#file under: bios: heir

[knotfodder]

name: Heir Fuentes nicknames: none (yet) age: 28 gender: Male pronouns: (he/him/his) secondary gender: Alpha occupation: tbd species: witch fc: Jesse Posey

+sweet, generous, caring+ -naive, gullible, people-pleaser-

[doculicious]

The Tuohys put Michael Oher under conservatorship instead of adopting him so that he could not be an heir to their estates like their bio children. End of story.

I hope Michael Oher has a great legal team to get all the money the Tuohys made off of him that doesn't even include the Hollywood movie. I never watched "The Blind Side" because I did not like the idea that this white family took this black male in because he had potential for football. If he was into science, math or the arts they wouldn't have bothered.

Outside of getting actually money off of Michael Oher, the damning part of this is that Tuohys knew everything he did because a conservator gets all the info as the main part of their job. Half his life all his personal info going to the Tuohys. Ole Miss and the NFL had to know about the conservatorship and said nothing. SMH

Adult adoption is a real legal thing in the USA for a solid 100 years. Any adult 18 and older can be legally adopted.

[a-star-aquarium]

The Apolloverse

Welcome to my blog! Here you'll find all my OCs for fandom and not fandom-related content. To start out, I'm going to a couple things clear about myself:

Currently this is the only blog I am using---While you may see my original account that has now been based around Last Legacy, and another side account I have, I am only cohesively using this one.

You can refer to me as Apollo (though this name is just a place holder for this account because I am no longer comfortable with being called Ayla) and I use they/them. Also I know when I first starting posting my account was called "themajorarcanalesbian" but I would no longer refer to myself as a lesbian, just queer for now.

While there may be some mature content on this blog, it won't be a lot because I feel my writing and drawing skills cannot adequately portray that sort of stuff without sounding, well, cringe. That being said, be aware that I will likely reblog mature content from my mutuals as they freely post that content, and I will always want to share it.

Last but not least, the only character I have that is associated with The Arcana universe is Astarium, who only remains in that fandom because the storyline set up for the game adds to their character in a way I feel I might not be able to at the moment (cough cough, writers block) The rest of my characters remain in what you will see tagged as #theapolloverse as their universe doesn't have a set name!

And now, to get to my many characters (fyi, I will edit this post when I do, but some of their intro posts are outdated and need refreshing!)

Also, every character will also be filed under #Apolloverse

Astarium The Magician | They/Them - Queer | Asta, remaining in the arcana verse, takes the storyline of the apprentice, only a few things differentiating. They grow up in Prakra and run away after their father passes because they fear their mother will abandon them. At first, they are put on stage to be ogled at, from age 12 to 15, before they eventually make their way to Vesuvia. They meet Asra, stay with him for a long while, and when the plague hits, they fear death when it becomes clear that their healing magic, just like with their father, cannot heal the people of Vesuvia. Asra assumes their dead for many months, but Asta only dies the day before Asra revives them, so they remain with their memories of the plague, and seeing Asra with Julian. This is important because it has an effect on each storyline no matter what love interest you choose, because Astarium never actually wanted to be brought back to life! Asta's information, and any HCs or drawings, will be under the tag #astariumthemagician or #astathemagician

Their bio: Astarium The Magician

Juno, The Mad King | He/Him - Bisexual | Juno Ara Malik, a bastard child who, yes, is his father's son, but his mother was not of royal decent. Juno's father is not completely to blame for this, as his wife, The Queen, passed away of an illness, and he had to resort to sleeping with a servant to produce an heir, otherwise his line would've been endangered. Juno will not take after his father though, his cousin Amaria will; ergo why Juno's father had him take over a small Provence at the age of 14. He felt bad that his son would not be able to take after his footsteps. Juno was raised by his teachers, servants, and guards when he was sailed across the sea to Roya. His grandmother took no interest in him besides hating him, she would regular burn his hands and back, and he remains to have a scar on his face from her dagger. In fact, her treatment only resulted in Juno growing to be spiteful and cruel in some ways, and at the age of 17, he decapitated her in a purple blaze. Her very own sword being used to do the beheading. Juno's information, and any HCs or drawings, will be under the tag #Juno Ara Malik

His bio: Juno Ara Malik

Jayda, The Golden Handed Servant | He/Him - Omnisexual | Jayda grew up similarly to Asra in a way, living off the streets with nobody to raise him, only learning from the books he stole and the lessons he was taught by strangers. Sure, the people of his city got to know him, and he even got many of them to give him free stuff, but nobody offered him a home. He remained on the streets until the age of 16, when he met Zahra, who had ran away from a forced marriage. At the age of 30, Jayda seeks out the Magician (not specifically the one in the Arcana) , who offers him one wish. Jayda wishes to be more virtuous, to be a man of the people, and the magician grants him that. Of course, working with a major arcana can have its drawbacks, so Jayda is changed into an almost completely different man. The once confident man had gained the gift of awareness, which has made him hypersensitive to every single thing he does, including his actions and physical state. The gift also helps him be more on top of his work at the palace, so it's not the worst. His third eye is for sight, to be seeing clearly and all knowing, so that he can help those around him. And his 6 limbs, which are for strength, with so many arms, surely he could help out all of Roya at once? {he can but it's utterly exhausting}. His hair turning from the beautiful chestnut to the interesting orange was a reminder from the magician to Jayda, a piece of him, so that he will never forget the gifts he was given. Not that Jayda ever could, as he's lived this way for the past 12 years. Jayda's information, and any HCs or drawings, will be under the tag #Jayda Ronan Chidal and #Jayda The Golden Handed Servant

His Bio: Jayda Ronan Chidal

Zahra | She/Her - Lesbian | Zahra, originally coming from a rich background, was arranged to marry at the age of 15 by her mother. Her mother had sold her into a marriage with a much older man after learning Zahra was a trans woman, and she told her if she wanted to be one, that she could face the same struggles a woman would. After about a year of this, she runs away and meets Jayda. It's important to note that Zahra wasn't as open with Jayda as she is now, but her mother had attempted to force her to de-transition, when she could not make her, she was sold off like cattle, and when the man no longer wanted her, her cold dead stare every night haunting him, her mother DID force her to de-transition, and they gaslit her back into the closet, so ergo why she left, and why Jayda met her pre-transition. Now she rules as Juno's head advisor with his council and remains by Jayda's side. Currently, most of the info, including Zahra's intro post, is incorrect, so I will not link it. But her tag remains to be #Zahra Masarn Ártar

Atlas | Any/All Pronouns - Pansexual | A young mercenary working under Ruthie Sloane (oh I promise, we'll get to her) Atlas, the nephew/niece of Zahra, grew up with their mother in a small village. His father had banned any sort of magic when Atlas was young, causing quite the struggle when her mother had to use it to heal Atlas from a cold that had almost killed them. The people of the town decided to hunt her down, and unlike his mother, Atlas had lifted herself up into the air with their own magic when jumping from a cliff. That day, the day he lost his mother to the rocks below that cliff, was his birthday. Atlas ended up running to falling less of a feet into the ocean, trying to find her mother in the depths of the ocean, eventually washing back up onto the beach where they were found by Ruth. Now, they remain her side no matter what. Same as with Zahra, Atlas' intro post and most of the posts ive made surrounding them is not correct, so I will not be linking it here. Though if you'd like to look for it, her tag is #Atlas Bentlee Àrtar

Ruthie, The Midnight Mercenary | She/Her - Pansexual | Born Oxana Valentina Sloane, Ruth took the name of one of her oldest friends when they were slaughtered by the man she once used to work for. While not much is known about her, she is known for being one of the biggest threats to most pirates, and with Atlas along with her, she appears a lot more scary than she actually is. Despite being 6'4 mercenary, Ruth is actually quite kind, she's taken quite a few people in over the years, and she's never one to hesitate when it comes to feeding, or housing those in need. She is the eldest of the Sloane Siblings, and she actually left her family at quite a young age. Now, she just rides around with Atlas, always cleaning up their dirty work. She also needs an updated bio, but the rest of her info remains under the tags #Ruthie Sloane, #Oxana Valentina Sloane, and #The Sloane Siblings

Pier | He/Him - Omnisexual | The younger brother of Oxana, who was abandoned by her from a young age---right when he was learning his abilities--- resulting in him losing control and running away when he was 10. For the most part, he can't see, or, well, its not that he can’t see, he refuses to open his eyes, because when he does, he can't see people, he just sees their aura, and their thoughts, and its like a surround sound to his head. This developed at the age of 9 and he runs away at 10 to get away from his mothers, not to scare them, but because he was afraid of hurting them by letting them know what he was going through. Where he’s constantly on the move, one of his favorite friends is Asta, they met on a pirate ship back in Prakra and they're very nice to one another. On the note of Pirates, he does get kidnapped by a certain crew due to his relation to rue. But that I'll leave off there. Pier's information, and any HCs or drawings, will be under the tag #Pier Sloane and #The Sloane Siblings

Mathéo | He/They - Bisexual | As the youngest of the Sloane siblings, not much is known about Mathéo. While he remains to live with his mothers, he still lives a rather independent life. They take charge in doing all the task their siblings left behind, and they try to make life happier for their mothers. But, he longs so be selfish, and adventurous, and he feels lonely without his siblings, creating an odd family dynamic when he meets up with them in the future. Mathéo's information, and any HCs or drawings, will be under the tag #Mathéo Sloane and #The Sloane Siblings

And always, a reminder that you can always ask about my ocs (or inquire about shipping) in my inbox, and anon will always stay on!

Now make yourself cozy, and feel free to look at the rest of my blog <3

[ecofinisher]

The Sims 3 Save File Families Part 1/3

Let me introduce the present families in the save file I made for Sims 3. It's just a simple one. The eventual prolog to the actual canon of the game. You'll see familiar Sims and new Sims, of course. I just changed a few things around Sunset Valley, the rest remains the same. This is why I didn't take that long on it. (A hour per day maybe....)

Note: The description contains both family and character bio.

The Bachelor family (Bella and Michael Bachelor [Original & Younger version]) Simis and Jocasta Bachelor remain the same.

Bachelor family:

Sunset Valley is according to Simis the perfect place for both his children to grow up. It is clean, spacious and it has everything they need. The Bachelors have a huge respect for their neighbors, the Goth family.

Simis Bachelor: Simis is proud at his two kids. The rules he has set down for his kids has shown great results, mostly on his now oldest son Michael. Simis hopes, that his children grow up well and follow a successful path.

Jocasta Bachelor: As a sensitive, over-emotional woman Jocasta didn’t have it easy to go through. Not that she suffered any problems at work or school. It’s just the way she is. Befriending her current life partner Simis was the best thing happening to her, cause he saw in her more, than she thought about herself.

Michael Bachelor: The Bachelor’s first child, friendly, athletic, smart. Just the way Simis wants him to be. Michael is an ambitious boy and strives to become a good human being.

Bella Bachelor: Isabella was considered one of the most beautiful toddlers around Sunset Valley. It’s no surprise, everywhere she was taken to, people just couldn’t stop and admire her contagious smile.

The Goth family. (Mortimer Goth [Original & Younger version]) Gunther, Lolita and Cornelia Goth remain the same)

Goth family:

50 years ago, Victor and Gretle Goth founded a small village named Sunset Valley. Partnered with the Landgraabs, it grew into a lovely town now with several news faces coming from near and far. Gunther watched all the changes and as the succesor believes the townfolk will live a quiet and peaceful life.

Gunther Goth: Gunther is the son of the founders of Sunset Valley. He inherited from his family the Goth manor as well and just as his parents, he wants for the townies the same as the past Goths have promised.

Cornelia Goth: Upon having Lolita and Mortimer, Cornelia quit her job and focused on raising them, while Gunther and the Landgraabs would look out for their business.

Lolita Goth: In her free-time Lolita likes to read countless books. Her favorite book is Murder in Pleasantview, which funnily cointains strange coincidences she heard from the real world. Her younger brother, Mortimer is Lolita’s everything and she enjoys to play with him as well. In some occasions, she reads the toddler children stories, borrowed from the library.

Mortimer Goth: Lolita’s precious, little boy.

Langraab family:

The name "Landgraab" is known by many people due to its popularity and immense wealth earned over the century. Nancy's parents helped build up the current existing houses and community lots, that are seen around. The family is used to living their life on the fast line, believing to be the townfolk's best shot. Curiously across the Landgraab Manor, there's a building under construction, which most of the townies assumed to be the work of the Landgraabs, but apparently, the original creators are absent from town. Who could they be?

Nancy Landgraab: Nancy is focusing on outlining the future of her son Malcolm to someday take the lead of the Landgraab business.

Geoffrey Landgraab: A down-to-earth surgeon, Geoffrey fell into a pile of Simoleons when he fell in love with Nancy Landgraab and married into her ridiculously wealthy family. (OG bio)

Malcolm Landgraab: The only heir of the Landgraabs is still a young toddler, but his mother is doing all the necessary steps to prepare Malcolm for the future as soon as possible.

The Wainwright family. (Blair Wainwright [Original & Younger version]) Susan and Boyd Wainwright remain the same)

Wainwright family:

Susan and Boyd's daughter is almost done with high school and has already plans for her future. Until she's gets her degree, she still stays under the Wainwright's roof in order to prepare herself slowly for the day she leaves the nest.

Susan Wainwright: Susan insisted, that just like other couples, they should at least have one child. Never had she expected a child only could give two busy parents a lot of work. Good thing, upon her promotion, she was able to earn more money, so she could buy any toy in the world to keep her daughter occupied.

Boyd Wainwright: Boyd had his days, where he experimented chess tactics with himself, while his wife was occupied with other things. This woke up the interest of Blair and Boyd took the chance to teach Blair the most important function of a Sim-being.

Blair Wainwright: Blair spent most of her childhood alone in her room entertained with her own toys and console. Her parents made sure, she would get everything she wanted. They didn’t really spoil her in the way other parents do, more they did that to have their time for their projects….

(Beau Andrews has a different body shape. Victoria Andrews remain the same)

Andrews family:

Beau and Victoria met at high school and moved to Sunset Valley to start their live together. Both already have plans for their future, mostly Beau, who has been talking non-stop during high school times about becoming a sports Sim.

Beau Andrews: Beau finally got the chance to show his worth as a soccer player at the new stadium in Sunset Valley. He was taken this chance to heart and practices daily in order to raise his chances on being accepted.

Victoria Andrews: Upon finishing school, Victoria got herself a job at the Doo Peas tower. She’s happy, that her husband has plans for his own future and while she supports him on his dreams, she’s pondering about, what lies in their plans of life, when both their careers follow good routes.

Claire Ursine remains the same by looks )

Claire Ursine (A Single living Sim)

Claire Ursine: Claire saved up enough money to be able to buy a house right by the ocean. She enjoys to be out at the nature under the stars and to fish. Being lonely doesn’t bother Claire that much. She does socialize enough at the work and the town at the moment for her doesn’t show anyone, she could consider as a friend.

(Charles Durant [Created by Ecofinisher] Molly French remains the same)

French-Durant Family:

Molly and Charles assumed a relationship weeks after their first meeting. Things have been going very well between the two. Molly someday has a big announcement to make, which none of the two expected. A baby! Molly French: Molly is glad, that despite their mishap he’s going to support her with their future baby. Molly has a very good feeling about the baby’s gender and has already listed down a couple of names, Sandi being one of her favorites.

Charles Durant: Charles is totally not ready for this! He knows he's partially to blame for the unwanted pregnancy, but he can’t tell it to Molly’s face, that he doesn’t really want that baby. Should he just be honest with her? Should he just assume fatherhood and live separately from her? Many, many possibilities, making him crazy, which eventually could even lead him to choose the wrong one….

[yutafrita]

Under the Blue Flames- One

"There is no blue without yellow and without orange." - Vincent Van Gogh

Pairing: Vampire!Yuta x Reader

Y/N Pronouns: She/Her

Genre: Fantasy au, Supernatural nct, sometimes college au, sometimes magical school au, angst, fluff

Synopsis: You and your adoptive brother Mark attend Knight's Cross College by day, doing your best to get through your difficult classes. By nightfall, however, you trade in your calculator and textbooks for wooden stakes and rosaries. Being the only two humans on campus who know about the mythics isn't easy, but it does have its perks. What happens, though, when the Vampiric heir to the throne starts to look a little too attractive?

Total Word Count: ~60.1K

Total Chapters: ~16

Warnings: Swearing, violence, blood , religious references and imagery

Tag List! @kodasity

Access current chapters here

Chapter One

You hadn’t slept well, and Jungwoo pointed it out as soon as he saw you.

“I had a bad dream,” you groaned, speed walking with him down the science hall to make it in time to your Bio lecture.

“At least you slept at all, I had to pull an all nighter for this stupid bio exam,” he admitted as you begrudgingly filed into the full lecture hall.

“At least you slept at all, I had to pull an all nighter for this stupid bio exam,” he admitted as you begrudgingly filed into the full lecture hall.

“See- this is why you can’t leave studying until the last minute,” you pointed.

“You’ve known me since the fourth grade, when have I ever not left anything to the last minute?”

“Fair. Kun and I really are the planners of the group,” you sighed, taking your seat.

“Oh, when you see your brother later by the way-,” Jungwoo got caught off guard by the professor silencing the hall, and your exam began shortly thereafter. You had taken up the entire class time to take your exam, even Jungwoo leaving before you did. While you knew most of the answers, your brain was still admittedly fried from waking up only a few hours ago. By the time you finally turned in your exam, it was 5 ‘till 7:30, and you were now late to meet Mark.

“I can’t wait to tell Dad,” he poked, ruffling your hair as you finally met him at your designated pre-night-class spot.

“It’s the first time in like fifteen years that I’m ever late. Plus, I was in an exam!” you countered. Mark was your adoptive older brother, and occasional thorn in your side.

“Jungwoo was in the exam too and left in a timely manner.”

“Ugh, whatever! Let’s just make sure the day students are out and get to class,” you sighed. Mark launched himself up from the bench in the front entrance of Knight’s Cross College, and you began the trek through the math and science wing of the building.

“Whoever’s idea it was to build a college composed of three wings deserves a slap in the face,” Mark noted. The college’s primary building was divided into three total wings: the left hall designated to all things falling in or around Sociology, English, and the arts. The middle wing, the shortest of the grouping, primarily housed all the hospitality and business classes. The hall you and Mark walked down now was the one you had just finished the exam for: Math, science, and pre-health.

“Guess you should slap great-great-great grandpa then, Dad would be happy to help,” you joked, shoving his arm.

“Yeah, maybe then we wouldn’t have to deal with all this,” Mark then opened the door to a lecture hall to see a couple in the corner making out rather ravenously. You groaned, taking the lead as you shouted at the couple.

“Past 7:30 PM no Day students are to be in the main building. Can you provide proof of night student status?” You bellowed as the couple jumped away from each other. Both of the girls looked away bashfully, shaking their heads in response.

“Then please follow my fellow warden as he guides you out of the building and out of the main building's gates,” you instructed, going off the script given to you by your father. The girls quickly grabbed their bags and followed Mark into the hallway as he awkwardly started the trek towards the front double doors with them.

You scanned the restrooms and the last of the science hall as you started heading down now, hoping to meet Mark in the hospitality wing. As one of the two wardens, yours and Mark’s job had a clear description - keep the day students away from the night students as much as possible. This entailed making sure that while the gates for the main building that housed a majority of classes were closed, you and Mark had to make sure no curious college students snuck in and saw what most other humans should not.

Knight’s Cross College was relatively close enough to your high school that you recognized a lot of your peers, and were lucky enough to also go to the same college as your two other best friends- Jungwoo and Kun. While Kun was older than you all and was working his masters at the College, you, Jungwoo and Mark were all in the same grade together.

You were reaching the main threshold of the building when you saw Mark again, shutting the main doors behind him.

“Were they mad?”

“They seemed embarrassed more than anything. Thankfully I didn’t get any of the ‘why’ questions,” he replied, matching your footing as you started checking each of the classrooms again quickly. It was nearing 9:15PM, the time when the night students would begin to enter and 15 minutes before Mark and you had one of your two designated night classes.

“What’s your go-to answer for that?” he breathed out as you rushed through your room checks.

“‘The night students tend to be people of a certain status who need privacy for legal reasons,’” you recited.

“That ones good, I just say that I legally can’t say and any answers for it are in the student handbook,” Mark laughed. You continued the rest of your checks in silence, huffing a bit as you finally reached the room that housed your night class. You glanced at the night students slowly entering and looked away, not wanting to feel more like an intruder than you normally did.

“I’ll see you inside, sis,” Mark padded your shoulder and stepped into the classroom, leaving you outside and leaning against the wall. After a moment, you got up from the wall and started inside, being greeted by the usual rounds of cold shoulders, not a single person turning to look at you. More than likely, they could sense who it was anyways. The night students, while acknowledging that you did offer some help in terms of keeping their identities secret, never hid the fact that they found yours and Mark’s presence annoying at best.

“You’re later than usual,” your deskmate and close friend acknowledged, his small fangs poking out as he whispered. Ten’s mother was not only on the mythic council, but a friend of your father’s, leading him to be one of the few in the night class to speak to you- mainly since he’s known you since your adoption.

“Mark had to escort some people out,” you admitted, taking out your notebook as you spoke.

“We heard,” your other deskmate- Chaein- interjected, her pointed ears twitching. Chaein was one of the few elves left in the world, one of only three in the night class, and was one of the only other people that would speak to you since you both gravitated towards the back of the classroom.

“It pays to have ears like yours, huh,” Ten replied, holding back his giggles.

“You wish you had my hearing range, you goddamn bloodsucker,” Chaein scoffed.

“You’re not letting him off the hook for not giving you the homework answers huh,” you sighed, not even looking at either of them.

“Not at all,” Chaein admitted, leaning back in her chair as the professor began his lecture. During the day, you had your classes pertaining to your major that you shared with some of your closest friends. At night, you had the night class required of you and Mark to take- History of mythics, 1800’s to modern day as well as Modern Mythic Religion.

The mythics were everything your human peers were meant to believe were creatures and beings of pure fiction- but, you and Mark knew better. Your father’s family was one of the only lines of humans who not only knew the truth of the mythic world, but worked closely with them, mainly in an attempt to unite the two worlds eventually. So, in that attempt, at Knight’s Cross College, the main building from 7:30AM to 7:30PM had its gates open and the day students took courses, and between 7:30PM to 7:30 AM is when the night students would enter. The rest of the school grounds were open at all times and ungated, although the night dorms were separated and required additional access. It was an attempt in some way, even if the night students for the most part hid away and didn’t show their true forms when out and about.

It was about a month into the semester (your second year at the university), so you were already in the late 1800s portion of the class. Your professor- a shapeshifter- had put on an exceptionally boring lecture today. For the most part, you and Ten just passed notes to each other, occasionally looking up and actually writing down what the professor had to say about the elvish wars.

Class ended, and after Chaein said bye to you, everyone seemed to hustle out except for you, Mark, and Ten.

“How are you guys feeling about that test next week?” Mark asked you guys as he walked over from his usual spot in the front of the class.

“There’s a test next week?”

“Yeah, he reminded us at the end of class, Ten,” you noted, heading down from the steps and towards the exit.

“Huh, well there’s that. I’ll see you guys later- if I’m late to mastering incantations again the professor will shove a cross down my throat,” Ten waved as he quickly fled the hall, barely leaving the door open for you and Mark to follow.

“It’s your night for patrols?” Mark asked, trying to remember your schedules.

“Unfortunately.”

“Dope, I’m gonna do a bit of studying in one of the empty halls before I go back to my dorm.”

“Okay, see you later,” you waved him goodbye as he headed further down the wing. You bit down on your lip and made your way over to the Office of the President in the business hall, the key to it in your hand. After making the trek, you opened the door and lit up the room, being greeted by the old family portrait he had up on the wall next to the switch and a bookcase. Him, smiling brightly with a few less forehead creases, Mark, who was about twelve in the photo, and you in your pigtails hugging your brother.

Your Dad’s office served as the sort of headquarters for whoever was in charge of monitoring the gates that night. You tossed your backpack in its usual corner and opened the top shelf by his window, grabbing your warden backpack which held your foldable bo staff, holy water, and a silver cross. Technically, your father wanted you to have your supplies on you at all times, but with your exam that day you had forgotten to put it in your normal school backpack. None of your fellow night students had attempted anything, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.

You had started the first hour of your walk of the gate that surrounded the large main building, taking note of the fellow day students who visibly avoided you and the area. By your fourth and thankfully final hour (since at that point most of the night students were done with class), you perched yourself on the bench in the meager courtyard inside the main building's gated entrance, eating an apple you had stolen from your Dad’s office. It was about five minutes until your shift was over now. Almost all of the night students by now had left since their classes were up.

You checked your watch again, five past the end of your shift. You tossed the apple core in the trash and headed back into the building. It was a peaceful night. After locking the door of the office behind you, you were in the process of shoving your keys into your backpack when you heard a loud thud on the marble floor of the main entrance. Without thinking, you ran over to the person who fell, helping gather their items and trying to help them up despite whoever it was probably being much stronger than you were- albeit a little clumsy.

“Are you okay?” you asked, not looking up as you organized the items that had fallen from their hands- two notebooks, and an overly used copy of Frankenstein, sticky notes poking out between the pages. You glanced up, and saw him turning his head away and looking around at the vacant building. “No one else saw you fall.”

“Well,” he now turned to face you, your heart leaping to your throat as you finally got to see his face, “it’s still embarrassing that you saw it.” He was one of the most beautiful beings you had ever seen, and he was smiling at you as he laughed at himself. His fangs were visibly much different than Ten’s were- significantly larger and gleaming in the lights of the hall.

“No… no the marble is a bit slippery,” you sputtered out once you realized you were staring. Of course he was a vampire- they were known for being inhumanly beautiful, and whoever this was, he was definitely that. “Oh, here,” you gestured to his stuff in your hands.

“Oh, thanks! Did you finish your shift?” he asked as he took his stuff back.

“My shift?” your brain was still stunned by his appearance, not really understanding anything.

“Watching the grounds… that is why you’re here right?” he scratched the back of his neck, exposing the Night student ID that hung off his jacket. Nakamoto Yuta. You blinked quickly, trying to process what he said.

“Oh, yeah sorry! Yep I’m just heading back to my dorm,” you felt your cheeks redden, looking away from him bashfully so you could get a more coherent sentence out.

“I’ll walk you back, so long as you promise not to tell anyone I ate the 150 year old marble floor,” he smirked at you, now stepping beside you. You could only muster out a small sure, your heart still racing. God he can hear that-heart slow down! you thought to yourself, a blush creeping to your cheeks.

“How were your classes?” you asked. You couldn’t remember ever having spoken with him before. Although, you were sure you would remember any interaction with someone as unabashedly attractive as he was.

“Hm nothing crazy, although Ten did get in late to a class we shared, so it was funny to see the professor yell at him for a bit,” Yuta laughed.

“You’re friends with Ten?” you asked, glad that you had some sort of mutual connection.

“Hm, you could say that. How are your day classes?”

“How do you know I’m taking day classes?”

“Lucky guess, since I heard Mark was taking some,” he admitted.

“They’re okay, only so much fun you can have in a Biology class,” you joked, feeling more comfortable as you spoke with him.

“Biology, huh? Any english classes?”

“Hopefully! Next semester the goal is to take world literature. I loved my English classes in high school. They were really great.”

“I’m taking a human literature course now. It’s… something,” he chuckled to himself, his fangs still shining even in the moonlight.

“Are you a big reader?”

“I would say so, although I am trying to draw more. I haven’t been able to in a while.”

“Are you actually good at drawing? Whenever I try, it looks horrendous,” you admitted, thinking back to the terrible doodles you would make in class for your Dad and how he’d gush over them.

“Hm, I’ll have to see yours for sure.”

“Only if you show me yours, which I’m sure would be far better than mine.”

“Next time I draw again, you’ll be at the top of my list,” he winked, causing your stomach to flip and the heat in your cheeks grew. You turned your head away, hoping to calm the heat on your cheeks. The campus at this time of night was mainly lit by the dim street lamps that lead to the student dorms and the moonlight. There were a couple of students out by the quad, but none that paid the two of you any mind as you neared your building.

“What are your plans for the rest of the night, Yuta?”

“Eh, well around this time is when everyone is awake so it’ll be a mix of studying and making sure no one kills each other,” he chuckled.

“Are there a lot of butting heads in the night dorm?” While you and Mark did do checks outside of the night dorm, neither of you had ever been inside of it.

“Depends on everyone’s hunger levels- the shape shifters are the worst when they’re hungry,” he muttered in the last part, despite no one being close enough to really hear you two.

“Don’t shifters eat normal food?”

“Yeah, but you try finding a good place to eat at 2AM here.”

“I’ll make it my mission,” you half-joked. You looked up at your dorm building, silently cursing how quickly you two had arrived. “Well, this is my stop.”

“All right, well, I’ll see you tomorrow Y/N,” he waved goodbye as you started into the building, the smile you had not leaving until you made it up the stairs and to your floor. You still felt like you were floating on air when you entered your dorm, the only studio there as you were the floor’s resident assistant. Your phone started ringing as you set your bag down, and you checked the caller ID to see Ten’s face pop up.

“Hell-?”

“Please tell me I’m crazy,” Ten was whispering on the other end of the line.

“I’m sure even in the night dorm when you whisper half of them can still hear you,” you laughed as you started opening your cabinets in an attempt to have something to eat. There wasn’t much- you really needed to do groceries.

“No one else has figured it out yet, but that’s because no one else here has known you since you were a kid and hiding behind your father’s legs because you were scared of the monsters,” Ten hissed.

“What are you even talking about?” You had settled on eating on a pudding cup, and were now perched on the edge of your couch, Ten on speaker.

“The freaking heir smells too much like a human!” He hissed, taking you aback.

“Heir? Ten, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“God dammit, open your window,” he sighed, hanging up afterwards. You knew the drill. Ten was prone to random late night fits, and oftentimes, you were the one that had to hear him out. You propped open your window, stood back, and within a few seconds a strong breeze entered the room, knocking a few loose papers over as Ten entered, leaning against your couch for support.

“That was faster than normal,” you remained unphased as you finished your pudding cup.

“Well, normally I’m not here to tell you that you’re screwed,” he sighed, shutting the window.

“You’re right, normally you’re here to avoid the brawls in the dorm.”

“God the shape shifters can be such a bunch of meat heads. Anyways, do you even understand how the government works for the mythics?” you crushed your pudding cup, silently trying to rack your brain as you recalled back to lessons with your father and Mark that centered around mythics.

“I know it functions in a sort of… rotational manner?” It was embarrassing to admit you knew next to nothing about how mythics typically functioned in that matter- your lessons really focused on protecting yourself and other basics of each species. Ten sighed, sitting next to you on your spot on the bed.

“So, there are these eight families- to be honest you’ve probably met most of their heads. It’s the reason my Mom and your Dad have met so much that you and I became friends,” he shoved your arm playfully at this. “Each family represents some sort of major mythic species- two representing vampires, one for the elves- you get the picture.”

“Okay i know that. What does this have to do with me?” you were still trying to piece together Ten’s jumpy mood with his mention of the mythic government system.

“How do I say this… all of these young, rich, mythics that go here gossip. Especially when half of them have connections to royal lineage, like moi-,” he gestured to himself, “- and especially when the soon to be king of the mythics is amongst their classmates.” He let the last sentence hang, hoping you would catch his drift.

“Huh?”

“Yuta’s family is next in line, and he’s designated as next King, making him the heir to the throne… dummy,” he flicked your head then.

“Ow! And, shit okay. How could people even smell me on him? I barely touched him.”

“You touched him?”

“I was helping him up, he tripped and fell.”

“Dude… well, hopefully they don’t figure it out. God forbid… whatever. Just, be careful, okay?” he kicked his legs off the bed then, starting back for the window.

“Is it really that big of a deal if I speak with him? I mean, you and I have been friends for years. Plus, Mark has spoken to almost everyone in the night class!” Ten sighed, opening the window and leaning over the sill, before finally turning back to you.

“You’re a human girl who spoke to the crown prince comfortably enough that you helped him up after he tripped. He didn’t shoo you away, and you didn’t run away. That was your mistake.”

[weddingjitters]

Everyone suspects LINNETTE ANTONELLI of at least one of the cardinal sins, but in Nevada, the worst sins are bound by blood and SHE has yet to roll the dice. HER fixation on the neon lights of Nevada started FIVE ago as an INDEPENDENT ASSASSIN. Under the desert sun, they claim the act of WEDDING PLANNER. They’re often mistaken for CANDICE ACCOLA/KING before those crimson colored glasses slide down their nose. Linn better get busy living, or they’ll get busy dying by the ripe age of THIRTY-THREE. There are no second acts in a marked life, and it’s measured out by the melody of YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL BY LANA DEL REY.

CHARACTER FULL NAME: Linnette Starlene Antonelli

CHARACTER AGE AND DATE OF BIRTH: Thirty Three, June 21st, 1988

CHARACTER GENDER AND PRONOUNS: Cis Woman, She/Her

FACE CLAIM: Candice Accola/King

HOMETOWN: Sorrento, Italy

OCCUPATION: Wedding Planner

TRIGGER WARNING: Murder, Death, Stillbirth

Full bio

As the oldest girl of the notorious Antonelli mafia family in Italy, Linnette had grown up in extreme conditions and had learned to fight from an early age; being enrolled in a school that was especially made for children of the business. By the time she was 16, she was sent on missions for contract killings. Despite her older brother, Adrian being groomed to inherit the business, her father eventually found Linnette to be a better fit and she was named heir. The only girl of her siblings, she never managed to get teased by her brothers due to her psychotic behavior. The only one who dared to treat her like a normal girl was Adrian’s friend who she considered a brother. Linnette quickly suppressed her superiors and had become her father’s lead assassin. She started taking on more jobs that weren’t from her father in order to get more money.

On one of her jobs, her target was being trailed by another hitman. She interrogated the hitman, found out his name. The two teamed up for the job and continued to do so for many missions. While doing so, they got to know each other more and eventually fell in love. They got married when Linnette was 21 much to the amazement of her family. Her father had welcomed him into the family wholeheartedly considering he was already trustworthy. The two were known to be the power couple of the mafia universe and were the modern Bonnie and Clyde. For her last mission, she had discovered that her assignment just gave birth to a baby and were actually wonderful people and the guilt consumed her. When she talked about leaving the life and starting a family with her husband, it was during the talks of them taking over the family business. While continuing the job, she made sure to investigate her target more and be selective which angered a lot of potential clients.

Unfortunately, he had refused, stating that their life wasn’t good for a family and when she suggested that they leave the mafia life, he refused again. They argued for months before Linnette had filed for divorce and left after three years of marriage. For the first year, she kept in touch with her family while avoiding anything involved with the lifestyle but it became clear that she couldn’t anymore after her father’s blatant disapproval of her choice, divorce, and abandonment of her family. After realizing how much more harm she was causing for the both of them, she told him that she was leaving forever and they shared one last night together before she left. The night had resulted in their son Anthony who was stillborn. The lost of Anthony and end of her marriage had sent her in a spiral in which she was even more frenzied to build the family that she now not only didn’t have but lost.

Choosing to abandon her life, she decided to pack up her life and move to Los Angeles to become a wedding planner. After training, she started her business after two years and two years after opening had gotten famous due to her ability to book the best venues and vendors (due to her money). Eventually she picked up her business and moved to Nevada to move to near her best friend/childhood friend. 

[solemnlyiswear]

welcome back to hogwarts EMMA VANITY ! they say you look like NESLIHAN ATAGÜL, but i don’t see the resemblance. anyway, you’re an ELEVENTH year from SLYTHERIN, right ? i’ve got your school file right here. it says you’re a TWENTY-TWO year old CIS WOMAN and use SHE/HER pronouns, as well as that your blood status is HALF BLOOD (SECRET). it even has a personality entry, saying you’re FERVENT and PRECOCIOUS as well as ACRIMONIOUS and CONNIVING. is that why you’ve chosen to REMAIN NEUTRAL ? oh well, see you in class !

birthname: Sanem Avci,  anglicization Emma Vanity 

parents: Alara Şen & Dameon Avci anglicization Alara & Dameon Vanity

hometown: ankara, turkey 

birthday: 6 june 1958

age: twenty-two

gender: cis woman 

pronouns:  she & her 

sexuality: pansexual, demiromantic

relationship status: single 

current location: hogwarts 

extra curriculars: 

triggers mentioned below: emotional & physical abuse, coercion, forced marriage, torture, illness. 

disclaimer: Please ignore how messy I’ve made this, I have an old bio but wanted to reinvent Emma, thus this happened. 

Emma’s father first laid eyes upon her mother when she was 19, debuting for the first time as the lead dancer at the ballet, he was 21. He knew then that he had to know her. He was a young politician just getting started in his field, worked a great deal, but still made time to pursue his interest. What he didn’t realize is, he wasn’t the only one with an interest in the beautiful dancer. Another man, a muggle, was also head over heels in love with her, the only difference was, the muggle man had grown up alongside Alara. He, unfortunately, would never be good enough in her father’s eyes. So, upon Demir’s discovery of this, he persisted and eventually found his way into Alara’s father’s good graces. Still, Alara showed little interest, for she was in love with the muggle boy. Eventually, Alara fell pregnant and in doing so, had planned to tell the muggle boy, but before she could, Demir was able to intercept and in doing so, threatened both Levent and the child so she would agree to marry him. This led to a quick marriage and the two telling her parents that they were just so madly in love and had fallen quickly pregnant. 

Bullet pointing the rest, cause I can, it’s messy, I know. 

At first, Demir seemed happy to have a little girl around, it kept Alara happy enough to stop the constant bickering and it meant he didn’t have to pretend she was his heir. 

Demir started working more, often traveling to the UK, leaving Alara home with the help of house elves, something she didn’t mind. 

As the little girl aged, things became more difficult, though an act was put on, behind closed doors, Demir could be ruthless. He was first and foremost, a shallow and self-centered man. Yet, he knew there was still something to be gained by having a daughter under his roof. She was a pawn. 

Emma was placed in private ballet lessons from a young age, as well as lessons for becoming a proper lady in society. 

At some point, Demir and Alara did have a child of their own, a son. 

Once she neared the age of seven, the family uprooted, moving to the UK for Demir’s business, taking on a different surname to make affairs with the UK and other countries easier. 

Emma was close to her mother, but around her father, there was a darkness that could be seen in her. 

Her mother grew ill at some point, details are still forming in my head, and it’s believed she was dead but with the help of Emma and a friend, she was able to fake it and help her mother find a safe house somewhere only Emma knows. 

I’m working on mixing this current bio with this bio, though it’s unfortunately taking longer than initially planned, but this is a way to get you guys acquainted with emma in the meantime, because words are failing me. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS 

FAMILIAL;

Cousins - I’m open to her having a cousin or two, can be a cousin she knows about or not. MUST BE TURKISH. 

FRIENDSHIPS;

A close friend - someone she is actually able to connect with, they may not know much about her, but she tolerates them far more than most. /1

People she tolerates - now she doesn’t necessarily have to be close to them, but she can at least stand them /2

Someone she is using for her own personal gain -  i would prefer this character to be a death eater though not heavily involved or someone that has ties to death eaters, as emma will have sought them out from a relatively young age and developed a bond, slowly using them to gain intel for her own benefit without them knowing /1 

ROMANTIC-ISH;

Ex. 

Enemies with benefits - they hate each other, and can’t stand each other but on occasion hook up.

ETC;

Someone she tutors in potions

Quidditch buddies

Quidditch rivals

Rivals in general/with potions

[bloodriver-king]

Finally got around to fully redeveloping my CyberPunk 2077 playthrough. I created a new character and rewrote his story and how he came to be where he is. Instead of ...generic V start up. Let me connect to him way more. And gods it makes it more enjoyable for me.

Only down side, i imagine he has far more cybernetics, much like Takemura's (but since they limited us so fucking hard, guess i have to imagine it 🙄). Including having started with mantis blades, they having been his signature weapon of choice to serve the emperors desire for blood.

Spoiler warning for the early bit of the game that i kept similar in his bio, up to the Heist. Dont know how to make the post a "read more" to condense it under the pictures.

My personal headcanon for my Corpo boy.

Umikaze Tatsuya

Alias: V, 5, 五, Go, Midnight Oni, Red Shadow, スズメの踊り, Suzume no Odori.

Born in Okinawa, Japan to a lineage of still practicing Ninja, that now serve as blades to corporate empires that build their world. A leading hitman and corporate assassin with more blood on his hands than a rogue Navy Seal.

Raised in a strict traditional home, he was taught how his family wove their traditions into the modern age. The Umikaze clan are highly coveted among the black market, to hire. Few can afford their price, outside of Corpo officials. With notible skill of his own, and at the young age of eighteen, Tatsuya was employed under Arasaka's growing empire.

He has helped carve out their competition without mercy. Faithfully serving his handlers and bosses every order with the fierce loyalty of a samurai. Eventually catching the eye of Saburo himself, he was brought on as a retainer with the rest of the executives' samurai. He hasn't been above following Saburo's commands to kill those within Arasaka's own ranks. And faithfully serves him until his twenty-eight birthday.

Finding himself in hot water with internal assassins. Driven from the company by a snake of a woman that files false slander against the Shinobi. He is cornered one night by 'Saka corp soldiers, his tech forcibly deactivated as he is thrown into the ocean. Nearly dying as his body suffers withdrawals and rejection of his now deactivated implants. He is stranded and cut off from his own lord.

Left for dead and forgotten. Awakening on a beach by his only friend in the foreign country of snakes and cheats, he finds himself enraged that his own lord did not try to defend him. Cast from the only life he knew, he finds himself in a different world of its own. Tactless, blood-soaked shadows. No protection from a corporation to hide his crimes and bury his name. He becomes a bitter rogue agent of his own. Taking on contracts he carves the underworld apart with no direction of a lord.

Though one day, his dear friend brings him a promising offer. A fresh start. Vengeance against the company that abandoned him. A prized relic that he fully knew of. Now in the hands of the tasteless brat of an heir. Though he finds himself in a bind as he takes on the mission. Suddenly he witnesses the death of his master he still felt a tinge of loyalty to. Unable to act to save Saboru or reveal himself. An exile from the company, a sure target of death. Stealing the chip back from the foolish heir to the empire he once served. He became cornered with his companion.

Knowing he needed to keep the chip out of the hands of the childish prince of Arasaka. Even though he knows its dangers, he willingly inserts it, sparing his friend the damage as they escape.

Tatsuya.

A single round carries his name.

A whisper of death.

A Hidden blade.

Always sharp, ready to strike.

He is calm and even-tempered. Analytical and poised. Quiet and reserved. His voice light and rather monotone unless truly peaked with emotion. A heavy accent carries in his English. Behind his calm expression, he giddily enjoys the thrill of a firefight. Thrives off of the rush that assassinations bring.

[knotfodder]

-

[raywritesthings]

Bird in a Storm 12/17

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Tommy Merlyn, Athena, Joanna de la Vega, Roy Harper Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: The confrontation between the Hood and SWAT on the roof of the Winick Building goes differently, altering the course of Laurel’s career, relationships and efforts to save her city forever, the shockwaves of such an altered path making themselves felt throughout her family and friends. *Can be read on my AO3, link is in bio*

Athena was accustomed to deferring to those less skilled or worthy than her. The current Heir to the Demon was only one such example and was, in part, why she was here.

Simply put, the League was stagnating before her very eyes. She couldn’t say when it had begun. Perhaps shortly after she had joined the League when the schism between Ra’s and his eldest daughter had occurred. Or perhaps not until much later, when a girl had laughed in his face at a display of his power and he had not relieved her shoulders of her head but instead allowed her room, board, training and even his Heir’s body for her own pleasure.

Athena believed in her heart, however, that Ra’s decline had begun between those two points, with the departure of Al Sa-Her.

Never had she met a warrior so single-minded in his goal, yet all the more deadly for it. The lost man who had stumbled upon their secrets molded himself into a weapon and leader, rising through the ranks with greater speed than any before him.

But Ra’s had let his Horseman go, and had never truly recovered the loss. His leniency towards Nyssa’s dalliance with the disloyal girl in their ranks, his over-reliance on the Pit keeping him confined to Nanda Parbat more and more. Despite all appearances, he was an old man dragging them all to the end with him.

Athena had had no plans to strike against him, not until she had overheard the news on a mission to the Americas about the man the rest of the world called Malcolm Merlyn.

That such a man should fall to a poorly carried out stunt such as the news described was unconscionable to her. She could only assume he had been forced to act in a manner to protect his son, the man who now stood before her. The man she needed in order to achieve the plan that had begun forming in her head.

“Athena,” Thomas Merlyn echoed. “Is that your real name?”

“It is the only name I answer to. And before you check, you will not find me in any sort of search you might conduct on your devices.”

He grimaced but carried on. “How did my father meet someone like you?”

“His oaths would have kept him from sharing too many details of his time away, but we were part of the same League once. I served first as one of his trainers, then as a comrade-in-arms when he surpassed even me.”

“Comrade… in arms,” he repeated once again. She hoped he wasn’t truly this dim. “So you’re saying my father left me after my mom died to go train in some secret Fight Club?”

“He was preparing himself to enact justice upon the ones who took her from this world. From the intelligence I have gathered, he was very near his goal before the Triad’s contracted assassin mortally wounded him.”

The young man’s eyes narrowed at the mention of his father’s current state. “You said you can heal him. How? You don’t exactly look like a nurse.”

Athena withdrew a vial from her pocket. A vial she had taken great care in filling with a priceless elixir. “The contents of this vial will revive him. Slowly, I am afraid, but I could not secure more and remain undetected. You will need to introduce it into his system. I recommend the IVs replacing his fluids.”

Thomas’ eyes reflected a hunger as he reached out, but his arm paused midway. “How do I know you’re not lying? That this isn’t just more poison?”

Well, he wasn’t a naive idiot, at the least. “I am risking everything by changing my allegiance to your father and his kin. Should the man we both trained under discover my actions, I will be forcibly returned and executed for my disloyalty.” Thomas blanched, but she paid no heed. “Nevertheless, I believe in the cause Al Sa-Her was working towards. The evil of Starling City is too great, and must be eliminated. Surely you see that your city is slowly choking on the waste that wells up from the bottom?”

The look in his eyes hardened, and he took the vial. “How long will this take?”

“It is unclear. But in the meantime, you must lead in your father’s stead. There are others he would have recruited to his cause. We must find them out and see just where their loyalties now lie in his extended absence.”

“Wait, are you trying to say you can find out who set up the hit?”

“Of course I can.” She knew he had little reason to trust her abilities as of yet, but he would learn. And if he learned each piece in just the right order, she felt certain she could craft The Magician an Heir more loyal than Ra’s could dream of, if less adept with a weapon. But that, too, could be taught.

Athena retrieved a phone from her pocket that she slid across the desk towards him. “My number is the only contact programmed in. Attend to your father, then call me when you are ready to take up his work.”

While his gaze remained distracted by the phone, Athena slipped away as quickly and quietly as she had come, disturbing no one. Her next steps were already clear in her mind; discover the source of the contract on The Magician’s life, determine the timeline of his recovery and the completion of his plans and deliver his son to him as a dedicated disciple. All of this she was confident she could achieve.

Thomas Merlyn was less skilled and worthy than she, yes. But he held that same cold determination, that drive of his father’s. And history showed that could be molded.

---

Joanna sighed as she settled back in behind her old desk. It was earlier than her mom might have liked, but she was officially back to work.

She stared across at the empty space where her friend’s things used to be. No more Sara in her graduation cap, no more white board of targets. Laurel was well and truly gone from CNRI.

Well, not totally gone. Her protege approached Joanna scarcely after she’d sat down.

“Hey, Thea.”

“Hey. I’m so glad you’re back.” The younger girl hugged her. “How are you?”

“You know, pulling through. I guess you have experience with that.”

Thea nodded. “Yeah, well just don’t do what I did and you should be fine.”

Joanna laughed. “Alright, what have we got today? Think I read something about a deposition being filed?”

“Mm-hm.” In her work clothes and with a folder in her hand, Thea Queen looked truly different from the party girl she’d been only a few months ago. “It’s against Edward Rasmus. He stole the family’s savings, and they’re looking for restitution to help them get back on track. They lost everything in their son’s college fund because of this piece of crap.”

Okay, maybe Thea wasn’t totally different.

“Well, hopefully we can get it all back. Let me see the file so I have the details before they come in today.”

She was able to read up on the Moore’s file as well as a couple others before the family arrived. The couple had even brought their young son with them, who was adorable as he was shy. Joanna talked them through the deposition process and promised to have it submitted before the day was out.

It was the last time she spoke to either of the parents.

Joanna woke up early to a call from the police informing her that her clients had been killed in a home invasion gone wrong. Taylor had miraculously managed to escape the carnage out a window, so now she found herself playing social worker instead of lawyer as they tried to figure out where he would go in the immediate aftermath.

Eventually, they decided on a temporary placement with social services until his grandparents could return to the States. It still broke Joanna’s heart a little to watch Taylor being led away by the hand, and she resolved to check in on him at least once a day until all of this was over. Though she’d need to be careful about how to do it; she didn’t want a repeat attack. The timing of that ‘home invasion’ was a little too convenient for her liking.

She was glad to get a text from Laurel that day asking if she wanted to meet up. It really had been forever since her friend had bothered to reach out and that stung, but Joanna wasn’t going to turn her away when she actually did try.

It was still strange seeing her with shorter hair, Joanna reflected as she grabbed the barstool next to Laurel’s at the old place they’d gone to once or twice after work in the old days. “Hey.”

“Hey. My dad called and said you’d been at the station,” Laurel admitted. “I thought you could use a drink. I’m buying.”

“No, you shouldn’t—”

“I’m okay,” her friend insisted. “I’m just really sorry to hear what happened to your clients.”

Joanna blew out a breath. “So am I.” The whole thing stunk of the crap Thea had mentioned yesterday, but of course that was only a feeling she had. And she wasn’t about to bring that up with Laurel when her asking her to get the Hood’s help on Danny’s murder was what had led to her friend’s fall from grace to begin with.

Yet apparently she didn’t have to. “It was Rasmus,” Laurel said with conviction as their glasses were set down.

She nodded even as she said, “There’s no proof. And now there’s no case. I mean, the kid’s only six.”

“Where’s their son now?”

Joanna looked down. “Social services took him.”

Laurel turned on the barstool to face her. “He’s in the system? After just losing his parents?”

“It’s only for a little while. They’re having trouble getting in touch with his grandparents because they’re out of the country.”

“But the killer Rasmus hired is still out there, Jo,” Laurel argued. “He could get the information on where Taylor is.”

“I’m hoping he was only interested in stopping Mr. and Mrs. Moore. I mean, what else could I do, Laurel?” Joanna asked. “I’m still staying with my mom, and I couldn’t bring Taylor in there and put her at risk like that after everything. I talked to your dad specifically and had him put two squad cars outside.”

Laurel looked down. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to do what’s best for everybody, I just…”

“I’m worried, too. I’m going to make regular check-ins over the phone in case someone’s got their eyes on me, too.”

“That’s not out of the realm of possibility,” her friend agreed. They both sipped at their drinks for a while, neither in the mood for idle chitchat. So much for catching up.

Joanna left her things with Laurel while she went to the bathroom before they headed out. As she approached the bar, she noticed Laurel was hunched over her phone, though she straightened up as soon as Joanna got close.

“You ready to go?”

“Yeah. Listen, we should do this some other time when work isn’t so depressing, you know?” Joanna said.

Laurel nodded. “Definitely. Maybe next week or so? I’ve got some busy nights coming up.”

“How late is that shop open?”

“I’ve picked up a couple things. Just helps to keep myself occupied.” She went in for a hug, and Joanna couldn’t help noticing how solid Laurel felt. Not that her friend had ever been all that fragile before, but there was something different to her stance, to the security she seemed to give off just through a hug. Joanna gave her head a shake as she backed off.

“Everything okay?” Laurel asked.

“Yeah. Guess I’m just thinking about how so much has changed… you’re taking care of yourself, right?”

“Definitely.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll see you.”

Joanna went home and ate dinner with her mother before they both kicked back to watch some TV. Nothing was really catching their interest, so her mother started channel-surfing. A picture on the screen caught her eye, and Joanna sat straight up.

“Go back, go back!”

“What, to the news?” Her mother hit a couple buttons and Green, the nightly anchor, came back on.

“—Rasmus allegedly confessed to police after they responded to reports of the Hood being spotted at the businessman’s penthouse. The hired gunman who killed Eric and Nancy Moore remains at large, and police advise all in the Glades neighborhood to exercise caution.”

“That’s the case you were working on?” Her mother asked. When Joanna nodded, her mom said, “Well, I hope you didn’t call him. Bad enough he got Laurel in trouble, I don’t need him sidling up to you.”

“It wasn’t me, mom,” Joanna assured her. But she was pretty sure she knew who it was, and she had to shake her head again. Laurel was never one to sit idle, was she?

With Rasmus in custody, Joanna decided to head to an early bed. No benefactor meant no additional hit, no additional hit meant no hitman.

Taylor would have to be safe now, right?

---

Mr. Blank had a job to finish. It hardly mattered that the target was a little boy. He had seen his face. That meant he couldn’t remain alive. It was nothing personal.

He’d already taken care of his former employer through posing as the man’s lawyer to gain access. Only one loose thread left, and he would be free to continue his business unhindered.

It had been a simple matter to get the information on young Taylor Moore’s current housing situation. He had simply called in pretending to be a representative of the boy’s grandparents seeking to confirm the child’s location for pickup. Sneaking a peek at the casefile number for Taylor had been another goal of his at the police precinct, and it aided his ruse.

A group home in the Glades was the boy’s temporary residence, and it would now be his final one. Mr. Blank parked his car on the next street over from the building, then walked along the sidewalk sure to keep his back to any and all CCTV cameras. There weren’t many in this neighborhood. Even better, he had overheard at the station that two officers that had been stationed outside had been recalled only last night thanks to Rasmus’ capture. That left him free and clear to take care of matters.

As he drew up to the steps of the building, he noticed a young woman sitting with her back against the wall of the home, head bent and blonde locks hanging in her face. A potential witness. How irritating.

Mr. Blank sighed and reached for the gun in his trench coat pocket. In the same instance, she stood up in one fluid motion and looked him right in the eye, revealing her own face was hidden partially behind a mask. Interesting.

“Somehow I had a feeling someone like you would show up.”

“I assure you, there’s no one else like me,” he told her. “But I would have expected the Hood after his intervention with Rasmus.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.” Her fists were balled and she had no weapons. This would be easy.

Yet as he retrieved his gun, she lunged, one hand closing around his wrist and twisting hard. Mr. Blank hissed and pulled back, the gun clattering to the ground. She kicked it further to the side and moved in closer. So it was to be a brawl.

He feinted to her left and was just barely blocked by her arm when he tried to strike her right. He grabbed her arm and yanked it to force her forward, ramming a knee into her gut.

She wheezed but barreled forward to take him with her, crashing him into the wall outside the home. Mr. Blank tasted blood when he bit down. He just barely got his guard up when she went for a punch to his face. He twisted her arm behind her back and relished the cry that left her as he closed in, the fingers of his other hand reaching for her mask.

“You’ve seen my face. Don’t you think it’s only fair I see yours?”

Her head jerked back, colliding with his chin. His grip reflexively loosened, and she spun out of his hold.

What she lacked in finesse, she made up for in sheer enthusiasm. This was a brawler, and she lived for the fight just as much as he did. He thrilled at the blood pounding in his ears, the pain in his jaw.

They both eyed the gun lying a few feet away. He dove for it. She dove for him.

Mr. Blank’s fingers grappled for purchase on the weapon as her weight fell upon him. He turned and was met with two hands forcing his arm away, just as he squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

---

He was walking home from another shift at the club when he heard a noise not altogether uncommon in the Glades: a person’s pained and heavy breathing. In the past, he might have kept on walking. But ever since his life had been saved by the Hood, he’d been trying to find some reason for it to have happened. Some reason he’d been worth it.

So Roy cautiously approached the alley he could hear the sound coming from. In the dark, all he could make out was the disheveled blonde hair of a woman leaning against the wall as she slowly staggered forward. Her head was down. She had to be focusing solely on putting one foot in front of the other.

“Hey. Hey, lady,” he said, coming forward. She hissed and drew back, but as she did her hair sort of shifted, revealing it to be a wig. And he thought he recognized the real hair underneath, short as it now was.

“Laurel?”

“Roy?”

He shook his head. “You’re the Woman. Should have known it was you.” She’d roughed him up well enough just for stealing Thea’s purse.

“Well, I’d congratulate you on your detective work, but this one was kind of handed to you,” she said, strain in her voice. She was limping pretty bad, too.

“Hey, what happened to you?”

“Got shot. Just a graze, but it hurts more than you’d think.”

“Don’t have to guess,” he said. Roy came around to stand at her side and pulled her arm over his shoulder. “Here, give me the wig.” He stuffed that in the pocket of his hoodie. Hopefully, they didn’t come across any cop cars or someone who looked at them too closely. “How far do we have to go?”

“Just a couple more blocks.”

They traveled it mostly in silence, not wanting to draw more attention to themselves than necessary. She had a place about the same size as his, though he thought her street had a slightly better reputation. Everything was relative.

“You got any disinfectant?”

“Cabinet above the bathroom sink.” She hobbled over to a little basket that turned out to hold sewing supplies. Well, at least she knew what was going to have to happen.

Roy returned from the bathroom to find her with one leg out of her leggings. He kept his gaze on the floor.

“You ever do this before?”

It took a beat where he thought she was nodding before she realized she needed to answer verbally. “Yeah. On my arm.”

“Okay. This’ll probably hurt a little more.”

She hissed when the disinfectant made contact with her skin and flinched badly at the first poke of the sewing needle. Not that he could totally judge her for that kind of aversion.

“You said a little.”

“My bad.”

Once he had finished closing up the wound, she grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch to throw over her lap which brought him some comfort. Roy sat back, watching her. “So when did this start?”

She shrugged. “A month or so back, officially. But it’s been coming.”

He thought he knew what she meant by that. The slow simmering of anger waiting to boil over into outrage at just how much everything here sucked. How unfair it was, how impossible it was for most people to escape.

“And the guy that shot you?”

Her head bowed for a moment. “He shot himself, in a way. I was trying to get the gun off him. It grazed me, but…”

She didn’t have to finish. 

Roy shrugged. “Then he got what he deserved.”

“What he deserved was to be tried for his crimes,” Laurel maintained, though her shoulders slumped and she lost the haughty look. “But I can’t say I’m devastated he’s gone. It’ll keep Taylor safe, at least.”

“Who’s Taylor?”

“A kid. His parents were trying to sue a man called Rasmus for losing their savings, and he hired a hitman to take care of the problem. The hitman killed the Moores a couple of nights ago, then came back to try and finish the job.”

Roy’s fists clenched at the thought. What kind of sick person targeted a little boy for something he wasn’t really even a part of? “How’d you hear about all this? I mean, was it the Hood or…?”

She shook her head. “The Hood has his own operation going on. I’m just doing my part where I can.”

“But you know him, right?” Roy couldn’t quite keep the eagerness out of his voice. “Or you know how to get in touch. I’ve been looking for him since he saved my life.”

Laurel said nothing, only studied him.

“Do you know if, I don’t know, I could help him somehow? I know how to fight.”

“The Hood’s mission is a personal one. I’m not sure that he’d be willing to risk someone else getting hurt,” Laurel said, smirking as she added, “There’s a reason I’m on my own.”

Roy looked down. So she thought it would be a no.

“He has a team.”

The unexpected words caused Roy’s head to jerk up sharply.

“I could see if he’s in need of anyone else to provide support. That’s the best I can promise you.”

It was better than he’d had. “I could help you fight out there.”

Laurel considered him. “You have a lot of good instincts, but they’re not honed. It’s going to take some training for you to be able to do more damage to them than they do to you.”

“That’s not a no.”

“It’s a we’ll see. Find yourself a way to train first. I’d recommend a guy except I think he’d kill me for sending another vigilante to his doorstep,” she remarked with enough lightness in her tone to make him think she was probably joking. “But for now, you shouldn’t be out there looking for trouble.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, mom.”

Laurel shook her head. “I am not old enough or financially and materially stable enough to be a mother.”

“Yeah, neither were my parents,” said Roy. He thought he caught her smirking at that in spite of herself. “I guess I should let you sleep the pain off.”

“That would help. I’ve got work tomorrow.” She stood with a low groan, wrapping the blanket around her waist like a skirt. “That’s not gonna be a fun walk.”

“You ever think about getting a bike?” He asked. “It’d get you around faster at night. Be easier to avoid the cops.”

She frowned. “Couldn’t afford it.”

“I know a guy who sells them cheap. They don’t have all the parts, but we could fix them up probably. Or I could.” He shrugged. “Support stuff, right?”

When he chanced a glance up, Laurel was smiling at him. “That’s not a bad idea. Tell me when we can see your guy.”

Roy felt his hope reignite, and he nodded. “Yeah, could probably get us in by the end of the week. But, uh, I guess you need my number.” He grabbed a pen off her counter and scribbled it on a to-go menu. Laurel grabbed it up with her free hand, nodding to herself.

“Okay. I’ll message you so you have mine, and I’ll let you know when I’m available.”

“Daytime would be best. I’ve got this new job. A real one, at the Verdant.”

For some reason, she smirked at that. “Good for you. You should stick around there.”

“Okay.” Roy backed up towards the door. “I’ll see you. Uh, what do you go by?”

“Laurel?” She said skeptically.

He snorted. “I meant like your vigilante persona. Everybody’s got different names floating out there. The Woman, Lady in Black, Angel, stuff like that.”

“And some less flattering monikers, I’m sure.” Laurel looked off into some kind of middle distance. “I don’t know. I hadn’t given it much thought.”

“Maybe you should.” He shrugged one shoulder and headed out the door. Once it shut behind him, he couldn’t resist pumping his fist.

He was in with the vigilantes. Well, one of them at least. And he’d make sure Laurel felt he was indispensable so that she’d have to agree he made the cut. And then someday, she might even introduce him to the Hood, and he could repay the man who had saved his life and shown him this new path.

He was finally going to make a difference.

[rovnof]

&&. word has it ( roan ó faoláin ) was just spotted around the city. ( he ) is a ( 36 ) year old affiliated with ( no one ). it’s been said that ( he ) resembles ( chris evans ). ( he ) has been said to be ( sensible & principled ) but also quite ( taciturn & hotheaded ). ( he ) is currently serving as ( a bartender / ex-irish informer ).

( roan ) would describe ( himself ) as a ( spring ) person and would identify as an ( isfj-a ). ( his ) birthday is ( may 3rd, 1983 ), making ( his ) star sign ( taurus ) and ( his ) celtic animal sign the ( bull ). ( his ) biggest pet peeve is ( bad manners ), and ( his ) theme song is ( house of memories by panic! at the disco ). finally, ( his ) primary goal is to ( try to survive the mess he got himself into ).

Hi hi hi everyone! Fox here. Some of you may remember Roan from TFK, but he’s gonna look a bit different here. Read on for deets.

Full Bio

Fact File

Relationships

SUMMARY

Born and raised in Belfast, Northern Ireland. His father Seamus was a member of the IRA, who were waging war in the city at the time. His mother Nora did everything she could to provide for her children—Roan, his sister Kelly, and his brother Lorcan—basically on her own.

To help his mother, Roan started running with the Gilligans, an offshoot of the Irish mob within Ireland. He came to more or less hate his father, who was absent most of the time because he thought unifying Ireland was more important than his family. So he stuck with his mother, helping her with extra funds and protecting the little ones.

A ceasefire between the IRA and the British government made Seamus spend more time at home, which was bad news because it meant he had to direct his anger and restlessness somewhere else. Roan avoided him, and Nora protected Kelly fiercely, so Seamus took to spending time with Lorcan, puling him out of school for day trips without notice to anyone. The last time this happened, he took Lorcan to Omagh, where an IRA carbomb went off and killed several bystanders. Including Seamus and Lorcan.

Nora packed up her remaining children immediately and took them to New York, where they lived with their aunt until they could get back on their feet. Roan used his connections to the mob in Ireland to get in with the mob stateside, and focused on school and working for them. His mother and sister didn’t know about his criminal activities, nor did they ask.

In his late twenties, he was hired by a well-known politician, Mikhail Ivanov, to protect his daughter Natasha. What started as strictly business turned into a passionate romance that could have ended in marriage if not for Mikhail’s deception. He sold out most of his Irish contacts, except for Roan, to the Italian mafia, a move that devastated lives across the city.

Roan was branded a traitor—even if he hadn’t sold out information himself, he’d been too busy screwing the politician’s daughter to notice that anything weird was going on, and that was unforgivable. He was beaten nearly to death, but for reasons he still doesn’t understand, was spared that actual fate by Alexander Barrett. All he had to do was promise to leave NYC and never come back.

Roan said a quick goodbye to his mom and sister and left immediately for Boston. He spent a couple years there under an alias, working for another Irish family as a bodyguard and hitman. He earned the nickname Conrí, or “wolf king”, during that time.

After a couple years, Roan was involved in a shootout with Italian mafia members that ended with him shooting the Don’s son. This almost wasn’t a big deal for him, until he learned that the son in question was Niccolo Vicario, who was engaged to be married to Natasha Ivanov. Panicked and fearing what might happen if anyone in New York found out who exactly had killed the Vicario heir, Roan hopped on a plane to Europe without any goodbyes this time.

For the last five years, Roan’s been hiding out in the French criminal underworld, working as hired protection, and occasionally as a hitman. About six months ago, he was approached by a Parrain from the Corsican mafia known as The Magpie, who asked that Roan accompany him to New York as a sort of guide. If Roan refused, Damien Olivier would drag him to NYC and sell him back to the Irish without a second thought. If he agreed, the Corsicans would protect him and he might be able to have some of his old life back. All he needed to do was help Olivier make some introductions, point out key players on the scene, and keep his nose clean. Simple enough.

Now back in NYC, Damien has helped him secure a cover identity, lodging, and a bartending job at The Garden Hotel, which is known to be neutral ground for the mafias. Every so often, Olivier borrows him to get background information, not that Roan can offer him anything current. But it’s nice to be back in the one city he actually feels is home.

So that’s where we’re at! Lmk if you want to plot!

[mosylufanfic]

Counting Down to Midnight

The same nonny who asked me for a laundromat story also asked me for a royalty story. Both caught my eye and my heart.

This is a little late, though. Yesterday was the “royalty” day on the AUgust calendar. But parts of this story were hard. Hope it came out right!

Send me a prompt from this calendar for AUgust

Counting Down to Midnight

Cisco leaned on the windowsill, watching ships of various sizes circle the palace as they waited for their turn to land. They clustered in the sky like fireflies, more joining them every moment as they came in through the atmosphere shield. Usually it wasn't this crowded, but tonight was special.

Tonight was the Heir's Ball, and in about five hours, at midnight, the heir to the throne of Cendrillon would announce his choice of consort in preparation for taking the crown next week.

The bulk of Jupiter hung low in the sky, hulking and familiar. Cisco had seen it every day of his life, locked in the same place overhead. But here on Cendrillon, it rose and set like the sun. In a few hours, it would slide beneath the horizon, leaving the sky open, filled with stars.

Three months ago, he would have been wild with delight at the idea of actually being able to see the whole sky in person. Now the starfield looked like a yawning chasm, and he found himself clutching the windowsill so he wouldn't fall off into it.

"Son," he muttered, "you're a long way from Ganymede."

The knock sounded at the door, and Cisco called, "Come in."

A pause, and he knew he'd done something wrong. Again.

He heaved a sigh and turned on his heel. "What?" he said. "Am I not supposed to let you come in when you knock? Are you supposed to be turned away twice before I permit you into my royal presence?"

Lady Caitlin Snow glided in. She paused, spread her silky skirts wide, and lowered herself in a curtsy that seemed like an impossible feat of balance. Her back was as straight as a ruler, her high-piled hair tipped forward, the mechanics of her change in elevation hidden beneath her skirts. “Your Majesty,” she said rather pointedly.

“Madam,” he grumbled - the most informal acknowledgement he could get away with, and that only in private.

The greetings out of the way, she rose as gracefully as she’d sunk, and said, "I didn't say any of that."

"You were thinking it."

"I would merely advise cultivating a more dignified response when you don't know who's on the other side of the door."

"When you met me, I was head down in a land speeder with grease on my nose. Whatever made you think I was capable of dignity?"

She folded her hands in her skirts and said serenely, "I have faith that you could do anything you set your mind to, sire."

He suppressed another snort, which might have been too close to a yawp of terror.

Sire.

The first time she'd called him that, in his garage in Ganymede City, he'd been involved in scrubbing grease off his hands, and had to turn off the sonar cleaner to say, "What?"

"Sire," she said patiently.

"Who are you again?"

"Lady Caitlin Snow, the Royal Protocol Mistress to the court of Cendrillon."

"Cendrillon," he repeated. "Wait, isn't that the moon that had the big spaceship crash last month? And the whole royal family snuffed it?"

"Along with seventeen other people," she said. "The Accelerator. Yes."

"Sorry about that," he said, because a disaster like that had to royally suck, no pun intended. He decided not to ask about the Sire thing, because everyone knew Cendrillites, besides being insular and mysterious, were weird and old-fashioned. And the Royal Protocol Mistress would be even weirder and more old-fashioned than most. Jupiter's balls, she'd fuckin' curtsied to him when she'd walked in. "So how can I help you, Miss Snow?"

"I am properly addressed as 'my lady', 'your ladyship,' or Lady Snow," she corrected him. "And you can come back to Cendrillon with me to assume the throne."

After several moments, he said, "I think you have the wrong guy."

She'd convinced him eventually, with the help of his DNA map. Like most babies born in the Jovian settlements, he'd had his DNA mapped at birth, and it had been all the proof that was needed for the child support to come in.

He'd always known his bio-dad had money, because he'd never wanted for anything growing up, and he’d gotten access to a pretty healthy trust fund when he’d turned twenty-one. That money had allowed him to get all the schooling he wanted and to open up his own garage.

But never in his wildest dreams had he thought the guy who dutifully paid child support was a king.

And not even his wildest dreams' wildest dreams would have included him ascending to the throne.

Caitlin closed her screen, letting it disappear into the gold cuff on her wrist. She tilted her head, studying his outfit.

He resisted the urge to tug at - well, everything. The high-collared silk shirt, the fine, snug pants, the long, sweeping overcoat, stiff with embroidery and bristling with buttons, and to top it all off, a giant, intricately worked platinum brooch over his heart like a target.

It had all been tailored perfectly, but it still felt like a bad costume. One that wouldn't fool anybody.

"Very nice," she said. "Excellent choice of color." She reached out to fasten the button at his throat, and he dodged her hand. She frowned but let her hand drop.

"You look pretty," he said.

She looked fancier than usual, and that was saying something, because he'd never seen her less than perfectly groomed, whether they were taking tea with the president of Europa or hiking through the mountains or touring a platinum mine.

She touched her intricately braided and piled hair, with tiny platinum snowflakes glinting in the shining red-brown coils. "Thank you. Have you reviewed the list I gave you? "

"No, you do," he said. "That's a nice color on you. And the rocks are pretty sweet."

She ran her fingers along the glittering diamond necklace at her throat. The black mourning ring on her left hand caught the light, drinking it in. "They've been in my family for generations."

"Of course they have. Well, it looks good, is what I'm saying."

A soft blush colored her cheeks. "Thank you. You're very kind, sire. Did you get a chance to look over my list? Of candidates for your consort?"

"Yep," he said.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"A little," he said.

"Well, you have forty-four minutes until you're presented," she said. "It's in your cuff." She tapped his wrist and the thick platinum cuff he wore, light years ahead of the beat-up, second-hand aluminum cuff he'd had on Ganymede. "Use that time and go over the list again. You've met most of them already, over the past month. There are a few that weren't available to meet with you before. Focus on those. I suggest committing one or two facts to memory to ease conversation."

"I can make conversation, thanks. You know, I really did look at it. There are some men on there. And some enbies."

"You do still identify as pansexual, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do. But isn't the whole point of a consort to, like, ensure the succession?"

"Oh, children," she said, waving her hand. "Children are easy to come by. That's not a concern. As you well know, so long as they bear your DNA, your heir doesn't have to be your consort's child. Though people do think it's nice if they are."

"Well, sure," he said, blinking at her.

"The Cendrillite consort serves a much more important function than mere reproduction. They are the king or queen's first advisor, their most trusted confidante." She tilted her head. "This was all in the file, sire. I gave it to you a week ago."

Okay, he hadn't read that much of it. "How am I supposed to trust anyone if I've only known them a few hours?"

"The marriage itself can take place up to a year after the Heir's Ball. You will have plenty of time to get to know them. To learn to trust them."

"What if I just pick someone at random off your list and then call it off later?"

"I’m afraid the announcement at midnight is legally binding."

"It's batshit, is what it is," he said. "It's a crazypants archaic custom. The heir picks a consort at a ball and has to announce it that same night and then can't change their mind? Even if the person they picked is mean or evil or crazy?"

She let out a sigh through her nose. It was a noise he'd heard from her a lot over the past month, when he pointed out things about dearly held Cendrillite traditions that made no goddamn sense. "For the past three hundred years, the ruler or their family has had a selection in mind well beforehand. This is a - "

"Tradition," he finished. "Yeah. I got that. But if it's just for form's sake, why are we doing it at all?"

"Because even if now were the time to start bucking tradition - which it's not - "

"Please send me a memo when it is, because I wanna get cracking on that."

"- this is a tradition that's enshrined in law. The heir must announce their choice of consort at midnight a week before their coronation. Without that announcement, the coronation cannot proceed."

He thought, Doesn't sound so bad.

She reached for the button again.

"Come on," he muttered, pushing her hand away. "I feel like I'm choking."

She narrowed her eyes. "This isn't an afternoon at the beach. This is - "

"My official presentation to my people and my fellow rulers, blah blah blah, yes, I heard you the first eighty-four times."

She dropped her hands and just looked at him.

Hating that he felt guilty for putting that look on her face, he stalked across the room and flopped onto a couch.

Staring out the window, he said, "I know it's important. I know about image and protocol and tradition. But I'm not made for that shit. I'm a fucking mechanic from Ganymede with the grease just scrubbed out from under his fingernails. The only reason I'm sitting here, in this outfit that could buy and sell my whole business three times,  is because I'm literally your only option."

"No," she said. "You're not."

He turned to scowl at her. "Please. The king already had an heir, and three spares besides. If it weren't for a faulty landing system, I'd've stayed in Ganymede my whole life and never even seen Cendrillon."

"That much is true. But it's not true that you were our only option."

He sat up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean that your father was . . . generous in his affections."

His brows shot up. "He was a man-whore."

She tweaked her skirts a little. "That's another way of saying it."

"How many kids was he paying child support for?"

"You have seven half-siblings, of varying ages and genders, scattered from Amalthea to Pasiphae."

"Seven?" That, plus him and the four who'd died in the crash - "He had twelve kids? Hadn't he ever heard of birth control?"

For a moment there was a wicked glint in her eye, then she dropped her gaze demurely. "It's really not my place to speculate."

His neck was starting to hurt, looking up at her, and he remembered the rule about not sitting until you had the king's permission. He wished she wouldn't do that when it was just them, but they'd had argument after argument about it until he'd given in and let her do whatever the hell she wanted, according to whatever arcane rules made sense in her maze of traditions and protocols. He waved a hand at her. "Dost my ladyship care to pop a squat?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, but settled down in a chair, skirts arranged just so, back still poker straight. "If it pleases your Majesty."

He snorted. "Okay, so if you had all those choices, then why did you go for me? The grease-smeared garage owner from Ganymede." He cringed at the alliteration, and almost jumped up to pace the small room before he remembered that she would feel constrained to get up, too. "I never wanted to be rich and powerful, I just wanted to fix my machines and enjoy my friends and live my life."

"I know," she said. "And I'm sorry to have taken you away from all that, sire. But you are the best choice for Cendrillon."

"How do you know that? You've known me a month."

She leveled a look at him. "Do you truly think that?"

He opened his mouth to say duh, yes - but paused.

Caitlin, who kept a mental file on everyone they met. Caitlin, who seemed to know the answer to any question he came up with. Caitlin, who could neatly and quickly explain the background, the push-and-pull of any relationship from the political agreements between planets to the reason why two town's mayors weren't talking to each other.

Caitlin, who insisted that it was simply part of the job.

Would she or her bosses really have left a possible heir to the throne to chance?

"No," he said slowly. "I'm starting to think not."

She smiled a little. "Ten years ago, I became a junior assistant to the Royal Protocol Master. The first thing I got was a set of files, and instructions that I was to look after the people in them. Administer their trust funds, clean up their messes, and make sure they came to no harm. Did you know all your siblings got the same support you did?"

"Since I just learned they existed, no, I didn't."

"Three of them are dilettantes, living a life of leisure entirely on their trust fund. Two of them are constantly in monetary and legal trouble as they live beyond their means."

Cisco blinked. Knowing how healthy his trust fund was, those two of his siblings must be living high as hell.

"Two of them live in utmost comfort, and have jobs that they work at simply to have something to fill their days. And then there’s you.”

“What about me?”

“You have a master’s in engineering, and you enjoy invention.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, so?”

“You could have gotten a job at any number of well respected firms. You could have spent your days tinkering in your basement. But you opened a garage. You pay excellent wages, you have regular internships for kids in the area, and you have the fairest prices and the best work in Ganymede City."

"So?" he said again.

"That garage isn’t just productive for you. It helps others. Employment. Education. Services. That was a choice you made on your own, sire. That aspect of my duties, looking after the king's offspring, was never just about making sure they were well-cared for. I was gathering information about the kind of people you were growing up to be, on the very much off-chance that one of you might have to assume the throne."

"And I did," Cisco said.

Her hand crept over to toy with the mourning ring on her finger, as it often did when the subject of the spaceship crash came up, even obliquely. "And then you did."

He looked away from her hands and up to her face. "You really do think of everything in the Royal Protocol office, don't you?"

She smiled a little. "I've been watching you for ten years, and you say you're a humble mechanic, but you've always been more. I could have picked one of the others and at best, gotten a ruler who just floated along as a royal puppet and didn't mind who pulled their strings. But I picked you."

"Bet you regret that after a month of fights over protocol and titles."

"Oh, no," she said. "I'm more certain than ever that you're what Cendrillon needs."

"Really? Why?"

"When I took you around this moon, you talked to people. More than that, you listened to people. You asked intelligent questions, not just of me, but of everybody. And you considered the answers carefully and thoughtfully."

For the first time, he realized that she hadn't had to guide him around the tiny moon. She hadn't had to arrange meetings with regular people who owned cafes instead of manor houses, who worked in mines instead of palaces. In fact, doing so would have been a giant pain in the ass.

She could have kept him here in the palace, and there would have been plenty to do and see and learn. But she'd made sure he met his subjects, high and low, and she'd been watching as he did.

"I'm really what you want for this place," he sad. "Me."

"I love Cendrillon," she said. "I would do anything for her. But we are a hidebound place. We're mired in pointless traditions. The government strangles on its own red tape while the people cry out for change."

He gaped at her. "Of all people, I'd've thought you'd be fine with pointless traditions."

"Traditions are there to serve us, not the other way around. Who better than me to understand that?"

He considered her. "And yet, I still have to pick a consort by midnight."

"Sire, with all my heart, I believe that you have it in you to be great king. To bring Cendrillon out of the dark ages and into its rightful place in the Jovian political sphere. But you need to be firmly in place first."

"You're saying that to get to a place where I can change things, I've got to follow the rules, at least for awhile. Consort, coronation, the whole nine yards."

"Exactly. Your ascendance to the throne must go by the book. Eobard and his cronies will take any excuse to call the legitimacy of your rule, and your policies, into question. This must be done right."

He nodded, looking out the window again. Jupiter had set, taking its reflected sunlight with it. Cendrillon City glimmered in the dusk, lights blinking on all over the city. All those people, trusting in him. Or maybe not trusting.

Maybe just waiting to see what he would be.

At home - no.

On Ganymede, at this time, the atmosphere shield would be darkening. It was to simulated Terran night, even though nobody in Ganymede City had ever been back to the wasted wreck of what had been the human homeworld.

Here, they had a true night at least once a week, and they made it special. He was going to have to learn all the little differences like that.

He looked back at Caitlin. "So," he said. "We'll do it right."

She smiled.

He lifted his arm and tapped his cuff. His screen sprang to life. He picked the file blinking and swiped through the faces.

"So tell me about these consort possibilities," he said. "What exactly makes them such good candidates?"

"Political acumen, high intelligence, and family connections," she answered without hesitation. "A lot of them are senators or senators' children. Most are Cendrillites, but I included one from Io and one from Pasiphae."

Places that were already close allies with Cendrillon, he filled in mentally. "Nobody from Ganymede?"

"The only possibilities are from families that have rather closer ties than I'd like with Eobard Thawne and his set."

One day, he was going to have to learn just how hard Caitlin had spiked Thawne's guns by scooping Cisco out of his garage and off to the Cendrillite palace.

"I also weighed scientific interests quite high when I was selecting them because it's nice when you can share something with your consort."

"Yeah," he said. "Nice." He settled his hand on the armrest, letting the faces of his possible consorts slowly wheel by in the air. "What if I like someone who's not on your list?"

"The choice is ultimately yours, of course."

"But you'd be pretty pissed."

"I would offer my opinion, sire. But if your mind is firmly made up, I can certainly arrange matters."

He tilted his head. "Can they say no?"

She blinked a few times. "They won't."

"I'm not asking if they will," he said patiently. "I'm asking if they can. If they don't want to be my consort, if they're in love with someone else, if they don't like my face. Is someone allowed to say no to me?"

"They are permitted the right of refusal, yes," she said. "Which is why I recommend giving me your choice no later than eleven-thirty so I have enough time to speak to them and their family."

"Half an hour doesn't seem like much time to prepare for getting married."

"It's just the announcement," she said. "As I said, the marriage can wait for up to a year.” She touched her ring again. “A number of people on your list lost family members in the crash, and naturally they can't marry during the mourning period."

"Not even a king?"

"Not even a king."

Well. That was something.

"You already met a number of them in person, this past month," she said briskly. "I'm sure you'll recognize their names and faces as you review the list. During the ball, I'll be introducing you to each candidate on my list that you don't already know, and I'll endeavor to give you at least ten minutes alone with every candidate before eleven o'clock. That gives you some time to consider your options."

"Ten minutes with each candidate," he said. "That much time?"

"I realize it's not ideal, but it's what we have to work with." She paused and touched her ear, listening for a moment. "I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but I'm needed in the ballroom. With your permission?"

He started to wave her away, but he paused, remembering a lesson in protocol that had only half-stuck. He got to his feet and gave her a bow. "You may go."

She gave him a quick, surprised smile and performed another of her deep curtsies before slipping out the door.

He sat back down, but instead of focusing on the list of candidates right away, he looked at the door for several minutes, thinking hard.

A little before 11:30, Caitlin made her way up the curving stairs to where she could see the heir, leaning against the railing, looking down over the ballroom.

"Your Majesty," she said, curtsying.

He straightened up and gave her a perfect little bob of the head - not too curt, not too deep. An acknowledgement of her presence that maintained his own rank. "Your ladyship."

"Very prettily done," she said in an undertone, joining him at the railing.

"From the woman who drilled me in it for four hours."

She glanced at him, but his tone was light and his mouth quirked up at the corners, so he was probably teasing her. She smiled back at him.

One of the things she'd noticed first - that everyone noticed first - was how charming he was. Everyone liked Cisco Ramon. Everyone wanted to talk to him.

Likeability wasn't exactly priority number one for a king, but it couldn't hurt, either. Her discreet polls showed his popularity among the Cendrillite people had skyrocketed, with only a few extremely traditionalist grumblers. His popularity would diminish, she knew. Right now, his story had a great deal of charm and appeal, but Eobard Thawne and his cronies would be hard at work pointing out how inexperienced he was, an outsider, not raised to the throne.

Time to worry about that in the morning.

"Are you enjoying yourself, sire?"

"Yeah. It's a nice party," he said. "Classy."

She thought about pointing out that he should be circulating, speaking to people, showing himself. But he'd charmed everyone, and he'd spoken with everyone that she gently guided in his direction, including all the candidates, and he could take ten minutes to himself. Especially as he had yet to tell her which candidate he'd selected.

So she just said, "I'll pass your approval on to the royal events office."

"Do that," he said absently. He'd looked away from the dancers and was studying the mural that swirled around the top half of the ballroom's walls.

The mural portrayed a stylized depiction of the founding of Cendrillon. How it had started life as a barren, overlooked moonlet, settled by the poorest and unluckiest of Terran colonizers. The discovery of platinum and other high-demand metals in mines that were only supposed to yield cheap minerals. The canny decision to hide those metals, bargain for the land rights to their moonlet, and only then begin mining in earnest.

Like the abused stepdaughter turned princess in the old Terran story, Cendrillon had transformed overnight into a glittering jewel of the Jovian settlements, and the leader of the colony became its first king.

"What was Cendrillon's name before the colony got control?" he asked idly.

"You know, I don't remember," she said. "Probably one of Jupiter's minor lovers, like all the rest of the Jovian satellites."

He grinned widely. "Jupiter above, have I finally found the one fact about Cendrillon that's not at the tip of your tongue?"

She pursed her lips. "I'm sure I learned it, sire. Would you like me to look it up?"

He waved a hand. "No, I'll do it myself, later. It's fine."

She decided to look it up anyway. After midnight. "Have you selected a candidate?" She rested her fingers on her wrist, ready to bring her screen to life if she needed the backup. Not that she would unless absolutely necessary, and even then she would step into an alcove. Open screens were rather gauche at a formal ball.

"Yep."

"Excellent." She would have been more than happy to discuss the pros and cons of each candidate, but if he'd settled on one, it would give her more time to get everything organized.

"She's not on your list."

Winds of the Great Red Spot, she’d been worried about this. But she smiled brightly. "Tell me who it is and I'll tell you if it can be managed."

"I'm sure it can be managed," he said. "She fits all the qualifications. Family connections - I'm told her family has been serving the crown since colony days. High intelligence, political acumen - that especially." He looked at her. "And I like her. We click."

Caitlin shuffled possibilities in her mind like a deck of cards. Lady Iris? But the Wests served the law, not the crown, and were very clear about the distinction. Besides, she was engaged and would never agree to break it, even for her king.

Lady Kendra or Lady Cynthia might serve, although they had various complications in their lives that had led her to strike them from her list. It could be managed, through.

Please, please let him not have selected Dame Lisa Snart. She was a nightmare and her brother was worse. They couldn't have that kind of mess so near the throne, not if they wanted to hold Thawne's set in check.

He raised his brows at her. "Figured it out yet?"

She said lightly, "Please tell me you caught her name and that I'm not going to have to find her by her shoe size."

"Hmm," he said. "Interesting. What is your shoe size?"

For a moment, she couldn't work out what he was saying and then her mouth fell open. "Sire. No."

"Cisco," he said. "It's Cisco, remember?"

"You want me as your consort?"

"You said you'd do anything for Cendrillon," he told her.

"But I - I wasn't - I never thought - " She was stuttering. She hadn't fumbled with her words like this since the day of the royal funeral.

“Is it illegal?”

“Oh, no. There’s actually a great deal of precedent. In 452 PS, Queen Calypso married her Royal Protocol Mistress, and in 535 PS, Prince Leonides married his mother’s Royal Protocol Mistress, and in 659 PS, the Royal Protocol Master was already the father of the Heir when Queen Magritte married him after her first consort died of the Ionian flu - “

He broke in before she could nervously recite all the times the Royal Protocol Masters and Mistresses had become the royal consort. “Is it improper?”

She twisted the black ring on her finger. “Right away, yes, it would be most improper. But in four months - "

He took both her hands, and she swallowed the rest of her words. "Look," he said. "I know your fiance died in the crash. I know you're still in your mourning period for him. I'd never ask you to do anything you don't want to do on a personal level."

She had to fight not to pull her hand with the mourning ring out of Cisco's loose grip and press it against her chest, because that would be rude.

"But you said it yourself. It's not about children or succession, it's about the king having a partner and an advisor they can trust. I trust you."

She stared at him, struck into silence. His eyes were utterly sincere.

"You think I can be a great king? I think I'd be lost without you."

She pressed her lips together. "I - I need a moment. Sire. Cisco. Please?"

He let go of her hands. "I have a backup in mind," he said. "But you're the one I want."

She almost forgot to curtsy to him before she ducked into the hallway, headed for a tiny receiving room.

She sank down on the couch, hands clenched in her skirts.

The consort? Her?

She'd spent most of the past month assembling that list, adding people and striking people as she got to know Cisco, to know what he needed and what he valued and what he liked. She'd been sure that he would be able to find the perfect consort on there. It had never crossed her mind that he might pick her instead.

She was used to a life in the background. She had never expected to be the Royal Protocol Mistress so soon. She had thought she might ascend to the position in fifteen or twenty years, when Tina retired, and spend the rest of her days moving in the royal court, arranging ceremonies and gently manipulating protocol in the name of politics.

And now Cisco wanted her as his consort. In the spotlight, a lever that the entire court would attempt to use if they wanted to shift the king's will.

I trust you, he had said.

She held her hand out, staring at the mourning ring.

The crash had killed Tina, and elevated her to this position too soon. It had killed Ronnie, and left her without the lover and partner and husband she'd intended to have.

The careful path of her life had been vaporized in the fireball of the Accelerator.

She’d seized upon the necessary work of finding Cisco and bringing him back to Cendrillon to keep her getting up in the morning. But in a way, she'd been just following the broken and burning path because she hadn't known what else to do.

Now Cisco was offering her a new path. A big and scary and alluring one. To be the king's consort, to be in a position to change her home for the better. To shift the balance of power between the court and the people, to shed some of the shackles of the past, in a much more direct way than the Royal Protocol Mistress ever could.

To marry Cisco.

She didn't know if she wanted it

She didn't know if she didn't want it, either.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

Your duty, her mother’s voice said in her head.

It was a cold answer, but the Snows bred cold women, and it was the clear, bracing kind of cold that woke you up on a drowsy winter morning. She sat up straight, pressing her palms into her knees.

Yes.

Her duty.

She had been doing her duty to the crown since she was a child, following in her mother's footsteps. If this was what the crown wanted of her, then she would do it.

If this was what Cendrillon needed from her, she would be glad.

When Caitlin stepped out of the room, it was to see  a cluster of people on the balcony with Cisco, laughing and talking. He smiled, talked, and laughed along with them, no indication that he felt at all awkward in their glittering presence.

She watched a minor lord touch his arm lightly, a duchess laugh brightly at something he said. Of course, he would be their king in a week's time, and a king was always witty and attractive, but Cisco would be both with or without the crown.

A simple mechanic indeed, she thought tartly. He could say that all he wanted, but the truth was, he belonged anywhere he put himself.

Was one of those people his backup? The person he meant to marry if she told him no?

She swallowed back something that felt too close to jealousy and took a step forward. He noticed the movement and looked past his companions for a moment, catching her eye. He said something to them and excused himself from the circle, bowing in return to their bows and curtsies.

A few looked after him, but whatever he'd said provoked no question. Everyone knew that Caitlin had been dedicating all her time to him in the month since she'd brought him back from Ganymede, and everyone also knew that she would be arranging the match.

Nobody had the faintest idea what was to come.

He closed the door behind him and turned to her.“Well?”

She curtsied, spreading her skirts wide. But it wasn’t the low, reverent curtsy she had given him ever since they'd first met. It was shallower, the head dipping less, the spread of skirts held more briefly.

It was the kind of curtsy that only a consort could give to the crown.

He didn't know all the secret language of reverences yet, the precise and careful establishment of rank, and how they could be used to grovel or insult or even mock. But from the flicker in his eye, he noted the difference, and that sent the message she intended.

She rose out of the curtsy and asked him, “Did you read the section on proper forms of address for your consort?”

He cocked his head, smiling at her as he recited, “The court addresses the ruler’s consort as ‘your grace,’ and speaks of them as his, her, or xir grace."

She blinked and smiled. “Do you know what the ruler calls their consort in formal address?”

“My trust,” he said. “Or the crown’s trust. And you address me as, 'my crown.'"

"Yes." She found herself fussing with her black ring, and paused, looking at it. "Do you wish me to take this off?"

"I thought nobody could end the mourning period early."

"For family members. Ronnie wasn't - we weren't married yet."

"No," he said, firmly. "Leave it on."

She looked up. "But -  "

"He was your fiance and you loved him," he said. "Just because you're marrying me doesn't change that. Leave it on. We'll marry when you're ready."

Her eyes burned. She pushed the ring back to the base of her finger.

There would be talk about that ring. She found herself formulating answers. His Highness respects the suffering his people underwent. He has no desire to forget the past.

Yes. Handled in the right way, this could be very much to Cisco's political advantage.

The ring still felt good on her finger. Warm and solid.

"So, what now? Do we just - " He waved at the doors.

She checked the time. "Three minutes to midnight. It's just enough time for us to walk down the stairs to the royal dais. The herald will make the announcement when we're there." She brought her cuff to her mouth. "Gideon?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"His Majesty has made his choice of consort. He will be marrying Lady Caitlin Snow."

After a shocked pause, Gideon's quiet, "Very good, my lady," in her ear told her all was well in hand.

She ended the call and said, "She'll be ready for us."

Cisco held out his hand. “Shall we?”

She started to step back, as she had for the past month, and then thought, No, I should take it.

She would walk at his side down the grand, sweeping staircase, not behind him, and that alone would send a signal to the court before a word was said.

She put her hand in his, feeling it close warm and firm around hers. She swallowed hard, waiting for the heat of the spotlight.

Before he approached the doors, he said, "So, my trust."

"Yes, my crown?"

"What do I call you in private?"

She looked over at him. He was smiling, his eyes soft. He knew what he'd asked of her. She let out her breath.

"You can call me Caitlin."

FINIS

(A/N) if you’re interested in their outfits, I ran across these on pinterest.

https://i.pinimg.com/originals/f1/a5/1d/f1a51d9e5150106116e95975ac5abf32.jpg

http://amortentiafashion.tumblr.com/post/138822184855

Even though they’re based on traditional Georgian dress (the country, not the US state or the British time period), I thought they were perfect for space royalty.

[thewebofslime]

After probing his deep-state background and Illuminati connections, I was hoping to be rid of the Jeffrey Epstein file but here we are spinning another round in this Part IV of a saga of sexual perversion and financial crime that refuses to go away. It's a cold day in hell for me to find any agreement with The Daily Beast, which means the Netherworld must now be sufficiently frozen to toss a few snowballs at child-porn producer Nicholas Negroponte and his acolyte Joi Ito. As founder of the MIT Media Lab and his pedophilia sex-fiend buddies with American diplomats and major corporations, including Boeing, all in with the George W. Bush team, Negroponte was involved in systematic rape and video production of kiddie porn at a Phnom Penh orphanage, that was busted by "the Father's group" of anti-pedophile activists, which included Wayne Madsen, the late Gerald Thorns and me. Those tiny victims, mostly boys ranged from six to 14 years of age, along with a few subteen girls for some hetero action, until their expulsion on orders of Queen Monica of Cambodia. These crimes of underage porn produced at the MIT Media Lab later culminated in that coven's role in the murder of reddit editor and anti-pedophile activist Aaron Swartz in January 2013. To give credit where's it's due, the Beast exposed Epstein's secretive funneling of investment funds through Nick Negroponte's MIT Media Lab as a conduit to tech "start-ups" involved in next-gen sexual perversion to amuse the mind-raped heirs of elite families when they get a bit older with their own bio-synthesized AI-capable sex androids, presumably modeled after young kids from your neighborhood. Jeffrey Epstein, who had a personal preference for teenage girls, was their angel investor, providing an estimated one million dollars or more to the Lab's bag-man Joichi "Joi" Ito, whose background check discloses zero academic or engineering qualifications for being in charge of anything except the janitorial service at MIT, indicative again of the intellectual level of the baboons with the Bush crime mob and their queer pals in the Obama regime, who managed to subvert academia. Further on, this essay will examine the occult Shabbatean roots of the Greek Jewish Negroponte family from Calchika, the Venetian fortress of Negroponte on the Aegean island of Euboea (Evvia) where their pimping Khazarian Jew ancestors flourished in the service of the Doge of Venice and the Ottoman court, as continued into our present era in Ambassador John Negroponte's relishing of the perverse sadistic torture at Abu Graibh Prison in military-occupied Iraq. The elite's sex crimes against defenseless children are legacy operations of cults that operate in secret like vampire covens in Eastern Europe and Turkey as depicted in the "Underworld" series and the Dracula movies. Nick and John, you diabolical scum, walk quickly on dark nights though you've tired with age, because it's never too late for the ghosts of your victims to insert and squeeze the castration tongs when you least expect it. Ventriloquist's puppet The stand-in for Nick Negroponte as current lab director, Joi Ito, has just apologized for his secret meetings inside Epstein's posh homes to collect "gifts and funds" to MIT along with an undisclosed amount for Ito's private investment company. Under pressure of media coverage, MIT disclosed that Jeffrey Epstein donated $800,000 to Joi Ito and Seth Lloyd, the latter involved in quantum computing theory, without providing further details as to the specifics of project allocation. Ito claimed the MIT Media Lab received $200,000 of that sum and admitted that Epstein also channeled an undisclosed amount into one of Ito's private investment fund. This funneling of large sums of money, of unknown origin (when Epstein's prime business client Les Wexner is now complaining about grand larceny due to misappropriation from his fortune) is a financial crime implicating Ito and possibly other individuals with the governing board at the Media Lab and MIT administration. To assume Negroponte had no insider knowledge is absurd considering his crime biography. Instead of launching a credible investigation into the MIT-Epstein nexus, the university administration has quietly encouraged a "non-official" petition by Media Lab faculty, fellows, staffers and students in support of bag-man Ito to retain his position as crook-in-chief, even though he has, this late in the game, failed to disclose any specifics about the amounts, recipient research projects and individuals involved, and the purposes of Epstein's funding. Due discipline at major universities, including MIT, requires legal contracts for major donations, which Ito and his board have failed to produce for public inspection. His admission of a secret financial relationship with Epstein came long after the media expose of the donor's sexual misconduct with underage girls. The complicity of DARPA and the National Science Foundation in this campaign of misdirection under a blanket cover-up is yet to be exposed. This level of financial fraud demands FBI action and Massachusetts state attorney general's probe into the MIT Media Lab, including its role in the Cambodian pedophile-child porn project and the murder of Aaron Swartz. The nexus of evil must be dismantled in a court of law and the culprits assigned long prison terms. Education Secretary Betsy DeVos needs to step into this quagmire, which threatens to suck down MIT and Harvard into a swamp of distrust. Minority Report Contrary to the ethically stunted majority of MIT Media labbers, two of its professionals resigned in protest of the hidden relationship between Ito and Epstein, and undoubted its shadow director Negroponte. As reported in CBS News: "Ethan Zuckerman, director of the lab's Center for Civic Media, said that director Joi Ito had failed to disclose the deceased financier's funding of the MIT incubator as well as investments Epstein made in Ito's personal venture capital fund. "Visiting scholar Nathan Matias, who works on the social impact of online platforms, said in a blog post that he, too, was severing ties with the Media Lab over business relations that occurred after Epstein's 'appalling crimes were already known.'" Well done, gentlemen, for setting an ethical example. Two honest individuals versus 100 ethically impaired careerists who signed the support letter, plus several cowards who remain anonymous, in favor of Ito's continuing as director. This is a scandal of academic complicity in criminal activities and ethical lapses at one of the nation's most respected institutions of higher learning, setting a disgraceful example for America's system of higher education. That said, who and what is Joi Ito? Houseboy in Charge Due to the moral influence of my father from a samurai clan who went off to war in the U.S. Army's 442nd Regiment against the Nazi-led forces in Europe (yes, there is such a thing as real men among wimpy Asian Americans), I get uncomfortable whenever having to discuss our subservient immigrant phenomena of "houseboys" like actor James Shigeta, Lt. Sulu aka George Takei and this creepy Joichi Ito, and various mango smoothies named Cary or Grant. Orientalism, with its sexual exoticism, is a powerful undercurrent in Western societies that have neocolonial commercial interests in Asia, with Ito's suspect role as a purveyor to pedophiles of Japanese child porn being a case in point. Joichi Ito's academic biography is noteworthy for its lack of mention of graduation from any university, not even with a bachelor's degree, having been a dropout from Tufts and the University of Chicago. One of his disappointed teachers said that Joi believed himself to be too "creative" but actually was too lazy and undisciplined to attend class. His curriculum vita is otherwise packed with honorary mentions and highfalutin titles, obviously exchanged for generous donations by this fraudster. Institutional bribery bought his ticket to ride. PSY op Tokyo His "big start" in tech came with development of the PSY network in Tokyo, thanks to a little help from Cable and Wireless PLC, a private-sector telecom that fronted for the British CGHQ spy agency (equivalent to the NSA) operating out of Hong Kong and Australia. The Brit intel connection also links the Negroponte brothers to UK Princes Charles and Philip, those descendants of the King of Greece, a Brit-installed puppet during the Greek independence struggle against the Ottoman Turks in which Lord Byron figured so publicly. Is the MIT Media Lab actually a British intelligence outpost in the Ivy League? What else can explain Joi Ito' mercurial rise based on nothing but hot air? Anyway in the early 1990s, Japan's early Internet system was being developed by a coalition of computer departments at leading universities, which called itself TWICS. In that early phase, my Japan Times Weekly webpage was the runaway leading website in Japan, but was forced to shut down under the threat of an advertising boycott made against the parent newspaper by Dentsu, then the world's largest ad agency, which boldly told our executives about its plan to control the top 5 websites in Japan for online advertising purposes. My replacement website was titled "Archipelago", a description for insular Japan borrowed from Alexander Solzenitsyn's novel "The Gulag Archipelago". At that moment, Joichi Ito was a bit player, virtually unknown who made his first fortune quietly from the British imperial spy apparatus. The GCHQ, for those who have not kept up with the Brit spooks, has more recently been directly implicated in the Russiagate scandal against Donald Trump, the rise of Huawei out of colonial-era Hong Kong, and John Podesta's excursion to New Zealand for the false-flag staged at ISIS mosques in Christchurch, plus a player in Ghislaine Maxwell's relationship with Jeffrey Epstein, and the hidden hand behind the Negroponte neocon brothers and the MIT Media Lab. Therefore, this logical thread suggests that the British top queers aka the Rothschild-Goldsmith cabal were ultimately behind the murder of Aaron Swartz and before that the arson that killed banker Edmond Safra, patron of the Aleppo biblical and Torah scholars opposed to the Illuminati State of Israel. The Illuminati fingerprints are all over the Epstein-Wexner-Maxwell affair. Absurdity always accompanies evil, that is provided by Joi's sister Mimi, a cultural anthropologist at UC Irvine who "studies" geek "culture", for instance, computer gaming without her having any clue of how cheats and points are traded for money by these ethically stunted young criminals spending all their hours in game parlors (to avoided being tracked down by cybersleuths). Then again, she's probably spent a lot of geeky hours in the dark web trolling for virtual goods to sell to sexually bent gamers. It's hard to believe that top universities are permitting pseudo-academic "researchers", but then again whenever I meet intellectually devoid professors I start to believe in the improbable. Brit Fags Now what does British-Australian intelligence have to do with child porn during Joi Ito's early Internet days in Tokyo? I can recall one of my sub-editors who was married to staffer at the Australian Embassy expressing her dismay at embassy cocktail parties, where the male staffers (to the disgust of their wives) boasting about their outrageous sexual exploits against little brown boys and girls, in a game of one-upsmanship between cringeworthy pedophiles. That was in the same time frame that several European diplomats were arrested at their home-country airports for possession of child porn. One Spanish offender, who was second secretary at the Tokyo embassy, was caught bringing in a couple of suitcases full of Japanese child-sex videos, which included Caucasian men raping sub-teens and even infants. The Japanese yakuza-owned studios were the world's leading producer of child rape and S&M videos, available in uncensored format only for export. The underground trade and file-sharing over the Internet at his PSY operation (TWICS would have detected massive online porn) should explain how Joi Ito endeared himself to the high-end pedophile studio known as the MIT Media Lab. In that early era of the Internet, videos were too large for file-transfer and so shipments by TNT overnight air-express (the American founder of TNT was a serial rapist of underage Filipina girls). Ah, yes, those golden days of underage rape across Asia from Japan to Thailand. Pressure from the Interpol forced the Japanese pedophile video industry to go underground. Many outsiders have wondered what accounts for the grotesque genres of Japan's porn industry including elaborate knot-tying bondage, dripping candle infliction of pain, student gang-rape of teachers, 100-to-1 ratios of men to lone woman in the semen coverage rituals called bukkake, scatalogical poop fests, golden showers, female ejaculation, "new-half" trannydom and other demented rites with a rear-religious quality akin to Satanism? Partly because of racism payback whenever the more bizarre sex acts are staged by the ethnic Korean mafia out to humiliate the Japanese, much like how the Jewish cabaret owners in Weimar Berlin took out their race hatred against German Christians though deviant performances like the dog leash walk, scat-eating coprophilia acts (still enjoyed by Eric Schmidt and his Google technology freaks from Stanford), transvestism, leather and rubber fetishes, lesbian shows, and so on. Underdogs can be rabid vicious mutts that need to be put down before their affronts to public decency bring on another race war by the majority against the criminalized minority. Koreans like the Jews indulge in complaints against discrimination while failing to address the question of provocation, as seen among many newer minorities in the USA with their Antifa posturing and nudity at gay-lesbian marches. If one was to be accepted, learn to live with others instead of assaulting their sense of decency. CV of a Faker Back to the Joi boy, the socially approved innocent who was appointed at Harvard Law as a "professor at Practice" (whatever that means): "Ito is chairman of the board of PureTech Health and serves on several other boards, including The New York Times Company, the MacArthur Foundation and the Knight Foundation. He is also the former chairman and CEO of Creative Commons, and a former board member of ICANN, The Open Source Initiative, and The Mozilla Foundation. Ito is a serial entrepreneur who helped start and run numerous companies including one of the first web companies in Japan, Digital Garage, and the first commercial Internet service provider in Japan, PSINet Japan/IIKK. He has been an early-stage investor in many companies, including Formlabs, Flickr, Kickstarter, littleBits, and Twitter. He has received a lifetime achievement award from Oxford Internet Institute" Impressive for a college dropout." Blah-blah-blah. Show us the credentials. Joi Ito is one of those tech con artists, spewing optimistic predictions to gain the naive trust of gullible investors and foundation grant-makers, not an educator or researcher, which is exactly what's wrong with the over-leveraged, absurdly hyped tech sector and the Ivy League, where inventiveness is mainly focused on ridiculous e-commerce scams, redundant apps and counterfeit digital currencies. The bust of tech shares is looming, promising to wipe-out bigger than the dot.com bust. Sayonara, Elon and Zuck! Last and least mentionable: "Ito has been awarded honorary doctorates from The New School and Tufts University and is a member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. Ito is a visiting professor of practice at the Harvard Law School." So he failed attend classes in his freshman year at Tufts and now Ito has a doctorate from that same prestigious institution of higher learning. What a disgrace for Tufts! Pull your kids out of that fraudulent diploma mill. Because on Christmas I hope to give the university president a silver beggar's cup to piss in. Another point that hasn't been raised is: Japan does not permit dual citizenship with the USA making his appointment at MIT an even bigger stretch. (Whereas dual citizen status is granted to Japanese descendants born in Peru and Brazil, based on those nations' fascist alliance with Imperial Japan in the run-up to World War II; meaning the USA is still considered an enemy state.) As a Japanese citizen, Joi Ito cannot hold U.S. citizenship. A non-citizen with no college degree with prestigious Ivy League postings? How is this possible without payoffs? Why not appoint John Gotti's grandson to the Wharton School? Another mongrel from the Jewish kennel Joi Ito's obscure origins involved a father who immigrated from Kyoto to work as researcher for the Detroit auto industry. Somehow his mother became particularly close to Stanford Ovshinsky, a battery designer and solid-state "inventor" (who never studied electrical engineering), who "treated Joichi Ito almost like a son." Hmmm. This so reminds me of that other Polish Jew named Bernard Krisher, the Tokyo correspondent for the Moonies' UPI, who gained notoriety as a pedophile during the Cambodian orphanage affair. Ovshinsky's father was from Minsk, then Lituania but now Belarus, in that same border regions dominated by the Frankist-Shabbetean sex cult, discussed in my earlier articles on the Epstein-Wexner family origins. To those familiar with Operation Paperclip-Overcast, Ovshinsky's "inventions" in solid-state electronics are not impressive works of a creative genius, given the fact that most of those "inventions" were developed in wartime Germany and hijacked (without an iota of concern for copyright). During World War II, Ovshinsky worked at the Goodyear plant in Litchfield, Arizona, where he modified lathes to produce artillery shells, and in the postwar period worked for the defense contractor Hupp Corporation, an assembly plant for Army vehicles. While maintaining the pretense of being an "inventor", Ovshinsky was one of dozens of contracted managers with the Defense Department procurement program, transferring captured German technology to the private sector. Ovshinsky later established an electronics parts company in Nara, Japan, presumably with Mrs. Ito as his translator and guide-companion. Therefore with the connections to Operation Paperclip, which morphed into DARPA, Joi Ito grew up as one of the Pentagon brats just like Jeff Bezos, the favorite boy of his maternal grandfather Lawrence Preston Gise, a founder of NASA and DARPA, as disclosed in one of my earlier articles for rense.com. It's called nepotism, folks, based on "family secrets" reinforced by incest. These hand-me-down "geniuses" are mere managers and secret-protectors, not bright lights. Another one of these Jewish family heirlooms is Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez, the NASA-awarded "science genius" with a thick Yiddish accent, whose "uncle" with the Kirshenbaum clan at Mount Sinai hospital's research center facilitated her research on a microscopic worm. Inside Plato's Cave Joi Ito is surrounded by a crew of likewise dodgy characters. The petition is online, but The Daily Beast's Taylor Hatmaker has done a great job of condensing it: "Some of the prominent signers of the petition to keep Ito include former presidential candidate Lawrence Lessig, Whole Earth Catalog creator and tech icon Stewart Brand, managing partner of MIT Media Lab's venture fund Habib Haddad, MIT Media Lab founder Nicholas Negroponte, LittleBits founder and CEO Ayah Bdeir, and Harvard genetics professor George Church. Church previously apologized for his own connections to Epstein, chalking the relationship up to 'nerd tunnel vision.'" Tunnel Vision? There is actually light at the end of a tunnel. These benighted ignoramuses are more like those blind believers inside Plato's cave. So now that George Church is outed as an Epstein researcher, we're right back to "transhumanism", which is not a transition for humanity but a genocide-in-planning that can more accurately be called the Post-Human Future, the roboticization of our simiian species to function like "intelligent" machines, albeit with less efficiency. Among that list of MIT Media Lab notables one can detect a Turing machine logic that reduces human cognition to electro-mechanical imaging, processing and patterning programs as opposed to our mammalian intuitive natural perceptions and surreal leaps of logic. The Media Lab promotes interdisciplinary attempts to render thought into algorithms, essentially in denial of the human propensity to a higher calling as well as our negation capability to hold out for a more demanding solution than what's on offer, or as Nancy Reagan put it: "Just say no." And that is exactly why the managerial class prefers mechanics over human intelligence. At a macro level, the post-human agenda is to turn a maddeningly complex human society into an ant colony. George Church, molecular biologist specializing in genetic editing, CRISPR, was co-initiator of the BRAIN project launched by President Barack Obama, which is (face it, folks) a continuation of MK-ULTRA, using plug-in chips to fine-tune cognition after the initial experiments by those pioneering Doctors Sydney Gottlieb with LSD studies and Ewan Cameron through electro-shock therapy produced such excellent results in the assignments for Mark David Chapman and Whitey Bulger. An innovator of chip-DNA synthesis, Professor Church has been the director of research projects at the Department of Energy (DOE), National Institutes of Health (NIH, genomics) and the Wyss Institute of Synthetic Biology. For those who recall my Pizzagate series, Hansjorg Weiss is the Swiss philanthropist who ran Synthes, a producer of prosthetics, implants and biomaterials, which was hit with medical malpractice suits for illegal experiments that killed several patients. Wyss was a friend and associate of John Podesta until he was scared off by the risk of blackmail following sexual performances at private showings. Herr Doktor Victor Frankenstein, where are you now that we need you? To simplify the difference between the mechanistic post-human approach to science and a humanitarian philosophy of existence, one can look at MIT Lab researcher Aya Bdair's "little bits" concept, which represents proteins and other long molecules with manipulable magnetic blocks, something like Lego pieces without holes and pegs. Linking her twisting pieces gets the player to falsely assume that biology is mechanical and that its biochemical configurations can be represented through mathematical modeling. In opposition to this constructionist viewpoint, life is energy, electromagnetic and biochemical via synapses and cytokines, moving with ever-changeable fluidity and reactivity to the point of being uncontrollable by external intervention, being both dancer and the dance, and at the quantum level ultimately inter-dimensional. A computer cannot begin to model those levels of complexity and therefore replicating even the simpler life-forms is beyond the grasp of the futurists. Jeffrey Epstein's sex life reflected that mechanistic outlook, with insertion of an organ in to another organ (as put in the Robert Burns poem that influenced "The Catcher in the Rye", "when a body meets a body passing through the rye") with casual sex as a mere physical function, devoid of the energy dimensions of hormones, nerves pulses, emotional longing, psychological imaginings and mammalian affection. His research quest for synthetic biology spawning of sex cyborgs reflected his mental isolation from the immense range of expectations, perceptions, reactions, emotions and communication that arises spontaneously in the love between a man and a woman. A cyborg made of "beyond meat" protein and methyl cellulose controlled by artificial intelligence algorithms is not in anyway equal to the human it is modeled after. After all the experiments with sex cyborgs are done, one fact will remain: the Post-Human Future is a dead end. Negroponte's inhuman past in Cambodia Can you recall Colonel Kurtz, with Marlon Brando in that role? "The horror, the horror!" Like that PT boat crew sent to terminate the madman gone native, I was one of troopers who stumbled on Nick Negroponte's encampment inside a sprawling Cambodian orphanage. The path to it, however, with dirty cops pointing guns to my head. Media Lab founder Nicholas Negroponte was our Col. Kurtz, a core organizer of a pre-puberty predator ring in charge of kiddie porn sent by encrypted files from his computer lab at a Cambodian orphanage on the outskirts of Phnom Penh. At the time over several years after 2002, I was a member of an unofficial "The Fathers' Group" of anti-pedophile activists who defied bribed-off Cambodian police and sex fiends at the U.S. Embassy to crack a child-sex ring run by Bernard Krisher, former UPI chief based in Tokyo who was a Moonie, and Nicholas Negroponte, who set up an Apple computer-learning center with video equipment and an outdoors transmission tower in the schoolyard, to transmit rape clips of boys as young as 6 years old. Shutting down his child-sex coven was a brutal challenge involving murders, assaults and threats, eventually resolved only through the intervention of Her Highness Queen Monica (the Cambodian orphanage affair is recapped at the end of this essay). This notorious affair, which was sanitized over but never punished by the State Department, CIA or FBI, served up proof of Nick Negroponte's role as a purveyor of child-rape porn to elite government officials and their corporate supporters. Without an ounce of official support, our team used night-vision videocams to provide the honest Cambodian cops with the identities of sex predators entering and leaving bordellos pimping sub-teen children. Later, the investigative journalist Wayne Madsen traveled with me to the orphanage where teachers informed us of "weekend parties" for visiting American diplomats and corporate executives in 5-star hotels in Phnom Penh. Dozens of children were sexually violated, with a core group of compliant victims of both sexes of "average age 10 years old." Jeffrey Epstein is a statutory rapist, Negroponte's group are by comparison monsters, who compounded their criminal spree by arranging the murder of Aaron Swartz, the heroic Reddit editor who broke into an internal link on the MIT campus to hack the wire feed of child-sex videos prior to encryption. The corrupt New York police, of course, attributed his hanging by the neck in his apartment, even though the belt was several sizes larger than his waistline. Another assault from the Krisher-Negroponte lackeys in Phnom Penh resulted in a roadway ambush outside of Sihanoukville on a New Zealand collegue in the father's group, who had met with Madsen and also knew an informer inside the Krisher child-care NGO network in Phnom Penh. In the middle of night, he was beaten by the paid-off cops until blood poured out of his ears and all 10 fingers were bent back out of their sockets in the hands. He eventually died a few years later due to the long-term effects of those injuries. The pedophile coven were disappointed that he had survived the attack. The paid-for hit was in retaliation for one of their own volunteers at a pre-school nursery who had visited him to disclose the sexual abuses by the Krisher ring, which included the boss's son and daughter-in-law. That informant was soon thereafter executed and they tried to assign the blame to our member. The coven suspected our Kiwi friend of bribery, never considering that one of theirs might have pangs of moral conscience about organized rape sanctioned by the highest officials in the U.S. government and its intelligence operations in Southeast Asia. The existence of Cambodian child-sex tapes was detected by reddit editor Aaron Swartz who pursued the clues from San Francisco to New York and onto Cambridge, Mass., to the MIT campus sprawled along the dirty water of the River Charles. As I have pointed out in the past, he was then working on research grant for the Edmond Safra foundation, under the cover of open access to academic research but his personal passion was to expose the politically connected pedophile. The late tycoon Safra gets a lot of bad press from Illuminati-controlled publishers, but in reality he was one of few traditional Jews to resist their perversion of the Jewish community and the Hebraic tradition. Although I've been vocal on this issue, it really is the moral responsibility of faithful Jews to launch action against the perverse and criminal heresy. The Original Blackfriar's Bridge Negroponte is an Italian surname that translates as the Black Bridge, named for the wooden passage over the dark waters of the channel between the Greek mainland near Athens and Euboea Island in Aegean. The Venetian fortress in Chalkida, Euboea or Evvia, is therefore called Negroponte castle. The eponymous Greek Jewish family of Nick and John were perhaps servants of the Venetian lords. The charismatic "messiah" Sabbatai Zevi was born in Smyrna, a port on the Turkish mainland, but his family were originally from Greece, and possibly served as spies for Venice following the fall of Euboea to the Turks in 1490. In contemporary history, the Negroponte family's most prominent members are the brother Nicholas with the MIT Media Lab and John, the former neoconservative UN Ambassador for George W. Bush. By no coincidence, the Podesta family, headed by John and Tony of Pizzagate fame are also long ago Venetian Jews, whose surname derives from "pedestal", the corrupt concierges in charge of audiences with the Doge (ruler) of Venice. That city, being allied with the Eastern Roman Empire rather than Rome, was a center of barbaric sorcery and witchcraft, as implied by the custom of wearing masks to disguise one's going to places of illicit activity, run by the Khazarian Jews, a black tradition kept up by the Negroponte brothers. A large population of Khazar Jews emigrated from the region between the Caspian Sea and Georgia to flee the rival Turks (both tribes have origins in what is now Xinjiang, western China). A stream of Khazar Jewish refugees moved through Venetian Euboea northward to the Black Sea to form large communities in greater Poland and Lithuania, the homelands of the Epstein and Wexner families respectively. Others like the Negropontes remained behind, living under Turkish rule, when in the early 18th century the self-proclaimed "messiah" Sabbatai Zevi recruited much of Greek Jewry to convert to Islam as the "Donmeh" or hidden Jews, first disclosed in recent years by Wayne Madsen in his field reporting in Turkey. The Shabbetean cult was, as discussed in my earlier articles on the Epstein-Wexner affair a promoter of pedophilia, group orgies and homosexuality, introducing these to the Hapsburg court and to the Frankfurt-Hesse region of Germany, the center of financial power for the Rothschild house of usury. This deep history of a vicious warped cult explains my description of them as a coven. Global Population Reduction Bill Gates has been a guest, at least on one flight, aboard Epstein's Lolita Express Boeing 727. Their secretive encounter goes a long way toward understanding the hidden agenda behind transhumanism, which is the planned genocide of the major of the human population, which will eliminate more lives than all previous genocidal events in past history. Never mind Himmler's drop in the bucket compared to the Gates-Epstein plan for mass destruction. The very tact that androids are going to be needed as workers and personal assistants indicated at least 7 billion people are being targeted in the soon-coming clean sweep. The biowarfare labs certainly have sufficient deadly pathogens to accomplish the task while the elites will be in Earth orbit or on moon bases. "Transhumanism" has genocidal implications of technology-enable savagery at its most extreme, which is why I prefer the more accurate term of the post-human order. In this regard it is quite fitting for Joi Ito being a Japanese citizen to be running the project much like the"modernization campaign" at Nanking achieved by eliminating its native population in 1937-38. It may seem financially inefficient to spend many millions of dollars on technology-enhanced sexuality when humans are willing to that task for free or, nowadays, the price of dinner and hotel room with a Tinder date. Investment in human-resembling cyborgs makes more sense in terms of the population-reduction agenda of the Gates and Rockefeller foundations. Jeffrey Epstein served on the board of trustees for the Rockefeller University, one of the original brain trusts for eugenics and population control of lesser subtypes. From the perspective of reducing the total number of births worldwide, this anti-humanistic agenda has been advanced through investment in promoting sexual identity movements, since homosexuality and transgender options result in birth-rate reduction without surgical intervention. Partner androids, far more advanced that present-technology sex dolls, will be the means to maintain the illusion of normative coupled relationships while precluding the potential for breeding offspring. Due to religion-based belief systems, sex-partner cyborgs will not reduce population growth in Muslim and Catholic developing economies, which oppose popular use of condoms and birth-control pills. By logical deduction, human-resembling sex androids are being develop for after the great kill-off of 7 billion people. Sex cyborbs are, therefore, part of post-genocide social engineering for the planned survivor group, to prevent another wave of human population expansion, in other words, a steady-state demographic system. Given the time-factor of development of "near-real" substitute spouses, say within 20 years, you my reader are scheduled to die in the soon-arriving genocide. So eat, drink and be merry, or join the resistance. Anyone with children or grandchildren had better choose the latter, due to your moral obligation for family preservation and social responsibility. While the festering genocide is still in preparation, one must activate a counter-strategy and prepare for war. My father, as I mentioned, was in the American military unit that broken up the gates of Dachau, which in fact are not as bad as things to come in our brief moment of time. Remember this is a battle for the human future against insanely evil forces, so none can be spared for the crime of consenting to the agenda. The world has recently seen the deliberate release of cloned mosquitoes that transmit ovary-destroying toxins into the human bloodstream during the Zika scare in Brazil and the ongoing vaccine-induced ebola "epidemic" in West Africa and now the Congo region. Under the cover of modern medicine and vaccination, the Rockefellers, Gates and Epstein's convoy of tech companies, are preparing catastrophic campaigns of sneak mass murder. The coming struggle is on two fronts: Against criminal science and also in strong opposition to Muslim and Catholic ideological propaganda against birth control in the developing countries, along with the "escape valve" of migration to the developed economies. Population-exporting nations, regardless of their natural wealth, need to be quarantined by sealing borders, so that the rising populations threaten their own national leaders and religious fraudsters who promote a high birth rate. Until those false values are squelched and realistic policies, there will be no peace or sustained development and therefore compromise is futile. Be very clear that a new world war is shaping up, and planning and preemptive action needs to be taken against the two extremes: the advocates of population growth and the supports of genocidal population reduction. The global population will have to decline, but this should come about by consent and social policy, not by either terrorism or genocide. Jeffrey Epstein left behind time bombs that must be defused and junked. There are hundreds of thousands of madmen like him among us, and they must be rooted out from positions of power and influence, or there will be hell to pay in days and hours to come.

[gaggle-of-guys]

Dumont d’Albani

A brief bio & character detail on the Italian Man-at-Arms

This one isn’t exactly finished, but I teetered off on coming up with a pleasant way to conclude it and figured I might as well post it. (1312 Words)

Son of Iacopo and Toussaine

The Albani family, situated in the armorsmithing hub of Milan, has significant holdings in Italian and French trade - Iacopo and Toussaine’s marriage serving as the key link binding the families. Their matrimony gave way to Dumont and his two younger brothers. Being the eldest, and thus the rightful heir of Iacopo’s mercantile enterprise, Dumont’s father wasted little time in grooming him for the role. His childhood was punctuated with tailored lessons in trade but, as often happens with youth pressed into a role, he began to strain under the expectations. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be the man his father wanted him to become, but he struggled.

Dumont’s teenage years saw him falling in with a gang of riffraff as he struggled to find himself. Brawling with the local boys and flirting with the local girls became the norm. In this environment, his hot temper and tendency towards violence emerged in full force. Dumont shirked much of his burgher standing in favor of roughhousing and petty crime. One trip to the bailiff too many and his father had had enough. Yet, rather than disown him, he introduced him to the other side of business. One did not maintain such a large portion of the arms trade through earnest dealings alone. It required enforcement, protection, and aggression. Dumont’s violence hadn’t upset his father, only his sloppiness. So Dumont didn’t possess quite the temperament his father had hoped for, there was still a way he could salvage his protogege. Iacopo channeled his son’s violent outbursts into more productive ends.

Martial training came first, under the tutelage of well paid fencing masters. If he was so keen on fighting, he should do so artfully, not as a brawler. While the lessons stuck, they were never quite able to fully file down his brutish tendencies. Dumont, now having something of an outlet, took to his other studies. He gained a better grasp of manners befitting his station, literacy, and even music. This had the side effect of emboldening his flirtatious endeavours and became particularly notorious for seducing noblewomen of a more mature age than his own, particularly ones that had, in turn, been married off to far older men in their youth. Dumont soon became well versed in dueling.

Through discipline and sheer force of will, Dumont largely conquered his outbursts. Yet this venere has its cracks, ones that worsen under the right provocations. It is wise to speak carefully around him, lest one hear the ice underfoot crack with each misspoken word; the merchant’s son will suffer no insult, intended or otherwise. Dumont does feel some shame for his breaks from his dignified persona, and makes a conscious effort to tidy himself up after seeing red.

At odds to this, Dumont is particularly fond of flowers. He frequents gardens, and even maintains a small set of specimens from across the land. It is not uncommon to see him wearing a flower, and he has incorporated their imagery into elements of his attire. For example, his sword pommel is shaped to resemble a tulip. Flowers accompany him so much that it is rare for him to not smell of them.

Furthermore, his taste for style cannot be understated. However, this should not be misconstrued as caring for fashion. Fashion is fickle and, in his opinion, the petty game of nobles. Dumont cultivates a particular look, blending the rugged militant trappings of his favorite arming jacket with the class of a hood rolled up into a chaperon.  He is always seen wearing a necklace made of hacksilver, and a plain cord loop threaded through hand-carved bone and wood beads; a cherished gift from a sweetheart of his youth that fell to illness. His clothes remain practical, well suited to fighting in at a moment’s notice.

Dumont’s transition into adulthood drew him fully into his father’s enterprise. The young man proved to be a valuable asset, serving well as an enforcer. As his father’s prime Man at Arms, Dumont added weight to less public meetings. He oversaw moonlight exchanges and guaranteed the safe arrival of high value products. On several occasions, he was even loaned out to serve in army musters. He rarely speaks of the battlefields he’s fought on, wary of what the carnage stirred in him at the time.

A gangly youth, manhood did much to fill out his frame. Lean, yet brawny, Dumont possess respectable speed and impressive strength. What he lacked in his teenage years, he gained back twofold in adulthood. Nearsighted, archery was always a sour subject for him. His vision impairments have presented him with difficulties on the battlefield, or crowds where bodies blur. Squinting is common. He remained an average height, having always been right on the average his entire life. His hair is dark and curly, and he prefers to keep a trimmed beard. A strong nose is his most prominent facial feature.

Living in a hotbed for advancement in armor, and having the money and connections to access those resources - not to mention the very real need for them - has equipped Dumont with a tidy arsenal. A favorite arm of his is a sturdily made lucerne polaxe, and he is never without his aforementioned longsword, or fallback rondel dagger. Dumont possesses a respectable plate harness, but he rarely employs it, instead favoring a much lighter kit. Due to his frequent travels, and often with little company, he prefers to make use of armor he can don by himself. A feathered sallet paired with a bevor, front-closing brigandine vest, quality jack chains and gauntlets for the arms, and chausses for the legs make up his usual go-to selection. It offers a good balance of mobility, comfort, logistic ease, and protection.

On the subject of travel, business often prompts Dumont to roam to-and-fro. Visits to business partners, both announced and in surprise, make up the usual mileage. Those are conducted solo, or with a handful of traveling companions. After that, caravan guarding makes up much of the rest of his excursions. Iacopo values his son’s insight and charisma, and prefers to dispatch him on meetings where talking softly and carrying a big stick are ideal, yet Dumont is lethally proficient with his stick and sometimes it’s worth pulling him from other pursuits to ensure the safe arrival of exceptionally valuable shipments. The smaller portion of road time is spent on the grimmest work: manhunting. There are rare times when a grievous enough transgression is made against the Albani family that punishment must be dealt, and who better to send than the man who would suffer no such defamation? Finally, Dumont simply travels for pleasure. Ostensibly on business, he will roam simply to see new places, smell new flowers, seduce new women, and try his blade against swordsmen of note. Rarely does he return empty handed, often having made nice with local traders and craftsmen.

Truly, temper aside, Dumont is a pleasant acquaintance to make. He carries the gift of gab, and makes good use of it. He is courteous, polite, and with some degree of wit. Women are an acute weakness of his, and he is borderline reverent in his courting. As quickly as violence comes to him, it never manifests itself against womenfolk. In some part, this is due to how he conceives insult. By merit of his culture, only men can threaten his honor, so the teasing of women does nothing to ruffle his feathers. Personal honor is dear to him, but he was not raised on the noble’s notions. His honor is that of the streets. Protect your image, your reputation, and face all challenges that are issued. Similarities to chivalry are coincidental, or the product of bleed-through between the social strata. He has a crippling fear of the supernatural, and ghost stories never fail to unnerve him.