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foundtherightwords · 6 months ago

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As the Sun Will Rise - Chapter 17

Pairing: Grunauer (Overlord) x OFC, Beauty & the Beast retelling

Summary: After losing most of his unit in a disastrous D-Day mission, Derwin Grunauer returns to his hometown near Miami, body riddled with scars and heart heavy with guilt, only to find his neighbors shunning him due to his German name. He retreats into his family mansion and remains there, unwilling to rejoin the living, until the day Alba Reyes turns up at his door with a basket full of warm bread. As the daughter of a Cuban immigrant, Alba knows something of being an outsider, and when she offers to work for Derwin as his housekeeper, it is not only to pay off her father's debt to the Grunauers, but also because she feels some connection to the reclusive young man. When that connection develops into something more, they must overcome both the town's prejudice and their own doubts to find happiness.

Chapter warnings: non-explicit smut

Chapter word count: 5.9k (sorry this chapter is a bit longer than usual; I tried to break it up but couldn't, so here we are)

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Derwin had never looked forward to Christmas, even when he was a boy. His mother's ill health meant that every celebration had to be carefully timed and always ended too soon, or else it would tire her out. And later, after she'd passed away, seeing all the other happy families had only reminded Derwin of how small and lonely his own family was. His father had tried, bless his heart, but he had never been much good at being fun or spontaneous, poor old Dad, and Christmas with just the two of them had always been rather awkward.

This year was the first time Derwin had been excited for Christmas. A cold front had come in, turning the air crisp and cool outdoors and making it cozy indoors, and for once the Christmas decorations fitted right in, as did the scent of pine needles from the tree and the smell of cinnamon and cloves from the cookies that Alba brought—they weren't Cuban, but, as she explained, her father understood the need to cater to their American customers. However, the real reason Derwin was excited, and nervous as well, was that Alba had insisted on him spending the day with her family, no ifs or buts about it.

"I want them to know about us," she'd told him. The way she'd said us went straight to his heart, so casual, yet with so much love and even a touch of pride as well, and he couldn't refuse her, even though he was quaking at the thought of Mr. Reyes, with his booming voice and critical eyes, judging Derwin as his daughter's suitor. But Derwin knew sooner or later they would have to face that particular hurdle, and with Alba there with him, he would be able to get over it.

The other reason he was nervous about Christmas was that Alba's plan didn't stop at Christmas dinner with her family. Apparently Frank knew a valet at some swanky hotel in South Beach and had managed to secure tickets to a Christmas dance there, and he had invited Beatriz and Alba along. So for the past week, Alba had been trying to persuade Derwin to join them.

"What on Earth would I do at a dance?" he'd said, gesturing to his cane. "I'd be the laughing stock."

"Nonsense. You danced perfectly well that night with the storm, remember?"

As if he could ever forget. But they had been alone then, and had the entire living room to themselves, and he'd still managed to nearly knock a lamp off a table with his cane. In a crowded ballroom, with other people around? Forget about it.

"Besides, you still owe me a proper date," she added.

It was true. It had been two weeks since their outing on the boat, and although they laughed about it with each other, Derwin still felt a twinge of embarrassment whenever he remembered it.

Not wanting to turn her down outright, he'd only given her a non-committal "I'll think about it." Alba refused to leave it at that and had been asking "Have you thought about it yet?" every day since.

Now, as he was putting the finishing touch to Alba's Christmas present, she burst into the study with a look that indicated she was going to ask that question again. He hid the present in a drawer and looked up sheepishly.

"It's three days away, you know," she said. "If you're not going, then at least tell me, so Frank can give our tickets to someone else."

"You're not going?"

She shrugged. "I don't have a date, do I?"

"Look, Alba," he began, reaching for her hand to soften his words. "I'm really sorry, but I don't know if I can..." He knew there was a very good chance that he would have fun if he went to the dance. He'd always had fun whenever he went out with Alba, not because of anything they did in particular, but because he liked being with her, simple as that. But he wasn't sure if he could face a ballroom full of people just yet, even with her by his side.

Alba peered at him for a moment or two, and a twinkle came into her eyes. She went to the gramophone in the corner, selected a record, and put it on. "This gentleman obviously doesn't believe in making love," she sang along with the music while dancing toward him, a mischievous smile on her lips. "What do you think, Otto?" Alba asked. "Isn't this the perfect song for Derwin or what?" The dog, lying in a patch of sunlight on the floor, tapped his tail in approval. Traitor.

Alba turned smugly to Derwin. "See, even Otto agrees."

Derwin tried to keep a stern face, but he couldn't help laughing at that. "Yeah, because he loves ganging up on me with you," he said.

Alba was now in front of him. "The gentleman obviously doesn't believe in moonlight walks," she continued singing and tugged at his hands, trying to get him to dance with her. He grinned but refused to budge. He was enjoying this too much. "Alone with a girl and he'd faint—"

"That's clearly not true. I'm alone with you and I haven't fainted yet—"

"Yes, that's just what he'd do. He's one of those gents who just hasn't the sense to thrill to a kiss." Here she bent down and gave him little kisses in time with the music. "Like me"—one on his forehead—"and you"—one on the tip of his nose—"and you"—and finally, one of his lips. "Well?" she asked, smiling down at him.

Still sitting in his chair, he grabbed her waist and yanked her close, so their noses and lips met, fitted together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. A laugh of surprise escaped her throat and died away immediately when he pressed his mouth to hers. The last notes of the song died away, and a delicious silence followed, broken only by a whisper from Derwin, "OK, I'll go."

***

That Saturday, Derwin felt a bit like Cinderella before the ball as he brushed his best and only suit, brought years ago for his high school graduation, which thankfully still fitted him. Alba was coming by with Frank and Beatriz in Marty's car, and then Alba and Derwin would take their own car and meet up with them at the hotel. Alba had insisted on going in separate cars, and Derwin smiled to himself, knowing it was her subtle way not only to have some privacy to themselves, but to give Frank and Beatriz some as well. Marty and Claudia, unfortunately, had to miss out, as their baby was too small to be left for a whole evening.

He was wrestling with the bowtie in front of the mirror in the hall when he heard the sound of tires on the gravel, followed by voices calling "See you there!", and then the car drove away again. Otto stood by the door wagging his tail, looking a little confused that Alba was arriving at night and coming through the front door instead of the back as usual.

His eyes still glued to the maddening bowtie, Derwin heard the swishing of her dress before he saw her. Then he looked up, caught her reflection in the mirror, and whirled around, dazed, the bowtie forgotten around his neck.

Alba was wearing a yellow dress, the same dress they'd seen in the shop window, the one he'd offered to buy for her and she'd refused. He was right. The dress fitted her perfectly, not just in the way it hugged her shoulders and waist, molded around her breasts and arms, and fell in graceful folds around her hips and legs as she walked, but also in the way it framed her like a golden halo, lit her up both from the outside and inside. It was like a miniature sun had suddenly appeared in his darkened front hall.

While he gazed at her with his mouth open, too stunned to say a word, she walked to him and gave him a peck on the lips, as casually as she had done every morning. "I'm afraid you're on your own with that," she said, nodding at the bowtie still dangling around his neck. "I'm no good at that sort of thing."

Derwin recovered his wits and shook his head. "It's OK, I got it." He finished tying the bowtie, ignoring how lopsided it was, and turned to her again, unable to keep his eyes off her for long. "You look—" Words failed him. "—gorgeous," he finished inadequately.

She smiled, looking both shy and proud. "I told you I'd buy the dress myself, didn't I? Wish I had enough money for the shoes as well." She glanced down at her feet, clad in her old off-white sandals. "But they don't show, so who cares, right?" She fixed his bowtie, then stepped back to look him over with a critical eye. "You look very handsome too," she said. "But something's missing."

"What?"

Alba's eyes landed on the bowl of frangipani flowers set on the side table near the door. She dug in the junk drawer and came up with two safety pins—Derwin was again astonished at her ability to find things in his house that he didn't even know existed. These she fixed to the back of two of the largest and freshest flowers, pinned one to his lapel, and gave him the other to put on her hair, which was swept back in soft waves over her forehead and pulled into a chignon in the back. "No, not that side, the left side," she said, turning her head so he could pin the flower in place.

"Why the left side?" Derwin asked, curious.

"When Raf was stationed in Hawaii, he told me if a woman wears a frangipani flower over her left ear, that means she's in a relationship," explained Alba, a faint blush turning her cheeks pink and making her look even prettier.

"Oh" was all Derwin could say, but his heart leaped and jumped. He looked at the two of them in the mirror and wondered, not for the first time, how he got so lucky.

"Ready?" she said, putting her arm through his.

"Wait." He held her hand. "I have something for you too."

He went into the little broom closet at the end of the hall and brought out the box he'd put there that morning. Inside was a pair of gold shoes, the shoes that had been on display along with the dress. Alba's eyes popped when she saw them.

"How did you—?"

"I had a hunch." It was more than a hunch. After he'd agreed to go to the dance, Derwin had driven back to the shop to look at the dress, hoping Alba would let him buy it for her this time. When the saleswoman told him a young lady had bought it already, he'd known right away that it was Alba. So he had bought the next best thing.

He motioned for her to sit down on a chair. Then, kneeling in front of her, he took off the sandals and slipped the soft gold leather over her stockinged feet.

"Now I know how Cinderella must have felt," Alba said, turning her ankle this way and that so she could get a better look at the shoe.

Derwin smiled. "Cinderella tries on the shoe after the ball," he reminded her.

"How did you know my shoe size?"

"Lucky guess," he said, not revealing that it was the saleswoman who had helped him.

"Thank you."

"Can't you thank a fellow better than that?" he asked, lifting his face to her.

She leaned down and kissed him, softly at first, and then again, not as softly. His hands were still on her ankles, and he slid them up, caressing her legs, until he reached the bare skin between her garter and her stocking. "We really have to get going, you know," she said, but didn't stop him.

"It's called being fashionably late," he murmured, smiling against her lips.

***

"Where have you been?!" Beatriz exclaimed when Derwin and Alba finally pulled up in front of the hotel. "We've been waiting for almost half an hour!"

"Sorry, we got—delayed," Alba said with a conspiratorial grin at Derwin. Beatriz raised an eyebrow at that, but made no further comment.

Derwin shook Frank's hand and saw his own emotions reflected on the other man's face—fluster, excitement, and even pride, as he looked upon his date. Clearly, this was a big night for Frank as well.

"Come on, the band's starting already," Beatriz said, tugging Alba toward the staircase leading up to the hotel's front doors, where the crowd, glittering women in their evening gowns, starchy men in their black and white tuxedos and dinner jackets, was streaming in.

"Relax. It's called being fashionably late," Alba said and winked at Derwin, who couldn't help grinning back. He extended his arm to her, and they walked up the steps, followed closely behind by Beatriz and Frank. Through the double doors, they could glimpse the inside of the ballroom, where a giant Christmas tree stood reaching all the way to the ceiling, dazzling with tinsels and baubles. More tinsels and baubles hung from the ceiling, reflecting the light from the chandelier, making Derwin feel he was outside in the middle of a bright summer's day. Tables with bowls of punch and snacks stood on either side of the vast ballroom, and at the far end, the band sat in front of a brocade curtain, striking up a lively jazz number.

Giggling in excitement, the girls and Frank ran on ahead, but Derwin faltered. It was too bright, too loud, too crowded, and the old trembling feeling in the pit of his stomach was coming back. He paused at the top of the stairs, trying to steady himself by tightening his grip on the cane. Alba turned around and took his hand in hers, concerned.

"You OK?" she asked.

He took a deep breath, finding strength in her hand. "Yeah," he managed to say.

"You sure? We can leave, if you're not feeling up to it."

He would not ruin this for her. "No, it's fine. I'll be fine." He smiled to reassure her, and they went to the door. A man stood there in a black tux and a collar with so much starch that Derwin wondered how he could even lower his chin, taking tickets from the guests.

"Welcome, sir," he said monotonously, taking the tickets from Derwin and Alba. "Welcome, madam." Then his eyes landed on Frank and widened slightly. "I'm sorry, but he's not allowed here," the man said to Derwin, mistaking him for the leader of the group.

"What?" Alba and Beatriz said in unison.

"Indians are not allowed here," the man repeated, a cold edge to his voice.

"But he has a ticket—" Beatriz protested.

"It is our policy," the man said. His neck, if possible, got even stiffer.

"Where is this policy written, then?" Alba asked. "Show me. Is it printed on the ticket? Is there a sign at your front desk?"

"It's an established custom," the man said, inexorably.

Derwin looked at Frank. A flush darkened Frank's swarthy face, and his hands were balled into fists, but he kept his chin up and his back ramrod straight. "It's OK," he said quietly. "You three go ahead. Don't spoil your evening because of me." He turned and started walking down the steps. Beatriz looked close to tears. Alba's nostrils flared in a way Derwin recognized, but she kept close to Beatriz and watched Frank go helplessly.

A sense of déjà vu washed over Derwin. It was like that day at the diner with the black couple all over again. Except back then, he had stood by, not doing anything, only feeling hot shame burning his insides. He didn't know that couple. But he knew Frank.

"Hang on a minute," he said, grabbing Frank's arm. "Frank, where did you serve in the war?"

"The 124th Infantry," Frank said, puzzled. "The Pacific."

"I was in the 82nd Airborne," Derwin said to the man at the door. "Frank Howard and Derwin Grunauer. You can look us up if you don't believe me. And think what it means to your hotel's reputation when words get out that you deny two GIs entrance to your Christmas ball."

The man spluttered. His shirt collar seemed to wilt in front of their very eyes. Finally, after one more look at Frank, and another look at the crowded ballroom behind him, he said, through clenched teeth, "Perhaps an exception can be made for our men in service," and yanked the ticket out of Frank's hand. "Enjoy your evening," he added, with a look that implied he wished they would all drop dead.

"Thank you," Frank said to Derwin, as they walked into the ballroom. "But you didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did," Derwin said. He was sick of standing by the sideline, sick of watching all the injustice, and sick of feeling helpless. No more, he told himself. From now on, he was going to take whatever life threw at him, both the good and the bad.

Next to him, Alba said nothing, only squeezed his hand a little more tightly. When Beatriz and Frank weren't looking, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and that was all the reward he could ever want or need.

The dance was in full swing by the time they entered the ballroom. Beatriz and Frank joined the crowd immediately, busting out some complicated moves to the cheerful sound of "Don't Sit under the Apple Tree." The beat was fast, too fast. Derwin didn't know how he could manage it with his cane. But Alba was prepared. She wove her way through the crowd, leading him to a quiet spot on the edge of the dance floor. Here, she put an arm around him and lifted his hands to her waist, while resting her other hand on his cane, just as she had when they danced together during the storm.

"We don't have to impress anybody," she said. "Just move to the music."

And so they did. They stood there, arms around each other, swinging and tapping their feet to the music, out of the way of the other dancers. Some people threw them curious glances, making Derwin's skin itch like ants crawling all over him, but Alba put a finger on his chin to direct his attention back to her, and he breathed more easily again.

After a few songs, Derwin's leg started to protest, so he got himself a glass of punch and sat down at a table, while Alba, at his urging, went back and danced with Frank and Beatriz. Derwin watched her with the same wonder tinged with wistfulness he always felt whenever he looked at her, wonder that a girl like her would want to be with him, and wistfulness that she was forced to rein in her vivacity to stay by his side. But that night, with his newfound determination, he no longer felt so wistful. Alba chose to be with him. And he would do everything he could to make sure she never had to regret it.

The band was coming back from their break. Though his leg was still complaining, Derwin walked up to the stage and spoke to the band leader. He turned around to see Alba smiling at him. "What'd you just say to him?" she asked.

"You'll see," he said. "Or, should I say, you'll hear."

Her eyebrows went up. She soon got her answer when the band launched into a slow rendition of "Green Eyes". Only when the vocalist started singing, it wasn't "Green Eyes", it was "Aquellos Ojos Verdes", and Alba's mouth dropped open in surprise. Next to her, Beatriz also grinned, delighted with this reminder of their childhood memory.

"May I have this dance, señorita?" asked Derwin, extending a hand toward Alba.

Still smiling, she placed her hand in his. He led her to the middle of the floor, swinging his cane in a wide circle. The crowd parted around them like a current. To hell with those people. Let them stare. Let them see how lucky he was to have such a beautiful girl in his arms. Let them be jealous.

As they danced to the song, turning and twirling as they had the night of the storm, something strange happened to Derwin. He looked into Alba's green eyes, felt the warmth of her body close to his, smelled the familiar scent of the frangipani in her hair, and let the music flow through him. And the rest of the ballroom faded away. Even the band vanished, leaving behind only the sound of music, like magic. All his worries disappeared. There was no one else in the world but the two of them, there was nowhere else he'd rather be, and more importantly, he knew that there was nowhere else she would rather be either.

Even when the song ended, they remained in their embrace, smiling at each other.

"You're full of surprises, aren't you?" Alba whispered.

He tilted her face up. "Oh yes," he said. "And here's another surprise for you..."

Before their lips could touch, a voice said behind them, loudly and rudely, "Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

Derwin whirled around. Sauntering toward them was a tall, handsome, dark-haired man in a white jacket, followed by several cronies, decidedly less handsome and less well-dressed. There was something vaguely familiar about the dark-haired man, but Derwin couldn't place that arrogant face.

Beside him, Alba let out a groan.

"Not happy to see me, Allie?" the dark-haired man said. He was coming quite close now, close enough for Derwin to smell the reek of alcohol on his breath. "I've missed you, you know."

Alba tugged at Derwin's hand. "Come on, let's go," she said, but the dark-haired man blocked their way, while his cronies formed a wall behind them. Beatriz and Frank, noticing the standoff, were approaching with concern.

"Now that's very rude," the dark-haired man said to Alba. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your—date? I don't need an introduction to know who he is, though. Grunauer, is it?" He barely even glanced at Derwin, as if Derwin was some vermin not worth his attention. "Really, Allie? Him? You threw me over for a cripple?"

Alba's eyes flashed with the green fire that Derwin had come to know quite well. "I didn't throw you over for anyone, Grant," she said, voice dripping with contempt. "When are you going to get it through your thick head? We are not together. We have never been together. And we're never going to be together!"

As she mentioned the name, Derwin suddenly remembered where he'd seen the dark-haired man before. "You're Gastin Grant," he said. "From Grant's Land. You offered to buy my place."

"That's right, buddy." Grant sneered at him. "And mark my word, I'll get my hand on that place eventually. Just as I'll get my hand on this one—" He reached out and grabbed Alba's arm, wrenching her away from Derwin.

Derwin pushed at Grant's chest. It was rather like pushing at a brick wall, but he did it anyway. "Let her go," he said.

Grant grinned at him. "Or what? What are you going to do about it, cripple?"

A red-hot veil of rage fell over Derwin's eyes. A small crowd was now gathering around them. Frank stepped in. "Hey, there's no need for that kind of language—" he said. Grant nodded at his cronies, who knocked Frank to the ground. Beatriz ran over to help him up.

Derwin looked at Alba, still struggling to free herself from Grant's iron grip, and tried to swallow his anger. "I don't want to make a scene," he said to Grant. "But if you don't leave right now, I'm going to—"

WHAM! Grant's fist flew out of nowhere. Blindsided, Derwin went sprawling on the floor. Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear Grant taunting him, "Going to do what? Think you can threaten me, cripple? Get up! Get up and face me, or are you too much of a chicken shit who can only shoot others when their backs were turned?"

Derwin scrambled for his cane, trying to push himself up, but black spots were swimming in front of his eyes and he couldn't see.

"He's not a chicken shit," he heard Alba's voice say quite calmly. "You are."

There was a sharp thwack, the crowd went "ooh", and something collapsed beside him with a heavy thud. Next thing Derwin knew, Alba was helping him to his feet. "You OK?" she asked.

His eyes cleared, and he saw that Grant was curled up on the floor, a hand clasped to his bleeding nose. His cronies were staring at Alba with something akin to awe as they slowly dispersed, dragging their fallen leader with them.

"Here." Alba led Derwin to a table, where she put some ice into a napkin and placed it on his cheek. That was when Derwin saw that her knuckles were scratched and bleeding.

"You're hurt," he said.

"It's nothing." She tried to pull away, but Derwin held her hand and put some ice on it as well.

Beatriz and Frank came running over. "Alba!" Beatriz exclaimed. "That was—"

"If you're going to say it wasn't ladylike of me, you can zip it," Alba snapped.

"No. I was going to say that was awesome." Beatriz grinned at her sister. "Grant's a heel. He deserves it."

Before Alba could answer, the pompous man at the door came toward them. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave," he said, clearly relishing it.

Alba, apparently still in a belligerent mood, jumped up to protest, but Beatriz held out a hand to stop her. "Let's go," Beatriz said. "This party blows anyway."

"Bea!" Alba looked shocked. "Language!"

Beatriz shrugged. "What? It does." She took Frank's hand. "Come on, Frank, let's go." She winked at Alba, and they all left the ballroom with their heads held high, ignoring the stares of the other patrons.

***

Alba was still shaking with rage when they got into the car and drove away. She knew she shouldn't have lost her temper like that, but Grant had gotten her so angry that she couldn't think straight. She had been looking forward to this night for so long, and now it was ruined. And just when everything was going so well too!

"Are you OK?" asked Derwin. "Do you want me to drive?"

Alba forced herself to breathe normally. No, she would not let Grant's cursed mug darken her moods anymore. "I'm fine," she said. "Do you mind if we drive around a bit before going home? I want to get some air." Frank and Beatriz were going to a club over on Cocoanut Grove, but Alba didn't feel like accompanying them. She just wanted to make sure she and Beatriz came home around the same time, to avoid any awkward questions from Papi.

"I'd love that," said Derwin with a smile.

They drove slowly down South Beach, past the hotels and nightclubs on one side, with their glittering lights and laughing partygoers, and occasional glimpses of the murmuring ocean on the other. The windows were rolled down, and Alba's anger soon melted away in the cool December air. Eventually, they left the swanky hotels behind and came to a deserted stretch of sand. The lights of downtown shimmered behind them like stars, and the causeway, the one they'd taken to Key Biscayne months ago, curved palely across the dark waves like a sliver of the moon.

"I'm sorry we have to cut our night short," Alba said.

Derwin shrugged. "I've had as much dancing as my legs can take, I think. And we're still here. The night is not over yet."

"Are you all right?" she asked. He was still holding the ice wrapped in a napkin to his face, and the melting ice was dripping down his wrist.

"Oh yeah." He put the napkin down and felt about his face. "The swelling's gone down. What about you?" He gestured to her hand.

"It's just a scratch." She took her right hand off the wheel and stretched it across the seat to show him. He took it in his hand, wrapping his fingers around it, gently running his thumb over the scratches and massaging her wrist, which was still sore, despite her attempt to make light of it.

"One hell of a right hook you got," he said, grinning. Then he sobered up. "But I can't keep letting you fight for me like that. That's twice now..."

Alba twined her fingers through his, squeezing his hand. "I like fighting for you."

Derwin was still caressing her hand. Then he lifted it and pressed a kiss to her bruised knuckles. Under his soft, fervent lips, the smarting from the scratches vanished instantly, and Alba could feel tingles running up her arm, toward her chest.

"Could you pull over?" Derwin said.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just that I really want to kiss you and I don't want us to crash."

Something in his eyes as he said it made her pulse beat wildly in her breast. "Can't you wait until we get home?" she asked with a teasing smile.

"No, I don't think I can."

Alba had barely pulled over under the low branches of a coconut palm when Derwin drew her to him and started kissing her as he'd never kissed her before, his mouth insistent and demanding, a hand behind her ear, the other running over the bodice of her dress, caressing her side with grasping, impatient strokes. Usually it took some coaxing from her to get him comfortable, and even then he remained shy and hesitant. This passion was new, and just like his confidence when they went out on the boat or when he confronted the doorman at the hotel, Alba found it electrifying. She twisted, trying to get closer to him, but the wheel and the dashboard were in the way.

"You want to move to the backseat?" she murmured against his lips.

His eyes widened, and for a second, Alba's heart faltered. Oh no. What would he think of me now? What kind of girl would suggest such a thing...? But he only said "Yes" in an excited whisper, and was out of his seat in an instant.

Alba scrambled out of the driver's seat. They opened the doors at the same time and fell into each other's arms in the back. Derwin's jacket came off, followed by his bowtie. The buttons on the front of her dress came undone, by his hand or hers, she didn't know, and the dress was pushed down her shoulders, along with the straps of her slip. He fumbled with the clasps of her bra.

"Just pull it—here—let me—" Alba reached behind her, trying to help him undo the clasps.

"Ow," he mumbled as her elbow brushed across the bruise on his cheek.

"Sorry." That set them giggling like two idiots, his face pressed into her neck, his breath tickling her.

"Aren't you going to make it better?" he asked, and she placed her lips to the bruise, just as he'd done for her. Her tongue grazed across his scar, and he moaned softly.

They kissed again, kissed until their lips were bruised, until they had drunk up the lingering sweetness of punch on each other's tongue, until the coolness from the ice evaporated from his cheek, replaced by a warming fire that burned between them. Somehow her bra ended up around her midriff. Then his lips trailed down her throat to her collarbone and her breasts, and her laughter turned into quickening gasps. She lifted her hips, needing some friction, some pressure, something to relieve the building, throbbing heaviness between her legs. The movement only resulted in her sliding off the tiny seat, and she would've ended up on the floor if Derwin hadn't sat up and hauled her into his lap. Laughing, she half-rose to straddle him and banged her head on the ceiling. It only made her laugh harder, and Derwin was laughing as well. Then she sat down, with him fitting perfectly in the dip between her thighs, and their laughs died off as they looked into each other's eyes, breathless, waiting.

"Are you sure about this?" Derwin asked.

They were in his car, panting like they were both on fire, with his shirt unbuttoned and her dress half-off, and he still had to ask. But she wouldn't want him any other way.

"Yes," she said. "What about you? Is it enough of a proper date for you?"

He grinned. "Well, we've had two half dates, and two halves make a whole." He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "But—"

"You won't get me into trouble," she said firmly, catching his meaning. "I trust you."

There was that quivering little smile again. "Do you?"

"Yes."

Still he hesitated, his fingers dancing over her spine and shoulder blades and the back of her arms, sending delicious shivers all through her. Then he blurted out, "We can get married."

"What?"

"Not right at this moment. But tomorrow. Or Monday. We don't even have to tell anybody, just go to City Hall and do it quick, the two of us," he said in a rush. Clearly it was something he'd just thought of.

"So you can make an honest woman out of me?" she said, laughing.

"Or so you can make an honest man out of me."

Alba gazed at him in the yellow light of the street lamps. She ran her hand over his features and saw in them not just the face she'd come to hold so dear in just a few months, but also his heart, his kindness, his strength. She thought about how her life had changed since he came into it, and, for the first time, thought about their future. Then she dropped her hand and said, with not inconsiderable regret, "... No."

Derwin's face fell. "You don't want to marry me?"

"No, no, cariño," she said quickly, "it's not that I don't want to marry you. I don't... I don't want to marry anybody. Not yet. You do understand that, don't you?" But even as she said it, she knew he understood. He always did. "Besides, I don't think we should get married just to have sex," she added, her cheeks heating up again. "What if the sex turns out to be bad? Where would we go then?"

"You think it'll be bad?"

"I don't know." She leaned down and whispered, teasing his ear with her lips and her tongue, "Why don't we find out?"

And they did. As their mouths and hands and bodies found each other again, and at last, at last, as ecstasy crashed over her like waves crashing over the sand outside, Alba realized that the night was far from ruined. Quite the opposite.

Chapter 18

Here's the song that Alba sings: The Gentleman Obviously Doesn't Believe (In Love)

Taglist: @kitkat80, @hahahafucku

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #grunauer #grunauer overlord #overlord 2018 #grunauer x ofc #grunauer smut #joseph quinn smut

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msmercury84 · 3 months ago

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"George Luz Performs at the Easy Company Reunion of 1947"

"I Double Dare You-A Rendezvous With Destiny "

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*Author's Note * Babe's quote about the reunions came from the book he wrote with Bill, as did the story about the 'tattoo' of an eagle on Guarnere's wooden leg. Gene Guarnere mentioned in a podcast that Bill hated the wooden leg. Gene also told the story about the stinky cheese on the same podcast series. Everything else came from my imagination.*

Bill wasn't able to attend the first Easy Company reunion due to his ongoing physical therapy and getting acclimated to using his wooden leg. He hated the leg due to the fact that it was heavy and cumbersome, but he resolved to make the best of his given situation.

By 1947, Guarnere attended the reunion with Leigh and he also took over all preparations for reunions for the next 60 years.

He kept meticulous records of the men's addresses and telephone numbers. Babe Heffron once said,

"He took care of everything. You didn't need to lift a finger."

Bill started a habit for which he was known at all ensuing reunions. He brought a large stick of pepperoni and some provolone cheese. His son said in a podcast,

"Dad always brought stinky cheese to the reunions. When someone asked why he brought pepperoni, he'd say, 'man can't live by provolone.'"

Leigh had agreed to perform at the reunion in Pittsburgh. The orchestra from the CBS affiliate in Philadelphia volunteered their services free of charge. She had an idea for a humorous number that would involve George Luz's talent for mimicking voices.

Luz agreed to dress up and sing like Patty Andrews. He convinced his wife, Davina, to complete the trio, since she could sing. Leigh, George and Davina rehearsed during several telephone calls.

They were performing a popular Andrews Sisters' song, "I Want My Mama", that tells of a man over 50 who wants kisses and attention from his wife. The song had a Spanish/Cuban rhythm and style.

There was no way to keep the song a secret from Bill, since he heard Leigh singing. He promised to not tell his former brothers in arms about the upcoming surprise.

The night of the show, a few hours before the reunion began, George, Leigh and Davina rehearsed some basic dance steps. Davina helped George get makeup and a blonde wig applied. Then, Luz donned a floral print dress, stockings, a garter belt, a slip and a bra stuffed with stockings. He decided to wear his usual shoes for a more humorous look.

Once he was attired as Patty Andrews, he modeled his outfit for Davina and Leigh. Both women laughed until tears ran down their faces. After their makeup was retouched, they were ready for the show.

Leigh wore a cranberry colored wiggle dress, black stockings and her black open toed high heels. Bill wore the charcoal gray suit made by his father that Leigh gave him for their first Christmas together, a white shirt and black shoes.

Prior to leaving their house to attend the reunion, Bill showed Leigh an eagle that was sketched in blue ink on his wooden leg. He got an artist with whom he worked to draw the eagle.

"Wonder what the guys will think o' my iggle (eagle) tattoo, Baby?"

"It will be interesting to see their reactions."

Later that evening, the reunion was underway and the trio of Leigh, Delvina and George took their places onstage. Audience members laughed at the sight of Luz in his costume. The normally austere Colonel Sink was laughing at the spectacle. Bill laughed loudly at his friend wearing a dress, makeup and a wig.

The wannabe Andrews Sisters did an excellent job of singing and dancing. Remarks and cat calls, along the lines of,

"How about a date, Luz?" and "What are you doing after the show, Doll?" were heard as George performed. In the middle of the song, Luz stepped up to the microphone and delivered a flawless impersonation of Patty Andrews singing,

"I want my momma. My, my, my momma." During an instrumental section of the song, Luz went to the center of the stage. He placed his hands on his hips and sashayed back and forth, shaking his hips and his behind in time with the music.

Bull Randleman guffawed at George's antics until his face turned red. Buck Compton laughed until tears ran down his face. Shifty Powers told Don Malarkey and his wife,

"I declare, I've seen it all. Luz has really outdone himself." Lewis Nixon was sitting by Dick Winters. He laughed and told his friend,

"There's not enough Vat 69 in the world to erase the image of Luz in drag from my mind."

The performers received enthusiastic applause. Some special guests were about to join them. Leigh didn't tell Bill, George and Davina about this surprise.

A collective gasp was heard from the audience as the Andrews Sisters appeared onstage. Maxine and Laverne were frowning. Patty moved a microphone stand close to her and tapped Luz's shoulder.

George turned around and his mouth dropped open in shock as he saw the famous sisters. Davina wondered what George was looking at, so she turned around. She was as stunned as her husband. Patty Andrews asked,

"Sir, do you think it's funny to mock me?" Luz stared at her for a few minutes more until he was able to reply,

"No, Miss Andrews." She hugged George, who was greatly relieved to hear,

"My sisters and I think you did a great job. We loved it!" Davina was happy to hear that her husband hadn't upset the famous trio.

Unbeknownst to the audience, the Andrews Sisters appeared free of charge and they paid for their own transportation and lodgings, telling Leigh it was the least they could do for some veterans who helped win the war. Laverne Andrews told the audience,

"We spoke with your Songbird a few months ago and she mentioned this reunion. We wanted to thank some of the finest members of the 101st Airborne for their service." The audience applauded enthusiastically.

The sisters and Leigh performed several songs before a very appreciative audience. After the show was over, the sisters graciously signed autographs.

Leigh sat with Bill and enjoyed chatting with their friends as the CBS radio Orchestra continued to provide music. She had another surprise in store for Bill. During a telephone conversation she had at the CBS radio station office with Luz to provide privacy instead of talking at home, Leigh asked to borrow his jump wings.

Luz eagerly mailed the wings to her after hearing her plan. She was going to re-create Bill catching the jump wings in his teeth, the way he did during the party at Camp Toccoa when he said,

"Heigh-ho, Silver!" She requested that the orchestra play Glenn Miller's "American Patrol," the same song playing during Guarnere's iconic stunt. Luz assured her that he would immediately begin counting,

"One one thousand, two one thousand..." as soon as the music started. When the jump wings arrived in the mail, Leigh began practicing catching the end of the pin in her teeth as she drank a small glass of water.

She drank slowly, at first, until she felt that she had everything under control. Leigh then practiced drinking a medium sized glass of water until she mastered the stunt. A large glass of water proved to be too much of a challenge since she couldn't drink it within ten seconds.

The orchestra began to play the song. Leigh took the jump wings out of the pocket of her dress and dropped them into her glass of water. She abstained from having a mixed drink after her performance because she wanted to be in complete control, since the stunt had the potential to be dangerous.

George began counting and soon, all the men counted with him. Bill realized what was going on and he immediately became concerned about Leigh. He blurted out,

"Holy God, Baby!" His remark was drowned out by the men counting. Guarnere tried to remain calm, realizing Leigh was sober and that she wouldn't be careless. She quickly downed the water, caught the pin in her teeth, proudly held it up and said, with a beaming smile,

"Heigh-ho, Silver!" The men applauded loudly. Bill gave her a passionate kiss. He broke the kiss to tell her,

"You scared the hell outta me, ya little fireball. I gotta admit ya done a good job an' I'm proud of ya. If you woulda done that (he pronounced the word as 'dat') at the party, I woulda proposed on the spot."

"Now, you tell me!" Guarnere grinned and playfully kissed the tip of her nose. She then returned the jump wings to George Luz.

As the evening progressed, Bill rolled up the right leg of his trousers to expose his tattoo. It was a hit with the men. Luz told him,

"I'd expect nothing less from you, Wild Bill." He then told Leigh, with a fake expression of deep concern on his face,

"It's so sad, Leigh, you used to be a sensible girl. Bill's wild ways rubbed off on you." Luz laughed as both of the Guarneres good naturedly replied,

"Shaddup, ya moron." Bill and Leigh danced the rest of the evening. When the reunion ended, they took a taxi to their hotel room. After making love, Bill held Leigh in his arms.

"Baby, ya went all out to make this reunion a good time for everybody. Promise me that ya won't jump from an airplane wit' a parachute for the next reunion." She laughed,

"Honey, I guarantee that will never happen. There's no way I'd even consider doing something like that."

"I was thinkin' I'd like to take over gettin' everythin' ready for the reunions. Whadda ya think, Sweetheart"

"I think you'll do an excellent job, Bill." Guarnere kissed the top of Leigh's head. Since the lights were turned off in preparation for sleep, he didn't see the mischievous glint in Leigh's eyes when she asked,

"Do you still have your parachute? I was thinking..." Bill laughed loudly,

"You little devil! You're somethin' else." He decided to call her bluff, adding, "I bet Winters would know somebody who could give ya lessons in skydivin'." Leigh giggled, knowing Bill wouldn't go along with that idea.

"OK, smart ass, you got me with that one. You're somethin' else, too." Then, they settled down to sleep.

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canmom · 5 months ago

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hi cuba i'm dad

I watched I Am Cuba, whose not-so-recent restoration was playing at the GFT. insanely well shot film, like the level of choreography to pull off those long takes and supercomplicated crane shots with no steadicams or anything is just mind bending. absolutely wild that the soviets didn't say "wow we have a banger on our hands here comrades" and play it everywhere - as a propaganda film, it did its job! definitely leaves you fired up to fight the Cuban revolution.

it is certainly a very didactic film, with the lesson of each vignette being pretty clear. but it is able to lend enough depth to the archetypal characters - the struggling sex worker from a slum who has to hide her relationship serving american visitors at a jazz club, the salt of the earth sugarcane farmer whose land is sold out from under him, the student revolutionary who hesitates to pull the trigger, the other farmer who only wants peace - to get you really engaged, though definitely the revolutionary characters (probably closest to the experience of the filmmakers) feel like they're the most fleshed out.

the third act, in which a revolutionary student plans to assassinate a regime cop (unnamed) but hestitates when he sees the man with his family, only to see that same cop murder first his friend and them himself, is maybe the most spectacular, with huge scenes of rioters getting blasted with water cannons, or the incredible funeral shot...

youtube

but it's not just these flashy huge shots; it's a gorgeously lit greyscale film (absolutely crazy detailed looking with the 4k scan, so cheers for that one Scorcese), ingeniously augmented by infrared photography in places to make it extra stark. more than that and so many shots have really elaborate blocking and camerawork, with the camera drifting from actor to actor, effortlessly sliding between closeup and longshot like it's in the hands of Ichirō Itano, which is wild for live action.

one relatively simple scene towards the end I noticed had a revolutionary arriving at a farmer's house and sitting down for the meal; the men argue, and the farmer goes to stand at the door, allowing the camera to perfectly frame the two of them and almost nothing else in the shot.

it is otherwise very happy to linger on a musical sequence, such as the intense club scenes at the beginning, in a way that feels way more modern than you'd think for the 60s.

the architecture of revolution-era Cuba is just as striking - some buildings, like the rooftop where Enrique tries to line up his shot, look like they could easily be modern buildings. compared to the romantic picture of something like Chico and Rita, of course, this is a film determined to remind you how bad things are, not just show you the touristy bits of Cuba. much of the film revolves around the question of violence - certainly from an agitprop angle, like act 3 is sorta should you hesitate (no), and act 4 is like will you be OK if you keep your head down (no); many of the revolutionary songs are in major part about how it's good and righteous die for the country.

when first shown, it was criticised in Havana for stereotypical depictions of Cubans - which doesn't entirely seem unfair, they are kind of stock characters for the most part, although portrayed with a lot of humanity. in the Soviet Union, meanwhile, it got criticised for not being propaganda-y enough, which is wild because to my mind it works better at getting its emotional message across than most oldschool propaganda films I've seen. that said, I definitely need to watch more critical Cuban films from the same period like Memories of Underdevelopment, or recent ones like Strawberry and Chocolate, for some contrast.

all in all cool film, big shoutout to @hamiltonianflow for suggesting we watch it together <3

#film #i am cuba #Youtube

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justinspoliticalcorner · 14 days ago

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Kevin Robillard at HuffPost:

As President Donald Trump drives the stock market down, and his approval rating along with it, by implementing massive tariffs on China and potentially the rest of the world, Democrats across the ideological spectrum have largely stuck to the same script: The tariffs are chaotic, damaging, unnecessary and ill-advised. But small deviations have revealed the latest phase over the party’s seemingly never-ending ideological clash, as moderates have complained about Democratic politicians’ use of qualifiers when condemning tariffs, arguing it gives unnecessary credence to one of the Republican president’s most unpopular ideas. Those politicians have often, but not always, come for the party’s progressive wing. “Trump made a world historic, substantive and political mistake, and caveating your attack on him for this catastrophic error, it makes no sense, either substantively or politically,” said Matt Bennett, the co-founder of the center-left Democratic group Third Way. Progressives, however, see a bigger issue at play, suspecting moderates are trying to enforce ideological purity and reverse influence the left gained over the party’s economic agenda under former President Joe Biden. Biden’s administration used tariffs more aggressively than his Democratic predecessors — though at nothing close to the levels Trump is deploying them at. Progressives and unions have argued smartly-targeted tariffs can help protect critical industries like clean energy and prevent outsourcing. “The intra factional debates are all about who gets to be the ideas person for next time around,” said a progressive strategist who requested anonymity to speak frankly about intra-party splits. “And what wing of the party gets to beat up on the other wing. And I think that’s what you’re seeing from a resurgent middle.”

[...] For what’s it worth, noting some tariffs can be useful is far from the worst message Democrats could be deploying, even if it’s not the ideal argument. A memo prepared by the Democratic pollster Blue Rose Research and obtained by HuffPost found arguments emphasizing “responsible” tariffs were in the middle of the pack in terms of messaging effectiveness. The most effective arguments pointed out tariffs were a tax hike on the middle class, and tied them to broader trends in Trump’s administration, including his threats to Social Security and Medicaid and proposed tax cuts for wealthier Americans. Less effective arguments focused too much on the stock market or on personally insulting Trump. (The two worst-testing arguments were comments put forward by two centrist figures: Never-Trump Republican David Frum and billionaire Democratic surrogate Mark Cuban.) Regardless of what Democrats are saying, the tariffs — and the resulting increased risk of a recession and chaos in financial markets — are taking a clear toll on Trump’s approval rating, which has hit new lows this week, driven in particular by new lows in his handling of the economy. Clear majorities of the public oppose the tariffs in public surveys, and consumer confidence is dropping precipitously. “[Trump] is underwater on the economy, he is underwater on trade,” the progressive strategist said. “It’s not like a couple of Democrats going out and saying that they think tariffs are a good tool but Trump is not using them well is having much impact on that.”

There are also a handful of Democrats and aligned groups who are absent from the conversation entirely, or are even directly praising Trump. And those voices come from both of the party’s ideological wings. Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D-N.Y.) has been relatively subdued on the issue, as has moderate favorite Rep. Marie Gluesenkamp Perez, whose district could benefit from Trump’s tariffs on Canadian lumber. And both Rep. Jared Golden (D-Maine), another moderate, and the United Auto Workers, led by the progressive Shawn Fain, have outright praised the tariffs, though Fain backed off some of his prior praise in a livestream on Thursday night. “We support the use of some tariffs on automotive manufacturing and similar industries,” Fain said. “We do not support reckless tariffs on all countries at crazy rates.” Progressive and moderate operatives alike viewed both men’s support as both sincere and as a clear effort to appeal to Trump-supporting constituencies: Golden’s district voted for Trump by a 7-point margin in 2024, and Fain’s union has a significant number of Trump supporters in its ranks.

The Democratic Party’s response to Trump’s tariff tax hike has largely been oppose his tariffs, and as we’ve learned with the Gretchen Whitmer White House appearance debacle, each other.

#Democratic Party #Donald Trump #Gretchen Whitmer #Tariffs #Elissa Slotkin #Elizabeth Warren #Jared Polis #Shawn Fain #Jared Golden #Marie Gluesenkamp Perez #Alexandria Ocasio Cortez #Michael Bennet

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ms-spkhd · 1 year ago

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thinking about a Blast From the Past steddie au tonight. like, think about it for a second--steve as the sweet, well-meaning himbo raised in a fallout shelter and eddie as the cynic who shows him the world as it is:

The year was 1962, and an atomic bomb had just dropped on top of the Harrington household.

Okay, not really. It was actually a fighter jet that suffered a mechanical failure just above the little plot of land the Harringtons called their home, but Walter Harrington took it differently. Far differently.

See, the thing was that the man was living in a state of paranoid delusion over the Cold War--terrified of the possibility of an outright nuclear holocaust over the Cuban Missile Crisis and the Soviet Union. He had been carefully building a fallout shelter under his home for his wife and possible children to live in with the works--canned food, running water, and even a working television.

And one day they went in and simply never left. The explosion right when they closed the door was tangible proof that the nuclear war was happening right above them.

A few years later, around 1968, a baby boy was born in a fallout shelter with no one but his mom and dad to keep him company.

They raised Steve the best they could, even if Walter Harrington was a mad genius and Madeline Harrington was a borderline alcoholic. Even if the boy was living in a perfect little time capsule of the fifties and early sixties. Walter made sure to educate him right and teach him how to be a sociable gentleman--even if he had no idea what swear words or the concept of sex were. That was for another time. Although, twenty-four years came and went for Steve Harrington, his father still owes him 'another time'.

Steve Harrington grows twenty-four years in perfect seclusion, but that changes at the flick of a switch.

The year is 1992: supplies are dwindling Walter is growing sick, and Steve is tasked to bravely set foot in the nuclear fallout to retrieve more material. (The only reason why Walter assumes they can even get more stuff is because he observed the outside world when the shelter unlocked and mistook it as a post-apocalyptic mutant society.)

The moment Steve made it outside his little bubble, he was utterly fascinated by the world--how different the people were outside of his television and his little books, how bright the sky was outside, how the irritable man on the bus wouldn't accept the money he tried to give him, how the bus moved and didn't fling him right off his seat.

(He even saw an adult bookstore. Dad told him that those things were filled with poisonous gas. How were they even to operate if they were filled with poisonous gas? That's dangerous and totally inconsiderate of the general public's safety.)

Anyway, he tries to follow the grocery list that Mom and Dad gave him the best he can, stocking up on poultry and tissue paper and the works. But by the end of the day, he doesn't know where he came from. Not a single sign or building or person can give him a single clue where to go.

After a few hours of wandering, suitcase in hand, he comes across a store with WE BUY BASEBALL CARDS written on the window.

Golly, Steve loves baseball cards--could look at Dad's collection for hours, and with the collection he has, he could make a pretty penny selling them for supplies. Despite the little hobby store being beside an adult bookstore with poisonous gas, he scampers right in.

"I see you're looking to buy baseball cards," he says breezily to the gruff, scary-looking man behind the counter.

"That I am," he replies.

Steve pulls a few from his jacket's inner pocket. "Well, these are a bit old, you see, but I was hoping you still might be interested."

The gruff man yanks them from his hands, a spark in his eye. He looks delighted to see them, and it fills Steve with an excitement he hadn't felt at all today. Nobody has been this happy over something he's done today. "Woah," he gasps, then covers it with a cough. "Mickey Mantle rookie season...how much do you want?"

"I was hoping to sell all of my cards, actually!"

The man sputters incredulously. "All of 'em? Are you fucking with me?"

"I'm not sure what that means, but all I have are hundred-dollar bills and I need something smaller. Like, uh...ones, tens, fives..."

"Tell you what, I'll give you five hundred in small bills for all you got."

Steve smiles brightly. "Oh, that would be wonderful, sir--"

"Five hundred for a case-full of rookie season Mickey Mantles, Rick, are you fucking joking?" A deep voice cuts through Steve's thanks from the other side of the small store. He turns around to find a man leaning against a magazine rack, arms folded sternly.

The man is unlike Steve's ever seen before. Long, long limbs and big brown eyes that look traced with black and smudged around the edges. Pretty lips, too almost girl-ish, in the way they were big and plush like the women he'd see on the television. The strangest thing about him, though, was the curly hair that tumbled past his shoulders.

He looked mad, though. Madder than mad.

"Tell the poor guy you're fucking with him," long-hair-pretty-lips says to the man behind the counter, who bristles.

"Were you raised in a fucking barn, Munson? Who told you to interrupt on business?" Rick counters. Steve was really not appreciating the amount of f-words dropped in the conversation, it was uncouth.

"Sure I was!" Munson saunters towards the counter and Steve's eyes follow him like a moth to a light. "But my morals go past your business practices at this point. You remember the ninth commandment, yeah?"

"You shut your Goddamn mouth--"

"Excuse me sir, but I really don't appreciate how you're using the Lord's name in vain like that," Steve says firmly.

"See?" Munson smiles. It's like sunlight. "He gets it."

He plucks the baseball card from Rick's hand and holds it over his head when he tries to reach for it again. "See this little thing?" He says to Steve sweetly. "This guy costs six grand alone."

"Get out of town! Really?"

"Oh yeah, big guy. Selling the thing would give you a small fortune, and Rick over here is trying to con you out of it."

Steve frowns. "Is that true?" He asks Rick.

"Nothing but," Munson says in place of him. He slips the card back into Steve's hands and gives them a pat.

"The Hell is even keeping you here, Munson?" Rick sneers. "Did the gig you won't shut up about fall through like they usually do? Better to bum it out here than in your shithole apartment? Stop loitering in my damn store and make like a fucking tree. You're banned."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Munson says rolling his eyes. He looks at Steve, then the door, gesturing at it with a flick of his head. "I'll see you out, Beaver."

He walks them both out the door, stopping to gesture at Rick strangely--hands balled into fists with only his middle fingers up--before stepping outside onto the sidewalk.

"Well merci, Monsieur," Steve says appreciatively, because Dad taught him French was always to be used on such occasions.

"What, you're French?"

"Oh no, I'm"--he thinks back to what Dad told him if a mutant asks where he's from. Gosh, he thinks he's supposed to be--"out on business."

"And you don't even have a clue about the little business trick that Rick tried to pull?"

"No...no, I--"

"Yeah, doesn't matter." Munson shrugs. He smiles sympathetically at Steve before turning on his heel and walking off. Oh boy, what would he do without him?

He follows him like a lost puppy, that's what.

"...You going the same way?" Munson asks incredulously. Steve shakes his head.

"Well, I'm following you."

Munson stops in his tracks, blinking, and Steve almost runs into him in his state. "Me?"

"Well yes! Where are we going?"

"We?" Munson asserts. "I'm going back to my shithole apartment, and judging by that jacket you're wearing, you should be taking the next left and hop-skipping straight to the barber college."

"Oh, I'm lost, though."

"Aren't we all?"

"Say, did you just get banned from that hobby store because of me?" Steve says to change the subject.

Munson sighs. "Seems like I did, sailor. The place was shitty anyways, with that dickhead running the operation. Wayne could get better cards from a different joint."

...dickhead? Steve's never heard that leave the seams of anyone's lips before. "Dickhead?"

"Yeah, he's a real fucking loser. A walking talking penis capable of human speech."

Steve gets queasy at the image he's concocted in his head. He leans against the nearest brick wall, his suitcase tumbling to the ground as he drops into a contemplative squat.

"Dude, what is wrong with you?"

"Well, the mental image that I..."

Munson's eyebrows scrunch before he reaches out a hand to Steve. He takes it, letting the man haul him upward. "Look, man, where'd you park your car?"

"I came by bus."

"Aren't you full of surprises."

"I am?"

"Okay look." Eddie raises his hands, palms splayed in the air. "It's your first time in Los Angeles, right? Everyone wants a taste of it, I know, and you're out for business and fucking famished. You got the opportunity to see the great big world outside of your little bubble and you got excited--but you took a bus and got mixed up in the middle of San Fernando Valley without a clue in the world. Am I correct?"

Steve listens in wonderment. So far, Munson's been correct in a way. He's convinced he might be psychic. He nods slowly and seriously just to see Munson flash that lighting-strike smile.

"Great, great. Which brings us to here. Correct again?"

"Oh yeah."

"Where are you staying?"

Nowhere, at the moment. Steve opens his mouth to say so, but Munson interrupts quickly. "Holiday Inn?"

"Yes, the Holiday Inn!" Steve says totally truthfully.

"Okay, cool. Cool." Munson claps his hands together with finality and starts walking. "The nearest bus station is a couple of blocks away if you take a right--"

"Don't you have a car?"

Munson stops in his tracks again. He turns to face Steve once again. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

Something warm pools in Steve's gut at the pet name. Something about the way those pretty lips form that word sends blood rushing to his cheeks. "Steve," he says.

"Alright, Steve." Oh boy, his name sounds even better when Munson says it. "Rule number one in Los Angeles? Never let a stranger drive you anywhere."

"If it makes you feel any better," Steve says sweetly, "I don't have a gun."

Munson pales, then starts running.

"Hey!" Steve cries and makes haste to follow him. "I must've said something wrong, please forgive me!"

"Nope, nope--get the fuck away from me, man!"

He grabs Munson's wrist to pull him back, which is a bad move since the man starts writhing around in his grip. "I'm not going to hurt you, sir!"

Steve drops Munson's hand and raises his in surrender. "See?"

"...Just let me get to my car."

"I'll give you a Rogers Hornsby if you take me to my hotel," Steve reasons.

Munson stills. "...That's like four grand, don't bullshit me."

He pulls the card from his jacket and presents it as evidence. "See? I was holding it back." He wants Munson to feel safe. "I got two." He reaches for the other cards in his pockets and pulls them out. "And-and all these other ones, too!"

"Okay, okay. You'll give me four thousand dollars if I drive you to your place?"

"Uh-uh!"

"That's it?"

"Yep."

"And I don't have to give you a quickie in the backseat or anything?"

"Yes sir--wait, what?"

Munson blows past his question like it didn't even leave Steve's mouth. "Can you stop with the sir crap?"

"Well, I'm sorry, sir--"

"My name is Eddie."

Eddie...Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Wow, what a name. It's almost like something he's heard on the television.

"Why, it's nice to meet you, Eddie."

"Tolerable to meet you too, Steve."

Steve smiles shyly, then asks, "So are you a girl?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well it's just your hair...it's so long." Steve points at his as an example. "I've never seen anything like it before."

"Dude, it's 1992, every other guy looks like this--have you been living under a rock or something?"

Something like that. Steve shrugs.

"Well guys having long hair doesn't mean that they're girls, Steve, that's a given. It's not 1962 anymore." Eddie backtracks. "Well, I mean, dudes can have long hair and be chicks and chicks can be dudes too but that's not--"

"Oh, wow, my dad told me about one of those the last time he went here!"

"Oh that's fantastic, sweetheart," Eddie says, sugary-sweet. "But how about I drive you home?"

"That'd be a pleasure, Eddie."

#and then steve meets chrissy #eddie's roommate #and they go on a quest to help steve get supplies and also a girlfriend #but of course that goes sideways since they fall in love with each other #i swear thisll make sense if you read a synopsis of the movie trust me #im not the biggest fan of shy babygirl steve harrington but the concept of the film was too good not to milk the shit out of #i might make this a longer fic if I ever actually finish my current wips but who knows im a writing enigma #steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie ficlet #steddie drabble #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things s4 #alternate universe #blast from the past #this movie absolutely rocks btw you should check it out #it has brendan fraser in it

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the-lonelyshepherd · 1 year ago

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fifteen questions for fifteen friends :) tagged by @staghunters tyty

Are you named after anyone?

nope. actually my name got changed like right before i was born bc it was too similar to another relatives 😭

When was the last time you cried?

sometime like.. a week and a half ago

Do you have kids?

no im like 12.9 years old.

What sports do you play/have played?

hmmm i’ve done swim i also skated for a bit but stopped. planning to start skating again :)

Do you use sarcasm?

sometimes but i’m not great at it imo

What's the first thing you notice about a person?

Also gonna say vibes. if we want smtn different id say shoes. i think i can tell a lot abt someone by their shoes

What's your eye color?

grey blue green yayy

Scary movies or happy endings?

honestly depends on the mood but i just want like. a satisfying ending. wether that be happy or sad

Where were you born?

wouldn’t you like to know

Any talents?

i play music i draw and i know a concerning amount of things about fish

Do you have any pets?

yes… one dog one cuban tree frog and the current aquarium count is 1 betta fish, 7 white cloud mountain minnows, 5 golden white cloud mountain minnows, ~15 red neocaridina shrimp and an unknown amount of pest snails and other various aquatic crawly things. gonna get a lot more fish soon tho once i stock the big tank :)

How tall are you?

uhh a little above average for my age. taller than prev by quite a bit lol.

Favorite subject at school?

i like art ofc but like. big on biology and also really liked human geography. also very much an ela kid.

Dream job?

oooogh this is hard i feel like there’s a lot of very different things i could have fun with. something in biology/ecology with lots of field work and travel could be cool i love going places and seeing animals and learning about them. but the main one would maybe be like… a really good filmmaker or showrunner. like that people really like and appreciate my work. i just like to tell stories :)

okay i’m going to. man up and actually tag people. if i don’t tag you it’s nothing personal 🙏🙏 i am stupid

@jackienatist @antlerslayer @frog4278 @imsososolesbian @blackbloodedisabel @chrometheraptor @avianreptiles @lynxfrost13 @rippedpatches @mamadore @fleshdyke @starstaiined @suprecorp @garf-lover96 @longlost-soul

#so scary to actually tag people #i love all of you btw #tried to tag like an even distribution of people among fandoms and tumblr #shep speaks

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dertaglichedan · 8 months ago

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Cuban: Kamala’s Capital Gains Tax Plan Would ‘Kill the Stock Market’

Billionaire investor Mark Cuban warned Thursday on CNBC’s “Squawk Box” that Vice President Kamala Harris’ capital gains tax plan would “kill the stock market.”

Cuban said, “What I told them is if you tax unrealized gains, you’re going to kill the stock market, and it’s going to be the ultimate employment plan for private equity because companies are not going to go public because you can get whipsawed.”

He added, “Based off the unrealized gains, I would have had to borrow money and I effectively would have been in hawk just to pay my tax bill instead of trying to run my company and a thousand other reasons. They realize that is the issue. I can’t repeat it enough. Even though she is not directly conflicting the Biden tax plan, to her her value proposition is, we need to tax everybody fairly.”

***Just waking up Mark?

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thesilliestrovingalive · 2 months ago

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Mikuláš, Gyeong-Hui, Thandolwethu, and Harvie

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to death, abandonment, physical beatings, child abuse, religious zealotry, an arranged marriage, domestic violence, infertility, human experimentation, SA, and sexual harassment.

Mikuláš

Real name: Mikuláš Vyskočil

Nickname: Mikla

Occupation: Peacekeeping troop for the Regular Army and D-001 Tanbal pilot and guerrilla for the Ptolemaic Army (formerly)

Retirement plans: To become an independent winemaker and craft an artistic magnum opus from stained glass and metal scraps

Hobbies: Visiting old chapels rich in art, collecting scrapped metal on the battlefield, and engaging in drinking contests with his comrades

Likes: Fresh wine, appropriately exercising his authority to order attacks, and his two younger brothers and half-uncle as they're the only sane members of his family

Dislikes: Euphoria-inducing substances that remind him of his neglectful father, unhealthy and toxic relationships, and slothful people

Favourite food: Dried apple chips, spicy pickles, and svíčková

Favourite drink: Tuzemák

Sexuality: Homoflexible asexual

Gender: Male

Age: 24 (in 2022), 30 (in 2028), 32 (in 2030), 34 (in 2032), 36 (in 2034), 43 (in 2041), 45 (in 2043), 46 (in 2044), and 49 (in 2047)

Design: He’s a burly 6’ 2” (187.96 cm) Czech mesomorph of Polish and Cuban descent who wears the Ptolemaic Army guerrilla uniform, but with a distinctive left-side Mexican pink armband featuring the Regular Army insignia. He wears a zomp T-shirt with ripped sleeves, a verdigris bandana mask, and a gold-buckled raspberry rose belt. He carries an FMK-3, slung over his right shoulder with a custom fuchsia strap, and wears a black bandolier over his left shoulder, stocked with 9×19mm Parabellum ammunition for his submachine gun.

He has caramel skin, piercing blue-green eyes, high cheekbones, a brutally scarred face, and a brownish mole on the right side of his Adam’s apple. He has glossy jet black hair styled as a quiff with subtle waves, scruffy sideburns, and a five o’ clock shadow.

He’s in possession of a D-001 Tanbal pilot, and carries portable winemaking equipment, along with three grape bags for red, white, and rosé wine production, in his load-bearing backpack.

Character summary: He often appears perpetually mean, bitter, and exhausted, but surprisingly, he’s a kind and gentle person. He possesses great emotional intelligence and feels compelled to help others. He's a cautious leader who can come across as overly self-righteous at times and has an occasional impulsive streak, particularly when his curiosity is piqued or he’s genuinely enraged. He's generally aloof and sometimes struggles to express his true feelings, fearing vulnerability, potential abandonment, and a loss of self-sufficiency. He takes his duties very seriously and never questions orders from his superiors unless he senses something might go terribly wrong.

He has no tolerance for laziness, cowardice, ignorance, and selfishness, viewing them as excuses for not contributing to society or pursuing meaningful lives. While he’s harsh and stern towards slackers, he encourages them to be diligent. In contrast, he’s downright sadistic and merciless when dealing with enemies. When scared, he typically turns to individuals he personally trusts or believes to be trustworthy for comfort. Since leaving the Ptolemaic Army, he has converted to Orthodox Christianity, finding it gives him a sense of purpose and freedom from the corrupting beliefs of Ptolemaios' cult. He’s good friends with Thandolwethu, Amilcare, and Yohanes, and is in a romantic relationship with Zdravko.

Backstory: Mikuláš Vyskočil was born on January 2, 1998 in Znojmo, South Moravia, Czech Republic. He hails from a long line of medieval-age Hussites, expert winemakers, and soldiers who fought for the Austro-Hungarian Empire during WWI. His ancestry also includes Polish and Cuban immigrants who settled in the Czech Republic after WWII, contributing to the nation's labor market in industries such as food processing and glassware manufacturing. His father was a retired Polish-Czech naval soldier who later became a mechanical engineer, and his mother owned a famous Czech winemaking company. He has an adopted Austrian sister, Friederike, who is six years older than him and inherited his mother's company after she passed away due to health complications from hepatitis B. He also has two brothers, Petřík and Jáchym, who are three years younger than him and went on to pursue distinct careers: Petřík became a world religions teacher, while Jáchym worked as a contracted weaponsmith for the Armed Forces of the Czech Republic.

His family was very loving and supportive, but that changed after his mother's death when he was 16. His father became melancholic and distant, turning to the consumption of euphoria-causing drugs after being laid off unfairly. Friederike took control of his mother's winemaking company through questionable legal means and abandoned the Vyskočil family. She didn't provide financial support to her father and three brothers, keeping the assets for herself and the company. With their father unable to provide, Mikuláš, Petřík, and Jáchym went to live with his half-brother, who struggled with fertility issues and had recently divorced his abusive wife.

While Petřík and Jáchym welcomed their new home, valuing the opportunities for growth and the affection they received from their half-uncle, Mikuláš felt differently. He harboured resentment towards Friederike's abandonment and his father's selfish surrender to his parental responsibilities. At 17, Mikuláš ran away from home with a backpack containing leftover food, a kitchen knife, bottles of water, juice boxes, a fuzzy blanket, and little else. With no clear destination, he was driven by a singular desire: to escape Znojmo.

After what felt like hours, he stumbled upon a small, abandoned encampment. Despite initial hesitation, he cautiously investigated, but his exploration was cut short when he triggered a bear trap, screaming in agony. The noise alerted two nearby guerrillas, who were relieving themselves. They brutally beat him, tied him to a tree, and interrogated him, fueled by paranoia that he might be a spy from an enemy force. After he explained his situation and one of the guerrillas searched his backpack, they concluded he posed no threat. However, during the interrogation, one of the guerrillas inadvertently shared valuable information about the Ptolemaic Army's activities, making his release a liability. The guerrillas employed psychological manipulation, making him feel valued and fostering a sense of belonging, and "invited" him to join their cause. With no other options, Mikuláš reluctantly accepted.

Following his recruitment, he underwent training as a guerrilla fighter, rapidly ascending the ranks and proving himself a loyal and capable leader. He became a skilled pilot of the recently acquired D-001 Tanbal and demonstrated exceptional proficiency with submachine guns. However, it took time for him to come to terms with the atrocities committed by the Ptolemaic Army. Mikuláš chose to ignore these transgressions, a decision that would later become his greatest regret.

Utilising his knowledge of winemaking, he often crafted wine for his comrades and the deputies who oversaw the paramilitary forces. His wine earned widespread acclaim for its freshness and flavour with many considering it the best. After meeting Zdravko and experimenting with various art forms on their first date, he discovered a talent for painting on glass and metal, which would help him cope with the traumas of war. Learning about Zdravko’s struggles with alcoholism and bullying, Mikuláš offered steadfast support, reassuring him that he was loved, cherished, and safe by his side. From then on, he became fiercely protective of his boyfriend, unwilling to lose someone he deeply loved and cared for.

After being pressured to commit numerous inhumane acts against innocent people, he discovered the Ptolemaic Army's involvement in a global human and weapons trafficking ring. He also learned that the cult ruthlessly eliminates its own paramilitary operatives, even for minor infractions. Horrified and utterly disgusted, he joined Eri's short-lived revolt. Later, when he joined the Regular Army, Mikuláš sought redemption by converting to Orthodox Christianity and performing selfless acts of kindness, aided by his lover, Zdravko. Through training with great dedication and effort, he transformed into a model soldier. He also mustered the courage to reunite with his half-uncle and two younger brothers, gradually rebuilding their strained relationships. On missions against hostile forces, he takes satisfaction in holding them accountable for their actions.

Gyeong-Hui

Real name: Gyeong-Hui Paek

Nickname: Gyeo

Occupation: MG Unit pilot and guerrilla for the Ptolemaic Army (formerly) and peacekeeping troop, tactical strategist, and landmine technician for the Regular Army

Retirement plans: To make fabric puppets and create films with them

Abilities: Due to the iron-ravenous parasite living inside her, she can manipulate the flesh and skin of her arms, transforming them into 10 to 20 hyperflexible tendrils of varying sizes. When using this ability, the bones of her arms become visible, covered in a thin layer of translucent copper orange mucus and a network of black blood vessels that extend to the tips of her fingers. It also features a semi-thick coating of harmless iron and lamprey-like eyes in the centre of her palms. These eyes feature black veins connecting to the blood vessel network, yellowish sclera, and pupilless red-orange irises. Notably, the irises can move independently, utilising neurons from her brain to change their position.

These tendrils instantly grasp nearby metal objects, such as metallic debris, spent bullet casings, and knives. They can extend up to 15' 7" (474.98 cm), and are highly resistant to extreme temperatures from scorching lava heat to the freezing mountain cold. Once the tendrils have grasped a metal object, they consume it, rendering the metal malleable and capable of being transformed into any weapon the parasite deems necessary for her current situation. However, this ability requires a substantial consumption of iron to function properly, and prolonged use can lead to iron deficiency. To compensate, she must replenish her iron levels by consuming high-iron foods. Furthermore, the ability causes physical fatigue due to increased strain on her body as the metal painfully fuses into the flesh and skin of her arms.

The weapons this parasite can create using flesh and metal are a speargun, a rocket launcher, and a flamethrower. When her arm transforms into a speargun, it appears as a pneumatic, extendable slim cannon made of bumpy, rusty steel that reaches down to her mid-calf. Her flesh extends up to the midpoint of the cannon, preventing obstruction of its extension joint's mechanism. Twenty black veins protrude from the barrel, encircling the rim and extending into the joint, acting as pneumatic tubes that utilise increased blood pressure to extend the cannon. The speargun features a grappling hook equipped with an alloy steel chain covered in numerous small spikes and tipped with an elongated spear blade. This versatile tool enables access to hard-to-reach areas and allows for piercing enemies.

When her arm transforms into a rocket launcher, it resembles a M72 LAW tightly grasped by a slender hand with seven pointed fingers. The wrist appears skeletal, resembling the central part of a skull's lower jaw, complete with carnivorous teeth. The rocket launcher utilises a self-replenishing ammunition of rockets composed of iron-hard bone encased in soft muscle. These rockets bear a resemblance to those from the Big Rocket Launcher in Metal Slug. They are relatively slow-moving with a slight homing capability that guides them towards their target. These rockets detonate on the parasite's psychokinetic command, causing bodily explosions that release a corrosive, acidic gas, inflicting severe lung burns.

When her arm transforms into a flamethrower, it resembles a Regular Army-standard FS-03, but with an elongated design that extends to her knees. Her flesh appears twisted and seems to merge with the centre of the weapon before connecting to the top of the canister via ten tendrils. The oval-shaped, forwards-facing canister is composed of blubber-coated bone, containing enzymes that produce heat and flames when exposed to oxygen. Similar to the fire gun, this flamethrower emits a continuous, adjustable stream of enzyme-produced flames, which can be directed and arced by adjusting the weapon's orientation.

She can telepathically connect with the parasite living inside her brain and arms, but only if the parasite grants her access. The parasite may deny access if it's hungry (it mainly eats metal scraps and high-iron foods like spinach and liver via organic absorption), in defence mode during combat or senses that she feels threatened as it prioritises its own safety by protecting its host. She has observed that the parasite appears to be fascinated by her artistic passion for puppetry and complex psychology. Moreover, it's excessively protective of her, ensuring her physical and mental well-being and safety. To achieve this, the parasite activates her ability whenever necessary, rapidly regenerates her wounds through cellular regeneration or hums soothing tunes to calm her down.

Hobbies: Making animalistic sock puppets, waxing philosophical to the parasite inside of her, and extensively studying the history and ethics of medicine after a long day at work

Likes: Puppetry, the good times she spent with her mother, and how Dezső's awkwardness and gentleness are irresistibly charming to her

Dislikes: People touching her private parts without consent, the torment she suffered at the hands of her former unit, and unhelpful doctors

Favourite food: Japchae

Favourite drink: Hyeonmi-cha

Sexuality: Sex-repulsed, heteroromantic demisexual

Gender: Female

Age: 10 (in 2022), 16 (in 2028), 18 (in 2030), 20 (in 2032), 22 (in 2034), 29 (in 2041), 31 (in 2043), 32 (in 2044), and 35 (in 2047)

Design: She’s a lean yet well-toned 5’ 5” (165.1 cm) Korean ectomorph who wears the Ptolemaic Army guerrilla uniform, but with a distinctive left-side tangelo armband featuring the Regular Army insignia. She wears a xanthous T-shirt, a rose red bandana mask, and tactical goggles with yellow-tinted lenses, but she doesn't don a pair of gloves. She has a leather sheath for her machete attached to the right side of her belt, and often carries a battered riot shield adorned with three crudely painted metallic red scratch marks at its centre.

She has warm ivory skin, small breasts, sunburst green-hazel eyes, and black freckles on her face. She has straight mahogany brown hair that falls to her shoulders, typically styled as a shaggy wolf cut.

She’s in possession of an MG Unit, and carries maps for tactical planning, anti-personnel blast mines, and tools for landmine repair in her load-bearing backpack.

Character summary: Despite her youth, she’s incredibly intelligent and calculating, defying the impulsive and naive stereotypes often associated with her age. When around unfamiliar people, she becomes nervous, hesitant to open up due to a deep-seated fear of wrongful rejection or betrayal. As a result, she’s hesitant to speak to new people, but she quickly warms up to those who show genuine kindness and respect towards her. She has a habit of holding Eri's hand because her warmth reminds her of her mother, whom she lost and still deeply grieves for. She displays a facade of obedience, driven primarily by a deep-seated fear of punishment for defying orders, regardless of how just her actions may be.

Although she's a ruthless and taciturn individual struggling with feelings of worthlessness and uncertainty regarding physical intimacy, she often shows a gentle-hearted, trustworthy, and friendly side, primarily as a means of presenting herself as decent. When her social battery is drained or she feels intensely agitated, she tends to socially withdraw from others, fearing that if left unchecked, her agitation might escalate into violence. She finds the antics of Harvie, Souma, Juozapas, and Priyanka amusing, but when their jokes lead to serious trouble, she isn't hesitant to kindly remind them of their duties. She harbours some romantic feelings for Dezső, but she's unsure how to express them without coming across as forceful and awkward. She has built cordial relationships with Ekaterini and Juozapas, and is particularly close to Dezső.

Backstory: Gyeong-Hui Paek was born on October 9, 2012 in Mokpo, South Korea. She was raised by her mother, Myeong-Suk, who often struggled to make ends meet, but never gave up as she deeply cared about her daughter's welfare. She doesn't know who her father is, but her mother once told her that he was a generous and optimistic man prepared for almost everything thrown his way. He reportedly died with dignity, maintaining it until the very end. After completing her university education in TV Broadcasting and Entertainment, which depleted most of her savings, Myeong-Suk took on a minimum-wage job to make ends meet and fund treatment for her daughter's Rett syndrome. Although Gyeong-Hui couldn't provide significant financial support, she helped with daily chores and cooked meals. She profoundly loved her mother and delighted in listening to her read Korean fairy tales and recount major historical events. She also cherished the little puppet shows of wacky and mythical adventures her mother would create and perform for her whenever she had the time, sparking her interest in puppetry and storytelling.

A year after the Arms Deal Barrage, the Ptolemaic Army launched a brutal raid on Mokpo. They were desperate to recruit people to put on the battlefield and face the Regular Army and other potential enemy forces. They also needed help building up their arsenal and acquiring useful and loyal engineers, tacticians, and fighters. According to her, once she joined the Ptolemaic Army, her superiors informed her that Ptolemaios had predicted another confrontation with the Regular Army, and it would be a gruesome and difficult fight. In their desperation, the Ptolemaic Army targeted the most vulnerable members of the population: children.

During the raid, her mother attempted to protect her from the special forces operatives who stormed into their home during a peaceful dinner. The operatives took both of them captive, and one of them demanded that the mother hand over Gyeong-Hui, threatening a gruesome fate if she refused. When she resisted, declaring that she would never send her daughter to war or make her work with terrorists, they brutally shot her point-blank in the head. Gyeong-Hui was forced to witness her mother's brutal murder, an act intended to demonstrate the consequences of treachery and disobedience. This traumatic event left her with deep emotional scars, a painful memory she longs to forget but knows will forever be etched in her mind.

After being indoctrinated into the Ptolemaic Army's beliefs, she was swiftly enrolled in the paramilitary forces training program. There, she would be trained as a guerrilla, capable of serving both as a combatant and a guardian for infantry troops and supplies. She quickly became familiar with MG Unit operations as well as planning strategic ambushes on enemy bases and repairing landmines. Although she initially disliked working with landmines due to their finicky nature, she gradually warmed up to it.

Despite proving herself as a reliable guerrilla, she was subjected to sexual exploitation, particularly by her own unit, who frequently used her to satisfy their desires. Unbeknownst to her, it was planned from the start that she would also be used for reproductive purposes, forced to breed loyal cultists and soldiers. This realisation made her feel like nothing more than a filthy slab of meat. However, after the guerrillas discovered she wasn’t pregnant, they took her to see a medical officer, who informed her that she was infertile due to a hormonal imbalance preventing her from producing healthy eggs. While this brought her some relief, as she was spared the trauma of bearing her abusers' children, it also led to further abuse. Her unit’s response was either disdainful indifference, deeming her "useless" or escalated sexual violence.

As her untreated Rett syndrome progressively worsened, impairing her ability to fight and stay focused, she became the subject of an experiment by the medical officer who had discovered her infertility. With the cult's permission, the medical officer decided to use the parasite, Ferumox β, which the Ptolemaic Army had secretly stolen from the Amadeus Syndicate during the Great Morden War. The Amadeus Syndicate had initially created Ferumox β as an experimental curiosity with no intention of using it to further their ambitions for global dominance. Once injected via a needle containing a translucent copper orange substance, the parasite established itself within her neural system and the confines of her arms, miraculously curing her disease in the process.

However, integrating the parasite's power into her body was a painful and chaotic process. Her body struggled to accept the invasive parasite, and she faced difficulties controlling her newfound biomechanical abilities. Accidental outbursts of power sparked severe punishment, including physical and sexual abuse, from her comrades and assigned commander. Initially primal, Ferumox β gradually evolved into a more civilized entity through repeated use and telepathic communication with Gyeong-Hui, yet it still retained a strong animalistic side. It became fiercely protective of her once it fully grasped the scale and severity of her abuse, scaring her tormentors away. Strongly displeased by how they troubled and hurt its host, it would stay awake at night to ensure her safety. At the slightest provocation, it would immediately attack, using either psychosomatic affliction or turning their own weapons against them.

Upon hearing rumours of a rebellion brewing within the Ptolemaic Army, she saw an opportunity to exact revenge on her tormentors. With swift precision, she eliminated a few of her abusers before fleeing to join forces with the revolt's leader, Eri Kasamoto. To her surprise, Eri welcomed her with open arms, and she found solace among the people that had gathered. After the revolt ended and she narrowly escaped the Phantom Strike's deadly clutches, she began to form meaningful connections with her comrades. She formed a deeply personal connection with Dezső, empathising with his traumatic experiences of losing his mother and suffering abuse at the hands of the Ptolemaic Army.

Thandolwethu

Real name: Thandolwethu Dalindyebo

Nickname: Thando

Occupation: Peacekeeping troop for the Regular Army and guerrilla for the Ptolemaic Army (formerly)

Retirement plans: To live as a cattle herder in the countryside

Hobbies: Doing Xhosa pottery and basket weaving with the youngest members of the Regular Army, solitary hikes through South African landscapes, and meditative rock balancing

Likes: The peace she feels when reflecting on her faith and her beloved son, when her hard work pays off beautifully, and healthy cattle

Dislikes: People who abuse and exploit children and women, not being able to control manageable situations, and the misuse of dark magic

Favourite food: Mieliepap and ox meat

Favourite drink: Sorghum beer

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Gender: Female

Age: 28 (in 2022), 32 (in 2028), 34 (in 2030), 36 (in 2032), 38 (in 2034), 45 (in 2041), 47 (in 2043), 48 (in 2044), and 51 (in 2047)

Design: She’s a 6 ft (182.88 cm) Xhosa mesomorph with a slender yet well-toned physique and a fuller bust. She wears the Ptolemaic Army guerrilla uniform, but with a distinctive left-side African violet armband featuring the Regular Army insignia. She wears a medium-sleeved old rose shirt, an orange ochre bandana, and spike-soled cordovan paratrooper boots with burgundy laces. She carries a Panzerfaust 3, which fires high-explosive anti-tank (HEAT) warheads, and it features a custom thistle strap, allowing her to sling it over her left shoulder.

She has chestnut skin, dull dark grey eyes, full lips painted with black lip gloss, and white clay curved triangular markings under her eyes. Her chocolate brown hair features frizzy curls, plaited and reaching the middle of her back, secured with a red ochre hairband in a low ponytail.

Character summary: She’s particularly exasperated by the antics of Harvie, Souma, Juozapas, and Priyanka, and doesn't hesitate to scold them fiercely and threaten to report them to Eri. Despite having left the Xhosa roots to start a new life, one filled with excitement and renewed purpose, she deeply respects her heritage and won't tolerate others using racist insults to describe her people. She's a fearless yet cautious individual who prioritises the safety of her comrades above all else, while not hesitating to kill people when she views it as necessary. She's always willing to lend a hand and make everyone feel safe and accepted because she views community as essential to human survival.

She's a modest, hard-working, and conscientious Pentacostal Christian who also practices ancestor worship, believing that God oversees the significant aspects of everyone's lives and protects them in times of extreme danger. She feels profound sympathy for Gyeong-Hui and Dezső, who were exploited by the Ptolemaic Army at a young age, manipulating their grief to brainwash them into loyal followers. Although she's not fond of Harvie's tendency to slack off, she finds him to be incredibly respectful and physically attractive. She can't help but be charmed by his flirtations and his fun-loving, adventurous, and childish personality, finding it endearing. She’s good friends with Mikuláš, Ekaterini, Amilcare, Yohanes, and Dezső, and is particularly close to Zdravko.

Backstory: Thandolwethu Dalindyebo was born on May 13, 1996 in the Eastern Cape of South Africa. She lived in a peaceful Xhosa village, just a few miles away from the Mtamvuna River, residing in close proximity to friends and extended family members. Her large, wealthy family consisted of her father, mother, two stepmothers, four uncles, two aunts, one half-uncle, two brothers, sister, and eight cousins. As she grew old enough to contribute, her family taught her essential life skills, including self-care and caregiving for others. Her mothers and aunts instructed her in traditional crafts like beadwork and baking maize bread. They also taught her how to store maize in bottle-shaped pits beneath the floor of the cattle enclosure. In contrast, her father and uncles taught her practical skills like tending to cattle and harvesting corn from their fields. Through her upbringing, her family fostered a strong sense of community and emphasised the value of generosity, gently scolding her whenever she refused to share.

After receiving her first menstruation a month away of her 11th birthday, she underwent intonjane, a rite of passage into womanhood practiced by the Xhosa people of the Eastern Cape. During the intonjane ritual, she was secluded from the community and instructed by her aunts and older assistants on the socially accepted behaviors of Xhosa women. Thandolwethu describes the whole ritual as surreal, yet strangely exciting as she was supported by her family and the entire village in her transition to adulthood. According to her, it felt amazing to be recognized as a full-fledged adult by everyone around her.

By the time she turned 16, she would be married to Lethokuhle of the Gqunkhwebe clan, a man from outside her own Gcaleka clan. Although she didn't know him well due to limited contact, she had heard several girls in her village describe him as gentle-hearted and respectful of privacy. Once the marriage negotiations were finalised—which involved her bridegroom paying cash equivalent to the market value of twenty cattle that were transferred to her group—a new alliance was officially established between the Gcaleka and Gqunkhwebe clans.

Like all Xhosa brides, she showed deference and respect to her parents-in-law and the senior members of the homestead. However, she found it challenging to adjust to certain customs, such as approaching houses from behind and being prohibited from entering the cattle byre, particularly during her menstrual cycle. Having grown accustomed to tending cattle and being close to them, these restrictions made her feel somewhat isolated. To make things worse, Lethokuhle subjected her to abuse behind closed doors, particularly when she stood up for herself, refused intimate advances or accidentally burned food while cooking. He also sexually assaulted her during the quiet of night and threatened to harm her if she spoke out about his actions.

She would soon become disillusioned with her marriage and the societal expectations that confined her to traditional feminine roles. She also grew increasingly terrified of her husband. Given that divorce was rarely accepted among her people and the uncertainty of being able to dissolve her marriage, she decided to leave in secret. Seizing the opportunity when her husband was out running errands and most of his family were preoccupied with their duties, she escaped from the Gqunkhwebe village. Her decision to flee was motivated not only by a desire for safety and a need to escape her difficult circumstances but also by a deep-seated fear of becoming a burden to both her own family and her in-laws.

Some time after her escape, she ended up coming into contact with the Ptolemaic Army after being abducted by a group of guerrillas riding a Landseek. She was then indoctrinated into the cruel ideologies of the Ptolemaic Army through various psychological manipulation tactics, primarily love bombing and false promises of safety and acceptance. As a result of her imposing stature, she was trained as a guerrilla fighter and became proficient in wielding bazookas and rocket launchers. Using these weapons, she would snipe at people from a safe distance or create distractions for incoming enemies. Initially, she believed the dark magic utilised by the cult was the witchcraft her people had warned her about, but she slowly grew accustomed to it.

A couple of months after her 17th birthday, she gave birth to a healthy baby boy named Khuselwa. She took a year off to raise him, but once he turned one, she was forced back into her guerrilla duties. The cult then took her son away, and she never saw him again. This separation led to further trauma, as many men in the cult sexually harassed her or attempted to assault her. She stood up against them, even killing some in self-defence, earning a mix of fear and respect within the paramilitary forces. The pain of losing Khuselwa drove her to seek solace in alcohol, particularly sorghum beer, which reminded her of home.

She joined Er's rebellion after learning about the brewing revolt against the Ptolemaic Army and being persuaded by Zdravko to join. She found it unbearable to continue working for the people responsible for taking her son away and the numerous men who mistreated her, objectifying her. Following the short-lived revolt, she converted to Pentecostalism to redeem herself and attended rehab alongside Zdravko to address her alcoholism. The treatment was largely successful, but she still struggles with occasional secret binge drinking episodes.

Harvie

Real name: Harvie Witherspong

Occupation: Peacekeeping troop for the Regular Army and Hover Unit pilot and guerrilla for the Ptolemaic Army (formerly)

Retirement plans: Launching a reading program for children with language and speech disabilities

Abilities: He possesses the ability to manipulate wind motion and intensity, creating windstorms, tornadoes, and powerful gusts. Additionally, he can imbue tornadoes with either a fiery quality to incinerate enemies or a freezing quality to encase them in ice. He's able to perceive current events by intently focusing on a wall or a thicket of bushes. Through concentration, he receives clear and vivid mental images of the events he wishes to perceive. He can terminate these visions by breaking his concentration. However, whenever he utilises this ability, he experiences an unsettling feeling of being intently watched, accompanied by a profound sense of comfort.

Hobbies: Reading classic pieces of literature that have been deemed controversial, riding his bicycle through the European countryside, and playing boules with his friends

Likes: Consuming children's media as a way to recapture his lost childhood, how beautiful and courageous Thandolwethu is, and admiring pond wildlife

Dislikes: Getting stuck in tricky dilemmas, how embarrassing it feels to mispronounce words, and being called a man-child

Favourite food: Cotton Candy grapes

Favourite drink: Whiskey ginger

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Gender: Male

Age: 27 (in 2022), 31 (in 2028), 33 (in 2030), 35 (in 2032), 37 (in 2034), 44 (in 2041), 46 (in 2043), 47 (in 2044), and 50 (in 2047)

Design: He’s an averagely built, broad-shouldered 5’ 7” (170.18 cm) British mesomorph who wears the Ptolemaic Army guerrilla uniform, but with a distinctive left-side Columbia blue armband featuring the Regular Army insignia. He wears a fulvous T-shirt, a steel blue bandana mask, an earth yellow belt with a silver snap-on buckle, and space cadet combat boots.

He has rose beige skin, a missing upper left canine, sparkling moss green eyes, reddish freckles on his face and neck, and light auburn hair styled in a spiky crew cut.

He’s in possession of a Hover Unit, and carries a dictionary to assist with his language delay and speech impediment, along with a children's book or classic literature of his choice and a plastic full of marijuana joints, in his load-bearing backpack.

Character summary: He's the biggest slacker on the entire team, preferring to have fun and explore the world around him rather than being confined to paperwork and military duties like fighting and gathering intelligence. To cope with the stresses of warfare, he often playfully teases his comrades and messes around with friends. He puts on a childishly curious, naive, and optimistic facade to make himself feel more alive and joyful in life. However, he secretly struggles with misery and fear of imperfection, anxious about making mistakes, yet unsure how to express these feelings without succumbing to tears or paralysis.

Despite his unsophisticated, carefree, and strong-willed nature, he's incredibly respectful of other people's boundaries and is quick to apologise when he realises he's done something wrong. He's a self-indulgent lover of food and media, using these passions as a window into the world around him, exploring cultures and ideas through the lens of popular culture and cuisine. His habit of telling bad jokes and dad puns often annoys those around him, but he becomes deadly serious and unnervingly quiet in intense situations. He harbours strong romantic feelings for Thandolwethu, admiring her bravery, generosity, independence, and beauty—everything he wants in a partner. He’s good friends with Souma, Juozapas, and Priyanka, and is particularly close with Yohanes.

Backstory: Harvie Witherspong was born on August 27, 1997 in Middlesbrough, England. He was raised in a very strict household where he was shown very little love from his parents, who were religious zealots. His father, a functioning alcoholic, worked in customer service, while his mother, a heavy smoker, taught economics and physical education. He was denied toys, children's books, and TV shows, instead being forced to spend his time outdoors, drawing or watching Christian media. Meanwhile, his parents were often preoccupied with work, drinking or other unknown activities. His childhood was marked by rejection, neglect, physical abuse, gaslighting, and emotional exploitation. His parents often told him that he was undeserving because, in their view, God disapproved of mistakes. This toxic environment bred a deep-seated mistrust of individuals who misused Christianity and distorted its teachings.

He was rarely allowed to attend school as his parents feared exposure to "sinners" and their "false beliefs". Instead, he would secretly visit the local library, reading books that sparked his curiosity and were within his reading ability. Harvie also attempted to befriend children at the nearby park, but many found him unusual due to his unconventional religious beliefs, language delay, and speech impediment. At the age of 9, he secretly brought home a library book, The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales. However, his mother soon discovered it under his bed while ensuring he cleaned his room properly. As a result, she physically punished him, causing significant stress and pressure to be perfect. This incident had a lasting impact, making him forget the joys of simply being a child for a very long time.

At the age of 12, he would sneak a handful of Jelly Babies from the tray of candy his father left out on the dining room table. His parents didn't allow him to have candy, believing it would poison his young mind, and they kept sweets for themselves. One time, his father caught him taking candy and became furious, pulling out his belt to punish him. Frightened, Harvie quickly dodged him and ran out of the house to avoid being punished. He accidentally bumped into a green-eyed brunette woman who sensed his paranoia and fear. She decided to order him salted caramel ice cream with chocolate flakes, and then invited him back to her place to provide some much-needed shelter. He was taken aback by her kindness and willingness to help a stranger, but he felt an instant sense of safety around her and was grateful to be anywhere but his own home.

She introduced herself as Mavis and listened intently and patiently to what he had endured at home, giving him time to explain everything. Unbeknownst to him, she was a masked soldier sent to recruit children from abusive homes for the paramilitary forces of the Ptolemaic Army. She showered him with maternal affection, reading entertaining and educational children's books, letting him enjoy sweets, and watching age-appropriate shows. He began to see Mavis as a true mother figure, rather than his biological one, making it easier for her to psychologically manipulate him. After two weeks of parenting Harvie, she contacted fellow cult members to eliminate his parents through "talking".

She slowly indoctrinated him into the Ptolemaic Army's depraved ideologies and helped him overcome most of the challenges caused by his language delay and speech impediment. By age 14, she believed he was ready to serve Ptolemaios' goals and coerced him into joining the rigorous paramilitary training courses offered by the Ptolemaic Army, which he readily accepted. He was trained as a guerrilla and quickly became skilled in piloting the Hover Unit, finding it exhilarating to operate.

It was challenging for him to earn respect from his team, comprised mostly of older members, as many deemed him "too impaired and inexperienced" to contribute meaningfully. Some subjected him to aggressive verbal abuse when he made mistakes, fueling his desire for perfection. His persistent speech and language processing difficulties made him a target for bullying, but the harassment ceased when Mavis intervened, threatening to kill the perpetrators and use their corpses as sacrifices. Following this, Mavis adopted a somewhat overprotective stance, encouraging him to be himself, disregard others' negative opinions, and find enjoyment in his duties—all the while maintaining her maternal facade. However, this inadvertently fostered a tendency to slack off. By age 18, he began secretly smoking marijuana, stolen from his commander, as a means to calm his nerves and alleviate stress.

As Mavis greatly favoured Harvie, she decided to repay his loyalty and affection with a powerful gift. Following a patrol duty in the Soursop Jungle, she lured him to a secluded spot near a crystal-clear stream, away from his comrades. There, she performed a mysterious ritual that left him both unsettled and curious. The ritual involved arranging river pebbles in a circle, sacrificing a hunted king vulture, and positioning Harvie at the centre. After completing her angelic chanting, the Avatar of Evil bestowed upon Harvie his unique abilities.

After some persuasion from Thandolwethu and Yohanes, he became one of the last remaining members of the Ptolemaic Army to join Eri's uprising. His decision was delayed by conflicting emotions: he cared for Mavis, yet struggled to accept that he had been exploited as a pawn to bolster the army's forces from the start. During the revolt, he confronted Mavis, who, upon disowning him for his betrayal, was killed by him, leaving his hands stained with her blood and his conscience consumed by guilt. As he witnessed Thandolwethu's bravery, independence, and generosity on the battlefield, he developed a profound crush on her. In the revolt's aftermath, he masked his trauma with increased marijuana use and a jovial facade. He also formed a strong bond with Yohanes, united by their shared traumatic experiences and mutual understanding.

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