back down.

You said no.

He promptly locked you down here. It was a shock that he had it ready for a situation like this but you weren’t surprised, he was capable of the dirtiest and lowest of things. The first two nights you curled into a ball against this stupid rock and didn’t sleep much.

He visited you two days later, carrying food and water on a silver platter and kneeling in front of you. He had honey eyes and a somber look on his face, offering your sad soul the water first. You took it. That was your mistake. He let you finish everything, really you had inhaled it but there was no difference, with a smug grin. That was when he told you.

“You chose this ending my love.. but don’t worry, the poison should work soon enough.”

You were dying. That bastard poisoned you, and almost everyone else who came down here. You had tried to warn them not to eat the food, and some had listened, but the call of hunger was too strong for some. It had only been a few days, most surviving off just water but we all knew that wouldn’t be able to last forever.

“What are we going to do?” your Quarren friend asked. There was a group of you, the first ones who had been down here, that were looked to as leaders. The ones who wanted to revolt in the first place. Ultimately, the ones who caused this mess.

“Someone will come. Someone will find us,” you managed, your voice weak and you rested your back against another’s.

“How do you know that?”

“I have hope,” you smiled.

Then here they were. The clones now identified as Commander Rex and Fives. They walked around, scanning everyone and counting each head. As soldiers do. When they came to you, Fives was the one to speak to you first.

“What’s your name?”

“(Y/N),” you managed. Your group of friends surrounded you, letting you rest against the rocky wall, your arms laid in your lap and your eyes tired. They looked at you with pity.

You hated that.

“And your last name?” Rex had asked.

You shook your head, “Don’t-“ you closed your eyes, your breath hitching in your throat.

“It’s okay,” Fives places his heavy hand over yours, “we’re going to help you. I promise.”

You nodded, opening your eyes to meet the face of the two men before you, “I know.. I knew you would come.”

“You did,” Rex more so said then asked.

You offered a weak smile, “Maybe not you two specifically.. but I knew someone would. Better now than later.”

“Was that a joke?” Gives asked you, earning a nod from you in response. They chuckled for a moment, before there was a sudden shake in the ground.

“That can’t be good,” Fives commented, both of them standing and placing their helmets on.

“Go up and see what the devil is going on,” Rex commanded. Fives responded with a yes sir and hurried back up the stairs. Others in the cave began to chatter, and your friends all knelt down to help you up.

You felt you didn’t have much longer, but maybe if you could just manage up those stairs-

Rex stood and put his helmet back on, and Fives was scurrying back down, “Sir! The door is blocked. The droids have attacked the city, General Kenobi has sent some of the others to secure the rest of the people, but we cannot get out the way we came.”

Those nearby began to talk louder, what were they to do now? Rex looked all around, before noticing in the distance what seemed to be an opening, maybe a way out. He pointed where the cave opened to darkness.

“Where does that lead?” He asked.

“That.. It shouldn’t go anywhere.” One of your friends answered.

“Well we need to try,” Rex said, “we have to try and get out of here, and survive. It’s our best bet.”

You nodded in agreement, struggling to hold yourself up even with the help of others. They were weak as well, but Captain Rex and Fives were quick to hold you upright. They motioned for your friends to let them help you, and they obliged.

“Thank you,” you said to them both.

“We wouldn’t dream of leaving you behind,” Fives commented, earning a small laugh from you. That made him smile beneath his helmet, all while Rex shook his head. Not the time or place, he thought.

People hurried down the dark cave opening, it was almost like a perfectly made hallway. Where did it go? No one knew. The only lights guiding them were produced from the helmets of the clone troopers. It felt like you were walking forever, but maybe that was just because your strength was leaving your body. A couple times the men had to almost lift you enough that your feet glided across the ground.

You told yourself you would not die on this planet.

The crowd seemed to come to a stop, the people in front of you becoming more and more vocal. Rex and Fives, while carrying you at this point, had to push their way through the crowd.

Your stomach dropped at the sight, maybe even theirs as well. The cave did come to a large opening.

But it was completely blocked by boulders. Something must have caved in. Needless to say, you were trapped. Some people began to weep. The ground still occasionally shook as a battle raged up top, some words filtered through your mind.

We’re trapped!

I can’t go back, my legs are too weak.

I just want to go home.

“Put me down,” you mustered, earning a glance from Rex, “please just put me down.”

They set you back down enough to where your feet touched the ground, your legs wobbled a bit under the pressure, but you released your arms that were hung around each clones shoulders. You took a step forward, and those around you parted slightly.

“(Y/N)-“ a voice said, you’re not too sure who said it, not in that moment.

“I’m not dying like this,” you said, pausing only for a moment as the rest of the people in front of you, “we are not dying like this. Not here, not in this place,” you were finally in front of everyone gazing at the rocks in front of you, “I had hope and I could feel someone would come and find us, and I’m not giving that hope up.”

You had never done this before. Not really. It was only ever just a feeling that you would follow. You took a breath and with closed eyes, you just focused on that feeling. You didn’t know what you were doing, but the silence you had once heard filled your ears in a tone that felt like you were fading yourself.

But then your skin felt warm.

Your eyes fluttered open only for a moment, and the rocks that were once in front of you were know gone, seemingly placed somewhere else in the canyon that was now opened to you. Those around you hurried past you, but your legs buckled from below you.

Rex was the one who caught you before you hit the ground, your eyes closed tightly and skin cool to the touch. What he had just witnessed was something he believed only a Jedi could do. The com on his wrist blinked green, Fives was busy keeping everyone together, and checking on those who had to lower themselves to the ground to sit.

“Captain Rex, please come in,” the voice called. He could recognize it as General Skywalker any day, he knelt down as he held you in his free arm.

“Sir, we’ve managed to get out the cave, but-“

“That’s great, we’re sending a medical transport to your location now.”

“Yes sir,” Rex replies into the com, “but General-“

“We can discuss it when we return to the ship, but right now we need to focus on getting everyone to safety, and Shuule in for his conviction.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, focusing down at your nearly lifeless body.

-

How did you get here?

When your eyes finally reopened you were in a bed, a blanket over top your body, and the room was large, fitting multiple people in a row on each of your sides. Your head fell to the side as you tried to find something of familiarity, only seeing a medical droid a few beds down, along with the clone you had come to know as Fives. He glanced up at just the right moment, saying something to the droid, before making his way over.

“How’re we feeling?” he asked you. Your head rolled back so you were looking straight at the ceiling, the medical droid coming over to read your vitals.

“I feel.. Good. Better than before,” you answered, earning a nod and small smile.

“I’ve been tasked with trying to locate everybody’s home worlds, and finding them a way back to their families, so can you tell me-”

“I don’t have a home,” you cut him off, your eyes were locked with his but he diverted them away from yours. He cleared his throat, and moved out the way as the medical droid asked you if he could sit you upright. You nodded, pushing yourself up on your elbows as it adjusted your pillows, and helped you slide backwards into a sitting position.

“Where were you hoping to go then?”

You thought about it for a moment, “I don’t really know.. When I was freed I had bought passage on the next ship out, I didn’t care where. I was going to look for someone.”

“And who was that?” he asked you.

Anakin was walking alongside his Master towards the bay they had converted into a place to house the refugees. The two were engrossed in a conversation, being followed by Rex behind them. They were heading to follow up with Fives about what he has documented so far. Anakin had to postpone his debriefing with Captain Rex for the moment as they awaited new orders about getting these people back to their homes.

Obi-Wan had told Anakin he was proud of him and how he handled Shuule, and not letting his anger dictate his actions. Anakin nodded, but he was still disgusted with the whole ordeal. He had yet to completely process the last 24 hours, especially with his lack of sleep, but he did feel more at ease.

The Force felt oddly calm.

The doors to the bay opened for the three man group, and they entered still having a casual discussion.

“The Council will have to act fast in this regard,” Obi-Wan was commenting. Anakin nodded, and they neared where Fives stood, “they may decide to send smaller vessels, avoid any kind of detection-”

“Ani?”

Anakin paused. No one besides Padme called him Ani, but it certainly was not her voice that quietly filled the room. It was uncertain, laced with a sweetness he hadn’t heard in awhile. Everyone was watching, and Anakin’s body faced the source of the voice. His mouth parted slightly in confusion, processing what was in front of him.

“(Y/N)?”

[guigz1-coldwar]

'Dying hard' : New chapter for "Redemption in a Spirit in a Cold War" is out !

"Dying hard'

Chapter Summary : After thinking of a plan for days, Bell and the group finally have something to strike Derazio in his heart.....

To read it on AO3, click here !

Words : +3500

--------------------------

Derazio....we know exactly where this guy is living and we can say that he's a pain in the ass : never leaving his penthouse he owned at the top of the Royal Hotel and if he had to leave, it's for only extreme cases and those case were pretty rare this days. His behavior is causing us to directly attack him in his heart, meaning his penthouse and for that, we needed a plan, a strong one. We spent the rest of the day to think about it but each idea we got was either too dangerous or impossible to do.

At this moment, we all know that we needed more intel about how we can strike the penthouse and for the next 3 days, we were going around the city to meet some Wolf's contacts about informations, one of them were even able to give us the plans of the penthouse, allowing us to plan our moves when the time will come. We also make some scouting around the hotel to see the entrances of it and I wasn't with Park each time, either with Sims or Wolf. As the transmissions from Perseus & Duvall were still coming in, I didn't go out of the safehouse for the large part of the 3 days for that.

Those transmissions were easy to crack and they gave us some facts about Perseus's little operations in the South of the US and thanks to that, Sims contacted the CIA about that, allowing us to stay focused on the New Orleans. I was staying a lot of time next to the radio, making me at each night, the last person to go to bed since those communications could intervene at any time during the day & a little part of the night.

However, instead of going to sleep in my room or Park's room like I did for the second day, I stayed more longer because of uncommon transmissions during the third night and of course, I fell asleep on my chair a long time after midnight. Suddenly, I start to dream of Vietnam and even if it was fake, I could still relive them during some night. In that one, I was coming back to a US base with Adler and Sims during a night and again, I fell asleep on a bed in my personal quarters until.....

"Caca dau ! Caca dau !" A man said loudly in Vietnamese, clapping with his hands, breaking me out of my sleep and I quickly got up to reach my M1911 that was standing on the table to aim at that man.....to reveal Sims himself, having a big smile on his face as me, I was mixed between relieved that it was fake and angry because of what Sims did. It was just me & Sims in the operation room for the moment.

"For fuck sake, Sims." I exclaimed, starting to lower down my M1911. "I almost shot you in the goddamn face." I put the gun down back on the table, closing my eyes to remove that fake memory from my head.

"Now, we're even !" He pointed at me before he step back from my chair as I sit back on it, still feeling weird after that.

"You know that I don't want to laugh about that." I affirmed to him, having a knot in my chest at the moment because of that scare he put in me. "I didn't do Vietnam and dreaming of it sometimes is so stressful for me."

"Yeah, I think it was stupid from me." He apologized himself, realizing that it wasn't funny. "I'm sorry." He then hand to me a cup of coffee....mine.

"Don't worry as long if you don't do it again." I said in a low voice, taking the cup in my hands before I looked at Sims, curious. "What does that means ?" I asked about the words he said in Vietnamese as I drink the coffee in one instant, making me perked up.

"It's meaning 'I'll kill you !'.....heard it a lot back in those days." He replied, taking back the smile he had, maybe wanting to not think negatively. "For real, it's good that you didn't do that war." He added, sure of his words and for that, I agree with this.

"Unfortunately, Adler make me believe I did it." I snorted, taking a part of a headset from the radio in my hands before holding it at the side of my head, at my right of it. "To change, is there anything new about that Perseus operation in Atlanta ?" I asked, mentioning the last operation that I was able to decrypt from Duvall's transmissions.

"Langley send a team over there and they succeeded.....just got the call from them a few minutes ago." He responded, grinning at me to show that I did a great work about that. "Nothing else on your side ?" He asked back, I shook my head,

"No, apart from that, there's nothing that could help us." I showed him some part of the transmissions I described from a specified pile of paper that I regrouped in two : a large pile that I considered as not very helpful and a very small pile of paper I considered as 'could help us'. I showed him the large one. "For that, it's just communications between the Perseus Collective and Duvall."

"What does this one is saying ?" He took the first paper that he saw in his hands.

"Well, the Perseus Collective is asking Duvall to lay low since Sonya has left, leaving him unprotected." I breathed as he gave me back the paper where I could finally say the rest as I didn't remember everything from it. "Duvall told them that he doesn't need protection from 'Europeans'." I added, almost making a laugh about it.

"That is leaving him without a close Perseus agent around him." Sims had his hand on his chin, thinking. "And since he doesn't want protection, he will stay like that for a while....until we take care of him." He took a little breath, getting himself leaned against the wall.

"Yeah but we can't take care of him in public, it's too dangerous." I said, remembering that we're in the US, trying to target an potential candidate for the US presidential elections. "For the moment, we need to dispose of Derazio and Alvarez." I added before I turned around with my chair as I heard some footsteps coming in the room, revealing Park. "Hi, Park." I waved at her in a lovely way.

"Yiri." She returned the favor, calling me with my little nickname, not even getting embarrased as Sims was literally just there, next to me against the wall. "Sims." She grinned at him, walking next to me, wondering how was work for me. "Anything new ?" She asked, just next to me, having her hand on my shoulder

"Nothing big for us to have a occasion on Derazio." I replied, looking back at the papers before I looked at both of them. "We still have nothing on Alvarez ?"

"I checked up again with the MI6 : Alvarez was brought up in the US by his uncle named Zarraga for helping Duvall." Park responded, sitting on a chair next to me, her hand still on my shoulder. "We only got that against Alvarez."

"Well, at least, we have some piece of intel about that Cuban." Sims exclaimed before we started to hear loud footsteps coming in the room.

"We have a plan on Derazio !" It was Wolf, entering the room, holding his satellite phone in his hands, he was looking relieved after we all spend 3 days about that.

"Might be good, I hope." Sims joked around it as he was remembering his & Wolf ideas about how we can enter the penthouse.

"Apparently, the man in charge of bringing the money from all the business Derazio is 'protecting' made a fatal mistake." He started, putting his phone on the table. I did put also the headseat back on my workplace as well to hear clearly. "Derazio shot the guy and asked one of his henchman to bring the money at the Royal Hotel today."

"Where did you get that intel ?" Park asked curious.

"One of my contacts has wired the place up." He simply replied, his guys could do anything....really... "Derazio even gave him the access code that can lead us to the penthouse."

"So if I understand right...." I started slowly, getting up from my chair to walk next to the dashboard. "We can now enter the Royal Hotel from behind, use the access code and get into the penthouse without having us spotted." I suggested, Wolf nodded.

"My contact can take care of the henchman alone as we take his place to get in the parking under the hotel." He added, starting to walk next to the table where our guns were posed on.

"So, let's get ourselves ready then !" Park proclaimed and then, we part away to prepare ourselves for that mission : getting rid of Derazio for good !

We all started to arm ourselves with the guns that Wolf is supplying to us : some M16s recalling....well, it's making me remember of the old good fake memories of Vietnam where it was my primary gun I used in those memories. All of the guns were equipped with silencers and it was perfect for us as even if we are maybe going to start a shootout with Derazio's men on top of the Royal Hotel, we are surely sure to make noises that could be heard from the ground level.

After we were ready, Wolf make a last call to his contact, asking him to do his part before we finally left the safehouse with our guns and now on our way to the hotel. I was a bit nervous about it, still getting back well after that scare Sims put in me with that brutal awakening and also because we don't know how it's going to play out : our plan is to go inside the hotel, get to the penthouse and neutralize Derazio and if we can, find informations about Perseus operations in the US.

Wolf, who was driving the car, wasn't nervous at all, apparently knowing that we're gonna surely get the job done. After at least 10 minutes of driving into the New Orleans downtown, we were near the hotel as Wolf drive to get to the underground parking that is only for those living in the hotel but thanks to Wolf's contact, we were able to use the code Derazio told his henchman to enter the parking that was pretty unguarded in that area.

We got out of the car, taking out the guns that we have hidden in the trunk as we weren't going to have our guns in ours hand during all the way to the hotel : M16 are not something that we can't hide easily and not possible when we have at least four of them.

"Okay." Wolf spoke as he was preparing the silencer for his M16 at the same time of us. "The elevator leading to the penthouse is in the loading bay, just at the other side of this door." He pointed to us a grey door that was at the end of the parking, as we were finished to prepare our guns and to have put some bulletproof vests under our jackets.

"Someone has to stay here to make sure we're not surprised when we come back." I suggested as I was a little suspicious in case Perseus want to intervene in here after we were done with Derazio.

"I'm going to stay here." Wolf volunteered himself and we approved of his choice. "I think you all know what are we dealing with ?" He asked, we nodded to his question.

"Let's go then." Park ordered as we start to follow her with Sims. Wolf was also following us but he was more keeping an eye behind our back before he put himself in cover behind a pillar as me, Park & Sims were near the door. "Sims, open the door." He complied and slowly opened the door, his gun in front of him, aiming as he entered the loading bay.

"Nothing here." He whispered as he checked the room quickly in a few seconds before he gestured to us to follow him. "Loading bay is clear." We started to follow him inside the big room, still suspicious, not wanting to have someone or multiple hostiles to jump on us by surprise.

"No hostiles to see." I added while moving to the elevator with Park at my side as Sims was entering the code that will lead us to the penthouse. The elevator doors opened and Sims entered it first before we followed him inside.

"Nervous ?" Sims asked to both of us as the elevator closed and slowly start to get up.

"Maybe." I replied, saying the truth....I was maybe nervous about all of this......not having my hands shake a little from it.

"Don't need to be nervous, Yirina." Park put her free hand on me, holding her M16 in the other , seeing my hands shaking, a little grin on her face.

"We are going to transform a penthouse from the New Orleans skyline into a battlefield, why I can't be nervous ?" I asked back to Sims who, in a second, change his face to realize that I was true.

"Yeah, I can understand now." He smirked at me, rolling his eyes all around us.

"How many men we're gonna face ?" Park questioned him as she removed her hand from me to get it back to her gun.

"At least between 10 & 20 persons that will stand in our way to Derazio." He responded, looking up to see that we were soon arrived at our destination and by his look, we started to get ourselves ready, aiming our guns at the door "Be ready." He ordered and then, the doors opened.

We were finally arrived and the first thing we saw was two guards standing just next to a door with their owns guns. Since we have raised our guns first, we shot them pretty quickly but apparently, they were already alerted by our presence since unfortunately, the elevator had an security cam in it that we just saw only when we got out of the elevator....goodbye for the element of surprise..... I took the lead as I forced open the door that was leading to the gigantic living room of the penthouse with an big view on the city.

But no time to admire it as we were nearly greeted by the flying bullets of Derazio's henchmens, all of them taking cover behind something and we did the same. Sims was covering us from the first room as I was already in the living room behind an pillar and Park had took position behind an wall just at the other side of me. We didn't have anything that could help us but Park was able to take a flashbang grenade for her that she threw in the middle of the living room. It exploded the second it landed on the couch.

We profited of that instant to take care of the numerous guards that did the mistake of going out of cover, been blinded by the grenade and we could finally move from our respectives cover to advance inside the living room more deeply, having neutralized a large part of the guards but there were still at least 3-4 guys remaining that were protecting a wooden door....Derazio's private office as we could seen.

Those guys were well-armed but they did another mistake : they were shooting everywhere all around us....and not on us and they were soon out of ammo. One of them managed to go out of his cover and to throw himself on me before I could successfuly shot him at point blank. I found myself on the ground with that guy on top of me and he tried to punch me.....but I avoided it at the last second, he punched the floor very hard, causing him to scream in pain and me to push him away to reload quickly my M16 and finish that guy off before he could try anything else.

"Nicely done, Yirina." Park moved to help me to get back on my feets after apparently having finished the remaining guys protecting the door.

"Thanks for the compliment." I adressed, helped by her until I'm on my feets, observing the dead guys on the ground near the door. "Guess Derazio is alone now." I added as I looked to Sims who were taking cover, his gun aimed towards the door leading to the elevator.

"Take care of him, I'll get the area secured." He exclaimed, gesturing to us to get to Derazio office and we complied.

"Alright, let's finish him off." Park scoffed as she start to lead the way. I followed her and we opened the door....to see Derazio, standing up behind his desk from afar....with....an RPG in hand.

"Get down !" I threw myself into Park as the second I saw him with that thing in hands and then, he shot a rocket too late as I was already on the ground with Park. The rocket almost hit us up close, flying over us and exploding against the wall that was far behind us.

"You fucking bitches, just die !" Derazio shouted before I could see him, taking a gun in his hand and start to shot in our direction, causing me & Park to get ourselves in cover.

"It's over, Derazio, you're done !" Park yelled to him, trying to make him understand that he was alone but the bullets were still flying.

"That's what you think ?" He then laughed while still shooting at us from his desk before no more bullets could be flying and heard. "For fuck sake, work, stupid gun." He was out of ammo and with that, I quickly got out of cover and start to slowly advance before I shot him two in the right shoulder with my M1911. "AAAaahhh." That is what I heard when my first bullet hit him, causing him to fall back behind his desk.

I gave signs to Park meaning that Derazio was done and neutralized as we could finally enter his office without having someone to shot a damn rocket on us. He was still trying to reload his gun with pain, not succeeding to put the mag of it inside the gun that was backwards. I arrived next to him to remove the gun from his hands, throwing it away as Park arrived also in the room, starting to search his desk for infos as I kept a eye on him.

"So....you might think you have done something ?" He started slowly, not convinced that he was beaten. Blood was coming out of his mouth, making him spit a bit of blood each time he talked. "You can't stop me....you can't stop Perseus....you can't stop Duvall."

"Say the one who has 2 bullets in his shoulder." I taunted him, watching him with disgust before Park arrived next to me.

"Here's a register from his operations, the only thing useful in here." She handed what she told me, making me take a closer look at it, it was mainly about the 'protection' he was running around, but also about some arms deliveries he was making account for Duvall.

"Apparently, Perseus has stopped delivering guns to Duvall since 3 days ago." I said, seeing the last date where the last arms deliveries was done the day of Duvall's little speech.....the day Sonya stopped protecting Duvall...

"Duvall....is nonetheless an idiot....can't think right for Perseus..." Derazio told us, pointing the side of his head, making us believe that he was taking Duvall for an brainless person. "I'm the brain here...."

"No more since we got you." Park exclaimed, referring to his decreasing state.

"You believe it...." He make a silent laugh, holding his gunshot wounds "Kill me then....I will be replaced tomorrow....no one....will even notice." He provoked us again, leading me to raise him on his feets, wanting to make him sure that he's wrong.

"You're wrong...." I started before taking a deep breath, thinking of that little idea I had in mind and I looked to Park who saw in me what I was thinking and she nodded to me, agreeing at 100% my idea. "Everyone will notice !" I then grabbed him with all my might.....and I threw him through the window of his office, making him fall to his death.....very brutal but necessary !

"I guess he died hard !" Park said as we both looked outside to see Derazio just landing on the top of a car on the ground level, she was referring to my words before we start to think of a plan, three days ago. She then give me tap on my shoulder. "We're done here, let's get back to the safehouse." We then start to leave the office, stopping to watch Derazio from afar as we got back into the living room as Sims was waiting for us.

"So, Derazio is done ?" He asked and we nodded to him but he was still curious of something "Where is he now ?" He questioned us and by hearing that, I start to make a little grin on my face, before slowly walking away from the living room, accompanied by Park.....

"He's in a car !"

[ckentdaily]

Welcome to the World

“Gosh, I’m awful sorry,” Clark coughed, after inhaling half of the finishing powder that the makeup artist, Alice, just applied. Alice was nice. Alice only asked him questions about Bruce Wayne and whether or not the little husky mix he adopted was as cute as she seemed in the photos. After Clark had reassured her that, yes, Ace was adorable and Bruce was spoiling her, he shook her hand with both of his and thanked her twice.

The dressing room was silent again. He stood up and stretched his legs, after prying the narrow wooden chair from his hips. No one on set had expected him to be this big, which resulted in some last minute seating changes... but only once he was in front of the camera. A little discomfort now was fine. He just didn’t want to be remembered backstage for breaking a chair.

“Ok, Clark. Let’s decide who you’re gonna be today.” He squinted at himself in the mirror, not liking how the powder obscured the pores in his face. He leaned against the vanity and scrunched up his nose, then rolled his shoulders back. With his tie tucked and a confident smile, he stared at his reflection. One hand in his pocket. Feet shoulder width apart.

Too much like Superman.

He rolled his shoulders forward, higher by his ears, and let his weight shift to the right. He hunched forward and made sure his glasses were high on the bridge of his nose, with the black rim obscuring the space between his eyelids and brow. The lens were thick enough that his eyelashes would barely be seen, much less noticed.

Too much like Clark. Old Clark.

The Clark that hid from opportunities like these, and only scraped by in job interviews, scuttling through parties along the back wall until he faded into the background.

Clark didn’t want to be that Clark today. He didn’t want to be that Clark ever again if it meant he couldn’t be effective.

He straightened up, and took his hand out of his pocket, but he smiled again. Just a disarming, shy one, but enough that he didn’t look like he was prepared to jump out of his skin at any moment.

Better.

He buttoned his blazer and opened the door, just as he heard one of the crew telling Brandon, from sound, to grab the guest and bring him out.

“Showtime, huh?”

--

“If you’re just joining us, I’m Chuck Wilton, and as the Ukraine scandal unfolds, WGBS is bringing you an exclusive interview with the journalist, Clark Kent, who broke the story. Welcome Clark.” The introduction rolled off the older, gaunt looking man’s tongue with a practiced ease. Chuck appeared on millions of screens across Metropolis and the country for more than a decade. He was a familiar, no nonsense face in American homes.

And he was still too conservative for Clark’s liking. He could respect the man’s commitment to his work while disagreeing with his personal politics. Clark couldn’t relax entirely, even as he shook Chuck’s hand and sat down in the appropriately sized swivel chair, on his side of the desk. He knew not to close his eyes when the pitcher’s planning a curveball. Clark just didn’t know when it would come.

“Thanks for havin’ me, Chuck. I’m glad to be here,” Clark kept the drawl in his voice, as he let the button loose and set down his typed notes in front of him.

Chuck first asked about Clark’s conversations with Ambassador William Taylor, envoy to Ukraine, who returned stateside to testify in front of Congress about the President’s international transgressions. Clark answered calmly, laying out the timeline of the President withholding national aid to force another government to investigate his political opponents.

“That’s correct. President Trump asked for Kiev to investigate former Vice President Biden and would not release security aid until this was done. Requesting that a foreign government conduct a politically motivated investigation with the promise of something in return is not only illegal, but it’s not how the United States conducts foreign affairs.”

“And this single phone call, that we don’t have access to the transcript for, is enough for Speaker Pelosi to file the articles of impeachment? The testimony of a single civil servant has launched these closed door hearings in the SCIF?”

“Not just any civil servant, Chuck. Mr. Taylor is a decorated veteran who has served in nonpartisan roles under both Democratic and Republican administrations since 1985. He worked for the Department of Energy and NATO, ‘fore he began working internationally for the State Department.” Clark pushed back, still smiling, but dropping his hands to his lap to keep from gesturing as he spoke. “I think that in the coming days, you’ll see more and more folks comin’ forward, but this is on top of the previous and documented abuses of power by this administration since 2016.”

“Pelosi has hemmed and hawwed about keeping the scope narrow. If this is the event that finally lights the spark of impeachment, why couch it in the context of those other allegations? Isn’t the public ready to move on from the spectacle of the Speaker grasping at straws?” Chuck fixed Clark with a look over his glasses.

“I think that the latest Pew polls showing public support for a removal of the President from office answers that question better than either of us could. I think it can be argued that it may not have been politically viable to move to impeachment before now, ‘specially in light of the GOP’s shameful display yesterday in the SCIF.”

“Don’t they have the right to protest peacefully, as any other American group?”

Clark’s smile grew tight. “They’d have that right if it was an actual protest, but you’ve got to call it like it is, Chuck. They committed a federal crime. The two dozen or so elected officials barged into the SCIF, brought their cellphones in with them and tweeted from inside. The SCIF is a Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility. These rooms are designed to handle sensitive materials while matters of national security’re bein’ discussed.”

“They weren’t protesting, Mr. Wilton,” Clark took a deep breath, “They were obstructing justice and protesting the very rules they put into place durin’ the era of the filibuster, under President Obama. Electronics weren’t supposed to be in that room, because of the high risk of compromise by foreign agencies. Representative Gaetz knows that."

Chuck hummed unhappily, “Even if they simply wanted to be in the room during the hearing? Isn’t that a reasonable request?”

“If they were one of the Republicans on the congressional Intelligence committees that were supposed to be there? Certainly. But the fact is that those representatives-- from both parties, I might add-- were already in the room. Closed-door testimonies were standard practice durin’ the impeachment inquiries into former Presidents Clinton and Nixon.” Clark worked his jaw and continued. “Just because our current President might act like he’s above the law, doesn’t mean that his party should feel entitled to do the same.”

“I see. It says here that you’ve been at the Planet for two years?” Chuck opted to pivot, leaning back in his chair.

“Yessir, two years this December.” Clark clasped his hand in front of him, on top of the desk. His smile brightened again.

“Where have they been hiding you? Welcome to the world, Mr. Kent.”

“Aha, thank you, Chuck,” Clark laughed nervously.

“Why haven’t we heard from you before? It says here that this is the first time you’ve written on national politics for them. The last time your name was in the news, you were the news. A puff piece from a gossip columnist in Gotham about your current relationship.”

“I’m grateful to my editor, Perry White, for giving me the opportunity to inform the American people about what’s happening on Capitol Hill. I think that they want to hear more about if our Congress is going to impeach a sitting president in an election year, than they do about my personal life.” Clark glanced away and then forced himself to meet Chuck’s gaze again. Old Clark wouldn’t be allowed to finish this interview. “Wouldn’t you agree, Chuck?”

“I would.” Chuck smiled for the first time. His teeth were straight, but yellowed. “But they would also like to know if they’re receiving their news from a reliable source. What would you say to those that might think you’re just trying to keep your name in the papers?”

“The Daily Planet prides itself on integrity. That’s been true since the paper was founded. I think that this story could have been written by any of its reporters. My answer to those folks would be simple, Chuck: the article speaks for itself. Our investigative team has complied page by page summaries of the ambassador’s testimony, cross-referenced with additional witnesses since the probe began.”

Clark paused and turned away from Chuck to stare directly at the camera.

“Stories like this aren’t meant to catapult any one person into stardom or notoriety, they’re meant to keep hard-working Americans abreast of the issues that will have profound impacts on their lives. Make no mistake, Chuck, the American people have asked for the president to be held to the same standards as any other citizen. They have a right to know that some of the men and women that they voted into office aren’t only talkin’ the talk, they’re walkin’ the walk, and they’re ready to check the Executive Branch.”

“Powerful words from a new face. I’d like to thank today’s guest, Clark Kent, from The Daily Planet. I’m sure this won’t be the last we’ll see of him.” Chuck gestured to Clark, who nodded and waved, and then a relieved looking woman with a clipboard and a large headset gave the cue to cut to commercial.

[kashmiresims]

Winner Takes All

First Post | Previous Post | Next Post

Reggie had never been so frustratingly angry before. To learn that he was being blacklisted from a fraternity that he had the right to be in, to know that the object of his affections wasn't any closer to reciprocating those feelings, and to know his robot could likely not make the cut to get into the collegiate robotic championship all weighed his mind down until his thoughts were nothing but a whirlpool of darkness.

He was still consumed with them by the next day but had at least gotten to work on his robot after meeting with his father. That was one step closer to solving the latter problem.

He went back to the engineering building Sunday afternoon. No surprise, Shane Calhoun was also there fiddling around with his pathetic luxury gardening robot. Who needed such a thing? Was there a demand for a service so dull?

Information was a commodity—the ability to gain knowledge and use it against your enemies or in your favor. Now that was worth something. Shane of course, didn't say anything to Reggie and vice versa; both young men were on chilly terms, especially now that the mayor's election was so close and their fathers were toe-to-toe in the polls.

They had been classmates, not close, but cordial enough in high school. Shane didn't exactly put himself out there but then again, Reggie wasn't the most social boy either. He briefly looked to Shane, who was ignoring him and tightening up his robot chassis, and still felt a pang of regret for snapping at Alanna and driving her away—and into helping Shane the previous night.

Shane eventually left, docked his robot in its stand and Reggie took the rest of Sunday, well into the evening to finish programming his spypot to accept audio feed. He tested a recording, it sounded faint, so he cracked open the robot and adjusted the microphone to be near the bottom. Alanna had been right about the sound being more clear from that point.

Now it was Monday; he stayed in his apartment all day, playing Rush Hour and grinding out wins like it was nothing. Every win would gain an amount of in-game credit he could use to purchase custom car parts and upgrade the racing vehicles he used. He hoped that Violet_Fire would return soon so he could show it off, and then if luck permitted, win a race against them again. They were the only one, it seemed, to be good enough to make a race interesting—because he never knew for sure if he'd win against them.

Then just like that there was a *ping* and a chat box appeared in the corner of his screen.

Violet_Fire: Wanna race?

MegaZoom: k if ya wanna lose : P

Violet_Fire: Keep dreaming you N00b ;)

Reggie smirked. They were just trying to shake him up before he began. He went to main screen and started up a co-op game. Violet_Fire immediately entered into the instance and picked a classic car with a high-ranked engine they must have bought through in-game credits. Reggie's custom racing car, was a sports car with an engine that had top speed stats. He had put together and, it was in his opinion, a perfect racing engine for this game.

Violet_Fire: what is this?!?!?!

MegaZoom: :D

He wondered if they would chicken out and withdraw but they stayed in the instance. Stubborn as usual.

Violet_Fire: lets race the valley map

MegaZoom: why, so you can make tighter turns and try to get past me?

Violet_Fire: I don't need tight turns to beat ur behiney ;)

There was that word again. Alanna had said it the other night. What were the chances...the cosmic chances of her being his Rush hour rival all along?

MegaZoom: Wanna bet?

Violet_Fire: I do ;P

That took him by surprise. He was only joking around but now he was intrigued...

MegaZoom: What do you want if happen you beat me? Not that it'll happen

The ‘Violet_Fire is typing’ notice seemed to last forever before their message was submitted.

Violet_Fire: I want your custom car

That was untoward. You could trade cars in the game but Reggie's custom car was worth hundreds of hours of grinding and racing randoms. What would be worth the equivalent? He still wondered if Violet_Fire could have been Alanna Thackery, but was that information worth the potential loss of his custom car?

MegaZoom: If I win, how about you get on the voice chat channel and trash talk me without hiding behind a wall of text?

Violet_Fire: Fine lets do this

Though, Reggie immediately had a flick of nervousness in his gut and dryness in his throat because on the off-chance Violet_Fire was Alanna, she would surely recognize his voice! Would she think he was stalking her all this time? He had gone to some length to find out her class schedule but that was only recently when he realized how much he still liked her and it was handy to know where she'd be on campus so he could conveniently 'bump' into her. Evelyn Jane had done stuff like that in the past and he always thought it was dishonest but he could see the merit in it now.

Another *ping* interrupted his thoughts, Violet_Fire was impatient to begin and told him to start the game already. So he did.

He selected the valley map, which had its roads through tunnels, across rivers and especially tight turns. It wasn't his favorite but he'd won races on it before. The trick was to drift on the corners and his custom car had a sweet drift, fine-tuned to withstand the sharp curves of the road.  

The screen counted down 3...2...1 and Reggie slammed the up arrow on his keyboard, dragging his mouse to the left. His car peeled out and was hair ahead of Violet_Fire's. The first bend was a corner but not the sharpest and he drifted around it with ease. Annoyingly, so did Violet_Fire.  

His heart sank a bit as they passed him and took the fork in the road that was a shortcut on the map, but had more perilous obstacles. He didn't ever take the shortcut because of them. So he relied on his speed-tacular engine to make up the time as he made up the distance.  

He came up behind Violet Fire's car and gave them a bump of warning, but not enough to send the off road into a crash. He managed to get ahead after passing the start line. They had two more laps to go.

He maintained first place all throughout the second lap but then the third the tides changed when Violet_Fire spun out and took him down as well. All momentum was lost and it was a scramble to get the cars pointed the right direction and the speed up again. That dirty move put them back into first place and Reggie couldn't lose! He just couldn't! He was tired of losing all the time!

So instead of taking the safe path, he was desperate enough to try the shortcut to make up the lost distance. He was already behind and so he took a calculated risk to see if it would pay off. He avoided getting stuck on a collapsed bridge and drove through a waterfall, finally a dark tunnel with no light until he turned a corner. He sometimes ran his cars into the tunnel walls when he took that map shortcut. Finally, the light at the end of the tunnel appeared and he hit his booster. His sports car nearly flew out of the shortcut and landed in front of Violet_Fire, who must have thought their win was inevitable since he was so far behind and therefore didn't bother taking it in the first place.

He nearly flipped his keyboard in excitement after zooming across the finish line in first place. He'd get to keep his custom car, and talk to his biggest racing nemesis voice-to-voice. To find out if they were who he suspected they were. He quickly typed in into the chat box.

MegaZoom: I'm on the RH05 channel.

He flipped his headset microphone to ‘on’ and had to swallow a few lumps in his throat. It was just a race in a video game but his adrenaline was high. A second later Violet_Fire's avatar popped up in the voice chat—it was of a purple flame. Plumbbobs, what was he going to say?

"H...h..hi there," he stuttered out but lowered the register of his voice significantly.

"I want a rematch," came the clear voice of Violet_Fire. Definitely female, definitely familiar and his heart seemed to stop beating and all the saliva in his mouth dried up entirely.

"Sore loser much?" he finally asked. It had seemed like minutes between when she spoke but in all-reality was only a few seconds. He would never speak in this way to Alanna face-to-face but it would just make her suspicious if his online persona suddenly started being super nice for no reason.

"I thought crashing into you would have pushed you far enough behind, and I never would have thought you'd take the shortcut on the valley map."

Reggie laughed, "I knew you wouldn't."

"Anyway, I got on chat like you wanted. What now? Want me to trash talk you like you asked?"

"I didn't ask you to trash talk me! I just figured it'd be interesting to hear you do it with your own voice."

It was kind of surreal, to hear her talk so candidly. It made him wonder how calculated her words were in a regular basis; he’d always assumed her kind words were the norm but she was really quite brash behind the mask of anonymity.

"So, you're a girl,"

"How observant of you," she snapped back before he could get to his point.

"No, I knew when you first talked but I'm wondering if I could ask your advice on something?"

She made a long, low sound that gave of the impression she was apprehensive or even inconvenienced, "Suuuuurrreee."

"What is your idea of a perfect date?"

"Why are you asking?" she teased.

If she only knew.

But he was glad he had the upper hand and she didn’t know who he really was.

"There's this girl I like and was going to ask her out but I haven't been on a date for years..."

There was nothing but silence, and he dreaded she recognized his voice or figured out his identity but after a few moments, her voice rang through with a suggestion--"Take her stargazing."

"Stargazing?"

"Yeah, like cuddling under the stars or something. I know it's pretty nerdy and all but I'm just kind of fascinated about the galaxy, are we the only ones out here? You know? I had a telescope when I was little, but my sister kept hogging it and we'd fight over it."

It was even more evident the person he was talking to was Alanna with that fact. He knew she had a sister, and her sister was kind of unpleasant and snide from what he remembered. He could feel for poor little Alanna being bullied away from her telescope and her suggestion and anecdote only made her more adorable.

"Hey, it's okay. I mean we do play a lot of video games so that makes us nerdy anyway, right?" he tried to reassure her.

"Speak for yourself, video games are the new cool!"

He laughed as did she and he felt more at ease, like he was talking to her normally as if they were chemistry partners in high school again. Well, all besides his lowered voice, which he had been careful to maintain the lowered tone as he talked as not to arouse suspicion.

"How long have you been playing Rush Hour? You're pretty damn good." Reggie asked.

"I started about a year ago. My brother gave me a link to download the free trial and it got me kind of hooked on it."

Reggie recalled that Alanna had a brother as well.

"How did you get into it?" she asked in turn.

"I saw it was a recommended play in a gaming magazine and so went out and bought a copy. I've been playing since I started college."

"What college?"

"Sim State. You?"

"I didn't say I went to college."

He inwardly cursed for giving away info that he knew more about her than she knew he would know.

"But do you?" He asked, covering over his blunder, “I mean you sound like you could be a student.”

"I do and I am."

"Where?"

"I think...I've given enough personal info for one day. Good luck on your date and let's race again soon, Zoom." she said then added, "That is, if you want to lose!"

With that, she disconnected and he wasn't even offended by her last needling comment.

How could it be that a girl he thought was perfect had somehow become even more so? What was more perfect than perfection? Divinity? Was Alanna Thackery, in fact, a goddess?

He stood to stretch his legs because he'd been sitting for a while at his computer. The lightness he felt at winning, and knowing that the girl of his dreams was his one and only gaming rival made him feel as though he could lift off the ground at any moment--happy enough to fly if he could. He only took a few steps back until he felt the bed frame behind his knees and fell onto his mattress with a heavy sense of satisfaction. Something, something had gone his way for once.

His imagination ran wild thinking of what other games she could have played, a fierce spark in her eyes as she raced, the determined smile between her lips when she was focused on winning. He fantasized about this side of Alanna he'd never seen—the competitive, sassy, unapologetically candid version of her.

Picturing her, in all her perfection behind closed eyelids--made him smile and hope that his plan to ask her out would work. He could plan her idea of a perfect date and then she’d have no reason not to fall for him.

A different *ping* sound suddenly went off--a faint little note coming out of his headphones which he had taken off before standing up. It was a chat box on a tab he’d left open on a web browser. He sat up, and curiously went to check it out.

The web page was sitting on the student profile site--a place he often visited to see if Alanna had added any new pictures or updates he could use as conversation fodder the next time he saw her. She hadn’t messaged him though. It was, to his very ultimate surprise--Marshall Cosgrove.

Marshall Cosgrove: Hey u there?

Reginald Orbinson: Yeah why? What do you want?

Marshall Cosgrove:  Meet me at the coffee shop on the east edge of campus.

Reggie felt himself frown. Why would the Hoh Fruhm President suddenly be interested in meeting with Reggie when the day before he had made it clear that Reggie was never going to be allowed in?

Reginald Orbinson: Why would I?

Marshall Cosgrove: Cuz I have a proposition that could get you in.

He didn’t have to specify as to what Reggie could get ‘in’ and Reggie felt like his luck was on a roll that evening. If he got into Hoh Fruhm, everything would be right in the world. 

It was downright chilly outside, and Reggie could feel himself shivering in his jacket even. There weren’t any cricket chirping which had been a constant for the past three seasons. The night felt kind of lonely as he made his way to the edge of campus. He was to meet Marshall Cosgorve at the same coffee shop where they had seen each other the day before. Reggie headed toward the entrance, eager to get out of the cold but a voice stopped him.

“Orbinson.”

He halted and looked to the right to see Cosgrove backed up against one of the decorative fences that contained a tree with his arms crossed. The front of the coffee shop was a charmingly landscaped area that he didn’t mind sitting in between classes when the weather was nice. 

“Cosgrove,” he nodded and approached, waiting to hear what Marshall had to say, “Why the change of heart?”

Marshall merely glowered, as if he didn’t want to be offering Reggie a way in but he had no other choice, “To put it plainly, I need you to get some information on someone--I can’t use any of the guys at Hoh Fruhm because we are all being watched rather closely after today.”

“Why, what happened today?” 

Whatever it was that was bothering Marshall, seemed to explode as he threw his arms out, “We got raided! The police showed up on an anonymous tip that illegal substances were being used at our parties. They found pills, and now the charter is in jeopardy--Hoh Fruhm is on probation!”

“But not double-secret probation?” Reggie asked with a smirk. Marshall wasn’t amused by the reference and he slumped back against the fence.

“I’m sure I know who tipped the police off; the guy that left the frat a week ago--and the entire Greek Society like he was better than us.”

“Okay but what do you want me to do about it?”

“I want you to get some dirt on him. I’ll use it to ruin him. If he thinks he can just walk away and then drag us through the mud afterward then he has another thing coming. You get this information on him and I will let you join the vacancy he left behind.”

Reggie felt himself shiver but wasn't sure if it was because of the cold or the absolute hatred and determination in Marshall's voice. Reggie’s cleared his throat, he didn't know who this person was yet but it was possible that it would be impossible to deliver what Marshall wanted, "What if I can’t find any dirt on him?”

Marshall let out a scornful laugh, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree as far as the Calhouns are concerned. Nick’s dad is one of the slimiest son a bitches I’ve ever seen and you can probably agree since he’s running against yours in the election. So help me get dirt on Nick–he’ll go down like he should, and you get into the frat you've been wanting to all these years. It’s a win-win.”

Nicholas Calhoun.

Now there was a name that Reggie hadn’t heard for a long time. Reggie didn’t have to think long about the offer, because unbeknownst to Marshall, Nick and Reggie weren’t on friendly terms anyway. He had no emotional conflict in trying to cause Nick any embarrassment or hurt Marshall would have him suffer. It wasn’t like Nick Calhoun ever considered how much his words would affect young Reggie–getting every kid in school to laugh at him on a weekly basis when they were children.

But as much Reggie wouldn’t mind digging up dirt on Nick, he wanted more than what Marshall was offering for it.

“If I can get you the information you want to bury Nick, I want a position in the frat--vice president.”

Marshall nearly growled in response, “I can’t guarantee that, those positions are voted on by the members every semester...”

Reggie whirled around, a knowing frown plastered on his face, “The Calhouns aren’t the only slimy son of bitches in Kashmire--your father orchestrated the entire election between my dad and Elm Calhoun. You haven’t been fraternity president all these years because of your popularity, so don’t  tell me you can’t rig your own house elections.”

Marshall’s livid expression let up slightly at being called out, seeming to mull over Reggie’s demand. Reggie wasn’t naive, he knew Marshall would try to find a way to screw him over once he got what he wanted, especially now that he’d demanded a place of rank within Hoh Fruhm. He half expected Marshall to withdraw the offer but to his surprise, the blond straightened up and nodded.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can move around--but only if you get what I want. Nick Calhoun will pay for what he’s done.”

“Shake on it,” Reggie demanded and Marshall lifted his arm, extending his hand. Reggie took it in a firm grasp and they shook. It was a good thing Marshall came to him for this task--Cosgrove likely banked on Reggie’s desperation to join the Greek society as a sure way to obtain what he needed but Reggie could do one better. He had a spybot and that made all the difference between failure and victory.

[darnloveablecharacters]

Far From Home, Part Three: Where Am I?

Series Summary: Reader is torn from her reality and dumped into the middle of a war. Will she make it home? Or will she find where she belongs? A Rogue One Reader Insert Fanfiction. Gifs and recognizable characters are not mine, but the story and all of the mistakes are!

Far From Home - Masterlist

Chapter Notes: Thank you for all the likes so far! Here is chapter 3! This is flowing together much quicker than I expected. I think I’m spending more time reviewing/editing it at this point haha. I’ll be able to get one more chapter out tomorrow, then I will be taking a 2 week hiatus. (Yes, I know I just started) I’ll be traveling to a place with no interwebs *gasp* I promise I have plenty to post when I get back though! Enjoy!

Warnings for this chapter: murder (mentioned), imprisonment

It’s time for you to wake up now.

“Five more minutes.” I groaned, pulling the blanket over my head. As consciousness began to invade my slumber, thoughts of aliens and running away with a murderer started swimming in my head. “What a weird dream.” I mumbled to myself.

It wasn’t a dream, you need to wake up.

I was about to answer with a snarky comment, when the accented voice from my dream spoke. “Good, you’re awake now.”

I stiffened, thinking the voice sounded too close for it to be just a voice in my mind.

Don’t blame me, there’s someone here.

I shot up and tried to throw the blanket off me.

Where did I get a blanket from?

It was tangled around my legs, however, and I fell off the bench I had been sleeping on. Frustrated, I crossed my arms and let out a heavy sigh as laid on my back on the floor, again.

Since when have you been so clumsy?

Refusing to look at the man, I just stare up at the ceiling taking stock of the state my body is in. I am sore, everywhere, from the running. I can feel the bruises that had formed from all the impacts and falls that I had suffered. Mostly though, I am hungry and thirsty. All of this adds up to a grouchy Y/N.

The pilot is standing back watching me with calculating eyes. He is close enough that I can see him in my peripherals, but far enough away that I wouldn’t be able to reach out and grab him.

It’s probably something killers learn to stay alive.

“Who are you?” He asked in a way that made me certain he expected an answer.

Naturally, in the company of a man who I am certain would kill me if he felt the need to, I refused to play along and remained silent.

You have poor survival instincts.

“Where are you from?” He pressed again after a moment of silence.

I fixed my glare at a spot on the ceiling, and refused to acknowledge him.

Good job, I’m sure your silent treatment will break him before he gets to you.

Why does my inner voice have to be so sarcastic?

I can tell that the pilot is growing frustrated. I see the movement when he runs a hand through his dark hair and looks down for a moment as if deciding what to say next. Looking back in my direction with a weary expression he says, “Look, this doesn’t have to be diff…”

“Are we in space?” I asked, cutting him off.

“Yes.” He said slowly.

“Hm, weird.” I say still staring at my new favorite spot on the ceiling.

“Have you… you have never been off planet before?” He asked, as if keeping your feet on the ground was out of the norm.

I decided to sit up finally, groaning as my stiff muscles protested the movement. I leaned against the bench, drew my knees up and buried my face in my hands. I spent a quick moment debating on how much I should tell him. It didn’t take long to decide that it would be best to keep as much about who I am and where I’m from as I can to myself, until I figure out where I am and why.

I look back up and meet his questioning eyes, and finally settle on an answer. “Where I come from,” I start slowly, “there’s only a handful of people who have ever left the planet. It’s not really an option for… normal folk.”

He raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing. I took the opportunity to stand and stretch out my complaining muscles.

I walk around the small cabin of the ship, six steps forward and six steps back, feeling the eyes of the pilot watching me carefully. I kept pacing, trying to think of the next question I should ask, and simultaneously wondering why my companion was remaining so silent. My thoughts were interrupted, however, by the loud rumbling of my stomach.

I wonder if he heard that.

My minds question was answered when the pilot walked to the backpack that he had carried as we ran and pulled out what looked like an energy bar. He tossed it to me and I caught it.

Congratulations, you didn’t get hit in the face again.

Sometimes I struggle with not replying to my inner voice when I’m around people. I thanked him quietly and sat back down on the bench nibbling on the food bar. I heard more rummaging and tensed when he walked back toward me, still watching me with his cold stare. He simply sat a bottle next to me, then backed to the other side of the ship and leaned against the frame.

I grabbed the bottle and opened it, taking a tentative sniff to see what was in it.

He chuckled humorlessly at this, “If I was going to kill you, you would be dead already. And I wouldn’t use poison.” I looked up to see if he was joking. He was wearing a smirk but his eyes showed no traces of humor.

Why didn’t he kill you?

I took a sip of the liquid which turned out to be just water, and shuddered involuntarily as the images of five dead men passed through my mind.

Well, he brought it up. You may as well ask.

“Why did you kill those men?” I blurted out.

His smirk turned into a look of confusion at my sudden outburst, but any chance of him answering was interrupted by a steady beeping coming from the terminal close to the cockpit. With a quick glance at me he stepped over, threw on a headset and started speaking quietly. I couldn’t hear the conversation, which was surprising since we were in close quarters. For once, I decided to mind my own business and finish my small meal and water.

Wow, maybe you do have some survival skills after all.

His conversation didn’t take long, but he did not seem happy as he removed the headset and stood in front of me.

To be fair, the only smile you’ve seen on him was fake.

“I need you to tell me who you are.” He said, starting back at the beginning.

The food had helped me feel better and to think more clearly. However, I still was grouchy and had no intention of just giving in, so I elected to hide behind sarcasm.

Oh yes, that’s never got you in trouble before.

I smile up at him and say, “Don’t you know me? I’m your clumsy friend!”

“There is no need to be difficult. I need to know who you are so we know what to do with you.” he said, almost pleading.

“We?” I asked.

Again, we were interrupted by another beeping sound. This one was coming from the cockpit.

“You made your choice then, it’s not my responsibility.” He said cryptically, heading back to the pilots’ seat.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I challenge, but he ignored me. I stepped closer to him placing my hands on the back of the co-pilot seat intending to as him again. This didn’t happen though, as I was captivated by the sight of a green planet coming into view. “Wow, it looks beautiful. What is it called?”

He continued working the controls of the ship and studiously ignored me. As we broke the atmosphere I listened as he made the request for landing. I couldn’t hear what was being said on the other side, but what I did hear was him say, “Good, are they ready?” I heard no other response after that, nor did he say anything else.

That was fine, I was too busy looking over the scenery in front of me. If I had to pick one word to describe it I would pick ‘green’. The whole place was covered in thickly leaved trees of every shade of green I could have ever imagined. Even more impressive was the giant pyramid structure we were heading toward. It towered well over the tree line and looked as if it had been standing there for thousands of years.

Maybe these are the people that helped build the pyramids in Egypt!

I couldn’t help but smile at that. He landed the ship smoothly just outside of the pyramid, and I saw people running around between other ships that were coming in and out. I was so enthralled by the activity that I didn’t notice he had slipped out of the seat and was gathering things behind me. That’s when my hands were cuffed behind me and a bag was slipped over my head.

Sneaky snake.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?” I struggled against the grip that he had on my arm as he began to pull me outside. The bag was thick enough that I couldn’t even see light coming in through the fabric.

I heard him say, “Take her to a cell.” And I could feel myself being transferred into a pair of hands and being dragged somewhere else.

Four hundred and thirty-six steps later, a few twists and turns and more stairs than I want to talk about, I finally was uncuffed and shoved unceremoniously into a dark room.

It’s dark because you have a hood on idiot.

I rip the bag off my head, and my eyes take a moment to adjust to the faint light coming from the end of the hallway. I was just in time to see a guard slamming the door shut and locking it. I scramble back to my feet and run to the bars as the guard turned to leave.

“Wait, please!” I pleaded. “At least tell me where I am!”

The guard never stopped, never said a word and left me alone with my thoughts and a steady dripping sound. I am locked in a damp cell, in a pyramid I don’t know, on a planet I don’t know surrounded by people that I don’t know. “What have I gotten myself into?”

Don’t ask me, you never listen to me anyway.

“Shut up…”

[writingwithadinosaur]

Stage Kisses

“Stage Kisses”

My Masterlist - Here

Victor Zsasz x Reader

Key: Y/N = Your Name, L/N = Your Last Name, N/N = Nickname, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1604

Summary: Reader and Zsasz are in a committed relationship. Reader is a Stage Manager for a big name musical that is being shown at one of Gotham’s theaters. Its opening night and one of the most important people in her life isn’t going to be there. Or is he?

Author’s Note: Sorry for that stupid ending to the summary. I kind of base my Reader characters off of myself, this one more so than my other stories. For those who don’t know what a stage manager is, (s)he is one of the head honchos backstage who call the cues for the technicians and actors. Their job is a monumental one and is very involved and stressful. That being said, it is also very rewarding to end a show, take that deep breath, and say “I fuckin did it.” The reader may get more of a reward than that after opening night. If you would like me to tag you in my future writings, please let me know! The more the merrier! Also, I will keep my stories SFW most of the time. I am not the biggest fan of smut, but maybe in the future, I’ll be comfortable writing about a few more intimate things (not sex, but stuff like making out, hickies, etc.)

Please enjoy! 

<3 - DreaSaurusREX

Tags: @oswald-cobblepot-is-my-addiction 

   After many months of being in rehearsals and working many hours, it is finally opening night. You have been working closely with the director, assistant stage managers, cast, and crew and now it was time to put it all to the test. Your job as stage manager was not an easy job. It came with many stresses and long hours during rehearsals (and even outside of rehearsals). But you knew all of this would pay off. This was your dream job and you loved it.

   The only nerving part of this show was that it was a big name musical. Musicals in general are hard to manage, and now having to do a show that many people know and are hyped about, it adds a bit more pressure and stress. You often came back to your apartment late at night or in the extremely early hours of the morning even more exhausted than usual. Sometimes you saw your boyfriend, Victor, but sometimes he was out late because of his own job.

   You knew what Victor did for work. But you didn’t really pay any attention to it. You saw it as a beneficial thing. He was taking out the scum of Gotham for the greater good. And being his girlfriend, he taught you self defense and hooked you up with weapons for those times where he wasn’t with you to protect you. Gotham was an extremely dangerous city for women. If anything happened to you, Victor would lose it.

   Victor’s job was a blessing and a curse. Tonight was an example of the latter.

   “Are you 100% sure you can’t make it tonight? Its opening night. I’ve been working months for this and thought you’d come.” You were talking to Victor as you were trying to find your favorite black shirt. Victor had told you earlier that day that Cobblepot had called him and told him to get rid of a man who had wronged him. Of course he would, tonight of all nights.

   “Yes. I’m sorry, (N/N). Penguin really wants this guy, and he promised to pay well. I’ll be able to celebrate with you after your show. Dinner at that place on 5th and Monroe?” You nodded and he came over to you, wrapped an arm around your waist, pulled you closer to him.

   “It’s okay. I understand. I know how much Penguin calls on you ever since winning the election.” You were trying not to sound disappointed, but Victor could tell you were unhappy.  He kissed your temple, apologised once more, and walked away. You heard him grab his gun from the bedside table and start to head out for his job.    “I love you!” Victor called out before opening the front door. You responded with “I love you too. Be safe.” And with that, the door shut. You checked your phone to see how much time you had left.15 more minutes to get ready and have a snack, then head to the theater. 

    You couldn’t let this get to you. You knew how important Victor’s job is. Hell, he made more than you and was doing what he loved. You shouldn’t be selfish. You did your best to push it to the back of your mind and focus on the show. You did however pack a dress and some heels to change into after the show so you could look nice and surprise Victor at dinner. At least you had that to look forward to afterwards.

~~~~~~~~

   Victor felt bad for lying to you, but he knew it would be for the best. He didn’t actually have a hit tonight. He thought surprising you at the stage door after the show would be really sweet, so he used his job as a cover story. He left early so he could stop at the flower shop that you liked to pick out some classic red roses and daisies. Those were your favorite flowers and the roses were a huge symbol in the musical.

    After getting the flowers, he began walking to the theater. He pulled out his phone and called the restaurant to get reservations. It was no problem once he mentioned his name. The owner of the place was one of his employers, and Victor recently did a very successful hit for him. One of the benefits of his job.

    He reached the theater and got his ticket. A few people gave unsettled looks at Victor’s appearance in his all black suit, but he was used to it. He sat in the right side of the middle section. He knew your station was backstage right, maybe he would be able to get a glance at you. Victor loved watching you when you were in your zone. Even back in the apartment, when you would be cooking and singing along to your music, playing video games, doing your sudoku puzzles or really anything. You were such a interesting person in his opinion. You didn’t think so, but he didn’t care. He loves you to the moon and back.

   He saw you behind one of the side curtains. You had your all black outfit and your headset on. You were talking into the mic to get the attention of the technicians in the booth. Most likely telling them that everyone was in place and ready to start. He could tell that the last words you spoke into your mic were a common theatre tradition: “Happy opening night. Break a leg everyone!” You headed back to where your station was (just out of his view) and then the lights began to dim to signal the show starting. The orchestra in the pit boomed to life as they played the overture. ~~~~~~~~

   “Alright everyone is in places and we are ready to start. Tech booth, are you ready?”    “Lighting and sound on standby. On your call, (Y/N).”    “Alright, let’s do this! Happy opening night. Break a leg everyone.” You made your way back to your station before giving the cue for the house lights to go down. Opening night jitters were prevalent, but you pushed as much to the back of your mind as possible. You needed to focus on the show and the cues you had written in your script.

~~~~~~~~

   The show went great! There were a few technical problems, but no show is perfect. That being said, the audience never noticed any of them thanks to you, your two assistants, and the run crew. The most stressful problem was a costume getting a small tear in it. But you had a sewing kit in your stage manager kit, and had one of your assistants patch it up. It was unnoticeable to the viewers. You considered tonight a great success.

   As the actors were lining up backstage to take their bows, you pressed the call button on your headset and told the crew that you were going off comm to pack up your kit and change. 

   “You got a hot date tonight, (Y/N)?”    “I actually do. My boyfriend couldn’t make the show tonight, so he is making it up with dinner at a very nice place on 5th and Monroe. I’ll see you guys tomorrow at call time. Great job tonight! Everyone make it home safe!” And with that, you disconnected your headset and headed to the dressing room to change.    You brought one of your favorite black dresses for dinner. You also brought your heels and some makeup to fix yourself up and add a bit more drama to your mostly neutral look.  Once you were satisfied with your look, you grabbed your bag and coat and headed for the stage door. The actors were just now entering the dressing room and you knew better than to try to go out the front door with all of the audience trying to squeeze out.

   A few of the techs were already out the stage door and standing amongst family or friends talking about the show. You made your way past a small group and almost walked past all of the fans waiting for the actors until one man grabbed your arm gently. You almost said something but then saw who grabbed you. The familiar face and smile that you’ve seen on one person.

   “(N/N)! Damn you look good!” A familiar voice rang out.

   “Vic! I thought you were supposed to be at work!” you exclaimed as you rushed into his embrace. He chuckled a bit and responded with “Well, I may have lied a bit.”

   You pulled back a bit to look at his face with a inquisitive look. “Did you say that to set me up for a surprise?”

   He smiled and pulled the flowers from his hand that was wrapped behind you. “Maybe. I know how hard you worked on this, and I thought this would make your night better.”

   You smiled a big and true smile before snaking your arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. He may not seem like the sweetest guy in the world, but he proves you wrong every day. Tonight was one of the best example of this.

      He pulled away after a few seconds of kissing. “I hate to break this kiss, but we are in public and if we don’t leave now, we won’t make our dinner reservations.”

   “I guess we can continue this after dinner. But yes, let’s head out. I’m starving.” And with that, your first major musical opening night was as close to perfect as you could get.

    Victor’s job was a blessing and a curse. Tonight was an example of the former. 

[softwarepeek-blog]

Windows 10 Creators Update review roundup

Reviews of Windows 10's Creators Update went live yesterday, and we've rounded up their thoughts and conclusions and that means you will not need to. It is the third named discharge of Windows 10 - Threshold 2 (version 1511) debuted in November 2015, the Anniversary Update (version 1607) was on August 2, 2016, as well as Creators Update (version 1703) could well be offered for download on April 11.

For this roundup offering our sister site PCMag, Ars Technica, PCWorld, and Windows Central on tap. There is a lot to cover in the Creators Update, so we shall break our coverage down since significantly important things have changed among the Anniversary Update to Creators Update (no apostrophe).

Privacy: Microsoft has deployed an innovative Privacy Dashboard within cheap office 2010 professional plus to present you a greater idea which settings are enabled and disabled, or maybe finer-grained control over which data you would share. Telemetry collection remains mandatory, reliable still a significant change. Users once had three choices, between Basic, Enhanced, and Full. The Enhanced option continues to be removed, but a variety of data collection previously gathered around the Basic setting, like application data, seem to have been removed in your Creators Update.

Everyone agrees the fact that the privacy setup page for Windows 10's installation is a lot of improved for several previous version, and there is general consensus that collecting less data with the Windows 10 "Basic" telemetry options are a better option in comparison with we needed before.

Update controls: One of the main difficulty Windows 10 was its tendency to reboot your body out of under you when applying updates. The "Active Hours" setting could reduce this activity, but only in twelve hour increments. Around the CU, updates can be delayed for as many as 5-7 days (Windows 10 Home) or nearly 35 days (Windows 10 Pro, Education, or Enterprise), active hours might be placed in 18-hour increments, and reboots should be scheduled in addition. These changes may be a definite step of progress on the subject of giving users more control of their PCs, if updates will always be mandatory. At the least, appropriate serious amounts of verify that an update has problems or isn't working with your hardware.

Game Mode: I'm including this under major features the way it really needs to be... but honestly, at this moment, this isn't. Ars Technica reports seeing no convenience of using Game Mode in multiple titles. Other sites converse about theoretical improvements to game performance, in addition to seem to have checked if said improvements exist. Exactly where It seems that, no games have yet been found to really make full use of Game Mode, but some actually see performance regressions. Ars' hopes the feature evolves into something genuinely useful, but it doesn't appear there at this time.

Cortana: Cortana has long been updated in a range of ways. It is supported inside of the initial installer, allowing via a tunnel that tactic to be controlled by voice. PCWorld notes which your digital assistant are able to schedule recurring monthly reminders feeling that Windows 10 will give you autocomplete suggestions highlighting her abilities since type. Cortana can even read email for your if you'd prefer her to, and she interacts tightly with Android and iOS versions in the application. You may have a file open onto your smartphone and seamlessly switch the signal from editing it on your hard drive. Cortana has got a good "Pick up where I left off" mode that enables you to restore documents and internet pages you possessed open before a reboot and can stream music from Groove (possessing a subscription), TuneIn, and iHeartRadio. She also identify what's using a radio station, which PCWorld notes is handy.

Metered connections now download updates: It is just a feature removal rather than feature addition, it's important enough to. Over the editions of Windows, you would tell the OS that you simply were running over a metered connection therefore it wouldn't download updates automatically. That's specifically your situation having the Creators Update, if you should elect to shut Windows Update off if you're happy to take that security risk.

Beam streaming: Microsoft has integrated support as a result of game broadcasting solution, Beam. Opinions on Beam are a bit mixed. Everyone acknowledges it's a more affordable latency option than Twitch, as well as been incorporated into buy cheap microsoft office; you only need an Xbox ID having a Beam account to start learning. Ars Technica's Peter Bright notes the fact that the service won't stream for people with Skype, Skype for Business, Teams, or "certain other applications running." Microsoft claims it's to circumvent people from accidentally sharing personal or confidential information, but Ars thinks this limitation will hurt Beam's adoption. Given amount people apparently use Skype to talk with the other while gaming online, they will be right.

Edge updates: Edge continues to be updated to sustain ebooks and a fabulous "Set aside" solution to stash tabs away as an effective group. But Ars Technica notes that Edge really has some feature disparities equated with other browsers. There's no procedure to reopen let go of tabs while still keeping them permanently saved for the browser window. Whenever you restore them but accidentally close of the question, they're gone. Edge remains can not recover an entire lost browser window by way of Ctrl-Shift-T the best way Chrome can. Other sites like PCWorld were better upon the browser, noting that hot weather now includes native 4K playback support, support to the EPUB ebook format, and tab previews on top of the browser.

Smaller features

You'll discover lots of updates with the underlying operating system worth mentioning. Windows are capable of pair with Bluetooth devices and automatically log you when it loses communication with whatever Bluetooth device you've linked it to. Windows Central writes: "It's a brilliant feature hypothetically, yet it is flawed because of a shortage of configurable options. As an illustration, I've found utilizing my Windows Phone, my PC will just lock itself when I'm with it because my phone dropped out of Bluetooth connectivity for reasons unknown. In addition there are certainly not to what term Windows will wait before it locks once the Bluetooth connection has dropped."

There's an easy new 3D Paint app for creating 3D images on 2D monitors, VR support is baked into the OS (regardless if no $400 headsets Microsoft promised are around to buy just yet), and Windows Defender happens to be updated with a brand new UI or a new option called "Fresh Start." Windows Central notes that New beginning is a lot more "vigorous" compared to Refresh Windows option already a part of the OS. That the Refresh Windows commands keeps already installed programs, New beginning jettisons them, hopefully utilizing any infectious malware.

Windows Hello's face recognition is faster now, you will discover a security option that permits you to only allow installations coming from a Windows Store (off automatically), Windows Photos can automatically tag your images that could discover previously tagged images via keywords, Themes have been supported, as well UI for Groove as well Movies & TV app have shifted so are more standardized. You will find support for only a new picture-in-picture mode (PiP) that enables you to minimize an application window to produce a more compact space when it remains on other applications. This functionality is on the market for app developers to tap instead of being on the cheap office 2016's own applications.

Finally, there's Night Light, an f.lux-like feature that might dim your monitor to cut back blue light emissions. Multiple reviewers praised this selection conceptually, but noted which a mode takes over quickly compared to f.lux, which allows you to set a tremendously gradual transition. Configuration options for this feature are, in addition rather bare. We've resarched screenshots of certain features, both big and small, on the slideshow below. Each slide are usually clicked to open up in any new, larger window.

[shayprose]

Resistance is a drag

It has been a minute since I’ve posted anything.

The globe has been turning all along, but I’ve been caught up in the human world and all that it means to be there. 

Trump is our president. Our hard-won rights are slowly being dissolved in a flurry of paperwork and skewed news stories, and it’s disheartening on a very subconscious level. I say this because I do not consciously bring my thoughts around to this nuisance of reality willingly unless I am actively focusing on it, but I know it’s there, deep down, percolating beneath the layers of mental safeguards I’ve put up for situations like this.

Today the subconscious and the conscious merged, in a few different ways. 

It started this morning, when my Lyft driver told me that his friends won’t stop making jokes about global warming. In my sleepy daze, I chuckled darkly and said, “Well, there’s a parallel here -- when people are sick, we get a fever. The planet is sick. It has a fever. The difference is, we can medicate ourselves to feel better...but who will medicate the planet?” I know. It sounds like a very Socratic and philosophical thing to say, but truly -- who will medicate the planet? 

His response was to continue on with a story about how he loves letting his feet touch the bare grass, and how the people around him don’t do that enough; how the same people actually joke about waiting until the planet dies so they can populate Mars. I drew another parallel by pointing out that only a few organisms on this planet vacate their dead hosts to infect another, and that’s eerily what we would become.

We rode in silence the rest of the way.

Later on in the day, I caught myself marveling at my complexion. I’ve been really, truly practicing my makeup skills more often, and my own face is a good enough canvas to try new products, new techniques, new ways of framing shapes; it’s fun, I feel good after, and it helps me perfect the looks I do when I’m in drag (yes, I’ve been doing that, too, which is certainly a topic for another post). 

Partway through my self-admiration, I realized something else -- I consciously wore my sunglasses today, despite how dark it was out this morning. Because I didn’t want my Lyft driver to see me. I didn’t dwell on this in the moment, but I was afraid for another person, in these United States, to see what I looked like with a full beat -- eyes, face, lips, the whole shebang. I didn’t want him to hurt me, emotionally or physically. That startled me for a variety of reasons. 

For starters, I’m the one who constantly encourages everyone around me to live their truest lives. If you want to wear a black lip and rock a miniskirt with a full beard and no eyebrows, you better work. If you choose to rappel down a skyscraper without double-checking your gear first, you go ahead and live dangerously (as long as you don’t accidentally hurt someone else). Do what makes you feel wholly you, and nothing less, but there I was, staring at myself in my mirror, smiling from ear to ear with the completed art, and immediately wondering how on earth I’m going to be able to cover it up so that I don’t have to face the crushing reality that I’m a thin, gay man wearing a full face of makeup, in the daytime, in a nation that strongly discourages this kind of behavior. In a sense, I was afraid of the repercussions for looking different.

Another reason this startled me relates intrinsically to this election. #RESIST has become a motto for me, internally and loudly externally, and I applaud everyone who stands up and says “this is not my president, and these are not my values.” Black rights, LGBTQ rights, women’s rights, science rights, refugees, teachers, and everything else that matters and has a bullseye painted sloppily across it -- these are the reasons we fight against the horde of people who would go to extreme lengths to reverse the small victories for equal rights for all, not just the straight white cisgender male. How am I playing my part if I’m hiding my made-up face, which to some, might be a symbol of feminine gay culture? What am I doing if I’m hiding from the prying eyes of people who might disagree with me?

This idea came up later on today, when I’m answering the back door at work. A very belligerent truck driver stopped by to pick up the piles of refuse left over from the night before. There was an overnight installation of a few components of whatever, whatever, and the garbage piled high for it, enough that a truck company was used to take it all away for us. He arrived, huffing and puffing because of how the loading dock is blocked off, and then demanded to know how to get to our sister store in Fenway. I calmly explained that he would stay right on Boylston and head toward the stadium. His thick, very dense Boston accent was my clue that he has probably driven by it a few times, and his insistence that he is a prominent driver confused me when he told me he didn’t know what I was talking about.

Then he looked at my gray lips and glimmering highlight, rolled his eyes, and changed his tone to one that screamed “you couldn’t actually know, faggot.” He drawled on, telling me that going down Boylston in one direction would make the numbers go down, not up, and I should be clearer. I told him to head toward Mass Ave and read the signs, and he’ll get there without any issues. He snickered again and said “You want me to take this truck down Storrow?” I paused a second too long, just long enough for him to roll his eyes again, and finally yell “this shit has got to go and I need to go, so figure it out!” 

I got nervous when he raised his voice. I’m a thin person without a lot of muscle mass, and this huge guy is already sizing me up as an easy target. I’m alone with him in a hallway. No one can hear me, and my only comfort is the headset on my ear that works maybe a quarter of the time. 

Sighing, I closed the door and told him he would figure it out and that I had to go back to my job. I regretted my makeup and the fact that I shaved my beard the night before. I felt myself regretting that I didn’t look like everyone else.

Shortly thereafter, I am packing up my things to leave when I caught my reflection again. It wass starting to fade a little and there are places on my nose where the foundation was starting to melt from all of my natural oils, but I didn’t touch it up. I knew I was going to take it off, anyway, because of my train ride home. It never once occurred to me that I’d actually wear it on the Orange Line, let alone at the train station by my house. “Did I want to get shot?”, I laughed to myself.

I must have made that comment out loud because a coworker overheard me and, her smile waning, asked, “Wait -- do you really think about that? Is that really something you think about before you go anywhere?” 

My subconscious and conscious minds merged in that moment, and the safeguards came tumbling down. 

“Yes,” I replied, in a quiet, contemplative voice that contrasted starkly to my typical jovial baritone. “I guess I never really thought about it, but yes -- I’m afraid of what would happen.” 

Pause. 

I use #resist on all of my drag selfies because I believe gender disruption and all versions of shaking up the “heteronormative status quo” act as a big fuck you to the people who are trying to take it all away from us. I go to rallies when I can, I give fistfuls of dollars away to charities and activist groups, and I proudly tout my “Not My President” pin. I fight down people who confront the simple civil liberties I want for all of our not-so-minor minorities, and I build up people who are struggling. But I take my makeup off to ride the fucking train?

Resume.

Once, a little bit before my birthday, a very dear friend of mine told me she had a paralyzing thought about the election. She told me she doesn’t believe this, and felt some shame in it, but she knows, deep down, that if she didn’t fight the Trump regime, she would, essentially, be unharmed. She wouldn’t ever be truly affected by it, not personally or physically, and she could just slide on by until the next election. It is the easy solution. 

She could take her makeup off.

She shook her head immediately and told me that she would keep fighting, however, because she believes in the cause. I believe her implicitly. But that stuck with me. She could take her makeup off and she would be fine. She would blend in with the crowd, not for or against the grain, and would be “fine.” 

This isn’t an exact parallel, of course. I took my makeup off today out of fear of physical harm. I read an article yesterday about the tragic death of a drag queen in New Orleans. At the time it was posted, the details were still hazy, but the overall timbre of the piece was enough to shake me a little. New Orleans, while in Louisiana, is still a very rich environment for gay night life, and it’s disturbing that one of our own would be killed for being who she is. For living her whole life. My mind immediately went to Boston, and how the night life here is almost non-existent, and how, despite the bubble of liberalism that pushes against the oppressors trying to break down the peace of our little metropolis, there isn’t a magical forcefield to keep out guns and the hateful people who use them for cold murder.

A young queer wearing a pound and a half of makeup could very easily be the face of the evening news. “Grizzly death of gay Sephora employee leaves community rattled.” “Queer man killed by unknown assailant on the Orange Line.” “Boy wearing makeup beaten to death.” 

Can fear really be an excuse? Is this really a reason to #resist-lite? Am I doing a disservice to myself and to my community, and thereby to the entire movement, by letting this sort of thing change me? 

Someone recently told me that I gave them confidence because of how courageous I am. For doing drag, for being a storyteller, for pursuing my dreams -- all the nice things you hear when someone applauds your impact on their lives. Did I let this person down?

So I suppose, in conclusion --

I will keep wearing my fucking makeup, fear be damned. And so should you.