#any of us could easily be complicit given the right circumstance

[nhaneh]

pretty sure I saw a case of actual full-on blood libel casually saunter across my dash earlier and it still kind of bothers me

like I think there are things where your brain should just automatically spam X to Doubt when encountered unless there is truly extraordinary evidence involved. shit can be real bad as is without bringing in cursed millenia-old conspiracy bullshit

[valtsv]

something i absolutely love about squid game that i haven't really seen being talked about is how effectively it portrays the use of dehumanization tactics and how those tactics are used to convince people in disadvantaged positions that other people in the same or similar positions to them are the opposition that they must overcome in order to succeed, while their true obstacles, those in positions of power, remain untouched and unnoticed.

this is most obvious in how the contestants interact with one another. they are stripped of all their personal items and clothing when they arrive on the island the games are held on, and given identical numbered tracksuits, allowing them to easily forget that the people they're competing against are just that. people. and people in just as unfortunate circumstances as they are, playing for the same reason they are - a chance to be lifted out of the terrible poverty destroying their lives.

this is why contestants sharing their names with each other is such a meaningful, significant act. it's more than just an expression of trust, it's also an expression of solidarity, and of recognizing the other person as human, and possessing just as much value as a person and worthwhile goals as you. (which is part of why sangwoo's betrayals of his fellow contestants to win feel so harsh, because he recognized this but still made the decision to exploit them to get ahead. he understood the rules of the game and knew they were unfair, and decided that the best chance he had of surviving was to use the edge this gave him over the other contestants. and he was right, but this only demonstrates the cruelty and unfairness of the situation. sangwoo is not rewarded for his actions, and in the end they bring him no joy and no success.)

this dehumanizing power dynamic is also apparent through the interactions between the masked staff and the contestants. while the staff are undoubtedly in a better position than the people they watch over, execute and dispose of as carelessly as taking out the trash, we are shown that there's a hierarchy among their ranks, and that none of them are safe from being disposed of themselves if they defy their own authority figures. and although some of them are undeniably awful people who take pleasure in abusing and killing those they have a position of power over, there are probably also those who find their jobs distasteful and those who are simply in it for employment.

this is not to say that any of them aren't complicit in the suffering of the contestants, but the fact that one of them is executed for showing his face to a contestant holding him at gunpoint (who immediately commits suicide when he realizes that he would have to destroy the lives of other human beings to have any chance of escaping with his own life) begs the question whether they even could meaningfully help them without both they and the contestants being punished by those in positions of greater authority. when one of them says "i just work here", he betrays both the fact that they don't see the contestant they're talking to as a person - the atrocities they commit and the corpses of the people who failed to make it through each stage of the games that they dispose of are 'just part of the job' - but also that they have no real, meaningful authority. and we aren't shown how they're recruited. for all we know some of them may come from just as desperate and hopeless backgrounds as those they gun down.

the point is, it doesn't matter, because the masked staff are not meant to recognize the contestants (or each other) as human, and the contestants are not meant to recognize each other or the masked staff as more than obstacles and oppressors. they are numbers and shapes to each other, nothing more, and so when they suffer they do not look to those who are truly to blame for the positions they are all in - the rich elite who throw away their money on the game for their entertainment like gi-hun betting on horses at the beginning of the series - but each other. which makes gi-hun's decision at the end of the series to use his new financial means and the social status and power it gives him try to expose and prevent those who are in actual positions of power and who manipulated him and his fellow contestants into competing against one another from doing any further harm through the games all the more significant. by doing so, he breaks this cycle of the rich and powerful using the poor and disadvantaged against each other to shield themselves from accountability.

[harryandmolly]

Complicit // 8

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW (the kind that anon politely asked me not to write but I did it anyway -- this is your warning, sweet friend), alarming tenderness... and what comes after

WC: 6.9k

----------

S.M.: Can I ask you for something?

Penny wakes up to see a text sent at 2:30am on the morning of her day date with Shawn. He requested the day date specifically -- he’s been in Europe for a week for a festival in Helsinki and his body clock is so fucked up he feels sick when he tries to figure out what day it is.

He has the day to himself before he has a Bex outing planned for that evening -- drinks at The Nice Guy, some kissing and maybe a little minor groping outside the cars as they leave conspicuously together. He wants to spend those hours before, his hours, with Penny.

Orthodontist: You may.

S.M.: Can we be cozy? I want to see you but I��m fucking wiped out. Cozy sweats day?

Penny frowns at the frantic tugging in her gut, the one Silver trained to save her from something all escorts go through at one point or another, the one that should make her wary of the potential intimacy of something like this. Penny clears her throat and lets her thumbs fly.

Orthodontist: Of course. See you soon.

She’s paid to give the client what they want. If they want the girlfriend experience, that’s what she’ll do. It’s not unique to Shawn, anyway. Plenty of clients have asked for lower key dates once they get comfortable with her. She understands that, the need for that kind of comfort. She used to need that, too.

But the tugging reminds her of the other circumstance. Shawn requested a house call. Again, not unique to him at all. But she has this funny feeling that if Silver took a look at her schedule and saw the date herself, she’d make that carefully concerned-but-not-too-concerned-because-you’re-a-grown-up-and-my-business-partner face. She loves Silver endlessly, but that face makes her feel small.

Penny shakes her head, but just minutely in case he’s watching her walk up through the window. She focuses on the date, on being prepared for whatever he may need from her when she walks through that door.

Client’s needs. Client’s needs.

Penny lets it take over like a mantra as she parks her normal car, the leased white 2021 Passat, beside his Tesla in his driveway like she’s done it a million times. She walks up the steps and rings the doorbell, tucking her hands into the front pocket of her Ivy Park hoodie, trying to look anywhere but right at his front door.

When it swings open, she feels like her heart has spilled out onto her shoes. He’s in a pair of green and blue plaid pajama pants that are inexplicably a little long and pooling around his ankles, despite his impressive height, and a big, loose t-shirt. His hair is wet. He smells like warm soap. His smile is soft and flat. He stands aside to let her in.

“Hi, Penny.”

She hides the full body shiver by doing a quick turn like she’s interested in looking around his foyer. She plasters on a smile.

She’s in his house.

“Hi, Shawn.”

He reaches a hand for her. She knows it’ll be soft and hot from his shower. She braces herself to take it. He tugs her forward, the corner of his mouth lifting as he pulls her in for a kiss. She nearly trips into him, her Ugg moccasins bumping into his bare toes as his nose nudges hers and it’s so startlingly intimate that she purrs into his mouth like he’s not paying for her time.

He curls his hands around her hips and starts to lead her into the house. She follows, taking tiny steps between his feet as he continues kissing her -- quick, open-mouthed kisses.

“Can I just keep kissing you for a while?” he asks, his teeth clanging against hers as he smiles, his eyes shut. She gives him a breathy hum and a nod in response. He guides them through his house blind, ignorant of her curious eyes scanning the area as they go. Her hand rises from his shoulder to cup the back of his head just before it smacks into his closed bedroom door.

He grunts, reaching for the handle to let them in. It’s dark inside -- he’s got those good blackout curtains, the heavy ones that turn any room into a cave. It’s pleasantly cool with a haphazardly made up squishy gray duvet on the bed, nondescript but cozy. Shawn reaches for a lamp on the dresser and it casts the room in a warm orange glaze of light. He sighs contentedly on the way back to her lips. She feels it in her bones as she wraps around him.

She steps out of her moccasins to rise higher on her toes to meet him. His hands wander, curiously, not hungrily, over the worn cotton surface of her hoodie. He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls her in, tucking her around him to straddle him. Penny goes willingly, settling low enough on his thighs that she’s not plastered up against him, but perched comfortably in his lap.

Penny gives Shawn a breather by tucking kisses down his jaw and into his neck. The marks she left last time have all faded back into lightly bronzed summer skin. She kisses and sucks gently, not enough to bruise. Shawn’s fingers twist into the ends of her hair, pulling more teasingly than desperately.

Over his shoulder she spies several ripped up citrus peels on his night stand -- tangerines, she thinks. They have extra bits of pith picked off and spread on top. They explain the bright fruity taste of his mouth. 

Penny closes her eyes again and feels him shiver as her teeth graze his jugular. She thinks she could’ve lived without knowing he peels the extra bits of pith off his citrus.

Penny separates from his wet skin with a deep inhale, pressing her hands into his chest to push him back. He goes with a soft smile. Her good boy knows better than to grab at her to drag her with him.

She folds herself over him, gazing between his lips and his flooded brown eyes when he stops her, grunting a little as he raises his chin.

“Where did all these come from?”

He’s staring up at her in wonder, just below her eyes. Her brow furrows. She leans onto one hand to lift her fingers up to graze her nose.

“My freckles?

He beams so wide and lazy it makes her smile too without knowing what they’re grinning about.

“Yeah. You’ve been hiding these under makeup?”

She shrugs.

He lets his eyes trail over the course of them -- a heavy sprinkle over her nose and cheekbones, growing sparse and light down her cheeks.

Shawn closes his eyes and sighs. “Didn’t think you could get prettier.”

Penny dips her head to kiss the spot between his collarbones, tugging at the collar of his shirt to reach it.

“How was Finland?” she finally stammers, needing to put something between them and… this.

“Weirdly hot. And the food was really good.”

She doesn’t bother to point out that she’s been there with the Aston Martin guy. Instead, she nods and watches his blinks get slower and slower. 

She wets her lips. “It must’ve been nice to have a break.”

His eyes refocus on her. He stares questioningly.

“From the American press, I mean. I’ve seen a lot of you and Bex lately. Which I guess means that’s going the way it was planned.”

She doesn’t sound bitter or flippant, just matter-of-fact. Shawn ignores the tiny voice that wishes he could accuse her of jealousy. He knows he wouldn’t like her response if he did.

“Yeah,” he hums, “Her album sales have gone up. Mine are projected to be… pretty good.”

He’s being modest. His album is one of the single most anticipated releases of the fall. But thinking about that makes him want to throw up so he chooses to suck on her bottom lip again, re-memorize the little dip in the middle where he likes to flick his tongue.

“It’s ok, you know,” she breathes after he pulls back, “That you don’t want to talk about it with me. I understand it’s… maybe confusing.”

Shawn shakes his head. “It’s not that. Honestly, I’m better talking about it with you than anyone else. I know you’d never judge me.”

She smiles, a little warm, a little sad. “It’s true. The prostitute can’t be throwing stones at any glass… anything.”

Shawn actually chuckles. It’s odd how quickly it happened, but he’s long since gotten used to the notion that she’s a paid sex worker. He probably got over it somewhere around the third orgasm. He knows what Niall meant now about it being like a form of therapy. The stigma doesn’t bother him like it once did.

He lowers his gaze to the strings on her hoodie. “I guess I just like mostly pretending it’s not happening. It’s not… it’s not like I’m miserable around her. She’s a nice girl, she’s fun. But I built a whole relationship with my fans on always being honest. I told them everything, I promised I always would. I gave them everything. Because they’ve given me everything.”

Penny nods. “You made those promises as a teenager. Your life hasn’t been simple in a long time, but it sure as hell was simpler then. You’re a grown man now. No real adult’s life is so easily lived in the spotlight. I know you know that, you’ve lived through some of that already. The rest of the world has to figure out how to deal with you now, how to approach you differently. I don’t think they’ll need much more time. The Bex thing, as much as I know it makes you squirm, it’s working.”

Shawn closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, feeling it rattle in his chest as tears threaten. He’s so fucking tired.

“It’s working,” he agrees in a croak.

Penny knows enough to move on now. She slides up his body so their heads are level. She teases his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue.

“Your bed is comfy,” she coos, rocking from side to side with a grin.

Shawn seems grateful for the distraction. “You like it?”

“I do. Your place is nice. It’s big but cozy, like you.”

Shawn smiles, releases a little chuckle through his nose. “It’s nice like this… with you. In sweats and t-shirts, just… y’know. It’s easy.”

Penny’s smile grows a little dangerous in that way he loves. “Who said I was gonna make it easy, baby?”

Shawn groans. “You never do. It’s what I like about you.”

Penny purrs, ducking her face back into his neck, on the other side this time as he cradles her. Her fingers sneak up under his shirt, teasing the soft hair on his stomach that trails into his pajama pants. He releases a breath into her hair as his muscles contract.

“What can I do for you, baby? What would you like?”

She usually chooses for them. He usually wants her to. But she must have sensed that he was holding back, wanting to ask. He sighs.

“In the shower I was thinking about… after the cock ring. What we did after.”

Penny’s eyebrows raise. Her heart picks up pace against her ribs. She stays cool and purses her lips.

“What was it we did after, Shawn?”

Shawn’s cheeks start to flush. He rolls his eyes. “You want me to tell you I want you to fuck me in the ass?”

Penny’s eyes go bright with delighted shock. She laughs, “That’s exactly what I want.”

Shawn, never one to deny Penny what she wants, manages to get his mouth around the words, his eyes sliding shut. “I want it, Pen. I want to take your cock like a good boy.”

Penny growls before he even gets the words out. She drops her weight against him, rocking her hips automatically in a way that gets him groaning into her plundering mouth. Before they can get too lost in their almost teenage humping, warmth trapped under layers of clothes, Penny straightens up on her arms, perched over him.

“Did you get ready for it in the shower?”

He nods and glances around his room like he’s just realized something.

“Where’s your suitcase?”

She grins. “I traveled light today. I brought a purse.”

He eyes her. “You… have a strap on in your Prada bag?”

Penny tilts her head. “I’m always prepared.”

She sits up in his lap and stretches her arms up, shedding the bulky hoodie, bare underneath. Shawn whines so loud his torso clenches. 

He pants, “Can I touch your nipples?”

Penny nods, continuing her hips’ assault against his. She rolls against him, feeling him go fully hard under the thin flannel fabric of his pants, angling herself so his cock slips against her swollen cunt through her leggings. Shawn’s hands go straight to her breasts, cupping their fullness and positioning his thumbs right over her hard buds, the ones he treated so well he made her come without touching her perfect pussy. He smirks at the memory.

“Thinking about it, baby? About how hard you had me coming just with your pretty mouth on my tits?”

Shawn’s head falls back as he mewls. He loves it when she gets mouthy like this. She’s excited, he can feel it. He thinks maybe she likes pegging him as much as he likes being pegged by her.

Shawn scrapes the tips of his fingernails against her nipples like she likes and it’s like striking a match. Her back stiffens, she groans, loud and deep. He watches them go diamond hard between his fingers, squeezing a little just to get a last dirty thrust of her hips against his before she really goes to work on him. She knows his game and gives him a crooked grin. 

“Are you gonna be a good boy or a brat?”

Shawn’s pearly teeth sink into his swollen, wet lip. He nods. “I’ll be so good, Pen. Gonna be your good boy. The best.”

Her lips twitch. She blinks quickly, startled with the words that almost come slipping out of her mouth.

You’re already the best I’ve ever had.

Penny lays her hands over his much larger ones on her chest and peels them away, dropping them beside his cherubic curls. She moves her hands down to rest against the firm stillness of his chest, his steady heartbeat singing for her. His fingers twitch but he remains quiet beneath her, watching her, wondering about her.

Her fingers stretch and relax, scrunching at the fabric of his t-shirt. He lifts his hips invitingly, just grazing her, offering himself to her. Like in case she forgot how much he wants her and needs her, he’s there to remind her.

Penny lowers herself against him slowly and flips them, his arm tucked beneath her, his knees bracketing her legs to hold his weight. She reaches down and lifts the hem of his shirt, wriggling him out of it. She’s hit with a wall of him, warm naked chest and the perfectly Shawn scent that comes with it. It’s the purest version -- devoid of cologne or weed or the incense Cez sometimes burns. It’s his soap, his breath, his shampoo, his skin. She gasps greedy lungfuls, sinking her hands into the easily defined ridges of his back as she grapples with a way to steady herself.

She closes her eyes away from his prying ones and pushes her hands down his hips to shove at the fabric of his pajama pants. With a few heavy grunts, he manages to slip out of those, too, his old plaid boxers going with them. He fights to keep himself from grinding down against her. He can smell how wet she is for him already through her leggings. He slams his eyes shut and struggles to breathe.

He opens them again when he hears her shuffling around beneath him. In a squirm of fabric and freckled skin, she sheds her leggings and whatever panties she had on beneath. For once, he finds he doesn’t care what they look like. He just aches at the sight of her bare and wet, her limbs threading around him like sun-darkened vines.

“How are you always so tan?” he breathes, his mouth tugging up at the corner. Penny grins lazily, her eyes heavy.

“I sunbathe naked on my patio while I listen to audiobooks.”

Shawn is seized by the image, at once so, so painfully sexy and somehow also domestic and warm, like if he spent a few seconds longer with it he could imagine being back there with her, sharing a bottle of wine, playing his guitar for her.

But he definitely doesn’t let himself get that far.

Instead, he buries his face in her neck and inhales. “Fucking gorgeous.”

Penny brings a hand firmly down his spine from his neck to his lower back, squeezing for his attention. “Hold on a second.”

Shawn eases back, blinking curiously. Penny slides out from beneath him. On little brown tiptoes, she hops to the window and peeks out curiously. Once she’s had a look, she glances back over her shoulder at him. His brow lifts.

Penny lifts back the curtains, flooding the room in midday Californian sun. Shawn winces and blinks, turning his cheek. She tucks the curtains back, revealing his view, the rolling, blank green of the Hollywood Hills. Shawn’s lips part like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. Penny turns to face him.

“I want to see you in the sunlight.”

Shawn trembles with a shiver as she approaches the bed slowly, perching on the end, cupping his cheek so her thumb runs along the lower edge of his cheekbone. 

He can see every freckle. He can see every little smile line. He can see a little ridge-like scar on her temple that he doesn’t know the story of. He can see the way her skin glows like she’s absorbing the sunlight she craved for him. He can see everything.

And so can she. The only natural light she’s seen him in has been cloudy, dusky, early morning light that lovers sleep through, or shrouded by curtains that forgive the sharp edges of shadows and direct sun. She left no room for it here. She can’t believe she never noticed how pink he is, all over. She’s seen it in his cheeks and chest, and on occasion in the skin she’s abused to the point of sweet red welts, but never like this where she gets to see the true permanent almost-blush that sits ready under the surface at all times. It’s breathtaking.

They both know they’re spending too much time openly studying each other, but the opportunity is too tempting to ignore. It’s Penny that breaks first, dropping kisses into his shoulder as she crawls over him, pressing him back into the mattress with a deep sigh.

Through the soft graze of his chest hair, she flicks at his hard little nipples with her tongue, enjoying the way he arches into her with a little huff of air. She keeps on, nose brushing all the petal pink skin she finds on her way down, punctuating with wet presses of her lips until she reaches the dark swirls of pubic hair that trail from his navel downward. His chest shudders hard as her breath displaces the hair and her hands find the soft insides of his thighs to push them apart for her to settle between. His cock twitches with interest, just gone fully hard against his stomach. She brushes her lips along the shaft, lips parted in a curious smile. Her hand reaches back to the bench off the foot of the bed. Shawn’s eyes snap shut at the sound of the bottle of lube opening and shutting. 

Penny’s lips are followed by just the tip of her tongue. Her tracing is gentle, intimate like the touch of a finger along the throbbing vein, then to the sensitive head of his cock. Her fingers warm the lube between them with audible wet strokes that make Shawn’s brows pull together in anticipation.

Her lips join her tongue again at the base of his cock. Her fingertips press gently against his perineum. His inhale sizzles through his nose loudly. She rubs little circles, firming up in pressure as her mouth moves in a wet pattern up to the head of his cock. It slips between her lips. Shawn’s fingers sink into the squish of his duvet.

“Fuck,” he breathes in disbelief, lifting his knees to plant his feet before she can ask him to. 

She works her tongue in swirls around the head of his cock as her fingers draw the same motion around his hole. Just as she slurps at his tip, she sinks a finger in to the first knuckle.

Shawn sighs comfortably, less tense now than he was when they first began exploring this together. She slips it in and out a few times before burying it further. His head tips back and draws out a moan that’s as honest and selfless as she’s ever heard him. It urges her on.

As Penny curls her finger, stroking upward, Shawn loses himself further. He turns his cheek against the pillow, nuzzling as he presses his ass into the bed. His dark eyes fixate on her, on the way she watches him when she slides a second lubed finger inside him, moving so preciously slowly, treating him with so much care it sucks the breath out of his lungs into more breathy moans. She alternates attending to the head of his cock with her wet mouth and pressing kisses to his shaft, keeping the main focus on the talent of her perfect little fingers. She scissors them apart slightly, stretching him to get ready for the toy, grinning at the way his toes curl.

“Penny, baby, feels so good,” he grunts, shaking his head in disbelief. She hums her agreement. She has her own fondness for this, feeling the tight, welcoming warmth with him, feeling the trust grow ever stronger as he puts more of himself in her care with each breath.

Penny licks a drop of precome from his tip and watches her free hand spread to trail up his chest and rest over his heart. It’s thrumming hard, not too hard, not enough to make her back off for fear of ending it early. She wants to take this time nice and slow for him now that he knows how much he likes it and asked her for it. She focuses the press of her thumb into his perineum while her fingers flex and curl.

“Fucking… yeah, Penny, Jesus,” he pants slightly, fisting the sheets on either side of him. She can feel and see the sheen of sweet sweat on his chest and abdomen. He’s almost ready.

“Baby,” she breathes, her voice hoarse from disuse and the weight of her own arousal, “You want my cock?”

He’s not so bashful this time as the first time she asked. He nods first, closing his eyes to find his voice.

“Baby, Penny, please. Fuck me.”

Her toes curl in anticipation. She rolls her hips needily into the bed. Shawn watches with a growling moan. His body protests the careful removal of her fingers and she knows he wants his hands on his aching cock but one look from her reminds him she hasn’t given him permission. Instead he squirms against the bed watching her lift the strap on harness out of the pouch and step into it. Her wetness makes a sound as she separates her legs. She bites her lip at his eager gasp.

“Nice and wet, Pen? Gon-gonna come when you fuck me?”

She tightens the harness around her hips and thighs and considers him through heavy lidded eyes. She flips her feathery dark hair out of her face and cups her fist around the base of the dark green silicone toy.

“Would you like that? Wanna feel me come with you?” Her breath breaks off at the end. Shawn lifts his head and nods again, more fervently.

“Baby, I always want to feel you come. I need to make you come. Please.”

Penny feels his urgency and steps to the end of the bed, reaching for the bottle again. She slicks the toy down with a generous handful of lube. Shawn pokes the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he watches, knees still bent, legs still spread. 

As she lifts a knee onto the end of the mattress, Shawn comes up on his elbows and readies to turn over. She reaches out and grabs his leg to stop him. The first time she took him like this, he was on his knees with her behind him. He’s surprised when she has him lift his hips to settle a pillow beneath them and angle him up toward her. She pulls his thick thighs over hers and nudges him with the head of the slick toy. He exhales slowly, nodding.

Penny goes perfectly slow for him, watching the flutter of his lashes as he adjusts to the fit of it inside him. She sinks gently until she’s buried, her hips snug against his thighs. Shawn focuses on his breathing and the way the ends of her hair tickle his chest as she leans forward.

Penny eases her hips through a circular motion that has the toy grinding into him a little harder. His eyes fall shut. He whines, high and sweet.

“Yeah, baby?” she coos.

“So good,” Shawn sighs, opening his eyes again when he feels her thumbs rubbing similar circles into the insides of his thighs. He’s noticed she has a thing for matching patterns in the way she touches him to heighten sensation. He offers her a lazy, fucked-out grin as she continues the slow sway of her hips.

“Have you ever tried this?” he whispers, nodding at her.

Penny bites at her lower lip like she’s not sure. The coyness is a reflex. She shakes it off.

“Yeah. I like it, too. With the right partner.”

Shawn smiles. His thighs tremble. Her hips have picked up their easy pace. She grips him a little harder as she rocks into a pulsing motion that has her sliding in and out a bit more obviously.

Shawn groans. “Holy… shit.”

He’s wordier when she’s inside him than he usually is. She likes that, makes it feel like he’s even more free than usual, like his thoughts come out through his mouth rather than the alternative of getting stuck to rattle in his brain.

Penny eases forward onto one hand by his head. Her breasts hang, her nipples grazing his chest as she strokes in and out more purposefully. Shawn’s eyes fall shut and his head lolls back. His mouth drops open in a low cry of pleasure.

“Shit… f-fuck,” he sobs, feeling the welcome heat of this with her singe him all over. He grips the sheets harder.

“Can touch me if you want,” she pants, her breath broken up by the strain of her thrusts and the way they bump right up against her swollen clit in the way she likes.

Shawn’s fingers are flushing red as the blood seeps back in. He lifts one to cup her shoulder blade and the other around the back of her head. The motion focuses her eyes down on his, up from where she’s pressing into him.

His eyes are heavily glazed and his lips are parted and wet. Before she thinks about it too hard, she dips down to lavish them with kisses. The change of angle has Shawn nearly purring into her mouth, his legs spreading wider to welcome her closer.

“Baby, oh my god,” he hisses, his curls shivering against his forehead as she mouths at the edge of his jaw.

“Like it like this?” she croaks, fucking in and out of him a little faster, “No one’s ever made you feel this fucking good.”

It’s not edged with the cocky lilt her words take on when she’s giving it to him good in bed. There’s a note of desperation. The need to praise and validate her roars up in Shawn’s chest so strong he gasps a breath to speak.

“No one,” he agrees in a rough sigh, “Fucking-- oh. No--nobody, baby, you’re the only one. Penny, you’re the only one.”

With a satisfied moan, Penny reaches between them and wraps her fingers around the head of his cock. Her hips swing harder, wringing a pretty gasping cry from him with each one. She pulses her fingers around him in time, ready to feel him come apart at the seams.

Shawn feels her lips brushing his. He blinks lazily, almost too far gone to speak, but the look in her eyes makes him whisper, “Come with me. Please.”

Penny’s responding breathy whimper sends him right over the edge. He stifles a scream as his entire body goes beautifully tight and he releases between their stomachs and into her small, wet fist. She breathes through it, right up against his lips like they should be kissing but breathing each other in is enough. Suddenly, with an erratic flick of her hips that has Shawn holding her a little tighter, Penny whines his name and it’s the best fucking thing he’s ever heard. She rows up against him again and again, riding through the orgasm he’d give her a thousand more times if she asked until she’s spent and collapsed against his chest, the toy still inside him.

Shawn lifts his heavy arms around her, smiling like a dope into her hair. He smoothes her hair down her back. It falls so far it brushes her cute round ass, so he massages that, too.

Penny peels up enough to look at him. She smiles and bumps her nose up against his lips.

“Wow,” she chuckles.

“Uh huh,” he grunts back, the same amusement in his voice. He cradles her between his legs, propping his chin up on the top of her head.

Penny starts easing her hips back to Shawn’s little noises of protest. She sheds the harness and grabs a wet washcloth to clean them both off. She tosses it in the hamper and crawls up beside him, still bathed in warm morning light, his arm open to the side to welcome her. She’s just settled up against him when she hears something.

“Hey now, hey nooooow! This is what dreeeeeeams are made of!”

Penny’s head shoots up. She always, always turns her personal phone ringer off when she’s on dates. She somehow forgot. Her head jerks as she looks to Shawn, who’s still wearing a look of dreamy calm.

“Nice ringtone.”

“Sorry, fuck-- I usually turn it off. It’s… that’s my brother’s ringtone.”

Shawn tilts his head curiously. “Answer it if you want. Does he know about me?”

The question is so shocking Penny forgets to think before she answers with a short nod.

“I mean… yeah. It’s-- I tell him everything. I mean not, everything everything. Obviously. But… he would die before telling anyone. I promise.”

Shawn’s face shifts at the look on Penny’s. He’s never seen her look so wide-eyed and sheepish. He strokes a hand comfortingly up her arm.

“Hey, it’s fine. I get it. Answer it, I really don’t mind.”

Penny hesitates a moment longer, then launches off Shawn’s chest to get to her purse. With impressive flexibility, she reaches off the end of the bed and hits the answer button before the ringer ends.

“Hey,” she pants.

“You know what absolutely blows?” Peter barks. He’s so loud Penny is sure Shawn can hear every word but he looks out the window politely.

“What?”

“Data structures and functional programming!” Peter wails. A clunk in the background sounds like a textbook falling shut.

“Don’t tell me you got a B+ on a test again,” Penny jabs, eyeing Shawn with a mischievous smile. His nose twitches over a shy grin now that he realizes he’s allowed to listen.

“No, god no, don’t joke about that,” Peter hisses, “Hot TA finally, FINALLY asked me out.”

Penny’s eyes pop. “What? That’s great! He’s so cute!”

“So, so cute,” Peter agrees in a strained voice, “But my data structures professor moved our test up because he got asked to speak at some conference in Bern. The summer semester break is about to start and hot TA is starting an internship in Hong Kong until September!”

Shawn’s eyebrows raise curiously. Penny bites her lip over a smile, her cheeks catching pink at this odd collision of her personal and professional lives.

“Peter, fuck the test. You have an A. Even if you fail it, you won’t fail the class.”

Shawn chuckles, sitting upright to listen closer.

“But--” Peter begins.

“No,” Penny interrupts sternly, “Don’t do the thing. Don’t use me as a way to argue with yourself. You’re in college, Pete. There’s plenty of time to take over the world with your impressive brain later. Go get laid, for the love of god.”

Shawn laughs, loud and delighted. Penny giggles.

There’s a pause. Peter says, “Who is that? Silver?”

Penny wets her lips and lowers her gaze to Shawn’s legs. “No.”

Another pause. “Oh my god, are you on a date?”

Penny chews the inside of her lip. Her silence is enough confirmation.

“Oh my god,” Peter cries, scandalized. There’s another crash -- this time it sounds like a computer chair smacking into a wooden desk, “You answered your personal cell on a date?”

Shawn looks even more intrigued. He leans further forward and bites his lip. Penny reaches out and plucks at a curl on his forehead.

“Shawn doesn’t mind.”

Peter’s overdramatics reach new heights with his squealing cry in reaction. Shawn laughs again, going pink from the chest. Penny crawls into his lap, feeling mysteriously smug -- perhaps at the disproving of her longtime theory that if ever her two worlds should meet, chaos would immediately follow. Shawn gathers her up on his lap and brushes his nose against her collarbone, sweeping his lips against her neck.

“Are you seriously post-coital with Shawn Peter Raul Mendes and taking a phone call from meeee?” His voice has gone all squeaky so the final drawn out vowel makes her cringe.

“Why do you know his full name?” she laughs. Shawn snorts a chuckle and it vibrates her throat. She hums comfortably.

“My god, my god, get off the phone. Bitch, I will hang up on you. Go get that mans. Get that good Canadian rock star dick, what the fuck.”

Shawn laughs harder and he’s close enough to the phone that Peter cries out at the sound.

“Shawn, for the love of all that’s unholy, do something to get her off the phone.”

Shawn lifts his head and considers the challenge. Penny is breathless, watching him lie back, taking her with him. He lifts her, scooting her up his chest until she’s perched over his head, her knees bracketing the pillow, phone still pressed to her ear.

“Hey, you’re still coming for that CalTech thing, right? I see you in a few weeks?” she breathes, gazing warmly down at Shawn as he tongues at the inside of her wet inner thigh. She sinks a hand into his curls to steer him. He goes willingly.

“Yeah, yeah in like a month,” Peter answers distractedly, “I put the flight on your Amex.”

Penny’s eyes fall shut when Shawn swipes his tongue up through her folds, flicking at her clit.

“Good boy,” Penny hums with a nod.

“Are you talking to him or me?!” Peter shrieks.

Penny grunts, glancing down at Shawn who locks his arms around her thighs and bears down. With a shaky inhale, she sighs.

“I don’t know anymore. Bye, Pete.”

She holds the phone away from her ear to hang up. She can hear more screaming as she hits the end call button.

+

Oh my GAWD! Shawn Mendes and Bex Get Hot and Heavy in Miami BETCH! -- Perez Hilton

Shawn Mendes and Bex Spotted Getting Steamy on Miami Beach -- People Magazine

Hottest Couple of the Summer! Shawn Mendes and Bex Making Waves In Miami! -- JustJared

+

Penny lifts her chin and controls her stride as she steps into the chilly hotel room at The Beverly Hills Hotel. With a nod back at Gus, the door shuts behind her.

He’s tall. Extraordinarily tall. He’s probably at least 6’5”. He’s a Nordic god with crisp blue eyes and a swath of blonde hair that falls shaggy but controlled around his shoulders. His body is lean and smooth, well trained but hard and a little unwelcoming somehow. Penny’s lips curl into a smile.

“Miss Penny,” he breathes in lightly accented English, “You’re a vision.”

Penny’s upper lip puckers. She tucks some falling curls behind her ear and steps closer, dwarfed but unintimidated by her new client.

“Mr. Larsen. You’re every bit as handsome as you appear in Forbes.”

He’s flattered by her easy softball of a compliment. She can tell by the way he preens for it that he believes her words. She looks down at the glass of gin in his fist. She looks back up at him and smiles again, walking around him to prepare her own.

“I was very eager to receive your recommendation from a colleague,” he says, easing around the chaise to stand behind her. He’s not hovering, exactly, or at least not close enough to make her uncomfortable. She’s aware of the shimmery body oil she rubbed on the bare skin of her back, accented by her low cut cocktail dress.

Aston Martin guy referred him, Silver told her. She knows the type. Elegant and refined. Not terribly interested in small talk before clothes come off. Gets called ‘daddy’ by the girls he brings home from bars and events but needs a strong woman to hold him down and ride him hard to feel balanced.

It’s easy. No challenge. No problem to solve. Penny sighs. It escapes his notice.

She turns while dropping a wedge of lime into her sweating glass. Her eyes rake him from head to toe. He takes it as an invitation to step closer.

“Good word of mouth is crucial to my business model,” she agrees coolly, taking a sip. It’s not as strong as she’d like.

His smile is vaguely unpleasant. He’s the kind of guy she’d tell the La Splendeur girls to avoid when out in the wild. He steps closer.

“I’ve heard very good words about your mouth.”

Penny’s low exhale takes the place of the eyeroll she’d give if she weren’t being paid so handsomely. She can’t blame his native tongue for the too-smooth, cheesy pun. This guy was probably Oxford or Cambridge educated. He speaks better English than she does. He’s just fucking boring.

Penny drops a finger into her drink, curling it slightly, watching his eyes follow the motion. Too easy.

She brings it to her lips and sips the gin off her finger. She doesn’t even like gin. He licks his chops like she’s a meal.

She puts her glass down.

“Get on your knees, Mr. Larsen.”

+

Whiplash.

It’s the only word for the feeling he’s had for days on agonizing days.

Penny crawled out of his bed and left her scent behind in his sheets after a few more traded orgasms and more shared kisses than usual. In a sexed out daze, Shawn heads into the lion’s den. He’s never seen so many paps outside The Nice Guy. The cold snapping of their shutters knocks him back into reality. The high he rides after a few hours with Penny is cut criminally short.

He cradles Bex close under his arm. He wets his lips and leans in when she whispers in his ear. He smiles, makes it melt like butter, and brushes his lips over hers. It’s stomach-turningly tender.

There’s more obvious canoodling outside the bar. Even with his eyes shut and her sucking on his lower lip in an objectively satisfying way, the flashes have him on edge.

He returns home to a bed that smells like something that feels imagined. It’s somehow even less real to him than the carefully orchestrated farce he’s been living.

Because it can’t be real. There’s no trace of her besides the sunny breath of perfume in his pillows that makes him choke up inexplicably when he buries his face in it before sleep mercifully knocks him out.

He can’t see her. He has trouble picturing her pretty face despite all the time he’s spent staring at it. He claws at it -- freckles. Tiny forehead scar. Slender ankles. Weirdly pointy but still cute knees. The laugh. He can’t remember the real laugh, the one that fizzes like expensive champagne, the kind he only drinks with her. He can’t hear it.

Even if he could manage to cling to all these pretty things, it can’t be real. What’s in the headlines is real. The album sales, the festival numbers, the hashtag stats -- those are real. As fake as it all is, it’s real. It’s more real than the nothing he has with a woman he pays to sit on his face.

His career is real. His album is real. His family, his life is real.

The rest of it is distraction.

-----------

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[peepingtoad]

@minaa-munch​ said: Writing prompt: Jiraiya invested a lot of time and heart into those he taught - but how did he feel when those he taught were willing to be rid of him? Ref: Ame orphans. Did he feel responsible for their sentiments? | headcanon asks | always accepting! |

At the time, when he first discovered Konan to be the ‘angel’ of Amegakure—and soon after, that Nagato was using Yahiko’s body among others as grisly avatars—there was really very little time to process the how or the why behind their turning against his teachings. While he loved the two so dearly and it threw him, to say the very least, he automatically saw it as his problem he had to deal with, that he had to end here or die trying. There was no indication of either Konan or Nagato being receptive to talking it out, and the fact of the matter was, they were too far gone in this scheme of theirs, too full of conviction in it to back out just because of a sudden arrival from the past. Not to mention that in treating jinchūriki like inconvenient vessels of the main prize, they were complicit in the sort of dehumanisation that once treated them like nothing (for a so-called greater good). In short, they were completely derailed and detached from what exactly the consequences of their actions were. It reeked of hypocrisy and god complex, and it frankly angered him... but then, that could partly be attributed to this Child of Prophecy, second coming of the Rikudō Sennin mess that he’d told Nagato as a child. A blunder, in hindsight! 

Naturally, it fell to Jiraiya as a responsibility he deemed his own to sort out, given he’s a rather action-driven individual who tends to do what he must first, then lick his wounds and process the emotional side in the aftermath—call it his war experience coming back to him. But of course, he isn’t afforded any such time to reflect. What he can say, however, is that despite it all, he doesn’t see this as a betrayal aimed against him on a personal level; he takes it on the chin that things happened to them that he has no idea about, couldn’t possibly imagine going through, and in a way it’s quite a huge reality check to his long-held ideal that anything can be solved without having to resort to brute strength and putting down foes.

Having said that, however, I truly don’t think he’d have had the heart to kill those two. The Paths of Pain, sure, because they’re just puppets. But rather like his threat to kill Tsunade, coming into a confrontation with a killer’s intent is something he isn’t above using to try and get someone to rethink their intentions. Furthermore, if he’d wanted to, he could easily have used the toads to secure an escape from Ame much sooner... but what this encounter does, hastily as we’re shown his backstory before this pivotal point... is it reignites his will to not give up, which was never gone but had been weathered over the years. This extends to not taking the easy way out, to taking ownership of the fact he was obviously part of this problem, and providing those left behind with the means of setting it right. In a sense, I think the moment he realised it really was Nagato, he knew for certain he would die in that place. That he was at fault for it, and deserved it to a degree. There was a grim acceptance about the whole thing, with the light at the end of the tunnel that was knowing Naruto was still there to carry on his legacy.

... But now for the canon-divergence! *rubs hands together*

In my canon I use for RP, Nagato’s Rinne Tensei of course brings back everyone since beginning his assault against the Leaf—with the unexpected loophole being that in killing Jiraiya, that was the true beginning of that onslaught, therefore he too was brought back. Also, to explain the matter of his body: Jiraiya’s severed left arm unaccounted for, and his body sank not in the ocean but a lake (as Ame is landlocked), which would have surely made an Edo Tensei revival completely doable with Obito able to scour the place after killing Konan. So I say that the toads infiltrated one last time to recover his remains, where he could be then be properly buried in the second home that was Myōbokuzan. So that’s where he awakens and (after digging his way out of the earth of course) determines he can’t hope to help win a war unless he at least masters sage mode, so there he remains to train.

Which, of course, gives him that much-needed time to reflect on what happened.

In this time, I think there will be varying phases for him. He’ll go through grief, he’ll go through guilt. He’ll beat himself up, feeling like if he’d never left those three in the first place, then none of this ever would have happened—or, even, if he hadn’t taken the news of the deaths of all three at face value, and gone to Ame himself to see if it was really true, he could have discovered the truth and stopped Nagato from turning to darkness. After all (and I will go into depth on this whole period of history in future), the news will most likely have come to him through Danzō, or Hiruzen will have been purposefully misinformed on the circumstances, what with the former being the one who manipulated Hanzō into leading the orphans into trap in the first place. And if only Jiraiya had questioned whether there was something underhanded going on at the time, rather than being crushed by the news, perhaps he could have returned to Nagato and Konan in their time of need.

... But then, as certain truths come to light, Jiraiya would begin to see that his being there... might not have magically made everything okay, or prevented bad things from happening. It would come to his awareness, as Gamamaru looked upon the progress of the war which was so different to Akatsuki’s original plans, that Nagato was manipulated while the loss of Yahiko was still raw—and with that knowledge, JIraiya would find himself overwhelmed by just how tangled the web was, how many forces were working against him, and that if anything he was merely an unexpected blip in a much greater plan. That ultimately the rinnegan he’d thought Nagato to be born with were simply being kept warm for someone who was supposed to be long dead.

And in light of this... he wouldn’t know exactly how responsible he should feel for Nagato’s sentiments by the time they fought. He woud remember his teachings, which were as honest as could be and never denied that pain and loss were a reality of shinobi life. The lessons he taught were to use that pain to identify with and understand others, so in his eyes them twisting that into ruthlessness and dishing out pain to provoke and manipulate others, just as had been done to them by the masked man, is something he can’t honestly feel fully responsible for when in the end, it was largely down to what people conspired against Nagato��and how Nagato then chose to act. It seemed that if anything, perhaps he hadn’t ever truly gotten through to Nagato, who was so very scarred—even more so than the other two in ways—considering it ended up being Yahiko who had embodied his teachings the most truly, who had been the one the other two leaned on so much. He would feel like a failure as Nagato’s teacher in these moments, for sure.

Of course, he’ll also know how it was that Naruto managed to turn Nagato’s perception around to the point he sacrificed himself to bring back the lives lost—that being the reminder that the protagonist of Gutsy Shinobi was strongly inspired by Nagato. So naturally this will always be a reminder that Nagato had lost his way, and perhaps if Jiraiya had been there, he wouldn’t have lost sight of himself and his ideals no matter what was thrown at him. I think, deep down, despite all the things that had set them up for disaster without him possibly being able to know about it or fix it, he’ll always feel responsible for that. Simply that he wasn’t there.

[briangroth27]

Us Review

I absolutely loved Us! The movie was more of a straight horror film than Jordan Peele’s Get Out and I liked the change in tone. Overall I do think I prefer Get Out, but Us is fantastic in its own right. Peele’s excellent at blending social commentary with horror, and it’s rare these days that I go into a movie with as much anticipation as I did walking into Us. Peele’s not new to Hollywood, but still, to have this much excitement going into this second movie is impressive! I’m happy to report that I was not disappointed!

Full Spoilers…

Lupita Nyong’o was fantastic in both her roles as Adelaide and Red! She deserves an Oscar for these performances, as she was able to masterfully bring two wildly disparate characters to life and blur the line between the two of them when needed. Winston Duke was very affable as Adelaide’s husband Gabe and brought menace to his Tethered doppelganger Abraham. Shahadi Wright Joseph (Zora/Umbrae) was also really strong as Adelaide’s daughter who was too cool to be bothered with their family vacation (yet never came off as an annoying teenager) and as her creepy running-obsessed mirror image. I do wish both she and Duke had been able to explore their doubles in more detail, because they get the least amount of material and it would’ve been cool to know more about them. Evan Alex, however, got to flex his range more than they did in his dual roles as Jason and Pluto. Given the way the script goes, he gets to blur the line between his two selves even more than Nyong’o, since it seems like no one can figure out which of them is the original and which is the Tethered. Elizabeth Moss was also solid in her smaller dual roles.

The idea of the Tethered—they were created as part of a government experiment to control their counterparts on the surface—was a very cool premise. I think Peele could’ve given us a few more concrete details about the project itself, but I don’t think there are any logistical questions that really stood out as bothering me and there weren’t any “but what about…” plot-hole moments for me while watching it either, so I was satisfied with what we got. Anything that doesn’t seem to make sense in terms of the government’s plan also has a built-in explanation: it was a failed experiment, after all, so those details could’ve contributed to its downfall. The 80’s Hands Across America display (meant to show solidarity for and spread awareness of homelessness in the country) was a clever touchstone and bridge to the class discussion Peele’s having with this film. Reminding us that the lower classes are Americans too, that they still exist even if we choose not to look for them, and that we impact each other’s lives both through action and inaction are all points that resonate strongly here. The idea of using the lower class to manipulate everyone else cleverly taps into the way that the real-world government/media/capitalism uses the less fortunate as an example to scare the middle classes into obeying the system—“keep contributing or you’ll be forgotten, you’ll lose everything, and it will be your fault, you slacker”—and spins it in an original and very satisfying horror tale. We have billionaires and real-world governments that could use their wealth to end homelessness, but allow homelessness to continue both out of greed and an attempt to vilify "laziness" by making the less-fortunate into a warning to those of us who live on the surface that if we ever stop producing, we'll end up forgotten on the streets and in abandoned tunnels.

I loved that Peele let the Tethered uprising grow into a full-on apocalypse with their own Hands Across America: that was a very cool way to sell the “no one is safe because you’ve all ignored these people, so you’re at least a little complicit” idea and to up the stakes considerably. Literally making the Tethered into doppelgangers of the “real” people on the surface also serves to point the finger on us a little more by reminding us that it could easily have been us down there if one or two things had changed. As to why the Tethered didn’t rise up sooner (a question I saw asked a lot around the film’s release), I think they were a people without hope until Red gave them a mission and the idea that they could be free. They needed someone to show them that they had an equal claim to the country and could take it by force if needed, and their twisted version of Hands Across America was a great visualization of that. The twist between Adelaide and Red was just as compelling, and it allowed Red to prove to the Tethered that they were the same as the people on the surface, not lesser. I’m definitely of the opinion that Adelaide always knew who she was and that a fear of revenge was her real reason for not wanting to go back to the beach (even if she suppressed some of the details). I know people asked why the real Adelaide didn’t try escaping as a child, and I think that’s because of what made Red special—their connection was slightly different, like they had a more even split of their soul, so young Adelaide could more quickly fall into Red’s role (a perfect metaphor for how easy it would be for any of us to end up with nothing). Regardless of the specific mechanics of that relationship, I loved that on one level, everyone in the movie is a victim of circumstance (even before you get into what Adelaide did to Red, which is a solid parallel to everyday people taking what’s theirs instead of caring about who they step on to get there). It was haunting to see how easily the humans could take on traits of their Tethered counterparts: that was a great way of dramatizing that they could be any of us if circumstances were different, and blurring the line between Adelaide and her family’s personalities and interests with those of their Tethered counterparts makes total sense if they’re sharing a soul in some fashion. Embracing such similarities between the heroes and villains is a hard line to walk when you want to root for the family to kill the Tethered before they’re killed themselves, yet you’re constantly reminded that the Tethered are victims too. Not innocent ones, but they didn't ask to be created in crazy science tunnels and then left there, forgotten. Peele nailed walking that line.

Based on what’s onscreen, I could go either way with Jason and Pluto having been switched a year before the events of the movie (a popular theory online), but ultimately I don’t think they were. I think Jason’s idiosyncrasies were character quirks that were red herrings, not clues. Jason does control Pluto, but that seemed to be after they “synched up” while in the closet and we also saw Gabe control Abraham when he adjusted his glasses. I also didn’t read Jason’s expression when Adelaide kills a Tethered or at the end in the ambulance as looks of recognition that they were the same, but of dark realization that she was not like him. However, it could be a cool commentary on people forgetting where they came from and no longer caring about the lower classes once they’ve got their share if Adelaide really did forget who she was and this is something that happens to all Tethered once they switch with their doubles without killing them: they start to forget who they were while their double remembers. Maybe Pluto really was swapped and the end is a Thing situation where neither he nor his mother know who is real. Either way, my sister pointed out that not only was Jason’s Tethered named after the god of the underworld, but no one can decide if Pluto is a planet or not, just like we can’t decide who the original Jason is. I think that’s perfect!

The pacing was great and the flashbacks were woven in very well, expertly hinting at the Adelaide/Red reveal but never feeling like they were obtrusive. Peele also found a way to get a lot of levity into the film, which was a great and welcome way to release some of the tension before ratcheting it up again. I liked the setting and all the spaces Peele found to shoot in to create a wide variety of locations, from the suburban nightmare of a home invasion to a war-torn street to the eerie funhouse “portal” to the Tethered’s underground world. The music was perfect, taking Lunitz’ “Five on it” and turning it into a twisted, creepy, and versatile version of itself that could both heighten the tension or highlight our heroes at their coolest, mirroring the characters’ split with their Tethered counterparts nicely.

I love that there are a lot of layers to Us, allowing audiences to puzzle things out for themselves without feeling like it’s got holes that we’re struggling to assign meaning to. Peele’s made another one of my favorite horror films with this movie and I can’t wait to watch it again on Blu-ray when it comes out in a few weeks.  I’ve also been loving Peele’s Twilight Zone reboot and I can’t wait to see what he does in his next feature!

Check out more of my reviews, opinions, and original short stories here!  

[utterandcomplete]

Guys, we have continued with our compilation of videos and documents related to complaint filed by me; describing what I recognize as a criminal conspiracy being perpetraited against myself at my high, rise HUD subsidized headquarters in Milwaukee. As we have uploaded the complaint that we submitted to officials at the milwaukee police departments 5th district for investigation... which we labled narrative. Along with the final disposition letter from the investigating officer by the last name of Cartegena, who's sarcastic disposition would only go to demonstrate a deriliction of duty to anyone in any type of departmental, investigational capacity. As none of the pertinent parameters of the complaint/narrative have been even remotely touched on, but the rather vague audio description that was posted for my social media following would be addressed in this sattirical manner. That given the nature of this aggregous complaint was not called for, but appreciated as the disposition letter recieved from investigator Mark Banks of the fire and police commision of the city of milwaukee; would opt not to elaborate on the complaint/narrative that was said to have been received. N, instead elaborate on a relevant , but non critical aspect of the complaint, that the responses of could have easily been manufactured. Because, after waiting two hour's for a response to file a nuisance complaint, I would post online that I had given up on an officer showing up from the same district 5 police department; responsible for the stonewalling of the investigation in the first place. However, I would learn in a follow up, that a officer did respond and signed off on the report; in a manner consistent with his servicing of the call. Where it doesn't explain why no explaination was given for me not being contacted by phone at the time of this alleged response... which given the unique set of circumstances surrounding this blatant nonessential conspiracy being perpetraited at my headquarters makes any responses of which to address ANY issues surrounding my complaint. Just as suspect as the non-service of a complaint filed with the DOJ/ civil rights/civil enforcement div, that we would learn during the 2020 election fraud scandal in the US. That a key official, that was employed in this office at the time of the complaint filing in 2015; by the name of Jeffrey Clark, was complicit in, in lieu of higher office... need I say more. Because all of the related docs and videos of this compilation are here for you're critique and enjoyments as well, as it's comical to say the least. Needless to say, that I find this disregard for public safety disturbing, which prompted me to cast my vote in the upcoming special mayoral, election, that was a no-brainer for me. Given the fact, that we have ONE candidate with the ability to address the issues at hand whom has had full knowledge of this aggregous complaint for over 4 months... and has done nothing but allow nonsense to dictate the narratives of which. N, we have one that might take the same approach, however we don't know this yet lol, nevertheless don't take the factual documentation of what can only be percieved as stonewalling as me telling you what you should do. As I am a firm beleiver that everyone has the opportunity to experience nonsense FIRST hand atleast 3 or 4 times in their life time. Although, whatever you decide to do, if you don't take advantage of early voting that is going on in milwaukee right no... Saturday April 5th will be the last day to cast you're mayoral vote for this special election. #psychology101yall #nobrainer

[soundmanrecords]

Strike Out Tyrannous Bill Or The People Will

New Post has been published on https://www.soundmanrecords.com/?p=32756

Strike Out Tyrannous Bill Or The People Will

🔊 Listen to Post listenButton3.onclick = function() if(responsiveVoice.isPlaying()) responsiveVoice.cancel(); else responsiveVoice.speak("", "UK English Male"); ;

Open Letter To Boris Johnson | Strike Out Tyrannous Bill Or The People Will

Posted on 26th March 2020 by The Bernician

Open Letter To Boris Johnson

Greetings Boris. I trust your inevitable briefing on this heart-felt open letter, about the tyrannous bill given Royal Assent on 25/03/2020, finds you well, in spite of these most troubling of times.

You will, of course, already know that nothing which arises from the provisions of the Final Brexit Bill can in any way derogate from the sovereignty it restored, which necessarily means that any act of the UK government that subsequently suspends the unalienable sovereign rights of the British people – such as the right to remove governments by democratic vote, for instance – is constitutionally unlawful and the passing of legislation to that effect automatically renders Parliament illegitimate and the mandate given by the people in the last election a legal nullity, which could easily be overturned by any properly convened Common Law or international court.

Now you can choose to listen to the advice of Dominic Cummings, who, after all, did mastermind the winning campaigns in both Brexit and last December’s election. However, if rumours are true that he initially argued that the savings to the pension funds meant elderly deaths due to a pandemic would be a boon for the economy, then he is obviously Malthusian at heart and the people cannot trust him.

You might also choose to listen to the lawyers, QC’s and mandarins who will no doubt tell you that there is no merit to the points of law which I am setting forth in this letter, but in getting Brexit done you have already proven you are capable of standing up to those whom the late Denis Healey called “those who hold the purse-strings,” which is exactly what you need to do as a matter of great urgency. The future of all our children depends upon it.

Nevertheless, you must first accept that a wise man will always observe the nature of a problem before prescribing the remedy for it, whilst a fool always rushes in without investigation and looks for a quick fix that doesn’t actually exist.

This is, of course, analogous to the current crisis faced by everybody on the Earth, as almost every government worldwide has effectively declared medical martial law, without any diligent inquiry into exactly what the Coronavirus is, whilst a rush to make its vaccine mandatory, at the point of a gun, if necessary, is dominating the newsfeeds.

If it looks like tyranny, walks like tyranny and talks like tyranny, it’s not a Common Law Constitutional Democracy.

It is simply unsustainable to argue that Parliament has the authority or the legal powers to create a government which operates outside of Britain’s long-established constitutional framework.

Otherwise, the Remainers in the last Parliament would simply have voted to remain in the EU, in spite of the majority of the people desperately wanting to leave and that would have been that, without the guarantees the constitution provides.

This means that any action which purports to suspend any aspect of that constitutional framework – such as the indefinite suspensions of the rights of free assembly and association, to come and go as we please, to be presumed innocent until proven guilty before a jury of our peers – is always a criminal act of treason against the sovereign, free people of Britain.

Wherefore, this bill is not just emblematic of monumental foolishness, it is also the kind of treacherous act that the newly restored Common Law protects the British people from.

Since the Common Law guarantees that there are no circumstances in which the people’s unalienable natural rights can be suspended, without obtaining their express consent in a democratic plebiscite, which would never transpire.

This is a fact that you know very well, given that it is the only reason your predecessor at Number 10 legislated for the Brexit referendum to decide the matter of EU membership, instead of Parliament.

You also don’t need me to tell you that to hold a referendum on whether Britain should allow the government to suspend the sovereignty, protections and freedom guaranteed by the Common Law, would result in a resounding cry from the people that Britain must remain sovereign, protected and free.

However, the actions of your government and Parliament this week give rise to an increasingly common suspicion among the British people that you are using this crisis to impose conditions which nobody in this nation would every consent to in a democratic election or referendum.

Why else would you have passed a bill which is the grossest and most tyrannous breach of Constitutional Law, which strictly prohibits the suspension of the very laws which guarantee the British people can never be subjected to the kind of unaccountable government the bill enables?

Why else would you have ignored the recommendations of your medical experts on 19/03/2020 that Coronavirus should be reclassified as no longer being a serious public health risk and instead lay such an unconstitutional bill before Parliament?

Why else would you have cancelled every family celebration, as well as every academic achievement due to be celebrated by hard-working young people and their families this summer?

Why else would you have condemned grandparents to spend what could be the last few months of their lives without being able to see the grandchildren who make their lives worth living?

Indubitably, the answer to all of those questions is the same: the only other realistic alternative explanation is that the UK government is bereft of compassion because it is engaged or complicit in facilitating acts of genocide, as per the European Convention.

Nobody needs to remind you whose name history will record as having enabled such tyranny, in the event you don’t act without delay to stop this criminal bill being enforced.

The actual scientific evidence abounding demands that an independent public inquiry into Coronavirus [and the effects of wireless radiation] must immediately be set in motion, to establish the reasons why the current infrastructure of central government allowed such an aberration of British Constitutional Law [and the facts] to be passed into law, when its own advisers had already announced publicly that Coronavirus was no longer a serious public health risk.

Failure to strike out the bill as unconstitutional will result in a representative action, for and on behalf of the British people, seeking the same outcome, under the protection of the Treaty of Universal Community Trust, within which no government can claim jurisdiction, as the Treaty Office can corroborate.

Whatever you elect to do and whatever outcome we all have to face, whether I like it or not, no matter what else I have achieved or will achieve, history will remember me as the working class lad from Newcastle who took on the might of the banksters and won, even after being banned from litigating in every court in a so called justice system, long since rigged to protect my adversaries from the consequences of their myriad of crimes against the people.

However, the question you should now be asking yourself is not anything to do with whether I am right or wrong on these issues.

It is what history will record of the first year of Boris Johnson’s government.

If you proceed with the enforcement of this act, the working class which deserted Labour to give you your landslide will know that the sovereignty Brexit restored has been stolen from them by the Parliament they enabled.

Your government can only proceed from here as an unaccountable totalitarian dictatorship, built upon a genocidal false flag health emergency and ultra vires claims of both jurisdiction and legitimacy.

A class action to end such tyranny at its outset will therefore quickly gain the support of the people, even if voices such as mine are suppressed, as they always are in totalitarian dictatorships of all natures and descriptions.

However, if you agree to settle this without resorting to tyranny and without the people having to resort to legal proceedings, by guaranteeing in signed writing that you will move to annul the bill indefinitely, history will almost certainly give you more credit than it ever might for getting Brexit done.

Moreover, in guaranteeing that the people of this country remain free, calm and sensible, in the midst of worldwide fear, uncertainty and panic, you would no doubt be remembered as the Prime Minister who foiled an international plot to turn Britain into a totalitarian, 5G-enabled, total surveillance prison without bars, from which there would be no escape without risking arrest, detainment or death.

Since my family was one of the first twenty clans to settle here during the Trojan migration, you will no doubt fully comprehend that my DNA prevents me and my kindred from not doing all we are able to prevent tyranny from ever rearing its demon head upon these ancient isles.

In that regard, the people also rely upon the seminal Common Law case of Chamberlain v Lindon [1998], which held that a person who genuinely believes their actions to be right has the lawful excuse to act according to their conscience, even it is proven in a court of law that they were mistaken.

I therefore look forward to receiving your most appropriate response by public declaration at your earliest opportunity, in the genuine hope that the British people can reach an amicable out of court settlement with the UK government, over the obvious and profound exaggerations of the threat Coronavirus poses to our health and the tyranny you seek to enforce.

In sincerity and honour, without ill will, frivolity or vexation.

Michael of Bernicia

Sovereign Ambassador of Universal Community Trust | Draftsman of Magna Carta 2020

All Rights Reserved under the Treaty of Universal Community Trust.

The existing Memorandum of Understanding between UCT and the UK government applies nunc-pro-tunc and the author of this missive enjoys the benefits of sovereign immunity, under international law.

[azrielsiphons]

Prequel: Azriel-Centric Stories Set Before ACOTAR (ch.3)

This is a collection of interconnected short stories about Azriel’s life before any of the events of ACOTAR through ACOWAR.

Make sure to read Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4, Chapter 4.5, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Read the follow up fic, Shadows and Darkness: One and the Same

CHAPTER 3: DOREA 

Time frame: 40 years after the War. 

Summary: The Prince of Adriata has been found dead in his sleep lying next to his wife, the newly crowned Princess of Adriata, Dorea. Knowing that the Night Court has a skilled spymaster, High Lord Narayan calls in a favor from Rhys. Azriel and Cassian offer to help investigate the death. Cassian may or may not accidentally destroy a building. 

(Note: This is the longest chapter yet and holds several clues to an overarching fic I’m working on. Remember that though these stories are spaced out and not posted chronologically, they are all interconnected. Enjoy!)

“All I’m saying is, we shouldn’t rule out the wife.”

“Cassian.” Azriel sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Princess Dorea did not kill her husband.”

“You don’t know that!” Cassian shot back, buckling the last of his leathers.

“Yes, we do.” Both Cassian and Azriel snapped their heads up as Rhys strode into the room, running his fingers through his hair. He flopped down on the chaise dramatically and took a deep breath. “I’ve met Dorea. She’s not exactly the husband-murdering type.”

“See,” Azriel said under his breath, lacing his boots and ignoring Cassian’s look of incredulity.

“The husband-murdering types never seem like the husband-murdering types until they murder their husbands, brother.”

“Dorea adored Solomon, and vice-versa. When I first met them, I thought they were mates,” Rhys said wistfully.

“But they weren’t mates,” Cassian pointed out haughtily. “Which means she very likely could have killed him.”

“Lack of a mating bond isn’t evidence for a murder, Cassian,” Rhys said. “I can certainly assume that should you find a mate, he or she will want to kill you right away.”

“And your mate won’t?” Cassian snapped.

“Can we focus please?” Azriel sighed, forcing himself not to think of her. “We’ve been personally invited by the Summer Court to investigate the death of one of their princes. Perhaps we should at least pretend to be worthy of such an invitation instead of acting like children.”

Cassian scoffed, pulling the strap of leather off of his wrist in one smooth motion. “Don’t go saying ‘we,’ brother. You were invited. High Lord Narayan asked Rhys for his Spymaster specifically. He wants your investigative brains, I’m just the brawn that has to tag along.”

The smirk on Cassian’s face as he pulled back his hair with the strap of leather showed he didn’t mind being the brawn in the slightest.

“Azriel is right,” Rhys interjected with a smile he rarely showed around anyone except his brothers. “Adriata is heartbroken over the loss of its prince, and Narayan is desperate to give his people and Dorea an explanation. And Dorea too, for that matter.”

“I hope this doesn’t become a regular occurrence,” Azriel said monotonously, standing to his feet and giving Rhys a wry smile. “You loaning me out to other Courts, that is.”

“Feeling like a cheap whore, Az?”

“Please Cassian, we both know you’re the cheap one.”

~~~~~

“Welcome to the Summer Court!”

Azriel felt severely uncomfortable. As High Lord Narayan welcomed he and Cassian, all he wanted to do was disappear into his shadows. This wasn’t what he did, Rhys and Mor were the ones who worked politics and charmed officials and made nice with other Courts.

This was as far from his normal as he could get.

She was always good at this, his shadows whispered cruelly. If she were here she would know exactly what to do. If you’d protected her, if you had—

“Your Court is quite nice,” Cassian said quickly, covering for Azriel as he zoned out. “I mean nothing can quite compare to the Night Court—”

“Now Commander,” Narayan interrupted with an amused grin, looking over his shoulder as they strolled through the palace in Adriata. “Let’s not bring any tension into this new relationship this early.”

Cassian and Narayan laughed heartily, and Azriel forced himself to focus, to not think of her, of the loss in his chest and in his soul.

“Where is Princess Dorea?”

The laughter stopped immediately and Narayan took a deep breath. “Dorea is here. She’s had some… difficulties leaving her room since we lost Solomon. Our city is still in mourning, and none more so than Dorea.”

“Of course,” Azriel nodded respectfully. “With your permission, I would like to meet with her first before any other… investigating.”

Narayan nodded, leading the males to a balcony overlooking the city and the sea. His dark skin seemed to glow in the harsh, yet beautiful sunlight. He lifted his gaze to the sky, breathing in the sea air.

“Dorea is aware that I called you here,” he finally spoke, his low tenor reverberating in Azriel’s bones. “She is also aware that, given the circumstances of Solomon’s death, an outsider may believe that she is complicit.”

“Do you believe—”

“No.” Narayan shook his head fervently, looking Azriel directly in the eyes. “Not for one second do I believe Dorea harmed Solomon in any way.”

“Then who?” Cassian asked, his tone serious.

“I wish I could tell you. I’ve spoken to every guard in this palace personally. There was no ill will between anyone in the direct vicinity and Solomon. Quite frankly his death makes no sense.”

“How was he found?”

“Dead in his bed. The guards came running when Dorea started screaming. I was on the other side of the Court at the time, but they said the sight of her holding him was… horrible.” Narayan shook his head as if to rid himself of the mental image. “I will be honest, it is a blow to my pride to have to call you in, Azriel. I remember Rhysand’s father mentioning you once, years ago. You were here with his daughter, if I recall correctly.”

White noise began to creep into Azriel’s mind.

“A terrible loss,” Narayan continued, oblivious to the Shadowsinger’s inner conflict. Cassian had tensed as well, watching Azriel carefully out of the corner of his eye. “She was so charming, just like her mother. Regardless, Rhysand’s father had said you were the best Spymaster a High Lord could hope for.”

He sure had a damn funny way of showing his appreciation.

“So when this tragedy happened and my own people couldn’t get to the bottom of it, I remembered you.” Narayan smiled genuinely, and Azriel felt briefly guilty that he was hardly invested in the conversation anymore.

He remembered that visit. She had worn blue as a sign of respect to the Summer Court, her father had been livid over it, but she’d insisted that pride would divide the Courts and division was the last thing they needed in the middle of the war. She had smiled at Azriel, given him a sly wink when her father had turned and—

“I will accept the blow to my pride if that’s what it takes to get answers.”

Azriel came back to the present almost violently, but he showed nothing beyond a small flare of his shadows.

“We’ll find out who killed your prince, High Lord.” Azriel’s voice had gone so low it seemed to carry an undertone of threatening. Cassian looked at him curiously. “I swear it.”

“Thank you.” Narayan’s gratefulness was honest. “I will send for Dorea, see if she is ready to see you.”

Azriel and Cassian offered small bows to Narayan as he exited the room, leaving the pair with a couple of Summer Court guards.

“Hey.” Cassian grabbed Azriel’s arm the second the High Lord was out of earshot. “Are you with me?”

Azriel nodded, shaking the image of her violet eyes, twin to Rhys’s, from his mind.

“Always,” he said. “Always, brother.”

~~~~~

A little while later Narayan finally emerged, and with him was easily one of the most stunning females Azriel and Cassian had ever seen.

Her skin was flawless, dark and glowing and beautiful. The yellow silk dress she wore was loose and billowing in the light wind coming through the open balcony. Her eyes were fiercely trained on the Illyrians standing in her palace, but not with any hostility. Only pure grief. And pure strength.

Azriel knew the look well.

“Hello,” she spoke, her voice cool and even. “My name is Dorea. It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Welcome to Adriata.”

Azriel and Cassian bowed respectfully.

“The pleasure is ours,” Cassian offered with a smile. Azriel was more grateful for Cassian’s presence than he originally expected to be. One of them should be charming.

“You have no idea how charming you can be, do you?” She had asked, her bright smile cutting Azriel to his core. Rhys would have killed him if he’d seen the way he was looking at his sister in that moment. “Brooding is your specialty Az, and I love your brooding, I really do. But manners, charm, charisma? You could excel at that too. If you just believed in yourself enough to—”

Focus! The shadows shouted in Azriel’s ear, yanking him back out of the past once more.

Azriel came back to the present with the smallest twitch, but every eye in the room turned to him all the same. He cleared his throat.

“Princess Dorea,” he began.

“Please,” she held up a hand, effectively cutting him off. “Just Dorea. I am still getting used to this new title.”

“You’re doing wonderfully,” Narayan said kindly, catching her eye. “Given these circumstances, your strength is exactly what Adriata needs.”

Azriel gave a small smile. “A woman’s strength is like no other.”

Dorea’s head snapped towards the Shadowsinger. She cocked her head to the side with an inquisitive look.

“I take it you have known some strong women in your day,” she said coolly.

“Known and loved and admired.”

Cassian stared at Azriel.

It took a moment, but Dorea offered Azriel the smallest of smiles.

~~~~~

Azriel questioned Dorea for half an hour before moving on to the guards in the palace. Then, to Narayan’s surprise, he insisted on speaking to the other servants in the palace as well, even the ones that were nowhere near the incident. But Azriel knew that one’s true character could be better understood by the way they treated those who provided services for them.

You learned that from her, his shadows whispered.

It had been a while since the memories had been this painful for him. He shook the thoughts away for what felt like the hundredth time.

Fortunately, every description of both the incident and Solomon’s character had been consistent.

Solomon was a kind prince, who loved his people and held the utmost respect for his High Lord and his role in Adriata. He adored his wife, whom he had only been married to for six years. Dorea loved him equally, and never expected to take on the role of princess. She was content being the wife of a prince, and never expected to one day take on her husband’s responsibilities when she had married him.

All the guards verified that Dorea had woken up next to her husband’s body. They had come running inside when they heard her scream.

There were no external injuries, and the healers that examined the body said there were no evident traces of organ damage or poisons. Not that Azriel was surprised by that though, considering there were plenty of poisons in Prythian that left the body without a trace after an hour or two. He felt confident that’s what happened with Solomon.

While Narayan assured Azriel and Cassian that Solomon had no enemies within the city, Dorea seemed to be in less agreement.

Which was why Azriel wasn’t surprised when Dorea slipped him a note to meet her in her chambers after dark when they all retired to their rooms.

“I asked you to come alone,” Dorea huffed when Azriel and Cassian stepped out of the shadows behind her bedroom door. They may not have been able to winnow within the palace, but there were always plenty of shadows.

“Sorry princess, where he goes I go,” Cassian said with a smirk.

“That’s not always true, ignore him. No one is listening to us.” A blue shield settled around the room as Azriel’s siphons flared and then dimmed slightly. “You’re hiding something from Narayan. What is it?”

Dorea’s eyes flashed, surprised that Azriel was so blunt. The surprise quickly disappeared though, giving way to a deep sadness and exhaustion as she sat down on the edge of her bed.

“I don’t want to keep things from my High Lord,” she said softly. “I truly don’t. Secrets are a poison.”

“Like the one that killed your husband?” Cassian asked.

“Exactly like the one that killed my husband,” she snapped. “I know what you must be thinking. That I killed my husband and must have excellent acting skills to scream so convincingly when I found his body.”

“Well,” Cassian shrugged. “You said it, not me.”

Dorea raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t really believe that though, do you? You’re smarter than that, I can see it. Playing the dumb brute so that I might slip up doesn’t become you, Commander.”

Cassian grinned.

“Solomon must have had enemies,” Azriel said softly. “Even the most beloved leaders have enemies. Who was his?”

“I want to tell you, but you must understand something first.” Dorea inhaled, her breath shaking. “I was never supposed to be the princess of Adriata. This was never the role I asked for or wanted. I simply loved Solomon with my entire being, prince or not.”

“That’s sweet,” Cassian said. “What does that have to do with anything though?”

“When Solomon died, Narayan himself decided that I would become the princess. I was not originally in line for the position.”

Cassian and Azriel stood a little taller, beginning to connect the dots.

“He broke tradition,” Azriel whispered, his shadows flaring. “Who was supposed to take his place?”

“No one,” Dorea said. “We just expected that our future child would one day…”

Azriel and Cassian looked away as Dorea began to choke up. A few seconds passed and she took a deep breath, composing herself like a true queen.

“We never thought we needed to worry about someone taking over,” she said evenly.

“Who wanted the position?” Azriel asked, not wanting to waste any more time.

Dorea looked up at him from under her lashes, her dark brown eyes boring into his own.

“Someone we didn’t even know existed,” she whispered. “His half-brother.”

“I’m sorry.” Cassian stepped forward, a look of incredulity on his sharp features. “Half-brother? You didn’t feel like mentioning this to us earlier? With Narayan?”

“We only learned about him a couple weeks ago,” Dorea explained quickly. “He showed up out of nowhere, cornering us outside of our favorite restaurant. He said his name was Moesen, and he was Solomon’s half-brother on his father’s side. He was kind, he seemed genuine. And the resemblance between he and Solomon was undeniable. He knew all about Solomon’s father, and said his only intention was to know his brother, nothing more.”

“He was lying.” Azriel didn’t phrase it like a question.

Dorea nodded. “He continued to show up, asking Solomon all sorts of questions about what being the prince was like, the protocols, the responsibilities. Then one day he blatantly asked if Solomon would bring him into the Court ranks. He said he was ‘family’ after all.” Dorea laughed bitterly. “Solomon told him no as kindly as he could, explained that Moesen simply didn’t have the experience necessary to work for the Court.”

“He got angry,” Cassian said with a sigh, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms.

“It was horrifying,” Dorea whispered. “Moesen lost it. Said Solomon would pay for not being loyal to his blood.”

“And you never told Narayan any of this?” Azriel asked.

“Solomon didn’t want to bother the High Lord with his petty family drama,” Dorea replied. “It is one of my deepest regrets that I did not contact Narayan on my own.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it though?”

“No. It’s not.” Azriel’s tone left no room for arguing.

“So to clarify,” Cassian said, “Moesen wanted to be an official Court representative. Solomon said no, with good reason. Moesen loses it, poisons Solomon likely thinking there would be an investigation into Solomon’s family line to name the next prince but instead Narayan appoints you to the position. So now Moesen is probably coming after you, and Narayan has no idea about any of this.”

A beat passed.

“Yes, I believe that’s it,” Dorea finally said.

“Well.” Azriel took a deep breath, looking over at Cassian. “It looks like we have our work cut out for us, brother.”

~~~~~

Dorea called in four extra guards to watch her room at Azriel’s request while he and Cassian returned to their chambers. They decided to wait until morning to search out Moesen and deal with him, thinking it unwise to go traipsing through Adriata in the middle of the night on a hunt without Narayan’s knowledge.

Azriel tossed and turned throughout the night, haunted by images of violet eyes, melting snow under a river of red, slender fingers gripping his leathers and begging him to stay.

You should have stayed.

He let the nightmares lull him to sleep.

~~~~~

“Come again?” Narayan asked incredulously, looking at the Illyrians like they had told him the sky was green. Bright morning light shone into the meeting room. “Solomon had a… half-brother. Who murdered him. And now wants to murder Dorea.”

“Yes,” Azriel said bluntly. If it were up to him he would have already tracked down Moesen, killed him or perhaps delivered him alive to Dorea so she could land the killing blow, and been back at Velaris by now. But politics prevented that.

“And no one thought to tell me this before now? Where is Dorea?”

“The princess was feeling ill this morning,” replied one of the guards in response to Narayan’s glare.

“Perfect,” he muttered. “Where is this Moesen then?”

“We are not sure yet,” Azriel said, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. He could have handled this by now if he had free reign.

Narayan took a deep breath, standing to his full height. He cracked his neck on one side, then the other, then rolled his shoulders before meeting Cassian and Azriel’s eyes.

“Thank you for your help, gentlemen. I am truly grateful. However, I believe my Court can handle this from here.”

“You want us to leave?” Cassian asked incredulously.

“Cass—”

“No, Dorea trusted us enough to tell us the truth,” Cassian snapped. His temper was getting the best of him. “She told us about Moesen and didn’t tell her High Lord. What does that say to you, Narayan?”

“Remember where you are, boy.” Narayan’s voice promised a slow death. The kindness had left his dark eyes. “This is my Court and you are a guest here at my request. I am grateful for your help, but do not overstep your bounds.”

Cassian moved to step forward and Azriel grabbed his arm faster than anyone could see. The Summer Court guards stepped forward, only to freeze as Narayan held up his hand.

Just as Cassian was about to mouth off again and get them into deeper trouble, there was a scream.

“Dorea,” Narayan whispered.

The three males and all the guards took off as fast as they could for Dorea’s chambers. The guards outside her door all lay on the ground, seemingly unconscious. Narayan was the first to burst through the chamber doors.

The trio froze. Inside Dorea’s room stood a tall, handsome male with rage in his eyes and a knife in his hand held up to Dorea’s throat. Dorea had one hand clutched onto the male’s forearm and the other against her stomach.

“Don’t move,” the male said darkly. He was wearing a guard’s uniform.

That’s how he got into the palace.

“Moesen,” Narayan said calmly, holding up his hands. “Step away from Dorea. We can talk.”

“Oh you know my name?” Moesen snapped. “Interesting, considering my late brother thought I wouldn’t be good enough to consult with the High Lord.”

“Don’t you speak of him,” Dorea hissed, thrashing in his hold.

“Shut your mouth!”

Azriel risked a step forward as the knife dug deeper into Dorea’s skin. Discreetly, he created a small shield of blue between her neck and the blade. At the release of pressure, her eyes widened but she remained silent. Her eyes continued to to dart down to her stomach.

“I would be an asset to your Court,” Moesen said, seemingly pleading with Narayan. “I could help you so much, really connect you to your people. The same blood that ran in Solomon’s veins runs in mine!”

“You killed Solomon.”

“Only to get what is rightfully mine! And then you gave it to her!”

Moesen went to dig the knife deeper into Dorea only to meet the resistance of Azriel’s shield. He looked down with wide eyes at the blue barrier, giving Dorea ample time to rear her head back and slam it into his nose.

Moesen cried out in pain, but lurched forward, thrusting his knife out at the same time Cassian rushed forward and was grabbing him by the shoulders in the blink of an eye.

Narayan and Azriel both shouted for Cassian to stop, but he didn’t listen. Wings snapping out, Cassian lifted himself and Moesen into the sky.

Just as Azriel was about to go bring Cassian back, Dorea let out a whimper and fell to the ground.

“Dorea!” Narayan rushed to her side, catching her as she fell. He pulled his hand away and it was red, stained with blood where Moesen’s blade had sunk into her back. “You’re going to be okay, your fine.” He looked over at Azriel, who crouched next to the pair. “Help me.”

Azriel was already working on a patch of blue over the wound, keeping any more blood from escaping while Narayan repaired the actual damage.

“The baby,” Dorea gasped out. “Get a healer, I’m pregnant.”

Narayan froze for a brief second before calling out for a healer. Two of the guards rushed out.

In the distance within the city, a crash resounded followed by screaming. Narayan’s eyes flashed with anger, but he quickly looked back down at Dorea.

If Narayan doesn’t kill you then I will, Cassian, Azriel thought to himself.

“You’re going to be just fine,” Narayan repeated. “You and your baby. The knife barely went in, you’re okay.”

“I need him to be okay,” Dorea whispered painfully. Silence descended over the room. “He’s all I have left of Solomon. Please, Narayan.”

The High Lord nodded fervently, holding Dorea tight. “I promise. For Solomon. And for you.”

A few seconds later Cassian landed on the balcony of Dorea’s room, covered in dust and dirt as he hauled a haggard looking Moesen behind him. He tossed the terrified male onto the floor in front of him and a group of guards ran forward and hauled him to his feet.

“He’ll go quietly now,” Cassian said gruffly, shaking his head so that dust went flying. “Though I may have broken a building while scaring him.”

Narayan glared, but it was Dorea who spoke. “You’re never coming back to the Summer Court.”

~~~~~

“So let me get this straight,” Mor said in between laughter. “You flew the poor male from the sky all the way down into a building, effectively destroying that building, and then you were surprised when you were reprimanded for it?”

“In my defense,” Cassian snapped, grabbing a bottle of whiskey out of Rhys’s hands. “He was no ‘poor male.’ He was a murderer, and he deserved it. Right, Azriel?”

“He deserved much worse, and in a different setting,” Azriel drawled. “But your methods were certainly creative.”

“Creative?” Rhys asked incredulously, snatching the bottle back. “I had to write the most kiss ass letter imaginable to Narayan so that he wouldn’t go further than simply banning Cassian. Be glad you didn’t get a blood ruby on your doorstep.”

Cassian shuddered. “Cauldron help us if we ever get one of those.”

“Honestly I’m just surprised Narayan didn’t drown you where you stood,” Mor said. “You wrecked a building, Cassian.”

“Just one,” he muttered.

“How is the princess?” Amren asked monotonously, not nearly as amused as the rest of the Circle.

“She’s good,” Azriel answered, briefly meeting her silver eyes. “She and the baby are both fine. Moesen is being held in their prison, he will go on trial soon.”

“Do you think they will let him live?”

Azriel shrugged. “I believe that Narayan and Dorea are kinder than most in Prythian. Kinder than any of us, certainly. But Moesen killed someone they loved.” He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “No matter how kind one is… revenge is sometimes necessary in order to go on living.”

A somber silence descended over the group. They all knew the sentiment well. The rage against injustice. Against innocent life lost.

“Death is inevitable, Azriel. But that doesn’t mean we can’t hate it with every fiber of our being.”

She would never know just how much he hated death. But he would continue to wield it. For her. For revenge. For justice. For the family he had left.

“To living,” Cassian said suddenly, grabbing his own glass for once and raising it high. “To living for the sake of those we’ve lost.”

Everyone murmured their agreement except Azriel, who clinked his glass but wanted to choke on his own shadows. Living was a gift. But when he’d had her, it had been a prize.

But he would keep on surviving all the same. If only to spite death for what it had taken from him.

[dothewrite]

Ringleaders - Chapter Four.

Here is the original ask for this prompt. Here is the announcement for this project!

Prologue. Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three.

[A monstrously sized chapter. I’ve little clue where this even went, but neither do they. Recommended listening is Sober, by Lorde. Now edited.]

“This wasn’t in the information packet I got in the mail,” she comments mid-punch. Her fists meet their mark, and her target crumples to the left. She shakes her hand out to ease the tightness in it. “Sorry, I wasn’t-“ she explains to the pained, confused man, “there’s a guy in the back. I’m talking to him.”

Too close to unconsciousness to register her answer and too angry to mouth her off, the man’s face is stuck at the same level of incredulity until the moment he blacks out.

Kuroo, on the other hand, watches this all happen with a wicked grin on his face.

Apparently feeling differently, she gives his shadowed figure behind the alley corner the third sigh of the evening.

“Got something on your mind, lovely?” sneers Kuroo. It’s convincing enough that she convulses and the edges of her mouth curl up in disgust.

“I’ve got a good reason why I’m not walking through the main streets. Please don’t do that here.”

“Oho?” He pushes off his precarious ledge- someone’s abandoned air conditioning unit offering just the right amount of leverage- and lands into view. Her gaze follows him without hesitation, a smooth transition from invisible to the seen, and Kuroo’s the one to feel an involuntary shudder this time. “I wouldn’t think you’d be the type old men whistle at.”

“Really now?”

“C’mon. You dress like the grim reaper.”

Her reluctant grin is contagious, and Kuroo can feel his lips tremble at the effort not to smile along with her.

“Like you’re any better,” she bites.

“Hey, I’m going for the dark and mysterious thing, and it works.”

“And I’m going for the ‘let’s not get caught by more thugs than I already do’ thing. It’s not working as well as I’d like it to with you skulking around.”

Kuroo shrugs. He nudges said thug’s prone head out of the way with the tip of his shoe before reaching down and searching through the pockets. “I’m skulking successfully. Nobody notices me, so whatever attention you attract, it’s all on you.”

She doesn’t rise to his goading, and he chooses to ignore the relentless burn of her stare on his back. It’s calculating in the quietest of ways, and the more his fingers dance past people’s coats and inner pockets, the more he feels like he’s disappointing her somehow. And that thought toughens him.

Any trace of a smile is gone by the time he stands up with a half-empty wallet and a broken cell phone.

He doesn’t meet her eyes, and she doesn’t ask him about his finds.

“Let’s keep moving,” he offers, and he feels rather than sees, her nod.

Kuroo knows that whatever she doesn’t say is right, in the end. After their last encounter, he had given the outlines for the information packet himself- a tiny, dull thing slipped into an encrypted email as an equally encrypted pdf file. Kenma had placed the finishing touches on a tracking cookie stuck onto every possible item before kissing it goodbye.

He remembers her face the afternoon she’d received it. It had been a face he’d pretty much expected: troubled by the security, irritated at the lack of useful information, but yet inexplicably thrilled at the thought of being complicit in something bigger than oneself- something that can change a life in the blink of an eye. It was everything he’d experienced himself when he had first built this whole venture from scratch, and Kuroo had spent the rest of the day feeling torn between smugness and a pervasive sense of possessiveness, that his feelings should be his own, and his alone.

He’d closed himself off from her after that afternoon, offering only polite nods in the hallways and abandoning his usual alley jaunts. After their meetings ended, Oikawa had sent him odd glances mixed in with the occasional knowing ones that had set Kuroo’s teeth on edge. Yet nothing would compare to her expression.

He could look at her right now, if he chooses to. On pale planes, exclusive to unhealthy shut-ins, he’d find the cumulation of all his poor choices and a smattering of her own. She’d agreed easily enough when he’d finally been prompted by Sawamura to give her an introduction or trial run, or anything if he’s to stick to his word, but her ‘yes’ had been lined with weeks of brittle tolerance, and Kuroo had left that encounter feeling as if he had lost to her again.

One behind the other, the odd pair follow the soundless flashing of a small GPS signal, leading them closer towards the open street. He watches as she pauses to take in a deep breath before venturing a first step out into the faux light of a dying city’s indomitable nightlife.

“He’s bar hopping.” She gives her phone a last glance before tucking it into the safety of her back pocket. “We’ll probably be walking this street for a while.”

“That’s fine.”

It’s not all fine. He lets himself close his eyes for a single moment and chases his dissipating peace by its tail, determined to memorize its grooves the best he can.

She watches him with a curious tilt of her head, and Kuroo pulls himself back to Earth with a few blinks before baring himself open with a flash of a smile. “Lead on,” he says.

She does, and they fall into a strange sort of rhythm that only circumstance can offer on its strangest of days. Kuroo stays a step behind her, knowing fully that he’s the reason for her tense shoulders and her twitching fingers against her thigh, but nothing that easy stops him.

At least, that’s what he thinks, until he finds himself stuck in a damn awkward silence. Despite being in an entirely separate set of circumstances, her aversion to polite conversation obviously hasn’t changed, and Kuroo once again is the one who must break the solid ice.

“Got any questions about the file we sent you?” He tries.

Innocuous, but the slope of her back eases and he knows that she’s relaxing at his expense. You talk a lot, don’t you, her movements seem to say.

“There wasn’t a lot in it,” she says, sounding serene, “do you want actual questions, or family friendly ones?”

Kuroo has a laugh sneaked out from under him, and he takes just half a step more so that he can catch the edges of her expressions. She’s smiling, he thinks, and that earns her several points.

“Let’s lube things up before we shove the whole thing in.”

“Alright.” Yeah, she’s definitely smiling. “First things first then. Pictures.”

“No,” Kuroo answers speedily. “That’d be too easy.”

“It’s natural curiosity, you gotta give me that.”

“Sure, sure.” He shrugs. “But you’ve got a good imagination. We aren’t a dating sim, so we don’t provide profiles, sorry.”

“Says the main character?”

They end up sniggering so loudly that several couples- or sex friends, who the fuck knew- give them odd looks and start to shift further away.

“You find me funny,” she beams underneath a hand.

Kuroo catches it, and sobers up quickly.

“Well,” he clears his throat, “I can’t help that I’ve got a sense of humour.”

“Just not around me,” she confirms quietly, and Kuroo looks away. To hell with proving her point.

She turns her head almost fully to watch him squirm, and sighs again. Softer, sadder. She chooses to ask something different this time, something that won’t make him laugh, if that’s what he wants so much.

“Okay then. So is ‘this’,” she gestures between the two of them and then out at the street, “an interview? A real time dig through my dirty laundry?”

“We’ve got limited qualified personnel,” Kuroo says blandly, “so bear with it, if you can.”

Her head falls, watching the uneven stones in front of her feet. A stream of vibrant indigo club lighting pulses across her ear and down her throat. “I’ve got nothing to hide. I promised so.”

“Yeah, we know.” His voice softens, taking on the tone of a doctor offering condolences for personal tragedies. “But dirty laundry sticks, and we can’t be sure of your brother, still.”

“…I understand. So what did you find in the pocket of the guy earlier?”

Kuroo flicks the thin wallet over her head and she snatches it out of the air. It’s a common wallet, brown, boring, and nothing but several credit cards and an identification are tucked between its folds. She tugs it out and turns it over in her hands.

“Are you going to run this through a search?”

“No. This guy’s just a jilted lover. Your brother probably stole his target, or something.”

“How-“

Kuroo pulls out a large assortment of condoms in a plastic bag and a poorly capped bottle of lube from his pocket and places it soundly in her palms. “Same size, different flavours. He’s just looking for a good time, I think.”

“It’s leaking,” she says with horror as the small bottle gives a miserable sounding squelch, “and you had this in your pocket? I’ve got tissues. Do you need a tissue?”

He hates himself a little more for grinning again, but doesn’t comment.

She takes the chance to deposit that find into the next rubbish bin she sees. “My fingers feel nasty.” She sneaks a glance at Kuroo inviting coat, and he quickly takes several steps back when a sly smile creeps over her face.

“Touch me,” he says firmly, keeping both hands out of his pockets at the ready, “and you’re paying for a new coat.”

“Stingy.” But her cheeks are burning trying not to laugh, and Kuroo deflates when she tugs a tissue out from a packet and wipes her fingers.

“Oh, you’ve got the wet wipes.” Kuroo finds himself leaning in. “Disinfecting?”

“Yeah,” she turns the packet over to peer at the small print, “anti-bacterial, disinfecting. These are pretty good, if you’re looking for a brand. I don’t trust Clorox much, they smell too fruity.”

“Really? It makes my kitchen smell pretty nice.”

“Well,” she taps at her chin with the edge of the plastic wrapper, “I suppose it feels better to cook smelling like lemons rather than a hospital.”

“Jeez, what do you use? Rubbing alcohol?”

“A Japanese brand,” she sniffs, and Kuroo thinks that she sounds a little wounded, “I think they’ve got better hygiene than the Americans.”

“And you just dissed a whole country. Nice going,” he snorts.

She turns mid-step to grin at him, and Kuroo almost trips over his feet at the sudden warmth of his cheeks, unbidden. “And what are you going to do, protagonist?” She asks. She’s the brightest thing in the whole damn street when she’s laughing. “Arrest me?”

Kuroo doesn’t trust himself at all to say something he won’t regret, like: But you won’t be smiling like that if I did, would you? Or, kinky. Or even, I might if you dared me again.

He shakes his head.

That’s enough to please her- anything more than his typical silence when he’s faced with something he finds too awkward to answer, and she faces forwards again. This time it’s crimson against her collarbone and all the way up her temples, the glare of shameless brothel lights bathing her as if she were one of theirs.

“Will I get to meet them?” She asks.

“The profiles?” He confirms, a little thrown by the sudden change in topic. “You’ve got to work your way up if you want to have a reason to. You’re still on trial.”

“Parole, more like,” she mutters. “But I’m stuck with you, aren’t I?”

“I’m a special case.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she answers smoothly, “so if it’s as you say, how does it usually go for nobodies like me?”

“You’re not nobody,” Kuroo corrects irritably, “you’re just new.”

She pauses and then shakes her head, looking chastened. “Sorry,” she says, and it’s so quiet that Kuroo has to dip closer just to catch it under her breath. “Bad habit.”

She offers no more, but her obstinate silence doesn’t stop Kuroo from watching her a few moments, searching.

To him, the concept of self-pity feels like an old friend returning home, and finding the locks changed. Kuroo can no longer remember when he’d taken a long enough break from his relentless war to welcome back childhood ghosts.

“We’re just people,” he finds himself reminding her, “and you’ll get to meet them soon enough. That is, if they don’t find you first.”

“All men are not born equal.” She shakes her head. “But I suppose you’re right. I must’ve become someone worth finding because of you.”

“The work of chance,” Kuroo assures, “and I’m not really that awesome, I’ve just got nosy friends. If it were you, you’d do the same.”

She glances at him searchingly, but turns to rove through the pulsing street when she finds nothing.

“I suppose I would. But I don’t have many friends. Not like you do.”

Kuroo blinks several times, before smirking. “It’s hard to if you’re cooped up in your room all the time. I told you at orientation that school isn’t everything, didn’t I? Make some friends, first year, and illegal orgs don’t count.”

She cracks up at that, ineffectively muffling her laughter with her phone in one hand. Its flashing red GPS light hasn’t moved much.

“Responsible ‘till the end,” she grins, “you’re better a guide than I’d ever be. God help me if I end up with your job in two years.”

“And what would you say, hm? Toss an anthology at their heads and tell them to use it if they ever need a paperweight?”

“I’d advise them against making friends,” she says dryly, “because social interaction is a heavy burden.”

“Oh,” Kuroo says in a voice that increases the chances of him getting punched in the face exponentially, “so cool.”

“We are what we are, Kuroo Tetsurou.” She flicks her heel at him, which he dodges lazily. “And not all of us can be anarchist edgelords.”

“At least I’m king.” He grins.

“What irony.”

Kuroo doesn’t disagree with that. They both walk on, each with their own wry smiles at the misguided corners of the world. “Any more questions?” He adds. “No pictures, and no addresses, but you can ask. We’re not particularly cloak and dagger in person.”

“Only in emails, then.”

“Only in emails,” he agrees, “and other traceable forms of documentation.”

“Well,” she taps at her chin with a blunt nail, “who’s your favourite?”

“I hate them all.”

“Alright, alright, so no personal questions either. But I’ll figure you out sooner or later, just so you know.”

He daresay she might very well end up doing so, but his lips remain sealed, and he only blinks once, very slowly, when she narrows her eyes at him. She does a little twirl on the spot and gazes up high, racking her brains for another question.

“If you let me join, properly,” she asks slowly, “who would I be under?”

Quickly, Kuroo tries to remember what exactly had been in her information doc. Probably not more than what the average middling recruit would get, thanks to Tsukishima’s meticulous standards, and he isn’t too keen on getting himself chewed out for spilling.

“They told you about the divisions, right?”

“Yup, the training system, options for lodging, operational divisions and the general hierarchy of recruits,” she says. “Training for newbies, lodging for strays, and units under one coordinator for various purposes such as recon, fights, and general troublemaking.” She counts them off one by one on her fingers. “I hope I’m troublemaking.”

“You’re enough trouble as it is.” Kuroo shakes his head. “But didn’t they give you their names?”

“You mean the codenames? Yeah, it had them,” she shrugs, “but I’ve forgotten. Must’ve not been very creative ones.”

Which does not surprise him in the least. Their steps have slowed to a therapeutic stroll, and something in the way she swirls her head to and fro in a dance alongside the neon lights that tells him that not only is she the first to ever have forgotten, she’ll also be the last.

The smile comes to him, and he doesn’t fight it. “I’m flattered you even remembered my name,” he says.

“And I was worried when you remembered mine,” she replies, but there’s a soft peach resting underneath her eyes, and no matter how closely Kuroo peers, he can’t figure out if it’s her skin or the night lights. “But I guess it turned out okay in the end.”

He has to clear his throat when the first sound he tries to make sounds like he’s being split in half.

“Well.” He launches into explanation. “There’s Raven and Dragon, which, if you’d bothered to pay attention, are in charge of the training and lodging, and the ops, respectively. Then there’s, uh… Otter, in charge of IT. We got to him if we need hacking, or if, you know, we need help turning it on and off again. There’s also Dog and Owl, they’re all ‘sneaky sneak’ and also the reason why we haven’t been all arrested yet. Eagle’s the guy you don’t want to piss off- he does all the heavy duty stuff, keeping the bad guys at bay and all that. And last but not least, there’s Tiger. A man who is almost the exact opposite of a tiger, he’s an organizational freak who keeps us oiled and running. And there you have it.”

“Animals.” She watches blankly as the ground moves underneath her feet. “Original. At least that explains why I don’t remember any of them.”

Kuroo rolls his eyes and plucks the phone out of her hands. She makes a sharp ‘hey!’, but he ignores it. “Dude, we’re a bunch of grown men. We’re not going to get more creative than ‘what’s your favourite animal’. Did you expect us to pick our drag names or something?” He clicks his tongue scathingly at the thought. “‘Hi, I’m your leader, but you can call me Karen.’”

She’s laughing. Definitely laughing. Kuroo wants to sew her mouth shut.

“It’s better than your favourite colours,” she offers. It’s an olive branch that’s almost half dead, but he takes the damn thing and doesn’t retort. God help them if they named themselves into the fucking gay power rangers, with all seven colours of the damn pride flag.

“To answer your question,” he says, firmly, “I’d put you with Dragon. It’d be a waste of time training you when you already know what you’re doing.”

She leans backwards slightly, a surprised look on her face. “I thought you said I’d fight better with fewer wasted movements?”

“Yeah, you would,” replies Kuroo, “but that’d be actual combat training, and it’s three hundred quid for private sessions.”

“Really?”

“No. But you get the gist.”

She hums, low and drawn out as she contemplates the information. Her fingers tap rhythmically against her thigh. “I guess with you around, I’m getting freebies from the master.”

That makes him snort, and he waves his hand across his face. “I’m far from being the master. I’m… in the middle, if you have to make a list.”

Her eyebrows rise, and continue to rise, until Kuroo begins to wonder if they’ll ever come back down.

“If you’re the middle, then-“ she stops, stuck on the reality of the statement, “wow, then I’m pretty shit.”

He peers at her out from the corner of his eyes, and sighs. She catches her phone just in time when he tosses it at the back of her head.

“You really need to get rid of that bad habit of yours,” says Kuroo, “but you’re above average. You realize that you’re comparing yourself to people who fight for a living, right?”

“Oh, I see,” she exhales, “so some of your members fight for a living.”

Kuroo’s expression sours.

“Well, that teaches me not to make you feel better next time.”

It isn’t all true. Kuroo’s bad mood is mostly voluntary, and from the way she’s staring at him, he warrants that she’s aware of that too. That he’s not the type of person who would let anything slip between his cracks. He has no cracks. Only blocks upon blocks of barricades.

That’s why when she reaches out with two frail looking fingers, he doesn’t pull away. He watches as she pinches his sleeve between her thumb and her index finger, and tugs ever so slightly. They resume their walk, with him beside her, and she lets go when he feels closer again.

“I’m not going to say anything to anyone,” she says.

He knows. That’s why he did it.

“I wasn’t going to do anything with you, you know.” He watches for her reaction, but there isn’t one. He doesn’t want to think about how she’d expected him not to in the first place- that she’d bared herself for him, for a losing bet. “It was Owl who convinced me, in the end.”

A lime green caresses her waist and dances up against her temples, disappearing behind them along with the crowded Subway.

She turns her head, and he’s privy to a quiet smile. It’s the first time he’s seen her seem so gentle.

“Then please tell them ‘thank you’ for me.”

Kuroo thinks of Akaashi’s impassive face and his all-knowing eyes.

“He’d say that there’s no need to thank him,” says Kuroo, “but I’ll let him know.”

She bows her head in gratitude. When she raises it again into the light where Kuroo can catch her expressions once again, there’s a mischievousness in it that unsettles him.

“It sounds like there are quite a few members nicer than you, aren’t there?” She wonders.

“Is that a question, or a statement?” Kuroo scowls. She chuckles at his almost constant moodiness, and reaches out to give him a conciliatory tug on the sleeve. When he lets his scowl relax on his face, he takes note of her small slump of relief.

“Neither,” she says softly, “and just for the record, I think you’re nice. Even if you forget that you are sometimes.”

Kuroo yanks his jacket out of her reach, and she doesn’t move to touch it again.

They pass several stores in this fashion. He counts: two brothels, three and a half bars, half off on Wednesday nights, one club, two vomiting passers-by, and four couples having sex against a wall. When he reaches out to tap her on the shoulder, he’s startled when she’s startled, and he expends a burst of willpower simply not to snatch his hand back like an injury.

Kuroo gestures at the tightly gripped phone in her hand. “Where’s your brother now?”

Frowning at the instrument, she pushes at the touchscreen until it’s large enough for her to read the words under poor fluorescent lighting. “Room 5. That’s a club two blocks away.”

“Must’ve finished pre-gaming in bars then. It’s what now, two?”

“Two thirty,” she corrects, “and I know what you’re thinking. My brother’s a hedonist.”

“A hedonist at risk of serious liver failure,” adds Kuroo wryly, “but I guess it’s not my problem.”

She sighs heavily, slumping forwards when it all leaves her in one breath. “It wouldn’t be mine either if I knew what else to do.”

He eyes the blinking dot, now firmly located in a club and unlikely to leave anytime soon, and pulls her to one side. “And your parents?”

“Dead.” When Kuroo only presses his lips together, offering no condolences, she grins. “They were drug dealers; can you believe the irony?”

“Irony’s sick in the head,” says Kuroo. He towers over her frame, and staring at the crown of her head down to the shadow of her nose, he dares, just this once, to rest his hand on it in comfort. He doesn’t lift it, and she remains still. “For what it’s worth, I think you turned out pretty okay for such a shit start.”

“I bet you say that to all the strays,” she laughs. Kuroo’s hand-rest sinks underneath him, and he glances down to see her rest her weight against the grimy wall. “But still, thanks.” She smiles, just enough for him to catch.

When you’re in a street as busy as this one, as late as this one, pockets of air begin to pop up for tireless people to swim up for an easy breath. Kuroo, along with her stoicism, carves a little corner of solitude for themselves in the midst of Dante’s second circle of hell, and he lets the white noise over them awash.

Kuroo flexes his fingers, tightening then stretching out experimentally against the black spilling down her neck, and lets the hubbub linger a little longer while it can. His eyes wander through the streams of people- some old, some young, some in love and some high beyond belief- but, his citizens. A mess of bodies and lost minds wandering into the waiting arms of an expensive woman, crushing their torsos against each other in a beat that drowns out their lives and swallowing liquor with a fervor that doesn’t allow them the time to taste it.

This is no place to think, not against these brick walls that haven’t been scrubbed in years, stinking of piss and possible dysentery, but it’s amongst the many that the one is invisible. Kuroo really rarely comes here, finding it hard to function drunk and hard to fight in plain sight, but the images flit through his mind all the same. Through her eyes, this must be closer than home.

He hopes- just a small hope- that her shithead of a brother doesn’t make this back-end orgy the last place she ever sees him.

Neither of them keep track of time for as long as the red dot stays where it is. Yet inevitably, a pair of naked women come crashing down on them in a tangle of limbs, a high-pitched screech and a drunken giggle that gurgles with a toilet flush.

She must’ve caught the alarm on his face because she pulls him out of the way with a sharp tug on his wrist, and begins to smother her laughter.

“First time seeing naked lesbians?” She teases.

“No.” God, his eyes are closed and he can still see their bare asses. “First time mid-orgasm next to street signage? Yeah.”

She laughs even harder, patting him solidly on the shoulder. “You’re in luck. If they were gay, you might end up getting a facial.”

Kuroo shoots her a filthy glare that she accepts with grace.

“Fuck off. I’m not letting a stranger’s whiskey dick near my face without ripping the miserable meat tube off.”

A wicked sheen sharpens her grin. “Oh? Only a stranger’s?”

But Kuroo Tetsurou is too great a man to be moved by such feeble mockery. “All interested friends get a pass, but only tested applicants need apply.” He taps the tip her nose. “Safe sex, boys and girls, safe sex.”

She considers this. “I do admit that out on the streets isn’t very safe. I’d suggest a pretty popular love hotel three blocks down left. They hand out complimentary condoms if you book the suites.”

“The fuck are you? The local tour guide?”

“Oh, Kuroo. Knowledge is power.”

“Fucking- yeah, and alcohol is relief. I need a drink if I want to forget that image within the next decade or so.” He cracks an eye open to peer at her GPS. “If your brother isn’t moving anytime soon, you need to take us to a bar.”

“Okay.” She shrugs. “What are your preferences? Strippers? No strippers? Hot bartender?”

Saying absolutely nothing, Kuroo stares at her for as long as it takes for his disbelief to fade, and for her to stop being a piece of shit. She cracks a smile before beckoning him to follow with a hand, which he does.

They arrive past two small corners, and when she pushes the door open for him, whatever apprehension he had that had accumulated this evening, vanishes.

It’s a subtle dip in the middle of a busy street, tucked away into one of those pockets of quiet, and several well-dressed patrons float in and out with both weight and lightness of a tipsy weekday night. A haven of gold light seeping through the cracks of the door and its hinges, Kuroo watches with baited breath as it spills over into the dark greys, sickly limes and glaring rose splattered across the floor in rays.

He takes two steps inside, and she slips in behind him, closing the door carefully with several fingers. The bartender gives her a smart wave and a secret smile, and Kuroo’s about to spin around and ask if she comes here often, until something even louder catches his attention.

“Kuroo!”

He could recognize that voice anywhere. No one else has such a resounding shout that clogs your ears for days. “I thought that you were a bourbon-at-home kinda dude! Nice seeing you here, man!”

Aware that he now sounds like a closet alcoholic to his companion, he ignores the speculative gaze of the sage looking bartender and slides into the seat next to Nishinoya.

She hovers uncertainly at the other end of the bar, and shuffles forwards only when Kuroo beckons her into the seat on the other side of him.

“You look… really different tonight, Noya-san.” Kuroo observes, inspecting the unnaturally slick looking slacks and dress shirt. “Your hair’s down too.”

Nishinoya grins hugely, and props a thumbs-up. “Thought I’d try to fit in tonight, with stuff going on and all. I ‘aint gonna be a good supervisor if I were slumming it out in the clubs.”

“Now that I can imagine you doing,” grins Kuroo. “I’m here on business too. Not to get drunk.”

“You did say you wanted a drink,” she points out from two seats away. The two men swivel around as if only remembering that she’s there with them, and she meets their gazes shyly. “Trivia.”

In that moment, something in Nishinoya’s mind clicks, and he brightens visibly when the correct thought comes to him. He nods confidently and sticks out a hand in greeting.

“You must be the Missus that Kuroo’s monitoring!” Nishinoya declares. “Nice to meet ‘cha, I’m Nishinoya Yuu, but you can call me Noya like everyone else does.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Noya.” She shakes his hand, and he leans back, satisfied. “I hope I’m not disturbing anything.”

“Not at all,” he reassures her, picking up his glass and giving it a cheeky wave in the air, “I’m just here killing time. Until the two of you showed up, I was bored out of my mind.”

Kuroo sighs, and gives Nishinoya a light slap on the back. “That’s called slacking off, my working-class employee. What are you here for anyway?”

Nishinoya pauses for an imperceptible moment, his sharp eyes snapping over to her curious expression, but when Kuroo shows no other reaction except for leaning back on his two hands, he shrugs. “Rookie ops night. First recon mission for their trial period. Just my luck that it’s this street too- I can’t be bothered to follow them around past all the sin outside.”

Kuroo laughs at the description, letting the low chuckles tumble out of him in somersaults. “How many?”

“Just five, tonight. They’re younger, so I’m splitting them up before they get themselves shit-faced by accident. The same rules as grade school field-trips, y’know?” Nishinoya leans closer, over Kuroo, and snaps a finger-gun at her. “I heard that you were the one Kuroo bumped into when you were looking for this group of kids! Man, Daichi had a field day when he saw you.”

“Daichi?”

This time, Nishinoya does look over at Kuroo properly, waiting for either a red or green light. Kuroo keeps his lips pressed shut for an agonizing while, his brows scrunched up as if in great pain. He gives Nishinoya a weary nod.

“Alright,” Nishinoya says slowly, gathering his wits about him next to a touchy Kuroo, “Daichi’s the dude who drove the van.”

She fixes Kuroo with a pensive stare, and slowly shakes her head. The disappointment in the creases of her face are tangible, but her voice betrays none of it, only an iron patience. “I see. You don’t have to tell me more than that, if it’s for the better. I’ve had my chance to ask my questions tonight.”

“You sure about that?” Nishinoya asks, “it’s rare that you get this guy’s permission for anything.”

She smiles. “I’m sure.”

And Nishinoya laughs. Several patrons jump at the robust sound, but the bartender only smiles out the corner of his vision. Noya turns to face her properly, intrigue dancing through his fingers and he taps them restlessly against the counter. “’Aight then. You like whiskey?”

“Better than vodka,” she answers, surprised by the sudden change in topic.

Both men nod vigorously.

“Vodka’s swill,” Kuroo mutters, “but I’m not saying that any louder in case I get dragged out and beaten.”

Nishinoya pulls out another thumbs-up, looking proud to be sitting next to two soul-friends. “Two Rusty Nails here, Chikara!” The bartender bobs his head wordlessly and begins to work with a sparkle in his eye. Nishinoya winks at her. “You’ve earned yourself a good drink, Missus.”

Kuroo groans when he sees the tell-tale twitch of her lips about to start giggling. “Motherfu- Noya-san, please. Stop calling her that.”

Nishinoya looks even happier when he’s told expressly not to be. “Hang around each other long enough, and you’ll be the mob boss’ wife sooner or later. You heard it from me first, okay?”

“We’re not a mob, moron.”

“Right.” He nods firmly. As she watches, she’s beginning to learn that something dangerous is about to happen whenever Nishinoya smiles in that exacerbated, excited way. “We’re cooler than a mob.”

“Amen to that.” Both Kuroo and Nishinoya chuckle in their private joke. “But don’t let Ush- uh, that guy, hear you say that.”

“He’s a good man,” Nishinoya insists, “if he were to beat us for each time we talked shit about him, our bodies would be unidentifiable in a harbor by now.”

Kuroo smiles, and if anyone asked him if it was fondness in his voice, he’d cut out their liver. “Yeah. He’s a good man.”

“You two sound like you’re in love.” The two men jolt out of their thoughts at the sound of the laughter in her comment, and the tinkle of ice against their drinks. “I’ll leave if I’m interrupting,” she offers.

“It’s too late for that,” Nishinoya grins, “and since you’re not asking for more info, we’ve to give you something else to stew in when you get home, right?”

Kuroo sits back with his drink and watches as she searches Nishinoya’s unwavering grin for lies, only to find none. Still, he considers, there’s truth in Noya’s words. Nothing cataclysmic has tied itself to her yet this evening, and she had done everything that he’d asked. Including the bar, including the drink, and had pulled herself out of a reluctantly given opportunity for the details that she’d craved for ardently in their convoluted exchanges. It’d be poor manners, and he can hear Akaashi’s exasperated voice telling him so in his head.

He waits until she’s taking her first sip, and jerks his thumb in Nishinoya’s direction. “He’s Dragon,” he says, “and Sawamura- the van-driving Daichi- is Raven. We’ll be figuring out what we can do with your skill set in our next meeting.”

She almost chokes her mouthful. “Dragon…” Her eyes widen. “Ah, the Ops! The one you said you’d put me with.”

“Yup,” Dragon brightens, “you’ll get to work with me, lucky duck.”

Kuroo’s relieved when she relaxes at the announcement, and falls into a quiet that isn’t unfriendly, only contemplative.

Nishinoya watches her with his blinding enthusiasm masking his scrutiny. Wasting not a second, calculations flit through his mental data as he prods here and presses there until she’s a file in his compartments, exactly where it needs to be. When he slides it into place, the smooth ‘click’ of a puzzle piece against another, Yuu reappears in the forefront.

“I’ll start to keep tabs on you too, since we’re officially putting you somewhere,” Nishinoya adds. He takes a long drink of whatever’s swirling around in his questionable glass, peering at her over the rim.

She only smiles faintly and nods, a warm crinkle at the corners of her eyes. Kuroo watches the nonverbal spar with a nice cool beverage in hand as a table-side refreshment until someone yields.

She’s the one who blinks first, and seems to pull into herself and out of whoever she had summoned for the occasion.

He watches as she downs the rest of her glass in one go and wipes her mouth with a thumb.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” she tells Kuroo. “I think it’s about time my brother started back on the move.”

She shifts past the chairs and through the trickle of customers as if she were only a figment of their imagination, and exchanges a wave farewell with the bartender before the door falls shut behind her. Kuroo has to remind himself that he’s the stranger here, and not her.

He eyes Nishinoya’s questionable expression, and asks, “I thought you were already keeping tabs on her, since… since last week?”

Nishinoya shrugs. “You’re our leader. We keep tabs on everyone you come in contact with.”

“You-“ Kuroo breaks into a disbelieving chuckle once his mind catches up with the rest of him. “Man, I can never get used to how you operate.”

Nishinoya smirks and raises his glass in a mock salute. “That’s just ‘cus we’re friends. Normal people don’t imagine their friends toying with their other friends.”

“Do you think she’ll notice? That you’re waiting for a change in behavior?”

“’Waiting’ seems a pretty harsh word. More like, preparing? Just in case. We’re not hoping she fails.”

Kuroo flips through his collection of her quiet smiles, disappointed silences and patient looks. “She seems like the real thing,” he says afterwards, “either that, or I should really suggest a change of occupation. I’ve never seem someone play a saint so well as she.”

“Saint?” Nishinoya sounds amused. “Nobody’s a saint. But I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think I’m doing here, my man? It’s the first test run for the rookie ops, so you’re our recon target tonight.”

Kuroo is ashamed of even feeling surprised.

“Just-“ He stops, and sighs. Leaving his drink unfinished, he slides off his stool and points a finger at Nishinoya’s anticipating look. “Whatever you find, if you leak even a bit of that shit to Oikawa, I’m going to roast you in your sleep.”

“But I don’t sleep?” Nishinoya laughs when Kuroo takes a menacing step forward. “Okay, okay. No leaks, just for private perusal, yeah?”

Kuroo rolls his eyes, but huffs out a chuckle all the same. “See you tomorrow night, Noya-san.”

Said man beams and bounces as he waves goodbye. “Laters!”

Kuroo leaves the bar feeling infinitely more watched than before. Instinct takes over, his feet guiding him to the safest spot and he forgets entirely the reason he’s left the bar at all until he feels a polite tap on his shoulder. He has to arch closer than he’d expected in the dimness of the alley, but she’s undoubtedly there beside him. It’s simply too dark for him to catch the wry smile.

“Good chat?”

“As good as it’ll ever get with someone like him.” Kuroo breathes in raggedly. “Sometimes, I wonder what kinda guy he’d be if he wasn’t born here. In this shithole.”

He doesn’t resist when she takes him by the wrist and leads him back onto their original route.

“I think he’d still be your friend,” she says after a while, “there’re some things in a person that fucked up can’t change.”

He looks down at her. “You think so?”

“Mhm.”

Some florescent blue bursts along her profile, mingling with the greasy streetlight pale across her right. Colours makes its way across her skin in a road trip by night, and Kuroo follows the map down her neck and shoulders to her grip above his wrist, in a starving angel livid.

He lets her hold it until she lets go.

“I just realized,” she starts, “you never told me your animal name.”

Kuroo watches the blue break into orange.

“I’m Cat,” he answers simply.

When the pale lime of a flashing banner falls across the bridge of her nose, and an alien pink draping itself in linen onto the cut of her jaw, Kuroo feels as if he can, if he wished to, reach out with a finger and draw out the lines of her newfound edges carved against the back of her bones. She’s luminescent, marble ridges, indisputable and in a different life. A better life.

Perhaps there’s something poetic in him after all.

Perhaps all this is, is poetry.

[takadasaiko]

The Hargrave AU Drabbles: Blame

Summary: Ressler struggles with what has happened.

Hargrave Drabbles Master List

Blame

“I don't think you understand,” Ressler pressed as he followed Cooper into his office. “I was there, sir. I…. told her to go.”

Harold Cooper took a seat at his desk, dark eyes flickering up to meet Ressler’s blue. “I heard you, Agent Ressler. I've also been neck deep in files coming in from all around about the Cabal and just how deep this goes. Reven Wright has put us on Agent Scott’s case. With everyone being brought into question on who we can trust, I need people around me that I do. You'll stay on during the investigation.”

Ressler opened his mouth to argue again. This was against protocol. He should be under investigation, but if not that at least taken off if this case. He didn't know how to make it any clearer. Liz had shot the Director, but he'd been complicit. He hadn't stopped her, and if given a slightly different set of circumstances, he was terrified he might have even done the same thing.

Cooper did seem to understand that, though, and he wanted him there anyway.

The argument died as a commotion sounded from the entrance and both Cooper and Ressler moved to the office window to look out. Christopher Hargrave stood there, arguing with one of the guards that wasn't letting him into the facility.

“What the hell is he doing out of the hospital?” Cooper mumbled, and he moved towards the door.

“I'll handle him.” Ressler offered.

“See if he has any information on Agent Scott.” The order followed him halfway out the door.

Hargrave looked over as Ressler made his way towards him, his expression tight and the colour drained from his face. His right arm was in a sling, the heavy bandages that covered the injury underneath peeking out from under his shirt collar. “Ressler. What the hell, man?”

“I've got this. It's fine,” Ressler told the guard, who looked reluctant, but finally relented. The ginger motioned. “Do I even want to know how you convinced the doctors to release you?”

“Didn't ask,” his partner’s fiancé answered, following just a little unsteadily.

Ressler sighed. The last thing they needed was Christopher Hargrave passing out in the Post Office and drawing even more attention to the fact he was there. “Come on. We’ll get you a seat before you fall over.”

“I don't need a seat. We need to help Liz. You were supposed to-”

“To what? Stop her?”

“Help her,” Hargrave managed. “Now she's being hunted and…. What about you and the Task Force?”

Ressler stared at him for a long moment before motioning him towards the office he usually shared with Liz. He had never trust the other man. Halcyon Aegis - or Grey Matters, it really didn't matter what name he tacked to it - worked on the edge of the law, often crossing well over that line just because they held too many national secrets to be held accountable. They made him uncomfortable. Christopher Hargrave made him uncomfortable, but the man was also would have been his partner’s husband by now if the wedding hadn't been shot up. Ressler might not trust him, but Liz did, and he was fairly certain that Hargrave wasn't in this to hurt her, even if his very existence near her could easily do so. At that moment, though, everyone on Liz’s side needed to band together.

Ressler motioned for Hargrave to take a seat and he all but fell into the chair, but to his credit, he still looked up expectantly. The federal agent sighed. “We've been tasked with bringing her in.”

“She's been set up by the Cabal. Nothing they're saying on the news is true.”

“Up until the point where she short and killed the Director of Clandestine Services maybe,” Ressler answered tightly. “I was there. I saw it happen.”

Hargrave shook his head. “He was the head of the Cabal. If she killed him, she had a reason.”

“Have you spoken to her?”

Hargrave studied him for a long moment. “No,” he murmured at last and Ressler wasn't sure if he believed him.

“Listen, If we’re going to help her, we need to be able to trust each other.”

There was another long beat of silence before he nodded slowly. “Get Cooper. It's time we get on the same page.”

Notes: I finally got ahead in my writing for these again, so hopefully the updates will be more regular! That and all the excitement for the renewal of our favourite show :D

[recentanimenews]

CR Features Argues About Best Girl of 2018

*Anime Awards voting starts this Friday and WE'RE SUPER EXCITED! However we have gotten so loud with our individual opinions on who we think should win that we’ve been told to duke it out via written words instead of continually disrupting our coworkers (sorry fam).

  We’ll hit each category by the time we hit the evening of Anime Awards! Today’s piece gets down to the nitty gritty of Best Protagonist, Best Antagonist, Best Boy, and Best Girl. *Let’s down to business!

  Best Protagonist

Retsuko of Aggretsuko

The lady red panda’s life is starkly relatable in some way to everyone. She stresses the necessity of staying true to oneself and taking care of said self by any means necessary. Whether it’s with death metal in a karaoke bar or yoga with the girls despite being an awkward human, decompressing is highly important and she shows that through example.

-Ricky Soberano

Sakata Gintoki of Gintama

  Who better to lead the charge than everyone’s favorite lazy-ass, strawberry-milk-loving samurai? Even with war tearing Edo apart, Gintoki has stayed the same lovable jerk--he may have to grit his teeth a little more, he may have to take a harsher beating, but he’s still the same idiot we all cheer for, even when he’s being total slothful garbage.

-Nate Ming

  Saichi Sugimoto of Golden Kamuy

  Sugimoto is a breath of fresh air for protagonists; he’s vulnerable, but strong, determined, funny, and absolutely devoted to helping other people. I thought he would be a ruthless killer at first, and while he can be, Sugimoto’s relationship with Asirpa has really changed him as their journey went on. Watching Sugimoto change from the somewhat lost and aimless “I just need money” to “I am going to help you, Asirpa” has been amazing, and Sugimoto’s strong personality that grows and develops over time is one of the reasons that hooked me into Golden Kamuy, so him being my pick is a no-brainer!

-Nicole Mejias

Chise Hatori of The Ancient Magus’ Bride

In a year full of super powered heroes with abilities that could level mountains, my favorite protagonist is a bit more modest in her abilities. Chise Hatori does possess powerful magical abilities, but it’s something else that sets her apart--her empathy. All of the outlandish abilities in the world wouldn’t have helped her in her journey if she wasn’t able to feel the experiences of those around her so deeply. The Ancient Magus’ Bride told the story of Chise slowly learning to love herself, and it was only through her ability to love others that this was made possible. And that, for my money, is the most heroic character arc of 2018.

-Cayla Coats

Shirase Kobuchizawa of A Place Further Than The Universe

    Although starring an ensemble cast, it’s hard for me to think of any of the girls in A Place Further than the Universe as a lead besides Shirase. She’s the reason the girls end up on the expedition and, although they all tag along to experience their own self discoveries, it’s Shirase’s story about getting closure. Her shy personality that gets subsumed by stubborn determination in the face of doubters is extremely relatable.

-Peter Fobian

Best Antagonist

Vetto of Black Clover

Vetto was the most infuriating opponent that came out of the Eye of the Midnight Sun. He was a monstrously murderous sadist that made every person surpass their limits but not before making sure everyone experienced a personalized version of despair. The slam to Kahono’s throat was what solidified the anger that still makes my blood boil.

-Ricky Soberano

Lt. Tokushirou Tsurumi of Golden Kamuy

Tsurumi’s not someone you love to hate, which is strange for someone who is arguably Golden Kamuy’s deadliest and most important antagonist. In fact, we all kinda like him, warts and all, which makes him that much more memorable… and that much scarier when he shows us what he’s capable of.

-Nate Ming

Viruses, Parasites, Bacteria and Cancer Cells of Cells At Work

  Cells at Work was a charming and amazing show that I really learned a lot from in terms of how the body works in terms of fighting off disease and infection, but a large part of that was the unique ways that the show depicted all of those threats. Each one felt wholly unique and easily identifiable, given traits that fit their natural actions and behaviors, and it made me realize that there are some amazing battles going on inside of my body every day!

-Nicole Mejias

Joseph Cartaphilus of The Ancient Magus’ Bride

My protagonist and antagonist picks are sort of a 2-for-1 deal. Joseph is by far the scariest, most cruel presence in his series, but he is also the most tragic. Condemned to an eternity of suffering because of some misplaced kindness, simply existing for Joseph is unimaginably painful. He exists as a darker version of the traumatized Chise, someone who was transformed into a monster through immense suffering. The conclusion of the series resolves not in a fight to the death, but a surprising moment of tender kindness from Chise--making Joseph the perfect counterpoint to our heroine.

-Cayla Coats

Ladros of Black Clover

The best villains are always the ones with personality and Ladros has an excess. The magically deranged general of the Diamond kingdom made a huge impact in just a few episodes with his unexpected reactions and schoolyard bullying tactics with a huge voice performance from Takeshi Kusao. Within half an episode I went from thinking he was a jobber to falling in love when he screamed “MILLION LASER!”

-Peter Fobian

Best Boy

Goblin Slayer of Goblin Slayer

    Say whatever you want about the single tracked mind of the slayer of goblins: He’s motivated, supremely focused, and skilled. His mission in life to kill beings that not only rape and murder women but utilize women as playthings is admirable and justified. He provides comfort to goblin survivors and we may not know what his face looks like but we know what practically everything else looks like and I’ll take that.

-Ricky Soberano

Honda-san of Skull-face Bookseller Honda-san

Retail is a special kind of hell, staffed by a special, hard-as-nails kind of people. Honda-san is a refreshing retail lead in that he doesn’t hate his job--in fact, he loves it! By loving his customers and wanting to help them find the same joy in books that he does, Honda reminds me of the best parts of working in a bookstore… and a handful of the worst when everything’s on fire.

-Nate Ming

Gobta of That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime

    Okay, so hear me out here. Despite his appearance that didn’t even change when he was given his name, this little goblin seems to be indestructible! Strung up upside down and forgotten in prison? No problem, just summon a tempest wolf and rejoin your party. Be subjected to poisonous cooking? Dude gained the Poison Resist skill to survive, which earns the envy of Rimuru! To add to this, Ranga has unending faith in Gobta due to his quick-witted battling abilities. Gobta is certainly an irreplaceable asset to Rimuru’s group, so don’t make the mistake of underestimating him!

-Nicole Mejias

All Might of My Hero Academia

Deku’s great, but the end of the first cour of My Hero Academia Season 3, All Might absolutely stole the Best Boy throne from him. All Might threw himself into danger in order to protect the world and his body was left permanently stuck in his withered form. This was powerful stuff, but what sealed the deal for me was the beach scene pictured above--All Might punches Deku for his recklessness and then embraces him, dedicating himself to training and raising the young hero into someone truly amazing. He’s just SO GOOD.

-Cayla Coats

Rei Kiriyama of March comes in like a lion

I’ll say it again. Every year we get a March comes in like a lion, Rei Kiriyama is automatically best boy. He’s just a nice kid trying to get by despite some pretty unfortunate circumstances. He’s kind, thoughtful, and the way he experiences the world around him hints at an artistic mind that might never get the chance to express itself. He’s compassionate even to those who are cruel and preoccupies himself with finding ways to pay back the generosity he’s been offered. Rei Kiriyama for president.

-Peter Fobian

Best Girl

Mai Sakurajima of Rascal Does Not Dream of Bunny Girl Senpai

Mai-san isn’t just a gorgeous, intelligent bunny girl senpai that works as a beloved actress. She also keeps her rascal, Sakuta, in check. Not only that, she’s incredibly mature, understanding, and trusting despite Sakuta’s life being constantly thrown in a loop by cute girls to the point that she didn’t object to Sakuta dating another girl. She makes Sakuta work for it but she can also be shy under that poker face.

-Ricky Soberano

Hina Kawamoto of March comes in like a lion

Probably the most criminally underwatched show this year, March comes in like a lion went right for the throat with an intense story arc dealing with bullying at Hina’s middle school. The complicit cowardice of Hina’s teacher and the professional frustration of her substitute teacher play against the casual callousness of the bully and Hina’s undying fire. She did absolutely nothing wrong--and if she just makes it to graduation, she wins.

-Nate Ming

Asirpa of Golden Kamuy

For me, there’s no argument that Asirpa is the best girl of 2018. She’s equal share protagonist with Sugimoto, but more importantly she’s a BADASS! Hungry? No problem, Asirpa knows how to hunt everything and cook it up. In danger? Her accuracy with a bow knows no equal. Need to track someone? She’s got it covered. There’s always talk about ‘strong female characters,’ and honestly I can’t think of many as good as Asirpa when it comes to anime. Asirpa holds her head tall and stands shoulders above the rest!

-Nicole Mejias

Lily Hoshikawa of ZOMBIE LAND SAGA

Lily is a spot of sunshine in Franchouchou, always beaming with a positive and infectious energy! The zombie idol group is comprised of plenty of eccentric and lovable personas, but Lily struck a rather personal chord with me--we’re both girls that used to be boys. It’s rare to find a trans character in any sort of media, rarer still to find one created with the amount of respect and love that was put into Lily. She’s the shining star of 2018.

-Cayla Coats

Nagisa Aragaki of HANEBADO!

  Nagisa literally stole the show in HANEBADO! Despite the subtitle of “Hanesaki’s play” and the focus on the forlorn badminton player, Nagisa got some great moments as she quietly worked on her own game in the background. The result was a redemption story surpassing that of the main character. Nagisa rose up to defeat the opponent who had previously shut her out so completely she’d almost quit the game. Seeing her triumph was a series-making moment for me.

-Peter Fobian

  Anddd that's all folks! Check back in to see us argue about who else we think should win the rest of the Anime Awards categories. Don’t forget to vote for your favorites starting on 1/11!

  Do you have a super intense devotion to a 2018 show or character or want your opinions shared to the world about Anime Awards? Send us an op-ed in written or video form. The nitty gritty details are in here and you may get published in a future article!

Who do you think should win: Best Protagonist, Best Antagonist, Best Boy, and Best Girl? Tell us in the comments below!

-----

Ricky Soberano is a Features Editor, Script Writer, and Editorial Programming Coordinator for Crunchyroll. She’s the former Managing Editor of Brooklyn Magazine. You can follow her on Twitter @ramenslayricky.

By: news+feed@crunchyroll.com

[wessonba]

  In my review of Outlander 3.06 “A. Malcolm”, I wrote about having expectations of the print shop reunion.  I jokingly said I missed the “slobber knocker” scene where they cried and shook with the longing of twenty years streaming down their faces. I got over my missing scene because after I calmed my book-loving self down, I realized what the show had given me was practically perfect in every way. After watching 3.10 “Heaven and Earth”, written by newcomer Luke Schelhaus and directed by David Moore, I thought of my missing “slobber knocker” scene again.  I thought about why it had been important to me and decided it was because it was a visceral reminder of the need Jamie and Claire have of each other.  True to form, the show gave me what I was missing, they just didn’t give it to me as I expected.  This week they gave me that need and the somewhat frightening reality of what that kind of need can do to people.

I have written about why we needed to see the 20 years apart between these two in order to understand the reunion.  I also wrote about the period of transition I thought we were going to see after the reunion.  The show has taken pains to let us see that though our couple’s memories of each other remained frozen in time, they were not.  They both had lives and they are both changed by the time they were apart.  Claire’s fear that she would find the man she left changed came true and she is certainly not the same woman who left Jamie 20 years before.  It has been more difficult than any of us could possibly have imagined.  I believe they are at the core the same people they each fell in love with, but 20 years of wearing masks, suppressing feelings, and doing what you need to do to survive have covered those cores in layers of protection.  It is a long way down to where they started and I’m not sure how long or what it will take to get them both back there, but I think we saw part of that journey in this episode.

Confined and Compartmentalized

I’ll admit that I watched and re watched and re re watched the initial hold scene between Jamie and Fergus. I wasn’t quite sure what I was seeing. It seemed out of character for Jamie to be so callous and manipulative (and, I saw today that Diana agrees).  It wasn’t a very flattering look for a “king of men”.  I kept watching trying to figure out what exactly the writers were trying to show us.  Then it hit me.  I’d been there.  I’d been Jamie stuck in a cell and powerless to protect someone I desperately loved.  Without going in to too much detail, last December I found myself sitting in an ER with a loved one, powerless to protect them or effect change and angry, very angry.  I would have moved Heaven and Earth to make it different, but there was absolutely nothing I could do and my anger grew to rage.  I understood Jamie attacking Fergus unfairly.  I recognized his displaced anger because I had displaced my own.  I took my frustration out on someone who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  I truly think I lost my mind for a bit or a least control of my emotions.  I was being irrational and unfair, but I couldn’t stop myself. With my personal experience on my mind, I watched the scene one more time.

Jamie Confined

I think we are seeing Jamie’s past pain resurface.  Claire being taken from him has brought him to a dark place, I think we see Jamie as close to madness as we have ever seen him.  When he realizes his wife has been kidnapped and the captain is complicit, he reacts violently and as a result is thrown into the hold. Just before he is pushed down into the cell, we see him desperately look to the Porpoise, as it puts distance between him and Claire.  He is once again confined, “I’m well acquainted with the inside of a cell.”  I couldn’t help, but give this statement more meaning than the literal.  Jamie has spent the better part of 20 years without personal agency.  He has been confined in more ways than one.  His being once again behind bars has to be bringing it all back, the loss of Claire and the desolate life he lived without her.  The thought of losing her again is now made more cruel by her miraculous return and their tenuous bond.  He truly can’t lose her again.  He is desperate.

It isn’t just the plague that concerns him, “There is more than disease on that ship there are 300… men.”  A very timely statement given the current atmosphere and the idea that women are never safe from molestation.  As we see what transpires on the Porpoise, we know that Jamie’s fears are not unfounded.  Claire is in danger from men.  He needs to get to her. He needs to protect her.  He needs her. But, he is locked up and powerless to reach her… once again.

In the books, Jamie confesses to Claire that he had not been afraid for a very long time and that with her return he began to feel fear again because he had something to lose once more. I think the show has shown us that reality, in Ardsmuir Jamie tells John Grey to do what he will, there is nothing they can do to him that hasn’t been done.  He had lost everything that truly mattered to him.  And, even though he cares for his men, his family, Willie, Murtaugh, and Fergus, it is his loss of Claire that changed him forever. He is not complete without her and having found her once more he, “…would do more than lie to keep her.” He would in fact move Heaven and Earth and risk Hell, as easily as the prick of a pin.  I can remember sitting in that emergency room my thoughts spinning from one possibility to another, looking for a way out, looking for a way to fix things, looking for a way out of my fear.  Jamie is doing the same. His fear and desperation have made him irrational, he is grasping at straws and ignoring the facts of their situation as described by Fergus.  When Fergus doesn’t buy into Jamie’s irrational and desperate plans, Jamie’s impotent fear and anger become displaced and Fergus becomes the unfortunate target.  In the mist of his despair and displaced anger, Jamie says he was right to deny his blessing on the marriage to Marsali because Fergus doesn’t know what love is.  Saying this out loud brings a last desperate idea to mind.  He will do more than lie to keep Claire, he will in fact, use Fergus’ love for Marsali.  The darkness he has inhabited to survive without Claire has made this possible, but we all cringe at the cruelty and manipulation and we know it will not come without a cost to his relationship with Fergus.

Luckily for Jamie, he has good will on account.  He has lived a life of honor, been there for those God has given him charge of, and sacrificed his own interest for others over and over. “You can trust me to keep my word” says Jamie,”I have always trusted you Milord” says a newly maimed Fergus.  Fergus is in the unique position of knowing what Claire means to Jamie and what he was like after losing her.  And, after hearing the sailors discussing Jamie, himself and Marsali, he realizes what it is Jamie is feeling.  He tells Jamie he will not bring him the keys and place them all at risk.  He tells Jamie he is willing to move Heaven and Earth to keep the woman he loves safe even if that means he cannot marry her.  Marsali understands that it is not only love of her, but love of Jamie that makes Fergus tells him, no.  He will move Heaven and Earth to keep Jamie safe, as well as Marsali.  And, God, I love Marsali for telling him if he doesn’t understand that then he “doesn’t deserve” to be set loose.  They love him and so, they do what is best for him and risk his anger and…forgive him because sometimes we forgive those we love even when they do not deserve it.  Fergus is indeed like Jamie and proves himself to be his son by his noble actions.  To Jamie’s credit, it gets it right in the end and gives them his blessing.

Claire Compartmentalized

Despite my need to see Jamie forgiven and he and Claire together forever and all well between them, Claire stubbornly refuses to reassure Jamie that all is well and that she is there forever.  The specter of those 20 years apart continues to haunt them. There have been moments where she seems to come close and she has never denied her love of him, but just when it seems they are finding a way back to each other something conspires to keep them apart.  I loved the moment in the “Doldrums” when Jamie realizes that he must let Claire be who she has become and lets her go despite his need to keep her by his side. He takes her into the hall, but when he sees her standing there with her arms crossed, a look of challenge on her face, he resigns himself to the reality that she will go whether he says no or not. He touches their wedding ring as he says he has taken an oath or two himself and taken them all seriously.  He is devoted to her and trying hard to be the man she needs him to be. Through out this episode we are reminded that a word given is a bond, Claire, Jamie, Fergus, the Captain all are bound by their oath.

On the English frigate, we see Claire slip into her familiar role as surgeon.  She knows exactly who she is when she is healing the sick and it serves to emphasis how unsure she is when she is not.  Watching her deal with the plague was a glorious celebration of the woman who is Claire and I have to wonder if anyone could have done this job besides her.  Her sense of self and her authority in the face of so many men was honed in another time when women in medicine were just as rare and looked upon with suspicion.  Having her abilities, knowledge, authority questioned by men is nothing new.  She handles what ever they throw her way with the aplomb of a woman who has been there and done that.  There is no doubt who is in charge. I loved the irony of authority being given to the youth of the captain and Mr. Pound.  I believe the unusual circumstances that led to a third lieutenant to become captain and a 14 year.old to be addressed as sir were actually in her favor.  The band of unlikely save the day.

Claire has never been as open with her feelings as Jamie nor as eloquent in expressing them, but we can judge how she feels through her actions.  She does share with us that she too is feeling the impact of being separated from Jamie.  It has been less than a day and fifty miles only that separates her from Jamie, but she tells us it feels like 200 years.  Talking about leaving Jamie and actually leaving him seem to be two totally different things. Despite her misgivings and confusion there is no doubt that she loves Jamie and that the only comfort she finds in him not being with her is that he is safe from the typhoid.  However, she seems to be able to function without him in a way Jamie cannot without her and Elias discovers her secret for us.  She tells him there is a word for what she does, compartmentalizing.  She has learned how to put different parts of her life away into compartments and keep her feelings separate, so that she can do her work.  We know that she has been doing this with her feelings for Jamie for 20 years and we wonder when and what it will take to make her take those feelings out of the boxes she has stored them in and incorporate them into who she is now.  How long will it be before Claire can become whole once more?

We may have seen Claire come close to understanding her need of Jamie when she reads the captain’s log and discovers that Jamie has been found out and is in danger.  We see what she is willing to do to keep him safe.  We see Claire lie to those who trust her, threaten to cry rape, and even commit murder.  I had no doubt that if Claire had believed cutting Thomkins’ throat would have kept Jamie safe, she would have done it, despite her oath to do no harm.  As she listened in horror to the story of the body being found in the cask of Creme de Menthe, the charges against her husband, and the unlikelihood that the captain could be convinced to not write a report once they reach Jamaica, she understands that she may lose him again.  Her eyes filling with tears were powerful evidence that she cannot lose him again and so, she jumps into the bottomless sea for Jamie’s sake. Nice metaphor that.

No matter what happens around us

The fact that these two were meant to be together is never in doubt for us, but we have to be patient while they peel back the layers and find the way down to where they began.  They need to know that whatever it is between them that they cannot name is powerful enough to keep them together despite anything that goes on around them.  Maybe the very real possibility that they may lose each other again will be enough to make them both accept they are mated for life and fated to be together through time and past all understanding.

Some final thoughts

Elias: How impressive was Albie Marber as Elias Pound ? ! The character was a delight and I loved his chemistry with Claire.  In the time he was on-screen, Albie managed to make us care about his Elias and as result, mourn his loss. I felt his concern and love for his shipmates and his respect for Claire. His delight in her telling him he was an impressive young man was heartwarming and his cheeky smile at her cursing adorable. His concern for his men touched me, “Feel better Mr. Owens”.  May we all have children of such strength and integrity.  I couldn’t help, but think of the difference between the young men in this episode and the extended period of adolescence in our culture.  It spoke to the fact that children will rise to what is expected of them and that we do our children no favors by taking the opportunity for self-sufficiency away from them.  We need to allow our kids to make choices and mistakes.  Mr. Pound was an impressive young man and if I was his mother, I too would be proud.

Typhoid Fever: Claire’s process in dealing with the plague was fascinating and gruesomely realistic.  The effort that goes into this production continues to stagger.  When Claire looked around the deck, I felt as overwhelmed as she must have been.  I’ve of course never been around something like this, but it felt pretty real.  I was pleased to see there was more to the story than just dealing with the disease.  They did a wonderful job of letting us see the human side of such an event and I couldn’t help, but be reminded of all of the natural and unnatural disasters we have had this year and the stories of humanity that came out of those.  We saw the frailness and preciousness of life, and the real grief over the loss of fellow human beings.  The burials and Lord’s prayer were moving, in the end, we are all the same.  We all want to be loved, cared for and respected.

Swabbing: On a lighter note, my husband’s favorite uncle retired from the Navy and had a little dachshund he named Swabbie.  I thought Swabbie was the name given to most lower ranked sailors because they “swabbed” the decks.  I got puppy fever one day and came home with two little dachshunds, I promptly named the little brown one Swabbie in an effort to endear my husband to my suprise purchase.  After this episode, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to look at my dog in the same way again.  Swabbie doesn’t sound so cute anymore!

          It’s a long way down to where they started… a reflection on Outlander 3.10 “Heaven and Earth” In my review of Outlander 3.06 "A. Malcolm", I wrote about having expectations of the print shop reunion.  

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Expert: Unsurprisingly, Jeremy Corbyn is walking around with a permanent grin on his face. He is rightly delighted with the achievement of the Labour Party in Britain’s recent general election. Given the two years of relentless abuse and ridicule that’s been heaped upon him by the mainstream media, together with the appalling treachery of most of his fellow Labour MPs who tried, but failed miserably, to oust him as leader, the result of the June 8 ballot was a ringing endorsement and validation of his remarkable accomplishment. The victory of the Conservative Party over Labour was so marginal that they are compelled to make a deal with the devil, in the guise of the fanatical Democratic Unionist Party of Northern Ireland, in order to have any control at all of the British parliament. It’s a deal that is already looking precarious as it likely contravenes the Good Friday Peace Agreement, and therefore might be illegal. Prime Minister Theresa May, whose pompous hubris provoked the totally unnecessary general election is, to quote one of her own supposed colleagues, George Osborne, “a dead woman walking”. The only thing that might be keeping her in office is that no one in their right mind could possibly want the job. It’s been widely reported that Jeremy Corbyn is already talking about another imminent general election, as a result of the Tories’ fragile condition, and appears to be relishing the chance of forming a Labour government, possibly within a year. But he should be very wary, and think very carefully about whether or not that’s actually a good idea. The Poisoned Chalice Britain is in a wretched condition. Four decades of unrelenting capitalistic economic policies by mainly Tory governments, but also the treacherous Blair/Brown Labour governments, have taken Britain to the brink of permanent destitution. Nearly all of the country’s manufacturing base has been either shut down or off-shored to various Third World sweatshops. All of the once publicly-owned utilities such as gas and electricity, water and communications, have been flogged at fire-sale prices to trans-national corporations. Public transport and postal services are now mostly owned by foreign corporations, and just about any public service than can be asset-stripped and looted already has been. Add to that situation the recent catastrophic decision to split with Europe, Britain’s biggest trading partner. We’re talking about a country that has few natural resources, and almost no heavy industrial capability any more. It has nothing anyone wants, and can’t make anything that can’t be bought cheaper somewhere else, and quite possibly better made. About the only thing that provides some apparent respectability to its economy is a total reliance on its basically criminal financial services – and even these are now leaving the sinking ship, thanks to Brexit. Britain is supposed to be the fifth richest country on the planet, but homelessness is rife and some people are so dependent on charity food banks that they risk starving to death without them. If all that were not enough, we can also add to the mix the fact that for at least two decades Britain has shamefully involved itself as willing stooge to the US’ illegal military adventures throughout the Arab world. This resulted in the unnecessary deaths of at least a million people (most of whom were defenceless civilians), and ruin and destitution for tens of millions more, causing the biggest refugee crisis since World War Two. Unsurprisingly these despicable actions have resulted in terrorist outrages in the streets of Britain, inspiring the government to introduce ever more restrictions on our rapidly disappearing freedom. Secret courts and press censorship have been routine in Britain for some years, and now there are calls from senior police and military officials to open “internment camps” where literally thousands of people could be locked up without charge or trial. This is Britain today. Who in their right mind would want to be Prime Minister of such a place? Corbyn’s Choices The fact of this largely Tory-made catastrophe will not be lost on the very people who created it. Many Tories chose the “Remain” camp in the recent referendum to split from Europe, including the Prime Minister at the time, David Cameron and his Chancellor George Osborne. These people knew what a disaster it would be for Britain to quite the EEC. Now the disaster is imminent they must surely be thinking this is a pretty good time not to be in government. Given the current extreme vulnerability of the Tory party, it might, in normal circumstances, be a perfect time for political opponents to strike. But these are not normal circumstances, and Jeremy Corbyn would be far better advised to wait, keep his powder dry, bide his time and concentrate on far more important priorities than prematurely rushing to take charge of a government that is almost beyond salvation. He would be better advised to take the view that because this is a wholly Tory-made catastrophe, let Tories take responsibility for fixing it. The next five years of British government will almost certainly produce one calamity after another – no matter who’s in charge. Much better, surely, to be in opposition where you can throw stones, rather than be responsible for the calamities and have stones thrown at you. The next five years could possibly destroy whichever political party is at the helm, so Labour should be very wary about being that party. So what exactly should Labour’s leadership do? Fixing the PLP The first and most urgent problem that needs fixing is for the Parliamentary Labour Party (PLP) to unite. It has been terribly divided for the last two years, with a tiny group of Corbyn supporters fighting off the often vitriolic attacks of their own supposed-colleagues who, for the most part, are Blairites – right-wingers scarcely distinguishable from the Tories they’re supposed to be opposing. However, a week can be a long time in politics, and when Jeremy Corbyn entered parliament for the first time since the general election he was greeted with a standing ovation from most of the Labour MPs. So although perhaps the PLP is finally healing its wounds, more work needs to be done to ensure more widespread unity within the Labour Party. The PLP needs to be re-educated to the fact that it is supposed to be a left-wing organisation. Corbyn is not getting any younger, so more youthful Labour MPs with natural left-wing leanings need to be groomed to take over the helm when Corbyn and the equally important Shadow Chancellor John McDonnell decide to take up well-earned retirements. Re-education With immediate effect the Labour Party needs to begin to re-educate the wider population. British people have endured whole lifetimes of right-wing capitalist propaganda. Most are now well and truly indoctrinated capitalists, conditioned to think greed is good, look after number one, and fear and distrust socialism. This vast population of natural conservatives needs to be turned around, to understand how they’ve been tricked to think and act against their own best interests. Alternative news To this end, the Labour Party should create an alternative media platform. This should be designed with the long-term aim of replacing the BBC, which has, since its very beginnings, been a tool of the 1%. Initially the Labour Party obviously couldn’t create such an organisation, but it could make a start, design websites and social media platforms whose purpose is keep the population properly informed about the events that shape their lives; something which one day, when properly resourced, could deliver accurate information – from a humane position rather than the monstrous self-serving capitalist media of today, of whom the BBC is the leading representative. From the very first days of his leadership of the Labour Party Corbyn did a very clever thing. Knowing full well that Britain’s right-wing media cannot be trusted to give him any help, he simply by-passed them and reached out directly to the people. Appealing initially to ordinary Labour Party members – his natural power base – via the party website, he invited questions to be put directly to the Prime Minister during the weekly parliamentary ritual of Prime Minister’s Questions (PMQs). For the first time in history, these sessions were made up of questions composed by ordinary people. And Corbyn never stopped his inspired tactic of sticking like glue directly to his real power base – the British electorate. For two years Jeremy Corbyn has travelled up and down the country talking directly with the people – bypassing the poisonous mainstream media altogether. This direct contact with the public is primarily responsible for Corbyn’s growing rock-star status. But he hasn’t just been making social calls, he’s been re-educating, giving people an alternative narrative to the one that’s been peddled by the Tories and the complicit mainstream media for many decades. This reaching out and re-educating that Corbyn has already been doing to the best of his ability needs to be institutionalised by the Labour Party. The people need to be taught that contrary to Thatcher’s infamous lie that “there is no alternative”, there are, in fact, alternatives, and very good ones at that. Socialism Arguably the single most important new alternative for people to learn about is an alternative economy. As well-conditioned capitalists, most British people automatically reject the alternative world that’s possible with socialist economics. The knee-jerk responses are automatically wheeled out: it failed in Russia; it’s anti-democratic totalitarianism; socialist “sums don’t add up”… and so on. These are all the inevitable results of the misinformation and outright lies churned out by a capitalist-controlled world. Anyone with just a modest understanding of socialism could easily refute them all. The Labour Party could and should begin re-educating the people to the very real benefits of socialist economics. Pacifism During his recent election campaign Jeremy Corbyn was grilled several times over his pacifist leanings. He was often challenged about his position over nuclear disarmament, his opposition to Trident nuclear weapons, claims that he would not “press the button”, and his previous apparent support for the IRA and other supposed “terrorist” organisations. This was clearly a political weak spot for Corbyn, not because there’s anything wrong with his views on these subjects, but because of the public perception that it would be dangerous for a Prime Minister to hold such views. Like the economy, what’s mainly needed here is re-education of the public. Like many other things, Corbyn isn’t wrong in his opinions about British foreign policy, the British public are wrong in theirs. Conversion of public opinion is seldom a very difficult task, as just about every major war has shown in the past, where previously pacifist or at least indifferent public opinion has been quickly transformed into fanatical war-mongering. Of course, this has invariably been achieved through cynical manipulation of the media, but it suggests that if at least some of the media were managed in a pacifist, humane way the necessary change of public perception could be achieved. Corbyn’s belief that nuclear weapons should be banned, and that British foreign policy is primarily responsible for the terrorism that Britain experienced from both the Irish and now the Islamic world, should become mainstream public opinion – not viewed as the deluded ravings of some isolated deranged geriatric. The benefits of opposition Although I’m delighted that Jeremy Corbyn did so well in the general election, and I’m proud of the fact that my vote helped secure his success, I truly hope this is the pinnacle of his success for at least five years. I would not like to see a Labour government for at least that period of time. To understand this position one only needs to think about what would probably happen if another general election was called, within two years say, and a Labour government was returned to power. First and most crucially, the catastrophic fallout of Brexit would have to be dealt with. Given Britain’s extreme economic weakness, with only a corrupt and largely criminal financial services community providing a fig leaf of respectability to economic data – a community that may have mostly disappeared in two years‘ time – Britain would be in the worst economic shape it’s been in since the end of WW2. That’s not necessarily terminal, but for a socialist Labour government it could well be. Because the very last thing the US government wants to see is a successful pacifist, socialist government anywhere at all, but least of all where it’s most reliable capitalist ally used to be. So if we add a hostile US position together with a crippled economy we get the perfect storm, and a disaster that would ruin the Labour Party, and socialist hopes, forever. If Jeremy Corbyn was to become Prime Minister, he could not possibly maintain his pacifist socialist ideals and stay friends with the US. The only real hope Britain has for surviving the calamity of Brexit is to establish even closer trading, military, and diplomatic ties to the US. On the face of it there doesn’t seem much in it for Washington – which is not well known for doing anything that doesn’t produce a profit for its corporations. But Britain does have one thing that’s almost priceless to the US – its geography. Britain is a good sized island that’s only swimming distance from the European mainland. It already provides homes for various US military bases and spy stations. Furthermore, Britain has remained a staunch ally of US imperialism when many other European countries have ranged from barely lukewarm to downright frosty in their attitude towards Washington. A Tory government will almost certainly capitalise on these factors to help survive the aftermath of Brexit. As Japan is the main US proxy to Asia, Britain would likely become the main US proxy to Europe. But how could Corbyn maintain his pacifist socialist credentials, and serve as US lackey to Europe? Jeremy Corbyn has a golden opportunity at his fingertips. The British public are not yet well enough informed to see the huge benefits of the socialist reforms he would like to implement. They have to be deprogrammed and re-educated. They have to learn about and understand the horrors that have been inflicted by centuries of Tory misrule, so that it’s not socialism they fear, but capitalism. Such a reversal in thinking requires a nationwide effort by the Labour Party. Failure to do this would mean that as soon as things got a little bumpy under a new socialist government it would be easy for the mainstream media to steer the people back towards their capitalist programming, and dispose of socialism, possibly once and for all. Corbyn should remain in opposition, and avoid Downing Street for at least five years. The people are not yet educated enough to implement the changes he would love to make. So he should use this time to prepare them, and to prepare individual MPs too for the enormous reforms they will need to make throughout government, reforms that could very well become reality in five years, but not in two. http://clubof.info/