#greatest liar of the united states

[hale-nathan]

Trump Weird News - Promoted To GLOAT (was BLOTUS)

[kushblazer666]

'Why I Won't Vote'

By W.E.B. Dubois, The Nation, 20 October 1956

Since I was twenty-one in 1889, I have in theory followed the voting plan strongly advocated by Sidney Lens in The Nation of August 4, i.e., voting for a third party even when its chances were hopeless, if the main parties were unsatisfactory; or, in absence of a third choice, voting for the lesser of two evils. My action, however, had to be limited by the candidates' attitude toward Negroes. Of my adult life, I have spent twenty-three years living and teaching in the South, where my voting choice was not asked. I was disfranchised by law or administration. In the North I lived in all thirty-two years, covering eight Presidential elections. In 1912 I wanted to support Theodore Roosevelt, but his Bull Moose convention dodged the Negro problem and I tried to help elect Wilson as a liberal Southerner. Under Wilson came the worst attempt at Jim Crow legislation and discrimination in civil service that we had experienced since the Civil War. In 1916 I took Hughes as the lesser of two evils. He promised Negroes nothing and kept his word. In 1920, I supported Harding because of his promise to liberate Haiti. In 1924, I voted for La Follette, although I knew he could not be elected. In 1928, Negroes faced absolute dilemma. Neither Hoover nor Smith wanted the Negro vote and both publicly insulted us. I voted for Norman Thomas and the Socialists, although the Socialists had attempted to Jim Crow Negro members in the South. In 1932 I voted for Franklin Roosevelt, since Hoover was unthinkable and Roosevelt's attitude toward workers most realistic. I was again in the South from 1934 until 1944. Technically I could vote, but the election in which I could vote was a farce. The real election was the White Primary.

Retired "for age" in 1944, I returned to the North and found a party to my liking. In 1948, I voted the Progressive ticket for Henry Wallace and in 1952 for Vincent Hallinan.

In 1956, I shall not go to the polls. I have not registered. I believe that democracy has so far disappeared in the United States that no "two evils" exist. There is but one evil party with two names, and it will be elected despite all I can do or say. There is no third party. On the Presidential ballot in a few states (seventeen in 1952), a "Socialist" Party will appear. Few will hear its appeal because it will have almost no opportunity to take part in the campaign and explain its platform. If a voter organizes or advocates a real third-party movement, he may be accused of seeking to overthrow this government by "force and violence." Anything he advocates by way of significant reform will be called "Communist" and will of necessity be Communist in the sense that it must advocate such things as government ownership of the means of production; government in business; the limitation of private profit; social medicine, government housing and federal aid to education; the total abolition of race bias; and the welfare state. These things are on every Communist program; these things are the aim of socialism. Any American who advocates them today, no matter how sincerely, stands in danger of losing his job, surrendering his social status and perhaps landing in jail. The witnesses against him may be liars or insane or criminals. These witnesses need give no proof for their charges and may not even be known or appear in person. They may be in the pay of the United States Government. A.D.A.'s and "Liberals" are not third parties; they seek to act as tails to kites. But since the kites are self-propelled and radar-controlled, tails are quite superfluous and rather silly.

The present Administration is carrying on the greatest preparation for war in the history of mankind. Stevenson promises to maintain or increase this effort. The weight of our taxation is unbearable and rests mainly and deliberately on the poor. This Administration is dominated and directed by wealth and for the accumulation of wealth. It runs smoothly like a well-organized industry and should do so because industry runs it for the benefit of industry. Corporate wealth profits as never before in history. We turn over the national resources to private profit and have few funds left for education, health or housing. Our crime, especially juvenile crime, is increasing. Its increase is perfectly logical; for a generation we have been teaching our youth to kill, destroy, steal and rape in war; what can we expect in peace? We let men take wealth which is not theirs; if the seizure is "legal" we call it high profits and the profiteers help decide what is legal. If the theft is "illegal" the thief can fight it out in court, with excellent chances to win if he receives the accolade of the right newspapers. Gambling in home, church and on the stock market is increasing and all prices are rising. It costs three times his salary to elect a Senator and many millions to elect a President. This money comes from the very corporations which today are the government. This in a real democracy would be enough to turn the party responsible out of power. Yet this we cannot do.

The "other" party has surrendered all party differences in foreign affairs, and foreign affairs are our most important affairs today and take most of our taxes. Even in domestic affairs how does Stevenson differ from Eisenhower? He uses better English than Dulles, thank God! He has a sly humor, where Eisenhower has none. Beyond this Stevenson stands on the race question in the South not far from where his godfather Adlai stood sixty-three years ago, which reconciles him to the South. He has no clear policy on war or preparation for war; on water and flood control; on reduction of taxation; on the welfare state. He wavers on civil rights and his party blocked civil rights in the Senate until Douglas of Illinois admitted that the Democratic Senate would and could stop even the right of Senators to vote. Douglas had a right to complain. Three million voters sent him to the Senate to speak for them. His voice was drowned and his vote nullified by Eastland, the chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee, who was elected by 151,000 voters. This is the democracy in the United States which we peddle abroad.

Negroes hope to muster 400,000 votes in 1956. Where will they cast them? What have the Republicans done to enforce the education decision of the Supreme Court? What they advertised as fair employment was exactly nothing, and Nixon was just the man to explain it. What has the Administration done to rescue Negro workers, the most impoverished group in the nation, half of whom receive less than half the median wage of the nation, while the nation sends billions abroad to protect oil investments and help employ slave labor in the Union of South Africa and the Rhodesias? Very well, and will the party of Talmadge, Eastland and Ellender do better than the Republicans if the Negroes return them to office?

I have no advice for others in this election. Are you voting Democratic? Well and good; all I ask is why? Are you voting for Eisenhower and his smooth team of bright ghost writers? Again, why? Will your helpless vote either way support or restore democracy to America?

Is the refusal to vote in this phony election a counsel of despair? No, it is dogged hope. It is hope that if twenty-five million voters refrain from voting in 1956 because of their own accord and not because of a sly wink from Khrushchev, this might make the American people ask how much longer this dumb farce can proceed without even a whimper of protest. Yet if we protest, off the nation goes to Russia and China. Fifty-five American ministers and philanthropists are asking the Soviet Union "to face manfully the doubts and promptings of their conscience." Can not these do-gooders face their own consciences? Can they not see that American culture is rotting away: our honesty, our human sympathy; our literature, save what we import from abroad? Our only "review" of literature has wisely dropped "literature" from its name. Our manners are gone and the one thing we want is to be rich--to show off. Success is measured by income. University education is for income, not culture, and is partially supported by private industry. We are not training poets or musicians, but atomic engineers. Business is built on successful lying called advertising. We want money in vast amount, no matter how we get it. So we have it, and what then?

Is the answer the election of 1956? We can make a sick man President and set him to a job which would strain a man in robust health. So he dies, and what do we get to lead us? With Stevenson and Nixon, with Eisenhower and Eastland, we remain in the same mess. I will be no party to it and that will make little difference. You will take large part and bravely march to the polls, and that also will make no difference. Stop running Russia and giving Chinese advice when we cannot rule ourselves decently. Stop yelling about a democracy we do not have. Democracy is dead in the United States. Yet there is still nothing to replace real democracy. Drop the chains, then, that bind our brains. Drive the money-changers from the seats of the Cabinet and the halls of Congress. Call back some faint spirit of Jefferson and Lincoln,and when again we can hold a fair election on real issues, let's vote, and not till then. Is this impossible? Then democracy in America is impossible.

[memphisnovels]

Evermore

Chapter 15. The greatest

Previous chapter

Masterlist

Hi :)

Whatever is Pietro so upset about?

 Things are coming to a head for Pietro and Nadia, big things coming in the very near future! <33

pairing: Pietro Maximoff x OFC

warnings: Nightmares, Nadia totally isn't in denial, arguing, so so much tension, Pietro and Nadia in general, just kiss already smh.

“So basically, they’re all like super rich kids who go to this school, and those two main girls were best friends, but Blair’s boyfriend is in love with Serena and Blair’s mom likes Serena better so there’s tension.” I watched Pietro with raised eyebrows as he spoke animatedly about the show, explaining in great detail the main plot to me. “Then there’s Dan who also likes Serena but he’s not in their group and he’s not rich like the others, but his sister is friends with Blair, kind of.” His eyes looked brighter today or maybe it was just the glow of the TV reflecting off of him. I’d been so entranced by the curve of his jaw and the sound of his voice that I’d been seated beside him for God knows how long now.

A small smile tugged at my lips. “Why did Serena leave?”

“Because she slept with Nate, Blair’s boyfriend.”

I shook my head. “Enthralling, really.”

He smirked at me. “It is.”

“This show sounds completely fucking ridiculous.”

“That’s what makes it so good!” Pietro responded, throwing a handful of nuts into his mouth. “I was sure I’d figured it out, but now I’m starting to think I was wrong.”

“Who the fuck cares who gossip girl is!” He was positively giggling at me now.

I rolled my eyes but was unable to stop the smile from overtaking my expression. It was strange to see him so excited about something so silly. The sound of heels clicking against the smooth floors caught my attention, when I glanced over my shoulder a large smile spread across my lips as I took in the familiar dark-haired woman before me. “Hello, stranger.” I was on my feet in but a moment, Pietro’s head whipping around to see what I was looking at.

“Anna!” I crossed the space between us quickly, allowing her to wrap me in her warm embrace. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.” The smile seemed permanently etched on my features.

“Well, I have a few days before my next assignment and wanted to see your face.” She let go of me and surveyed me, the way a mother would her child. Then her eyes slipped beyond my face to the silver-haired man on the couch and the TV in front of him. The corners of her lips tugged upward as she met my gaze once more. “Are you watching Gossip Girl? Haven’t you already seen it like a hundred times, Nads?”

My cheeks instantly grew warm, and I saw Pietro’s head swing toward me at an alarming speed. I scoffed, shaking my head as I attempted to play nonchalant. Pietro’s entire expression lit up and his mouth fell open as he pointed at me. “You little liar.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen this before.”

“Yeah right! You just like hearing me talk.”

I rolled my eyes, turning back to Anna and setting her with a glare.

“Whatever is happening between the two of you… I like it.” Anna told me as we sat down at the island bench in the kitchen. The look I gave her had a beaming smile spreading across her lips. “As much as I would love to delve so much further into you and Pietro, unfortunately, this isn’t strictly a social call.” The shift in her voice had me sitting up straighter, I knew her well enough to notice the slightest change in her demeanor. Right now, it was evident to me that she was genuinely concerned about whatever she was going to tell me. “MI6 have been looking into a string of assassinations in Europe, we believe it’s linked to a militia group, but we don’t actually have any proof. I’m not supposed to disclose anything specific until you agree to act as the United States representative in the case.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “How very mysterious. If I agree?”

“You’d be flying to Amsterdam in next week to begin recon on a key player.”

“A militia group in Amsterdam? What do they do, smoke joints and ride bikes away from their assassinations?”

Anna’s face twitched as she attempted to remain composed. “They’re not based there. We want you to look into the CEO of a tech company, Tara Janssen, we think she’s stumbled onto something big and is planning on selling it, likely to the militia group. If that’s her intention whatever she’s selling needs to be intercepted immediately.”

I wasn’t particularly concerned about the tech company nor the woman in charge who upon my Google search turned out to be a camera-shy young woman who certainly didn’t strike me as some kind of evil mastermind hacker. However, the general air around Anna and the way she spoke about the case had me questioning my initial beliefs. That is why I agreed to go to Amsterdam and help MI6 with their investigation, even when Anna informed me that they wanted to send me with backup… backup in the form of one Pietro Maximoff. I swallowed down the feelings that nagged at me and the large bright warning signs that flashed through my mind and agreed to this as well. Friends; that is what we had agreed on. Friends did not try to cut each other out of missions. Everything would be fine, we’d been getting along lately, sparring was fine, as was life in the compound. We could share a hotel room for a week without killing each other or repeating any extremely insane lapses of judgment. Yes, I was sure we would be fine. I continued to repeat this mantra in my head over the coming days, in training, at mealtimes, before bed.

Once I was asleep, I didn’t have to think about it because there was plenty to occupy my mind and dreams. At the forefront was the bespectacled man with the syringe. Each night when I closed my eyes, I was greeted by images of him, the music from the ballet was always ringing through my ears as he adjusted my binds and injected me with the undisclosed liquid. Some nights, however, it was different. Some nights I found myself in the sunshine walking along that unfamiliar city street, trying to catch up with the boy in the backpack. Even when I took to a run, I couldn’t catch up to him, I wasn’t sure why I so desperately wanted to. When I was awake it made no sense to me, but in my dreams, there was this peculiar feeling in my chest, a magnetism that propelled me toward the boy.

The wind twirled around my plaits, dancing across the expanse of my flesh and dusting over my cheeks as I returned to the street. I closed my eyes this time, listening to the sounds that surrounded me, trying to find something, anything to explain what I was seeing and why. At first, there was nothing, complete silence, but then, slowly I began to hear. At first it was the faint chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves. I listened harder and the sounds grew louder, footsteps bounced off of the pavement echoing in my ears, prompting me to open my eyes. A shoulder was the first thing I saw, he wore a dark blue sweatshirt, and the corner of a flannel shirt peeked out at me. I wanted to look at his face but my eyes remained trained along his shoulder. When my eyes finally shifted,  the white top he wore beneath his flannel was revealed. Two beakers with different colored liquids within them and a speech bubble extending from one.

‘Hey dude, I think you’re overacting!’ It read.

When my eyes finally reached his face, I realized that he was speaking. His eyes were trained on me, but I couldn’t hear him, his lips moved but no sound came out. I listened as hard as I could. It was as though I were watching something on the television, but the sound wasn’t connected. For a moment I could hear his voice, it was muffled, and I couldn’t understand any of the words, but I could hear him and for some bizarre reason, I felt relieved.

It was like this night after night. The boy would speak to me but none of his words resonated with me, yet each night I would stand before him and listen. Until one night, when things were different, his shirt was the same, stupid science joke, flannel, and sweatshirt over the top. But this time I heard him better, not completely but certain words made it through.

‘Pizza, the kind with the super stringy cheese.’ … ‘not supposed to fill up before dinner.’ …

Then there was something else, a single sentence that would stick to me like glue in my waking hours. Before I could dwell the man in glasses was back, but this time he had the syringe to the boy’s neck.

I lurched from my bed, sweat beading on my forehead. My heart was racing a million miles a minute, thumping against my chest. I pressed my palms to my head, running my fingers through my hair and taking a deep breath.

Cold seeped into my limbs as I walked toward the kitchen, stretching my arms over my head as I went. I sipped from my glass of ice water like a traveler who’d just spent days in the Sahara. The coldness soothed me slightly. A glow emanating from the sitting area caught my attention, the familiar theme song humming through the air. I leaned against the door frame watching Pietro sprawl out on the couch in front of the television. “You really like this show, huh?”

His head whipped around when I spoke, surprise etched across his features, though it quickly shifted into an easy smile. “Rumor has it I’m not the only one.” I rolled my eyes, unable to stop the smile from spreading across my lips.

“Whatever.” I dropped down onto the couch beside him.

He gasped fakely. “Giving into defeat so easily? What have you done with my Nadia?” I settled further into the seat, stretching my legs out to rest on the small table before us. My eyes fell on him then, he was already looking at me. “It’s late. Couldn’t sleep?”

I nodded gently, looking back to the screen. “You know I actually started watching this show because I struggled to sleep.” He raised his eyebrow at me. “It was a long time ago, they used to play reruns of episodes late at night, I just turned it on for white noise but then all of a sudden I’d watched half a season. It was just so easy.” Silence fell between us then. “It’s stupid I know.”

“It’s not.”

I turned my head toward him, leaning it on the back of the couch. He lay in the same position, face close to mine. “Why are you up?” I asked.

“Nightmare.”

“Same.”

“We’re going to Amsterdam in two days. I’ve never been, have you?”

I nodded. “A long time ago, I don’t really remember it.” His gaze burned into the side of my cheek. “It’ll be nice to get out of the compound for a while though.”

“Even if it’s with me?”

“We’re friends now, Pietro.” I looked over at him again, he wore an unreadable expression.

A hum came from him, followed by a nod. “Very special friends.” He was smirking now. That devious little look that made my skin burn.

“You’re very annoying.”

“Well, you’re the one who wanted to be my friend.”

It was astounding that the intensity of my glare didn’t cause him to burst into flames. “I hate you.”

“I don’t think you do.” He had this uncanny ability to make thinking straight impossible whenever he’d look right at me like he was now.

“What makes you so sure? I hated you once, remember?”

He hummed; we were so close that my air was his air. “No, you didn’t.” Before I could retort he was speaking again. “Not really.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, and my lips upturned very slightly. “You seem sure.”

“I know you, Nadia.” I opened my mouth but once again he beat me to the punch. “Deny it all you want but I do. Unfortunately for you, I see through you. You never hated me.”

“I threw a knife at you when we met, not exactly a gesture of friendship.”

He reached forward, dusting a stray curl from my eyes. “Hm, I think you knew I’d catch it; I think you were just playing coy.”

I rolled my eyes. “You are delusional, Pietro Maximoff.” His smile only grew. Once again silence fell between us, a comfortable, soothing silence, only filled by the low hum of a pop song playing on the television. We weren’t even watching it anymore.

…

We were leaving for Amsterdam first thing tomorrow. MI6 had sent over their files, and we were prepped to go. Tony and Maria Hill would be here at the compound on the other end of our comms awaiting intel.

I was currently teaching Pietro a selection of different chokeholds and debilitating holds. “Something about the name guillotine chokehold makes me think I don’t want you to demonstrate it on me.”

A cheeky smile took over my expression as I waved him over toward me. “You’ll be fine. Have I ever hurt you before?”

His eyes became the size of dinner plates then. “Yes!” He spoke disbelievingly.

“Stop being a baby, this won’t hurt.”

I moved toward him, gesturing for him to take up a defensive stance, when he was ready, I took hold of the back of his head. His hair was soft and a little damp from sweat but I didn’t mind. “Are you sure this is a fighting pose?” I chuckled, moving swiftly to bring his head under my arm while the other slid around it to lock him in. He made a sound of discomfort, before I dropped onto my backside, bringing him down on top of me and locking my ankles behind his back to trap him in my tight hold. He tapped immediately and I let him go, laughing at his expression of indignation. “It should not be so easy for you to do that.” He moved back to his feet quickly pulling me up with him. “Show me how.”

It was a simple maneuver, one that he picked up quite quickly. Or at least he partially got it. “You’re not going to choke me out like that,” I spoke nonchalantly, completely unfazed by his weak hold on my neck. “You’re not gripping in the right place and your guard is wide open.”

“My guard is not op-” Before he could finish, I’d slipped from his grip and put him on his back. “That was incredibly rude and plus if I choked you out, I wouldn’t have the pleasure of your incessant taunting.”

“Get off your ass,” I spoke walking back to the center of the mat. “You’re getting it, but you need to put pressure on the carotid artery to send someone unconscious.”

Pietro raised an eyebrow at me. “What am I a doctor? How the hell would I know where the carotid artery is?” His words and the frustration evident in them had my smile growing.

“It’s in your neck.”

“Great. Very helpful, sensei.”

My cheeks hurt from grinning. I took a few steps forward, looking down at his hand that hung idly at his side. It was a few long moments before I did anything. Pietro watched my every movement intently, not daring to glance away for even a second as I took ahold of his hand, situating it between both of mine to fold his fingers down so only two remained standing. Slowly I brought his hand toward myself, one hand sliding down to sit around his wrist whilst the other remained atop his as I pressed his fingers to the side of my neck, just below my ear. He did not speak a word as I dragged his finger along the flesh of my neck above the artery. I took a long, deep breath. His eyes glanced between mine and the hand that lingered on my skin, even after I let my hands drop back to my sides. “That’s the carotid artery.” My words came out as a mere murmur, quiet and soft; gentle. The way his fingertips felt as they slid across my collarbone dipping just a few centimeters lower before they dropped from my body.

The feeling of his fingers made my skin burn as if he’d branded me. I felt all day. Even on our flight to Amsterdam, a deep tingling warmth settled across my skin, the phantom of his touch. He’d been quiet, unusually so and it was beginning to put me on edge. The silence was sending me insane. It was completely unlike him to let me hear myself think. The truth was, I wanted him to talk, because when I was focused on him, I wasn’t thinking about the images that plagued my sleeping mind, the words that the young boy had spoken to me in my dreams. I assured myself that was the only reason I wanted him to speak.

The room was nice, spacious, and the beds were plush; even better, there were two of them. No more sharing, no more forced proximity to my companion who’d spoken a total of two words to me since we arrived.

“Is something wrong?”

He grunted out something that sounded akin to the word no.

“Convincing.” Still, he didn’t speak, instead, he opened his suitcase and began searching through it. Not even offering me a glance. “You know what, it’s good that you don’t want to talk about it. I’m glad because I don’t want to hear about it.” I turned away from him as I spoke the words, grabbing the file from my bag and walking to the next room to look over it. There really wasn’t much point, I already knew it like the back of my hand. We stayed this way for hours, in separate rooms, neither of us daring to speak a word to each other. I didn’t understand what was wrong with him, he’d been in a mood since we finished training yesterday.

As soon as his touch began to fade, I’d blink and feel it all over again. I clenched my hand into a fist, shaking my head. That was enough, the thoughts would stop because I would will them to. Just as I had with the memories of my dreams. The boy had been back each night, the same half-muted conversation, garbled words that were almost impossible to understand, and one phrase that sent a shiver down my spine. My phone buzzed on the table drawing my attention. An address and a time sent by Tony, followed by a message from Natasha that had me gritting my teeth.

‘Be safe… use protection.’

I slammed my phone face down onto the table. “We should eat something,” I said, re-entering the bedroom. Pietro didn’t even glance up at me. I softened my tone; slightly. “Room service?”

“I don’t know… sure, that sounds fine… I guess.”

I raised a single eyebrow at him, he still hadn’t looked at me. “Well, as long as you’re sure.”

The look on his face told me he did not appreciate my sarcasm, yet he didn’t say a word. He continued to stare down at his phone.

“Okay, enough! What is your problem?”

His head whipped up, finally meeting my gaze. “Are you serious?!” I narrowed my eyes at him. Pure exasperation was evident across his expression. “You, Nadia. You are my problem.”

I was enraged that his words struck me the way they did, made me feel something; something entirely unpleasant and wholly sickening. “What did I do?” My tone was cold, yet there was something small beneath the shield of indifference. Something trembling and hurt.

He was on his feet then, pacing the floor beside his bed. “You can’t seriously not know what I mean.”

“Most of what you say is nonsense, it cannot be surprising to you that sometimes I’m a little lost.” I could almost feel his anger from the other side of the room, it was palpable. Part of me was thrilled by it, part of me ached to keep prodding him, keep poking the proverbial bear. So, I did. “Well, are you going to say something? I’m on the edge of my seat here, really, you know how I love hearing your grievances.”

His glare almost had a laugh bubbling in my throat. Then, suddenly it dissolved into a mask of cool indifference. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

I was taken aback by his sudden shift, even his tone had changed. It was honestly a little impressive. “Not a chance, you started this, so finish it. Air your grievances, Pietro, tell me what’s got you so riled up.”

“We’re not talking about this now.” My eyebrows shot up at the tone he took with me. Bold.

“Oh, you’re telling me what we are and are not going to talk about? Is that what’s happening right now?”

He’d crossed the room in a few long strides. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?” His tone remained. “Are you going to tell me, Nadia? I know you have a plan, you’re nothing if not calculated.

I smiled at him, no doubt in my mind that the look was chilling. Amusement evident on my face. “You’re being a prick right now, it’s a little funny, but you should probably stop.”

“Is that what I should do?”

“If you know what’s good for you it is.”

His jaw clenched. “Tell me what the fucking plan is, Nadia.” His voice stayed even, not raised, same cold tone. There was fire in his eyes.

“Ask me one more time.”

He did.

My hands were fisted at my side. I had no clue what was going on right now. My body was so tightly strung I felt ready to explode, rage and something entirely different simmered in my belly, urging me to move toward him.

“I’ll pretend to be a new waitress at the coffee shop Tara Janssen frequents. You’ll pretend to be a customer. The plan tomorrow is the same as it will be every day for the next week, we will watch her and take notes.”

“So, what I sit around for a week and hope she accidentally tells us she’s a criminal mastermind?”

“You’ll sit down, shut up, and eat a fucking pastry until I tell you to stop. Is that clear enough?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair and turning away from me. “And you say I’m a prick.” Before I could even process what I was doing I was less than a pace from him and shoving him hard. He spun sharply on his heel to face me; disbelief evident on his face. “Very mature.” I went to push him again, but he caught my arm before I could, yanking me forward in the process. My chest was flush with his and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t stop my eye from dropping to his lips for just a moment. Before anything else happened, I yanked myself from his grip, turning away from him immediately.

“Stop now. That’s the plan, it’s going to be a long week, so just get some sleep. Lose the attitude too.” Before he could say anything else I’d stormed to the bathroom.

Our first day undercover had been much the same. A cold quiet breakfast where Pietro barely acknowledged me, a long boring day serving coffees and bugging the CEO’s phone. I’d been issued with a wig and glasses to complete my persona. Code name: Emma Salsberry, English university student studying abroad. It was an easy character; one I could play in my sleep. When we’d returned to the hotel, I’d set up our listening equipment on the dining table, lots of fancy tech things that would emit recordings caught from the target’s cellphone. Tony had explained it to me, but I hadn’t really been listening. Pietro dropped down onto the couch as I began to listen to the audio. MI6’s intel said she was supposed to be having a meeting at the coffee shop on Thursday. I spent hours there, listening intently to the CEO talk about menial things, it was endlessly dull.

“Why do we think that she’s guilty again?”

The first hint of normalcy from him. My head shot up at the sound of his voice, relief bathing over me at his perfectly regular tone. I shrugged. “Apparently, she stumbled upon something she shouldn’t have. I don’t know, MI6 are very cryptic.”

He nodded and then there was silence again. It was beginning to eat at me, the sound of the clock on the wall gnawing at my brain. Eventually, I could take no more and I stood to go take a shower.

“I’m sorry that I called you a prick.” These were the first words out of my mouth when I emerged from the steam filled bathroom, toweling at my hair as I went.

“It’s okay I was acting like one.”

Even in his acknowledgement his words were still cold, distant. They sounded nothing like him. “Please tell me why you’re so mad at me.”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair, sending me a solitary glance over his shoulder. “I do not understand how you don’t know why I’m mad.”

I clenched my hands into fists, rage coursing through my veins. The anger management exercises were not helping so I stormed into the next room, however, it was only a mere moment before I lost control and stormed right back into the living area. “Because it comes easily to you!” I exclaimed, causing his head to whip in my direction. Shock written across his expression at my outburst. “All of this-” I waved my arms between the two of us. “It comes easily to you, so of course you do not understand. It does not come easily to me.”

“What are you talking about, Nadia?”

“I never learnt how to feel things! I learnt where the major arteries are, how long it takes someone to bleed out. There was nothing but the mission in the Red Room, that is all we were for, killing and completing the mission. For the majority of my life that is all I knew. Nothing else mattered, not emotions or these menial rules of politeness. I do not know how to feel things like normal people, and yes, I am aware that irrespective of this I do feel things.” I recalled Natasha’s words as I spoke. “But I do not understand my feelings, and understanding how other people feel is an entirely different problem. I don’t know when I’ve hurt someone, I can gather when they’re mad at me. It’s the why that I struggle with. I know that I’ve done something to hurt you, but please don’t ask me to guess how because that I can’t do.”

He looked at his feet for a moment before meeting my eyes, his were a fraction softer than before. “I know. I’m sorry that I was mean to you, but I don’t want to talk about this now.”

I nodded, fiddling with my fingers. “Fine we won’t talk… but you don’t get to keep treating me like shit, at least not while we’re on this mission.”

He agreed, a single firm nod of his head accompanied his verbal confirmation. I wasn’t entirely satisfied but at least we’d be able to get this done without killing each other… potentially.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Burn the House Down Playlist: Janine Moore

And here we finally make it to Madam President herself: Janine Moore! The original proponent of women's wrongs, Janine Moore became president of the United States in 1944. Up front about the fact that she was willing to do very morally questionable things to get her power, she's still blunt and straightforward and loyal to her people and her causes. She's very arguably the least likable person in the book and yet everything flows from her. She makes the plot. Her ambition and ability to manipulate what the public thinks of her are both her downfall and her greatest strengths, and when writing her I just kept thinking "this is literally a greek tragedy if I got to give the tragic hero a chance to redeem themself in the last third after they destroy everything." Most importantly, though, she does everything that she does out of love for those closest to her: her daughter, Annette, and her girlfriend, Cynthia, even when she doesn't treat them right. As her playlist description indicates:

The woman who shattered the glass ceiling. The bane of Congress's existence. The world's best liar.

@snazzy-hats-and-adhd @blufox3542 @neshatriumphs @khruschevshoe @weedpoop @thesirhandsome-tepalehuia @sillylittlecheeto @nefertittti @henrythepug @meet-me-behindthemall12 @aboutblankpages-blog-blog @artemisiaarm @profiterole-reads @marchionessdebrannas @harrietmjones @thearcaneuniversity @little-bloodied-angel @artemisbones @jacksope-lives @fleuranna @shehungthemoon @spacecatrainshell @celestedeluna

[remade-man]

This is Dishonesty in the greatest form to allow a dishonest government Democrats to consistently lie daily using the only sources of news and public affairs available to it's Citizens and Taxpayers. The very ones who invest in the government every day.

They have now taken a government, "Designed to be Of, By, and, For the People" and turned it into a "Government Over the People" unaccountable to the very people from whom they drew the sacred authority to govern.

Not surprising! Considering the fact that Obama was raised in a Socialist family and not born in the United States but Kenya. Which Kenya proudly claims he was. Obama lied about the makeup of his family. Claimed he had family like all of us do, but instead it was a gay marriage with adopted children.

The Affordable Care Act was never affordable and you couldn't keep your doctor even if you liked him or her. He was a charlatan and a liar. This is who brought us Joe Biden and Kama-la Harris. He is the father of the "Woke Agenda" along with "Critical Race Theory" and is behind the division that swept this country in 2020. They are trying to Destroy America! Both Waltz and Harris want to limit your Rights to Free Speech and to Keep and Bear Arms.

Regan asked the question, "Are you better off than you were four years ago?" My answer is NO! I will vote for the change to a Republican President who has a proven track record and seems to be following the same God on who's principles this nation was founded.

[xtruss]

Folks! Watch the Crimes of the Fascist, Liar, Criminal, Conspirator, Killer, Apartheid, the European Fake Jews and the Zionist 🐖 🐷 🐖 🐗’s Illegal Regime of Isra-hell with the Help of the World’s Number One Criminal United States of America

When Humanity Died!

Twitter Deleted The Account of Saudi YouTuber, Maher Musalli, After He Created This Video About The Ongoing Gaza Massacre.

The Video Is Amazing. One of the greatest videos made since the crisis began.

IT COMPARES Nazism and Zionism as well as Hitler and Netanyahu. And also discusses Hollywood's role in portraying a distorted image of Zionists.

I HOPE Maher Musalli receives the support and that the video reaches the entire world because it summarizes a lot.

I PRAY to God that everyone who receives this video will share it widely so as to break the MSN Media distortions of Palestinian Sufferings 🤲

[sublimeobservationarcade]

OMG Biden Is Too Old!!!

How old is too old to be the President of the United States? 81? 82? 83? 84? It seems in the land of the free you can never be too old to lead the world’s most powerful nation. The recent televised debate told us a different story, however. This contest of words, where no teleprompters were allowed, dropped Joe Biden in the deep end of a pool of shit. Up against the world’s greatest liar in Donald Trump – a man who spent 14 years on TV being trained to perform in this medium. OMG Biden is too old!!! The worldwide audience exclaimed in panic. “The news of the debate was not Trump saying crazy, untrue things, though he did so in abundance. It was Biden. The President of the United States, eighty-one years old and asking to be returned to office until age eighty-six, looked and sounded old. Too old.” - (https://www.newyorker.com/news/letter-from-bidens-washington/was-the-debate-the-beginning-of-the-end-of-joe-bidens-presidency)   President Joe Biden listens during a weekly by The White House Baiden-Harris is licensed under CC-CC0 1.0

Old Joe Biden vs Trump The Liar

Let us be clear Trump uttered no actual facts to contradict his outlandish lies about his former presidency. Rather, he let fly with big fat porkies about stuff any normal person would be deeply ashamed of. Trump’s performance as President during the Covid pandemic was abysmal and contributed to around a million Americans losing their lives in one of the richest nations on earth. Pundits counted 30+ whopper lies and a host of lesser mistruths delivered in a stylish understated performance, just made for TV. America is faced with its own fate – in a world it created where style over substance is the more valued commodity. Selling Presidential Fictions About Past & Futures A contest between a stumbling, mentally weary Joe Biden and a compulsive liar who embodies the archetypal American salesman. Trump is selling a repackaged American dream from yesteryears, when white was right and everything was, apparently better than alright. The fact that this pitch is a complete fiction based on a super pack of lies does not seem to faze many Americans. Tell me lies, tell me lies, sweet little lies. What woman or man does not want to hear perfumed lines designed to please them. President Trump Postlaunch Remarks (NHQ202005300037) by NASA HQ PHOTO is licensed under CC-BY-NC-ND 2.0 A Felon Running To Become POTUS Donald Trump is a convicted felon, finally, it only took the established institutions some 30+ years to successfully prosecute him. Wealth and power in the United States are definitely get out of jail free cards in real life there. Think about the fact that you cannot vote in America if a convicted felon but you can run for President. This tells you everything you need to know about the USA and its judicial/political systems. Trump is a product of a deeply inequitable and unjust society. Rich white man status means no guard rails and an inside running to the finish line, where all the prizes are. Pomp and ceremony for crooks and conmen? No problem. President Joe Biden’s Record President Joe Biden has done a very good job over the last 4 years since coming to power. The economy is in great shape despite coming through the high inflationary post-pandemic period. Biden has overseen the greatest public investment in manufacturing and infrastructure America has ever seen. Obviously, he has not done it alone, as there are always many other people pulling their weight too in government. The focus on one man, it has always been a man, is silly and tells dumb people that he is much more important than he actually is to the running of the country. The media is largely responsible for purporting this fiction and the political bandwagon goes along with it. The political hoopla in America, surrounding the presidency, is overbearing and distorting. People seemingly care more about how Biden talks on TV than how he has managed the nation. Jeff Bezos by U.S. Air Force is licensed under CC-CC0 1.0 Why Do We See An Octogenarian As President? Where are all the younger candidates for office and why have we not seen them flourish over the last 8 years or so. Trump is 79. Where is the next generation of leaders and why have they not come to the fore? What is wrong with the American political culture and what is up with America on this score? America used to see itself as a young and dynamic force in the world. (JFK! Oh yeah, they shot him dead.) Is it now moribund and halting? Is the great American experiment running out of memory, out of RAM? Old wise men and women can and do have much to offer in the right environments. Whether it is at the very top of the tree steering the world’s superpower, I am not so sure. OMG Biden is too old!!! Yes, Joe Biden is, in my opinion, too old for the position. Likewise Trump, but he is also morally unfit and a danger to the planet. How about some new blood! Take a chance on someone younger America. Fresh energy and new ideas, perhaps? We seem to be in a time of stagnancy, on the political front. The polish on politicians is so deeply ingrained the world cannot see the wrinkled flesh beneath. I suspect that vested interests are keeping things this way and that it is their money holding sway. Billionaires have been rorting the system for some time now to the detriment of you and me. Buying up our politicians and their parties for their own selfish interests. We could fix this by banning all political donations and state funding elections as an alternative. That would be too obvious a solution, it seems. Instead, we get what we currently have - a warped and distorted system serving the interests of specialty groups and their deep pockets. Ordinary folk have lost their representation within the democratic system. Old men are paraded across stages and our screens reading teleprompters of speeches crafted by strategists to appeal to the base. This is the democracy now under threat from right wing extremists and Trump fascists. I wish it was a better choice but this is what is on offer. Robert Sudha Hamilton is the author of the titles: House Therapy, Money Matters, & America Matters. ©MidasWord https://read.amazon.com.au/kp/embed?asin=B0CY8CMT33&preview=newtab&linkCode=kpe&ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_G8JGVGAGHGAAGYF6B3AM Read the full article

[occupyhades]

Headed for the Pit

The eyes of the LORD are in every place, keeping watch on the evil and the good. Proverbs 15:3 (ESV)

“Woe to the rebellious children,” says the LORD, “Who take counsel, but not of Me, And who devise plans, but not of My Spirit, That they may add sin to sin." Isaiah 30:1 (NKJV)

‘Cursed is he who withholds justice from the foreigner, the fatherless, or the widow.’ And let all the people say, ‘Amen!’ Deuteronomy 27:19 (BSB)

A person who plans evil will get a reputation as a troublemaker. Proverbs 24:8 (NLT)

This is what the LORD says: “Cursed is the one who trusts in man, who draws strength from mere flesh and whose heart turns away from the LORD." Jeremiah 17:5 (NIV)

Let those who are experts at cursing— whose cursing could rouse Leviathan— curse that day. Job 3:8 (NLT)

What are worthless and wicked people like? They are constant liars. Proverbs 6:12 (NLT)

A wicked person listens to deceitful lips; a liar pays attention to a destructive tongue. Proverbs 17:4 (NIV)

[kwaggysshardmindemporium]

Another block of albums. Think I'm just gonna do it as blocks like this going forward I like it better.

Okay so Thursday was Brown Sugar by D'Angelo. I liked this. Don't usually get much out of R&B but this really made me smile. It also contains the most memeable song I've ever heard that isn't a meme: "Shit, Damn, Motherfucker." You should absolutely listen to this track. It's great, although probably not for the reasons the artist put it out into the world. 4/5

Next on Friday was La Revancha Del Tango by Gotan Project. I try extra hard to engage with albums that aren't in the language I speak, but this one just did nothing for me. It's fine. It exists. There's a non-zero chance that it's the greatest poetry ever written in Spanish and I just wouldn't have any way to know, but for me it's just okay. 3/5

Now we get into the three albums I listened to all at once catching up from the weekend because I was LARPing. They Were Wrong, So We Drowned by Liars. This is a very mopey album, and not in the especially fun way of mopey that I like. 3/5

Then there was The United States of America, self-titled. Man this project has made me realize how much I love hippie shit. And I don't really hear anyone ever make music that sounds like this today. This album is hippie shit in the same vein as like, Jefferson Airplane. Same basic sound. 4/5

Then I had Scissor Sisters, also self-titled. This album starts very strong with some very fun stuff, but kind of loses me by the end. The stuff up front that's good is VERY good though. 4/5

And today I have Under Construction by Missy Elliott. This album was a lot of fun from front to back, and holy shit just absolutely bursting at the seams with cameos. I know most people would say "Work It" is an all timer but it doesn't do much for me though, and there's nothing else here that went beyond "oh that was fun" level of enjoyment. So I'm coming down as a 4/5.

[smithqjohns]

What did you read this year? What were your favorites? What do you recommend (as long as it’s not from Oprah’s Book Club list)? Here’s my list…

Books (Including Novellas and Short Stories) That I Read 2022 (*asterisks by the ones I recommend):

1. Atomic Habits (2018) by James Clear

2. Billy Liar (1963) by Keith Waterhouse (7.9 stars out of 10)

3. A Black Women’s History of the United States (2020) by Daina Ramey Berry and Kati Nicole Gross (6.4 stars out of 10)

4. *Cat’s Cradle (1963) by Kurt Vonnegut (9.9 stars out of 10)

5. *Chuck Klosterman X: A Highly Specific, Defiantly Incomplete History of the Early 21st Century (2017) by Chuck Klosterman (8 stars out of 10)

6. (The) Compound Effect (2010) by Darren Hardy

7. *Consider This (2020) by Chuck Palahniuk (8.9 stars out of 10)

8. *Dog of the South (1979) by Charles Portis (8.8 stars out of 10)

9. (The) End of the End of the Earth: Essays (2018) by Jonathan Franzen (6.3 stars out of 10)

10. *Fight Club (1996) by Chuck Palahniuk (10 stars out of 10)

11. Furiously Happy (2015) by Jenny Lawson (6 stars out of 10)

12. *(A) Good Man is Hard to Find (1953) by Flannery O’Connor (9 stars out of 10)

13. Heartburn (1996) by Nora Ephron (7.5 stars out of 10)

14. *Higglety Pigglety Pop! or There Must Be More to Life (1967) by Maurice Sendak (8.1 stars out of 10)

15. *Homebodies (1954) by Charles Addams (8.5 stars out of 10)

16. *Imperial Bedrooms (1985) by Bret Easton Ellis (8.3 stars out of 10)

17. *Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1955) by Jack Finney (8.9 stars out of 10)

18. Juliet, Naked (2009) by Nick Hornby (5.8 stars out of 10)

19. *(The) Man Who Lost His Head (1942) by Claire Huchet Bishop and Robert McCloskey (9 stars out of 10)

20. Monster Madness: Godzilla, King Kong and other Classic Creatures of the Silver Screen (5.9 stars out of 10)

21. Never Split the Difference (2016) by Christopher Voss (5.5 stars out of 10)

22. Nobody Move (2009) by Dennis Johnson (6.2 stars out of 10)

23. *Norwood (1966) by Charles Portis (8.2 stars out of 10)

24. Other People’s Money: Inside the Housing Crisis and the Demise of the Greatest Real Estate Deal Ever Made (2013) by Charles V. Bagli (5.6 stars out of 10)

25. Pity the Reader: On Writing with Style (2019) by Kurt Vonnegut, Suzanne McConnell (6.1 stars out of 10)

26. (The) Queen’s Gambit (1983) by Walter Tevis (6 stars out of 10)

27. *Raised in Captivity (2019) (Chuck Klosterman) (8.4 stars out of 10)

28. (The) Silva Method Mind Control (1991) by Jose Silva (4.5 stars out of 10)

29. (The) Time Machine (1895) by H.G. Wells (7.9 stars out of 10)

30. *True Grit (1968) by Charles Portis (9.5 stars out of 10)

31. (The) Turn of the Screw (1898) by Henry James (6.5 stars out of 10)

32. Turtles All the Way Down (2017) by John Greene (5.4 stars out of 10)

33. Waking the Tiger (1997) by Peter A. Levine (5.7 stars out of 10)

34. White (2019) by Bret Easton Ellis (7.5 stars out of 10)

35. White Fragility (2016) by Robin DiAngelo (1 star out of 10)

36. *Wise Blood (1952) by Flannery O’Connor (8.6 stars out of 10)

[yayeetsonny]

Always tell the truth~ USWNT x Baby Reader

A/N: Hi ya’ll, yes I’m still alive, I’m sorry I went MIA for Idk how many months. My life just got turned upside down and I got a job and I’ve just been so busy. But I’m officially back and will be getting to all the requests I’ve received soon. This wasn’t a request but I got this idea from another fic I read so I hope you enjoy - N

Y/N PRO//

At 18 years old I’ve got so many activities and responsibilities sometimes I wonder how I’m still functioning. I’m a senior in high school, an honor student, a theatre geek and most of all I’m a pro soccer player for the United States Women’s National team. Its amazing, I’m living out my dream of playing the greatest game alongside some of my idols and we’re like one big, goofy dysfunctional family. My parents, while they love me and support me, aren’t around much and aren’t the most attentive. But my teammates make up for it by acting like overprotective, hovering moms whenever we’re together. 

I’d just gotten to the facility where we were gathering for our first team training of this camp. I was extremely excited to see my teammates. 

 I walked into the meeting room quietly and I saw everyone just talking among themselves; they had yet to notice me, so I took full advantage of this. I walked up behind Mal, made a shh gesture to Alex who made eye contact with me and took a deep breath, then I let out an ear piercing yell. Mal and anyone else who hadn’t seen me jumped 10 feet in the air. Poor Mal was in a heap on the floor, clutching her chest while the others were laughing and trying to compose themselves.

“What the- Y/N!”

“That’s me!”

“Hey kiddo! Quite the entrance you made there.”

“I know, I apologize I just couldn’t resist. Sorry Mal.”

I helped her off the floor and wrapped her in a hug.

“You good?” I giggled

“Yeah, you just gave me a heart attack, no big.” She giggled back

I made my rounds, gave and received hugs and hellos and then I went to sit with everyone for the start of the meeting. I rolled up the sleeves of my hoodie and got comfortable since these meetings tend to be long. Alex was on one side of me and Mal was on the other. I didn’t notice the giant bruise on my arm but Alex did.

“Y/N? Where’d you get that bruise?”

“Bruise? What are you talking about?” I say looking at her like she had grown two heads.

“That nasty looking one, where’d you get it?” She said pointing at my arm but not breaking eye contact with me.

I looked at the bruise for a minute, studying it, trying to figure out where it came from. I genuinely couldn’t remember hurting myself or hitting my arm hard enough to leave a bruise

“Oh, uh I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Doesn’t it hurt?”

“No, not really.”

“Okay… are you sure you don’t know where it’s from?

“Yes I’m sure.”

“Okay well if it starts to hurt or gets worse for whatever reason let me know and I’ll get some cream for it.”

I could tell Alex didn’t believe the whole “I don’t know” response but its the truth and she let it drop anyways so whatever. 

Mal just looked at me curiously

“What was that about?” She whispered

“Oh nothing, Alex is just being overprotective as usual.” I whispered back

The meeting was long as I predicted but when it was finally over we were sent to change for practice. On the way there I let Mal hop on my back, once she was on and comfortable she yelled 

“Onward trusty steed!”

“Your wish is my command!” I said as we both giggled

I carried her all the way there and then gently set her down and went to get changed. 

I was talking to Christen whose locker happened to be next to mine and she was telling me about her dogs and how much she misses them, I was beginning to tell her about my dog and how much I miss him when I saw her staring at my arm.

“Hello? Earth to Christen?”

I waved my hand in front of her face trying to get her attention and after a minute it worked.

“Huh? Oh sorry, I don’t mean to stare, it’s just that bruise on your arm looks quite painful, what happened?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I can’t seem to remember.” I said shrugging

“You don’t remember? Are you sure?” She said looking at the bruise and back at me worriedly

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

I could tell she too didn’t believe me but I’m not sure what else to say, I can’t just make up some story about what happened. Okay well I could but that would be lying and I’ve always been a terrible liar.

I decided to just forget about those two interactions for the time being and focus on giving my all this camp so that the coaches know I can be trusted to step up when they need me to. 

We started out with some warm ups, then did some sprints, passing drills, shooting drills, set piece work, PK practice and to wrap it up like always we had a scrimmage. My team consisted of, Chris, Alyssa, Crystal, Sam and myself, the other team consisted of Alex, Tobin, Ashlyn, Ali and Lindsey. 

The scrimmage was pretty normal, a few goals for each side my team unfortunately coming up short by one goal, as the other team celebrated my teammates and I pretended to be upset and pouted about the loss. 

“Oh cheer up guys, you’ll get us next time… maybe.” Ash said giggling

“Yeah, yeah. You guys only won because I got distracted by a butterfly on that last play.” Sam said 

Everyone just stared at her blankly

“What? It was really pretty! Didn’t you guys see it?”

We all just started cracking up at that. I was able to pull myself together enough to ask the question everyone was thinking

“You-you really got distracted by a butterfly during the game Sammy?”

“Yes, and?”

“It’s just as funny hearing it a second time” I said before laughing again 

“You guys are mean.” She pouted

“You love us.” Ali said, reaching up and ruffling Sam’s hair. 

After practice the team all got on the bus and went back to the hotel we were staying at. Vlatko booked out a whole floor just for us since he knows how loud we can be and didn’t want to deal with angry neighbors. Not again, after last time. This time I’d be rooming with Ali, we didn’t get put together often but I always enjoy when we do. It helps us bond and I’m always learning new things about her. 

I was going to meet them there later however because I had to go see my parents at their request, my dad said something about it being urgent. I got in a team van and went to see them.

After several hours I was finally able to go back to the hotel and be there for the rest of the night. My parent’s seem to have had a change of heart about my career choice, they went on and on about the sudden need for me to join the family business and how my only goal in life should now be to live up to their legacy. I hated every minute of it, I was so ready to get Into my comfortable clothes and head to get something to eat. When I got to the room I’d be sharing with Ali I opened the door to an empty room. She must be with Ash. I thought.

 I decided to get changed and see if I could find her. As I was changing I didn’t hear the door open and only knew my roommate had arrived when I heard a gasp

“Y/N… What happened babe?”

“Ali, Hi. What do you mean? Nothing’s happened.”

“ So that big bruise on your arm, the one on your shoulder and the one going all the way down your spine aren’t anything?” 

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You obviously know what I’m talking about.”

“No I don’t, I only knew about the one on my arm, after Alex pointed it out. Otherwise I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She grabbed my hand and pulled me over to the mirror in the bathroom, spun me around and said 

“Those bruises, Y/N, where’d you get them?” 

“Oh… I don’t know.” 

“Yes you do.”

“No I don’t, that’s the truth.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and besides, we are soccer players, I probably just got them in practice.”

“Y/N… I’ll ask again, where are those bruises from?”

“I. Don’t. Know.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fine then, don’t believe me. First Alex, then Christen and now you. This is just great, my teammates think I’m a liar. Well I’m not and I’m telling you the truth.”

I brushed by her and stormed out of the room, now determined to avoid my teammates so they’d stop asking questions and questioning my honesty.

I’m not a liar. I don’t know where I got the bruises, I don’t know why they won’t believe me.

A/N: Okayyyy... sorry for the sort of cliff hanger? I can’t type anymore for now because my wrists hurt too bad. (Work messed them up lol) so this’ll be a two part imagine, sorry!- N

Not really edited

[vanderlindemorgans]

Cross My Heart (Chapter 5)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you’re the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: Eventual smut, some references to alcoholism and drug use. Reader is in her late twenties but there is an age gap between her and Whiskey. Chapter specific warnings: one scene takes place in a hospital, some medical talk, more heavy drinking, talk of death and alcoholism (specifically related to drunk driving), mentions of drug addiction, Whiskey being a dick, lotta heavy topics in general.

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

“Alright, so the X-Rays have come back and as you can probably already guess your left arm has been fractured”.

The news hadn’t been a shock to you at all - it was only logical that the result of being thrown off the back of a horse was your arm breaking from the impact of the fall, nevermind the sheer amount of pain that it had already caused you was even more indication that something was definitely wrong there. All things considered, it still wasn’t a pleasant piece of news to receive, causing you to let out a low groan as you settled back into the hospital gurney they had allocated to you after the ambulance had pulled you in. Dressed in only a hospital gown, you felt the chill from the room's air conditioning prick the edges of your skin, the coolness of temperature making the whole experience even more foreign to you. Of course, it wasn’t like you’d never been to a hospital before - an unlucky bout of croup had sent you to the emergency room as a little kid when you’d almost stopped breathing. At the resurgence of that particular memory you felt yourself shudder, recalling the hours spent passed out in a brightly lit room and being forced to drink gross tasting liquid that was meant to clear up your airways. At least you weren’t choking on your own breath this time round. 

“Well that’s just fantastic. How long will it take to heal? I kinda got a ranch to run” you asked the doctor, who was standing off to the side consulting the clipboard nestled against his arm. Sighing, he looked up at you with a look of sympathy while he ran through the information he’d jotted down on his notes. “Usually it takes twelve weeks for fractures to heal - given the fact that a good part of your arm has been displaced you’ll need to be put into surgery to shift the bone back into place, which we’ll have scheduled for you in the next twenty-four hours. Afterwards, I’ll be putting you in a cast for a couple of weeks and you’ll have to come back in for checkups weekly. I’ll also give you a list of rehabilitation exercises you can do to ensure the recovery process goes as smoothly as possible” he explained. “After your surgery and subsequent discharge, I heavily recommend a few days bed rest due to the concussion you have sustained”.  

“So I’m guessing most physical labour is out then” you muttered under your breath, sighing once you realized how heavily this would impact your ability to keep things running smoothly back at the ranch. Yes, you had employees but without you to oversee everything things would slow down and descend into madness real quickly. You wished you had allocated some sort of second in command for times like this, a manager of sorts to keep things in place while you recovered but you’d just never gotten around to it, brushing the thought aside every time it sprung up with a simple “Why would I need extra help anyway? Nothing ever happens around here”. 

“You’d be correct on that. Now, I have some other patients to check on but I will be back in about 20 minutes or so to prep you for surgery, though I will send a nurse to give you some painkillers so you can stop feeling the worst of the pain for at least a little while” he replied. You went to thank him but before you could you felt a light touch graze along your right arm. Your eyes glanced over to where Jack’s hand was placed, his touch delicate and comforting, sparking that same feeling in your chest that you’d felt when he’d stroked your forehead back at the ranch. His eyes met your own for a moment, deep cedar brown looking at you with nothing more than concern and worry, somehow pulling at a single string of your heart even though you wanted to fight against it with all your might.

Snapping you focus back into place, you nodded back over to the doctor and thanked him for all he was doing, listening to his reassurances that he’d have you fixed up as soon as possible as he hurried on out of the room to his next patient in need. Once he was gone, you exhaled in annoyance and went back to staring aimlessly at the ceiling, mulling over the inconvenience of your predicament. 

“Everything ok, sugar?” you heard Jack ask you, feeling his enchanting eyes study your expression, his anxiety over your wellbeing plain as day. Letting out a small laugh, you returned his question with a small smile of your own. “Does it look like I’m ok?” you joked, gesturing vaguely to your fractured arm. 

He chuckled at your sarcasm, always enjoying that certain fire you had to your character that refused to silence itself. Unbeknownst to you, that was one of things that drew him towards you in the first place - his own air of cockiness and confidence was equally matched by your spitfire and sarcastic wit. Finding out the sweet disposition that lay behind that harshness the first time round had taken him by complete surprise, but only did more to endear himself to you. God, he was such a fool for losing that. He was certain that your sweetness was still there, closed behind even more layers of hurt and pain that he’d caused such a large hand in. 

From the moment the ambulance had arrived, Jack had stayed beside you, refusing to leave for even a single moment. It was quite endearing, truth be told, a feeling that attempted to worm its way through your steadfast reasoning against him. He’s a liar. Don’t fall for his shit again, you repeated to yourself. Though it was becoming harder and harder to continue regarding him as your greatest mistake when he was behaving so kindly and gentlemanly towards you. Just a part of his deceptive charm, I guess, you thought bitterly. 

“Y’know, you don’t have to worry about things gettin’ outta hand down at the ranch. I’m more than happy to step up and help” he spoke up, snapping your attention back to his words and out of your own contemplation. You thought about his proposal for a minute, the temptation to say yes seeming very appealing towards you, though somehow that felt like admitting to weakness. The ranch wasn’t his responsibility, it was yours, left to you by your dear parents. It was your obligation to run it in their stead - there’d been difficulties along the way, sure, including the occasional nasty cold every now and then but you had pulled through without any trouble. You didn’t need help or any sort of handout, and you were more than capable of taking care of business by yourself, even with a broken arm.

Then again, it is gonna be kinda hard to run a business while being confined to bed rest. Briefly you thought about just closing the ranch for a couple of days while you got back on track yet once you thought about the loss in profits you discarded that idea quickly. It wasn’t like you were struggling to make ends meet but a dip in profits could cause a bit of issue. 

“Yeah but...It’s my responsibility. I can’t just ignore that because I got a stupid broken arm” you rebuffed, though you didn’t sound entirely convinced of what you were saying yourself. Sadly, stubbornness was your nature and even if you knew you were fighting a losing battle, sometimes it was more about the principle of having a position rather than whatever thing you were debating over. Some would say that was quite a counterproductive way to look at things, and you’d agree with them, yet you still remained stubborn in spite of them, feeding back into the cycle.  

“Darlin’, with all due respect, I think what’s best for you is that you take a step back and let someone else take the reins. You need to allow yourself to rest a lil. Tell me, in all the years of runnin’ the ranch by yourself, have you ever once taken a day off?”. 

“No, but-”.

“Exactly as I thought. You’ve been doing an amazing job at keeping things together for all these years, sweetheart, but you gotta relax a bit. Let me help you” he interrupted, gazing at you with those heart-meltingly sweet eyes of his, a look which made you seize up ever so slightly in minor fake annoyance. Little shit, he had to be doing that on purpose.

“Fine, only if it’ll get you to shut up” you relented, rolling your eyes in a dramatic fashion and hitting your head back down into the pillow below, eliciting a playful smirk from him in return. “That’s my girl, stubborn as always” he jested. 

To that you cocked an eyebrow at him in disbelief. “Your girl? Careful there, Jack, for a minute I thought you were capable of genuine compassion and care. I may have once been your girl, cowboy, but not anymore. Or did you happen to forget?”. 

His own expression softened slightly in regards to your snide remark, his mischievous grin faltering while he turned his gaze to the floor, looking somewhat sheepish towards what you had said, a far cry from his usual air of arrogance. “Yeah, I guess I deserve that” he murmured. “Tell me, sugar, do you ever think one day you’ll believe me when I say that I’m sorry?”. 

“When pigs fly, dearest” you smiled with a shit-eating grin, though you couldn’t miss that momentary flash of hurt in his eyes that made you pull back, a sharp pang striking through your chest that hurt harder than the agonizing ache in your arm, which really, was saying something. Could that be...guilt, perhaps?, you thought, searching Jack’s face for any further sign of offense. If he was feeling hurt, he was doing a pretty stellar job at hiding it. Maybe it was nothing, and even if he was hurt, well, he said it himself, he deserved it. Without giving you another minute to ponder your own feelings, a welcome interruption in the arrival of a nurse found you, shifting your thoughts towards the relief of finally getting some painkillers into you. 

___

The surgery had gone over well, and after a grueling day spent hanging out in that hospital room hopped up on painkillers you were finally discharged late afternoon the following day. The worst of your concussion had cleared itself up too yet you were still confined to your bed for those first few days - the doctor was insistent on that fact, saying you could never be too careful. You’d begrudgingly complied, not wanting to cause any further problems to your health, and even if you had tried to go against the doctor’s orders, you knew that Jack would be there to send you off back to bed if you dared lift a finger. 

Jack had doted on you the entire time, making sure you were well hydrated and cool enough in the midst of the hot Texas summer, fetching you snacks and whatever else you needed from downstairs. In his own words, what kind of man would he be if he didn’t take care of an ailing woman. You’d rolled your eyes and insisted that he didn’t have to go all out with looking after you yet he’d insisted. It was somewhat heartwarming, and it felt nice to be taken care of again after those last few years alone. It reminded you of when you’d come down with the flu back in third grade, staying home in bed lazily watching television and barely being able to keep your eyes open while your mum made soup in the kitchen. You could feel your heart drop at the mere recollection of your parents, pain that stayed beneath the surface rising up in full force. Usually you pushed those feelings down, not wanting to become distracted from the business, but today, you allowed yourself the indulgence of missing them. What would they think if they could see you now? Would they be proud, or disappointed? 

Feeling your stomach grumble, you shifted over in bed and reached your only good arm out to grab onto the half-eaten grilled cheese Jack had brought in for you five minutes before, letting out a low wince at the pain that writhed through your other arm, which had been placed into a cast and sling for the time being. Already you couldn’t wait for the day you could get the damned thing taken off - you hadn’t been able to shower and you felt grotty and gross. It wasn’t like you had to impress anyone, it was just you and Jack lying about the place. Still, you could only take so many days of waking up with unwashed greasy hair. And it was itchy too. Oh dear god, it was fucking itchy. You’d heard about how itchy the plaster could get second-hand but you never anticipated it to be that bad. 

Directing your eyes to the clock on your bedside, you took notice of the time and let out a small relieved sigh. You could finally take another one of those painkillers, the fourth and dismally last one for you of the day. 

Your relief quickly fizzled out into disappointment when you realised the packet of painkillers that had been sitting by your bedside was empty. “Seriously? It’s only been a few days, I couldn’t have gone through them already…” you muttered to yourself in annoyance. Nevermind, there was another packet downstairs. You may have been perfectly capable of getting out of bed and retrieving it yourself, though you found yourself not wanting to be bothered with such a task. “Hey Jack, you there? I ran out of painkillers, could ya run some up to me?” you called out.

“Sure thing, sweetheart” you heard him shout back, and no more than two minutes later he was striding through your bedroom door, carrying exactly what you had requested within his palms. “How are you feelin’?” he asked. 

“No better than six minutes ago when you last asked me that. Thanks for bringing these up though, fuck that stupid horse for bucking me off” you grumbled, sniping the blessed white packet out of his hands and into your fingers. “Pain making you grumpy, sweet girl? You seem a bit more full of spitfire than usual today” he joked. 

“Nah, you’re getting the discounted version today. If I wanted to vocalise exactly what I was feeling right now you’d be obliterated in a second” you laughed, chucking a tablet into your mouth and washing it down with a large gulp of water, anxious to feel some semblance of relief. 

“You don’t say. How’s your head doing, though? No dizziness or anything like that?”. 

“I’m fine, Jack, I promise. You don’t have to fawn all over me just because I broke my dumb arm” you assured, rolling your eyes at him. 

“I wouldn’t call in fawning, I only want to make sure you're comfortable and all that. Not only because of your arm and all” he smiled gently, reaching out to brush a stray hair off your forehead. It could have been the heat of the room but you could have sworn your skin felt on fire the moment he touched you. You could feel him press the back of his fingers against your head, unconsciously allowing your breath to hitch at his touch. And just like that, the warmth of his hand was gone, leaving an invisible searing mark in its place and your own head full of frenzied and confused thoughts. 

“Like I said earlier, just call out if you need anything else, alright darlin’?” he said as he was leaving, words that you didn’t care to take notice of as he left you to yourself again. Blinking slowly, you couldn’t even fully begin to describe what had just taken place, or why one little gesture was throwing your mind into somersaults. Why did his mere touch have to affect you like that? Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? Groaning loudly, you settled yourself underneath the sheet covering you and huffed at nobody in particular, cursing both yourself and him for even existing. For fucks sake...

___

Taking a sip of bourbon from your glass, you leaned against the side of the stairs of the veranda with your gaze fixated off into the distance, though you didn’t take any notice of what lay ahead, lost deep in your own thoughts that clouded your mind. It’d been a couple more days, and you’d finally been able to get out of bed and get back to helping out around the ranch - not that you were still of any use to anyone, given the state of your arm. It felt good to be back overseeing things, albeit a bit more behind the scenes than you had been in years. It’d be a good month or so before you were able to move your arm properly and have things back to normal. At first that fact did nothing short of irritating you, since you weren’t one to lie about helpless when work needed to be done. Over the last few days though, seeing the ranch go about with business as usual with Jack’s extra help had put you at ease a little. It still bothered you somewhat that you had to be asking any sort of help from Jack Daniels of all people, though really, he was the one offering it in the first place so you hadn’t so much as asked him to do anything, moreso conceding to his instistance at the behest of your stubbornness. 

The pain was getting a little better too, though whether that had more to do with the painkillers or not remained to be seen. For example, you couldn’t feel anything now but you had just ingested two glasses of pure straight bourbon, so of course any type of pain would be numbed. Remember when it could numb more than just that? You let out a small snicker at the thought, sounding as hollow and empty as it felt. Once upon a time you might have been classed as relatively lightweight, a fact that changed after years of the trials and tribulations life had thrown your way. You still got drunk easy, but it took a good few glasses before you actually passed out.

“You know, you should let me sign that for ya”. 

Hearing that familiar voice ring out from behind you, you swivel around so see its owner standing right in the opened doorway of your home, his hands casually resting in his pockets and his frame leant against the wall. “What are we, in middle school? I don’t want it getting dirty” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him for good measure. 

He smirked right back at you, letting out a small snicker that mirrored your own. “Why not? It’s not like you're gonna have to be wearin’ it forever. A little scribble in permanent marker wouldn’t do ya any harm” Jack grinned, taking a large step forward to descend down to your level, seating himself right next to you on the veranda. You cocked an eyebrow at him, letting your fingertips trail over the edge of the glass in your hands while you stared at him with utter audacity. “And yet I know you’re only so persistent in signing it because you’ll write something crude or vaguely flirty” you snipped. 

“How little you think of me, sugar. I’d never dream of doin’ such a thing. I am nothing if not a gentleman”. 

“Oh, do cut the charm, Jack. What is it you want?”.

“Please, can’t a man share a glass of bourbon with a lady without being subjected to the Spanish Inquisition?” he asked, wearing his devilish and frustratingly charming grin as he spoke, the appearance of which you swore made your cheeks flush a little bit hotter. Probably because of the alcohol...and it is hot out here after all...

“Not this lady, cowboy” you stated, gulping down the last dredges of bourbon in your glass and placing it back down to the floor with a thud. You went to go grab the bottle from beside you but found Jack had already snatched it up, pouring you another glass. Mumbling out a small thank you, you considered asking him if he wants a glass of his own, however once you caught sight of his silver Statesman issued flask in his hands you dismissed the idea entirely. With nothing else left to say, you glanced back up to the sky above towards where the moon was hanging over you two, the delicate light illuminating the stretches of countryside around your property in a soft glow, one that was both enchanting and eerie at the same time. Every now and then you would be reminded of how beautiful the Texan countryside could look, whether it be bathed in the rays of that damned blistering sun or the enigmatic glimmer of moonlight. It could pull you back to moments lost in time, years ago sitting right where you were in that very same spot, seven years younger and with the exact same man sitting beside you, head rested on his shoulder and looking out into the vast expanse of midnight black. Funny how things change, don’t they?

Out the corner of your eye you saw Jack shake his head, his eyes quiet, the sparkle of stark confidence bordering on plain arrogance missing. It was a similar look to the one he’d given you at the hospital that night, before he’d tried to cover it up with a certain facade of indifference. “What will it take for you to believe I’m sorry? What happened between us, it was all-” he started before being unceremoniously cut off by your interjection. 

“In the past? I’m well aware of that. Doesn’t change how I feel” you stopped him. You’d anticipated him throwing out that line from day one and you’d come prepared. Shut it down. Don’t let him try to swindle you for a fool. 

His expression changed to one more serious, a hint of him being slightly miffed that you cut him off in the first place. “Let me finish, darlin’. I’m gonna level with you for a second - what I did to you was one of the worst mistakes of my life. Letting everything fall apart like it did, I never should have let it happen” he expressed, his tone straddling between being firm and also being gentle. Cocking an eyebrow at him, you turned back to your glass of liquor, swirling the liquid around idly in a way that reminded you of that persistent thought running round your head. Did he have a point? Were you being too harsh on him? 

Don’t become soft on him. Don’t do it. You shifted back into focus, pushing those thoughts far to the back of your tipsy mind while you took a couple large sips of liquor as if it were a lifeline. “Worse than whatever mistake led you to showing up on my doorstep?” you asked, eager to direct the conversation right back out of that uncomfortable territory and into something a bit more easier to stomach. Maybe later on you could ponder the true depths of your perceptions of Jack. Right now, though, you wanted to get wasted and not have to think about anything anymore. And hey, it’s not like I wasn’t wondering about the events that led him here in the first place anyway.“You never did tell me what happened. I know you said it was none of my concern but...I want to know. Call it a spate of drunken curiosity, if ya want”. 

The question alone was enough to draw Jack’s face from being merely serious to an expression more cold and distant. He looked away from you entirely and rested his gaze to the few steps below the two of you, his hand clenching in a subconscious act that alone was enough to tell you his own reservations regarding the topic. “Truth is, I’ve been fucking things up for a good couple of years. What happened to lead me here, well, it ain’t a pretty story”. 

“I don’t care, Jack, I wanna know” you asserted, surging with a sense of fiery confidence. It might have been the alcohol giving you a bit more moxie to push the topic. One thing was for sure though: you wanted answers, and you didn’t wanna let this go. Stretching your legs out, you finished off the glass you had while you waited for him to reply, not wanting to cave to your request even if he was looking at you like you’d threatened to kill the President. 

Finally, he let out a low groan of annoyance and leant against the side of the veranda, not affording you a single look as he launched into his tale. “Basically what happened is some agents from an English based secret service came over to the states as a last resort - their base got blown up by someone and the two guys that approached us were the only ones left alive. Well, them and this other guy we had at our headquarters, but that’s a whole other story. The people behind the attack were a group called the Golden Circle, and Statesman had already been investigating them for awhile. I was called in by Champ to partner up with the Kingsman fellas, do the regular secret agent spiel of espionage and savin’ the world and all that crap. But, me and these other agents, we had an...ideological disagreement. I was covertly tryin’ to hinder them until the older guy got wise to my shit and shot me in the head. Ginger managed to bring me in and revive me, I went over to Cambodia where the two agents were confronting the leader of the Golden Circle, and to make a long story short things got nasty pretty quickly. I barely escaped with my life” he explained.

You nodded along to his explanation, the load of information being a lot to take in the first time round. You were always somewhat aware of Jack’s position as a secret agent though you were never privy to the nitty and gritty details - in fact, the way you’d found out about it in the first place was by complete accident and Jack had to beg Agent Champ to allow you to become cleared on even knowing the basics of his true work behind the front of being a Statesman investor. “And these ideological disagreements were…?” you pushed. 

“Trust me, you don’t wanna know” he deflected.

“Try me”.

He didn’t reply to you straight away, instead staring at you with a stark look of confliction across his face, an inner turmoil brewing inside of him on whether or not he should tell you even more. Being cast out as a traitor, he didn’t have to worry about breaking any sort of rule of confidentiality, so if you had to wager a guess at what his dilemma was, then it must have been that he felt mildly ashamed, or even embarrassed about the whole situation. In your mind though, you’d let him keep his secrets for weeks now, but if he was going to stay in your house you wanted to at the bare minimum know what he did that was so bad that he simply couldn’t return back home anymore.  “Well go on then, hit me with your best shot” you prodded further, hopefully enough to get his demeanour to crack and for him to spill what exactly the entire fuss had been about. And sure enough, crack he did. 

Running a hand across his forehead, he let out a low exasperated sigh, one that would have been inaudible if you hadn’t been seated beside him, indicating the exact moment he finally decided to break his own silence and reveal everything to you. “The Golden Circle were primarily a drug cartel and terrorist organization based out in the hidden depths of the Cambodian jungle. Their leader had devised a plot that involved lacing their distribution of drugs with a new type of chemical she created that caused death. Since their supply was mass distributed over the globe, they were holding the entire populace of drug users and addicts hostage to their respective governments, demanding a payout for the antidote. They didn’t, however, anticipate the President and other world leaders not really giving a red hot shit about the lives of junkies. Being the noble men they are, the Kingsman agents as well as the rest of Statesman were striving to get ahold of the antidote to save all those people. And that, is where me and them disagreed” Jack elaborated, avoiding your gaze in what appeared to be a calculated move in order to refrain from seeing your reactions to his admittance. In the span of two minutes, your expression had shifted from intense curiosity to straight up bafflement at what he was saying. It didn’t make sense - why was he against distributing the antidote? He was a secret agent, wasn’t he meant to save the world and innocent lives and all that?

“Let me get this straight - you were assigned on a mission to try to save the lives of innocent people, and you chose...not to do that” you asked, your tone laced with judgment. Not that you had intended for what you said to have come across any different. If what he was implying was right, then that would mean...

“Well, when you put it like that, sure, it sounds awful. I will concede, it wasn’t my best move. But all the people who ingested those drugs did so willingly. They knew they were taking a gamble on their lives the moment they stuck a damn needle into their arms” Jack grumbled defensively, allowing you to gawk back at him in utter disbelief. “Jack, no, you can’t seriously believe that? So what you’re saying is that the kid that decided to get high with his mates one weekend at a party deserves to die? Is that right?”. 

“No, no, I didn’t mean like that, I just…”.

“Really? ‘Cause it sounds a lot like you’re saying that innocent people should die for their poor choices” you cut in, shaking your head to further drive your point in. “Jesus, just when I thought you couldn’t be a bigger asshole you proved me wrong”. 

“Sweetheart, please, I know. It was a mistake, you don’t have to keep rubbing it in”. 

“You know it’s a mistake, but do you truly feel it? Do you really feel remorse? Because if you don’t then it’s just a bunch of empty words” you rebuffed, shooting him with a cold piercing glare that could make an entire continent freeze over. Around about this time, you really began to take notice of the dazed feeling clouding you, every glass of liquor draining straight into your brain and making you feel like your entire head was swimming. Maybe take it easy on the next glass, why don’t ya? With that thought, you shoved the glass off to the side with your free arm and bit your lip, debating whether or not you should even say what you wanted to next. That debate, however, did not last very long as you found yourself blurting out exactly what was on your mind within two seconds of your last thought. “Jack, look...maybe I’ll hate myself for saying this later, and maybe it’s just the liquor talking but I don’t think you’re an inherently bad person. I think you’re an arrogant son of a bitch who does cruel stupid things but probably has a decent enough heart. You just...you gotta stop with this shit. Stop with the betrayals, and the lies, and the false promises, all of it, and just be the real you. The Jack I knew may be a prick but he was never one to let an innocent die on his watch. What’s really behind all this?”. 

He continued to glare from his position beside you, somewhat intent on making you recant and drop the whole subject entirely. You wouldn’t go down that easy though, and he knew it, for as stubborn as Jack was you were at least ten times moreso, so when he folded first and trained his eyes low to the ground, you knew that he’d finally conceded. You could feel a whole shift in his demeanour from where you sat, the mask of defensive anger slowly falling away to reveal what was truly underneath: hurt. Pure, raw, unbridled hurt. Anguish that felt especially familiar to you and spoke to a part of yourself that you’d been turning away from for years, and even before he said those words you knew exactly what he was going to say. 

“Years ago, before I became an agent to Statesman, I was married to the young woman I’d fallen for in high school. I think I told you about her in passing maybe once, or twice, I don’t know…” Jack started, trailing off once he began to fully re-immerse himself in the past, heartache plainly sewn across his features. It was then that you felt an ache of your own in your chest, a heavy feeling of guilt descending upon you once you realised the gravity of what he was saying. “I remember. You said her name was Lily, wasn’t it?” you murmured, your voice small and unsure, with a hint of something else present too. Regret? Guilt? Whatever it was, you couldn’t quite put a name to it, but it was there, strong as anything and clearly wasn’t going away any time soon. 

Jack let out a small hum in reply, everything about his composure presumably a million miles away from everything around the both of you.“So you do remember” he muttered, brushing his fingers over the edge of his silver flask that he had cradled in his handles, tracing the Statesman logo engraved on the side with the pad of his thumb. “I remember you askin’ me about her the first time you came back to my apartment in New York - you saw the photo of her I kept on my desk and asked who she was. I only told you briefly that she was long gone, but I never told you how. The both of us were only twenty-three, and she was pregnant with our first child, a baby boy. Last time I saw her she left the house to go to the convenience store a few streets over”. He stopped himself for a split second, the darkness of his eyes being the all-too recognisable sign of falling deep into his own recollection, feeling as if he was reliving every memory that he revisited in his mind. “Twenty minutes later I get a phone call from a cop, saying there’d been an incident. Meth addicts had robbed the store at gunpoint and she’d been caught in the crossfire. She died instantly, and I wasn’t there to say goodbye. I never got to meet our baby boy, I never got to hold her in my arms again and say how much I loved her, because she was taken from me by a couple of meth-addled scumbags”. 

You were honestly at a loss for words, not knowing if saying something would be the appropriate option or not. He was right, you knew he was married before - the time with the picture that he mentioned was the most you had heard of her. He never brought Lily up again, and you never thought to ask, since in your mind it wasn’t any of your business who Jack loved before. Now, the pieces were falling into place, the interwoven connections of his past to his actions as an agent making all the more sense to you. 

What you wanted to do most was lean forward and envelop him into your embrace, tell him that you understood more than anyone what exactly that felt like, and even permit yourself to pour out your own heart to him. Drunk as you were though, you couldn’t talk yourself into doing anything more than placing a reassuring hand on his knee, letting your touch be soft and hesitant in case he shrugged you off, since you did basically just goad him into revealing his own wounds in the name of having answers. “Jack, I...I had no idea, I-”. 

“How could you have known? I never told you” he mumbled flatly. In the dim veranda light, all though it was faint, you could swear that there was a teardrop lingering in the corner of his cedar brown eyes, nudging the dagger of guilt further into your heart. Say something, you idiot.

Starting off softly, you let your hand rest firmer on his knee, trying to catch his eyes into your own. Tearing his glance away from the flask, he looked back at you with the same raw grief that you had seen on your own face so many times. “I know it must have hurt like hell losing her. And you have every right to feel angry, and hurt that she was taken, but that doesn’t give you the right to hate. Every addict in the world is not the same man who took her life. You can’t just-” you started, before the sound of Jack’s harshest tone cut through your words like a knife. 

“How would you know? Do you have any idea what it feels like to hurt, to have lost everything because of someone else’s choices?” he spat, anger seething in his scowl that was directed solely at you. It had taken you by surprise at first - as a reflex you withdrew your hand quickly from him as if he were burnt, perplexed at his sudden outburst. That didn’t last long however, as soon enough confusion was replaced by your own flair of anger. Now it was your turn to get defensive.“I think I do know what it’s like to hurt and to lose. In case you’ve forgotten, dickhead, there’s two people who should be right inside this house that aren’t anymore and haven’t been for about six fucking years now!” you yelled back. 

Shit. He’d forgotten about your parents. The anger that had been in him disappeared without a trace right then, being replaced by something close to resembling remorse over his behaviour. “I...I didn’t mean...fuck, sugar, I…I’m sorry. I don’t even know what to say” he apologised. You didn’t say anything back to him. You didn’t want to dignify him with any sort of a response. First of all, how dare he? You were only trying to empathise with him, and here he was biting your head off for daring to suggest that he doesn't hate every drug user on the planet. Why do I even fucking bother? 

The awkward silence between you hung for awhile, the two of you not wanting to break it for your own different reasons. You could feel Jack stealing glances at you, like he was trying to talk himself into saying something but never had the courage to follow through. Huffing to yourself, you took in your next glass fast enough to make your head spin. You’d have to turn in for the night eventually, and truth be told you were considering doing so right then when you heard Jack speak up. 

“I never did ask...if you don’t mind me askin’ that is...what happened to your folks anyway?” he asked hesitantly, as if he knew the question was fat-witted to begin with. Not that you minded too much by then. Drunk you was a lot more forgiving than you were sober. 

Taking in a heavy breath, you relayed your tale of woe to him, one hand placed steady to your side to keep you sitting upright. “It was late, and they were coming back from a friend’s 50th birthday party. Their friend lived in downtown Dallas, so they had a fair way to go to get from there to here. When they were almost on the highway, an out-of-control car barrelled towards them, smashing into the front of their windscreen and killing both of them instantly. The driver of the other car had been drinking - according to the local news he was a known alcoholic and had been out having a heated argument with his friend in the passenger seat. The only survivor of the entire collision had been his friend”. 

You saw Jack blink at you in silent shock, the weight of your words falling heavily on him while he continued to process it all. “Shit, darling, I feel like an even bigger piece of shit than I already did. If you slapped me clean across the face and kicked me out on my ass after this I wouldn’t blame ya one bit” he replied to you solemnly in a way that didn’t leave you questioning the authenticity of his words - he was genuinely sorry this time round. Taking his apology in stride, you shrugged back at him  and acted as nonchalant about the whole thing as possible, not wanting to ponder the topic further. As far as you were concerned, you’d felt enough things for one day and would very much like a break from it all. 

“It’s fine. You had no way of knowing. But please, if you take anything from this, at least listen to my words: externalising hate towards random people only feeds your trauma. It doesn’t resolve anything, and the only person left suffering in the end is yourself”. 

He furrowed his brow at you, most likely feeling a little defensive that the topic had circled back around to here, but considering his unruly display of anger earlier he wasn’t one to indulge in his own instinctual need to defend his position. “But...didn’t you want the man who took your parents away to suffer? Didn’t you look at every other drunk driving incident in the papers with a little more anger and rage than before?” he asked, earning a single eyebrow raise from you in return. “I mean...I guess what I’m trying to say is...it’s so easy to hate...why didn’t you fall into that trap?”. 

“Well, I did, for a little. It was almost tempting to look at every person I saw struggling with alcoholism in red. Since the man who caused the collision was already dead as a result of his own mistakes, at times I’d externalise part of that pain I was feeling onto others, and sometimes that anger became so hot and so burning that it was almost impossible to ignore. I realised pretty quickly that hating alcoholics wasn’t going to bring my parents back and that I’d have to make peace with their passing at some point. Honestly, I still haven’t processed a lot of that shit myself yet I’m still out here living my life as best I can, and really, with my own drinking habits I’d be a goddamn hypocrite to even try to find any true hatred in my heart towards heavy drinkers” you explained. Taking one last sip of bourbon, you discarded your glass off to your side and chuckled lightheartedly. “God, If I drink another glass I’m gonna collapse on the fucking floor. Think it might be time for me to turn in for the night. At least it’s Sunday tomorrow so we can sleep in a lil”.

“Y-you’re goin’ to bed? You’re not telling me to get lost or anything?” Jack sputtered in disbelief, which in turn earned him a minorly strange look from you. “Why would I do that?” you asked. 

“I quite literally just admitted to treason against my former organization to you”. 

“So? You made a mistake. A pretty fucking big mistake, and a shitty one at that, but still, a mistake. You obviously have some of your own pain you need to work through, and I can get that. Doesn’t mean I agree with what you did, but I get it. I’m not gonna kick you to the curb just because you have issues”.Upon saying that, you hoisted yourself up by latching your free arm onto the veranda’s fenceline, stumbling a little as you fought to maintain your balance while being both drunk and unable to fully utilise one of your arms. Nevertheless, you’d managed to straighten yourself up, and once you’d determined that you were alright to take yourself upstairs you faced on towards the front door and grasped at the brass knob in your hands, taking a brief pause to turn back and nod softly towards the man behind you. “Night Jack, I’ll see ya tomorrow” you called out, leaving him to sit there and watch you disappear back into the house with a certain look of dumbfounded astonishment.

Tag list (lemme know if you wanna be added): @giselatropicana​

[sturchling]

Left in Gotham

This is a one-shot based off of a prompt from @chocolate1721

Hope you all like it!

On a trip to Gotham, the class leaves behind Marinette and Chloe when they leave to go back to Paris. What will happen now?

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Things in Bustier’s class had been tense for a while. Lila had made good on her promise and the whole class had turned against Marinette. Most of the class hasn’t been out right nasty to Marinette, but a few have been more antagonistic than others. Alya had been especially mean to Marinette because of Lila’s lies. Lila had begun telling everyone that Marinette had been harassing and bullying her. At first the class didn’t seem to believe it, but then Lila produced ‘proof’. She faked texts and other flimsy proof, which convinced most of the class. Those that weren’t convinced still distanced themselves from Marinette and didn’t get involved. Even Adrien, who knew Lila is a liar, has distanced himself from Marinette. Marinette couldn’t tell if it was because he was just trying not to get involved and stay on the ‘high road’, or if he actually believed what Lila was saying about her now. She hoped that it was the former, but she couldn’t be sure since he hadn’t spoken with her in a while. The only person that actually spoke with her in class was Chloe. It was surprising to Marinette when Chloe started talking to her. Sabrina had been won over by Lila and had stopped hanging out with Chloe, leaving Chloe alone too. Now, Chloe and Marinette weren’t close friends or anything. But Chloe had apologized to Marinette about the bullying and was being civil if not out right friendly to her. Chloe had felt the need to improve herself since becoming Queen Bee, and so she was trying to be nicer. She was still snarky at times and sarcastic, but she wasn’t being mean or nasty. She was trying to help Marinette become more assertive as well, so that Marinette may stand up to the class someday. Both Chloe and Marinette had moved to sit in the back of the class. They knew the class would have forced it at some point if they hadn’t. So, Bustier’s class had changed a lot since Lila had arrived. But one thing that stayed the same was that Marinette remained the class representative. Working with Alya as her deputy had become very stressful, so Marinette found herself taking on even more work, to avoid an inevitable confrontation. The class would have voted Marinette out of the position, but they knew that no one could plan events and trips like Marinette. No one else in the class had the free time to devote to the position. When it came time to plan for the end of year trip, Marinette had found a wonderful opportunity. Wayne Industries in Gotham was holding a contest for schools. Marinette submitted an entry about the class’s accomplishments and different volunteering activities, hoping it would enough to impress the contest manager, Bruce Wayne himself. If they won, the whole class would have an all expense paid trip to Gotham. They would be there for a week, getting to tour a bunch of different places, including the Wayne Industries building. They would also be staying in a wonderful hotel that was also owned by the Wayne family. About a week after the contest deadline had passed, Marinette received an email stating that they had won the contest! The email went on to detail how to claim the tickets for the flight and said that a representative would meet the class at the airport to take them to the hotel. Marinette told Mrs. Bustier the next day and the trip was announced at the end of the school day. Permission slips were passed out for the students to get signed by their parents. As Marinette and Chloe were leaving that day, they heard Lila bragging to her sheep, “Yes, I was the one who submitted the entry to the contest. I just let Marinette take the credit and tell Mrs. Bustier. Truthfully, Marinette hadn’t planned anything for the trip. She was probably never going to plan anything. She just doesn’t seem to care about the class anymore. I just had to step in. She may not care about the class, but I want everyone to have a good time.” All of the class that was listening to Lila started praising her for her selflessness while also complaining about Marinette. Marinette and Chloe just rolled their eyes and left the school. The trip wasn’t for another three weeks, but the two girls could already tell it would be a long three weeks and the trip would feel even longer. Eventually, the three weeks passed and the class was leaving for Gotham the next day. Marinette finished packing, including the horse miraculous so that she could come back to Paris as needed. Ladybug had made Kagami, Luka, and Chloe permanent members of the miraculous teams a while back. So, while the class was in Gotham, Marinette knew that Kagami and Luka could handle an akuma until Marinette was able to teleport back. Chloe was staying the night at Marinette’s so that she could be sure Marinette would wake up in time. Chloe had said it was, “Just so I don’t have to deal with our utterly ridiculous class by myself,” but Chloe actually wanted to make sure her friend made it on the trip, knowing that Lila might pull something to keep Marinette from the trip. The next morning, Marinette and Chloe woke up and walked to the school to see the bus about to leave without them. They ran to the bus and got it to stop and let them on. Mrs. Bustier had apparently not done an actual head count before telling the bus driver to leave. She had believed Lila when Lila told her that everyone in the class was on the bus. Of course, that didn’t stop Mrs. Bustier from lecturing the two girls, “Girls! Why are you late? You shouldn’t make the class wait for you to arrive. Take your seats and try not to be late again.” The two girls took a seat while being glared at by their classmates. They could hear Lila behind them saying, “They obviously showed up late on purpose. They just want the attention. They are so jealous of me that they just want all of the attention on them.” That started a new round of muttering from the rest of the class. Chloe and Marinette just ignored it and settled in for the ride to the airport and then the flight to Gotham. It was going to be a long trip.

(TIME SKIP)

The class had been in Gotham for six days now. Chloe and Marinette were right, it was becoming a long trip. The whole trip Lila had been telling stories about how she knew the Wayne family, how she was dating Damian Wayne, how she knows and has even helped the Bat family, and a bunch of other crazy lies. The class was eating it up and fawning over Lila, like she was the greatest person in their lives. It was so irritating. No matter where they went, the class were so wrapped up in Lila’s stories, they didn’t pay attention to anything else the whole trip. Marinette and Chloe were always trying to pay attention to the various tour guides at the different places they visited, but Lila was always hosting the Lila Rossi variety show and distracting the rest of the class. The tour guides at the different locations were obviously very annoyed about being ignored. Everyone but the class could tell that this girl was obviously a liar. When the class toured Wayne Industries and the guide heard Lila’s claims about being close with the Wayne family, he started laughing at her. Of course, Lila was to busy holding court to notice that their guide was none other than Richard Grayson, Bruce Wayne’s eldest son. No one in the class noticed besides Chloe and Marinette. Mr. Grayson didn’t say anything to the liar, but he did text the family and tell them what was happening. Bruce directed the legal team to begin writing a cease and desist letter for this Lila girl. Bruce obviously didn’t want to sue a child, so he hoped that the girl would get the message without it having to go that far. For the most part, the trip had gone smoothly. Marinette and Chloe made sure to get to the bus early every morning, to avoid anymore problems with being left behind. But Mrs. Bustier continued to not do a head count any time they were leaving. She never did a head count in one of the most crime ridden cities in the United States, if not the world. Also, the class never ran into any of the infamous Gotham Rouges during the first six days. They hadn’t encountered any crime at all. Then, on the night before they were leaving to go back to Paris, the class went out for a late dinner. The whole time Lila kept talking about how when they got back to Paris, she had to help her mother with her work. “There are going to be several important meetings that my mother needs help with when we get back. I agreed to help her however she needs.” The class praised Lila for her ‘good deeds’ while Chloe and Marinette sat to the side enjoying their meal, and trying to ignore the nonsense that Lila was spewing. The class began making their way back to their hotel when they noticed two people sitting in the alley. The people were clearly injured severely, and the class approached to see what they could do. Then they saw who the two people were.

 It was Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy. Most of the class froze when they saw who it was, except for Marinette and Chloe. They walked towards the two women to try and help them. Marinette tore some of the extra material from her outfit to make a make-shift bandage for Ivy, who had a massive gash on her leg. Meanwhile, Chloe tried talking to Harley to see if they were conscious and coherent. Harley told them, “We ran into Mister J on the way home from dinner and he was in one of his murderous moods.” The class seemed to snap out of it when they realized the two women weren’t going to be attacking them and they started to yell at Harley and Ivy. They even talked about calling the police on them, even though Harley and Ivy hadn’t actually done anything tonight. The class started yelling at Marinette and Chloe too, because they were trying to help the two women. Just as it looked like the class was about to get physically violent with the four of them, a shadow appeared behind the class. When they turned around, they saw the Joker standing behind them. The Joker grinned at the class and yelled, “Boo!” He started laughing and the class immediately ran off, trying to get away from the murderous clown. The Joker was to focused on Harley and Ivy to care. As the Joker walked towards the Harley and Ivy, Marinette jumps up and stands between them, trying to protect the two women. Joker laughs again saying, “Well this is interesting. Not many people would dare get in my way. Especially not a little girl.” Marinette looks around her for anything to defend herself and sees a crowbar that had been left on top of some crates in the alley. She reaches over, grabs the crowbar, and holds it in front of herself. All the while, Chloe is behind her trying to get Harley and Ivy to stand so they can try and escape. When the Joker sees what Marinette has picked up, he starts laughing all over again, “How ironic. Of course, you wouldn’t understand the joke.” He starts to walk towards the women again, not actually expecting Marinette to swing at him. Marinette swings the crowbar at him when he gets to close for comfort. He dodges the swing and stares at Marinette. He is becoming more and more intrigued by this little girl. Not only did she have the nerve to stand between him and Harley, but she also was willing to actually attack him. By this point Harley and Ivy are somewhat standing, but are mostly leaning on the wall or on Chloe. The Joker keeps advancing towards all of them and Marinette kept swinging, but they were getting pushed back towards the back of the alley. All the while the Joker was taunting Marinette after every missed swing, “You missed me!” “Try again!” “Oh, so close that time!” Harley is growing more scared for this girl by the minute. This young girl is just trying to protect them, but now the Joker is far too interested in her. Harley is very worried that the Joker might do something to this girl, or try to make her a new side kick. She really wants to help the kid, but she can hardly stand let alone fight off the Joker. Eventually, the Joker had managed to back them up against the wall at the end of the alley and Marinette realized they had to get past him to escape. She swung again, and this time the wing connected with his arm. The Joker was mad now. The girl had actually hit him. He yanked the crowbar from her hands and reaches out to grab Marinette. But before he can, several dark figures descend from the near by roof and take Joker down. Marinette then notices that these people are the Bat family. Once Joker had been subdued, she grabs onto the arm of the closest vigilante, Nightwing, and demands that they get help for Harley and Ivy.

 Nightwing, still surprised that this little girl was telling him what to do, called for an ambulance to transport Harley and Ivy to the hospital. Both Marinette and Chloe wanted to be sure that the two women were ok, so they went to the hospital to wait for news. While they waited for word on Harley and Ivy, Marinette and Chloe answered questions for the police and Bat family. Batman came up to the two girls and asked a few questions about what happened, “Girls, what happened tonight? How did you end up in that alley?” Marinette responded to all of his questions, “We were walking back from dinner when we saw Harley and Ivy in the alley. They told me and Chloe that they ran into Joker on their way home from dinner and he attacked them. Then Joker showed up. Our class ran off to get away from him, but we stayed behind to help Ivy and Harley. They were to hurt to get away on their own. I tried to keep Joker back, but he backed us into a corner. That is when you guys showed up.” After answering a few more questions, the police offered the girls a ride back to their hotel, but they refused. Marinette and Chloe wanted to stay at the hospital until they knew Harley and Ivy would be OK and they woke up. So, Marinette and Chloe ended up waiting in Harley and Ivy’s hospital room overnight for them to wake up. Morning came and Harley and Ivy woke up to find the two girls from the night before were still there. They were sleeping in chairs next to the beds, and seemed to have been their all night. Eventually some police officers came into the room, and woke up the two girls in the chairs. The girls were asked who their guardian for this trip was, so the police could contact them. They had tried going to the hotel, but couldn’t find a class there. The two girls, who Harley and Ivy found out were called Marinette and Chloe, told the police officers the name of their teacher and the phone number they had for her. Marinette and Chloe were then escorted to the police station so they could wait there while the officers could try and get in touch with their teacher. After hours of waiting at the station, the officers came back to the two girls and told them that their teacher was not answering her phone and that they couldn’t find the class anywhere. 

The girls got worried then and grew very pale. Gordon happened to be walking towards his office and saw the girls grow pale and start speaking rapidly in French. He walked over to the pair and tried getting their attention. When they paused their conversation for a second, Gordon asked, “Girls, what’s wrong?” The girl with midnight blue hair turned to him and said, “Our class was supposed to go back to Paris today. Our teacher hasn’t been doing head counts lately before leaving. Instead she has been taking the word of the students that everyone is there. I am hoping she hasn’t left me and Chloe here and gone back to Paris.” The blonde girl interjects, “Who are we kidding Marinette. She didn’t do a head count before leaving Paris, or at any point during this trip. Why would she do one before leaving to go back to Paris?” Gordon is horrified by what he hears and rushes to his office to call the airport. The people at the airport will not answer him and just keep transferring him to different people until finally Gordon snaps. “I have two children here at the station who think their teacher and class left them behind and went back to Paris without them. TELL ME RIGHT NOW, DID THEY BOARD THE PLANE OR NOT?!” The people from the airport were shocked and told Gordon what he wanted to know. The girls had been right, their class had boarded the plane that morning and the plane left without them at 11:00 that morning. It was 12:30 in the afternoon by this point, so the plane couldn’t just turn around. The airport security team even sent a video of the class boarding. The video showed that the teacher never did a headcount and it even showed a brunette girl tearing up two tickets that were probably meant for Marinette and Chloe. Gordon was absolutely furious. But first he had to figure out what to do for these two girls. Since they were here as part of a contest and hosted by Bruce Wayne, Gordon called Bruce and told him what had happened. “These girls got left behind by their class. Need to figure out something for them, it is getting late and the hotel already checked out their rooms to someone else since the class was supposed to have left. I sent an officer to get the girls things from the hotel, but they still need a place to stay tonight.” When Bruce hears what happened he is livid. He can’t believe that a teacher could be so irresponsible as to leave their students in a foreign country. Bruce agrees to take care of the girls and to get them home to Paris. He tells Gordon he will come pick up the girls personally, as soon as he can. With that settled, Gordon went back out to the lobby where the girls were waiting. He sighed and told the girls, “I called the airport. They confirmed that your class did board the plane and leave this morning. Don’t worry, I already reached out to Bruce Wayne since he is the host for your trip. He has agreed to let you stay at his manor and arrange to get you home to Paris himself.” All things considered the girls took the news really well. They were almost resigned to the fact they were left behind. Like it was completely normal. That disturbed Gordon even more than everything else that happened tonight. He sat down with the girls and asked if this was a normal thing for their teacher to do. The girl that he had learned was Marinette, seemed very hesitant to say anything against their teacher. The other girl, Chloe, had no problem telling him everything that had been happening in the classroom. All of the victim blaming, and manipulation their teacher had been doing. Chloe told him about how their teacher would allow bullying and then tell the victim to be an example for the bully instead of actually doing something about it. She also told him about what had been happening with the liar in the class and how the whole class had turned on them because of this Lila girl and that the teacher, Mrs. Bustier, had done nothing to help them. By the time Chloe had finished telling him about everything Gordon was shocked. He planned to send a tip to the French Board of Education about what had been going on in this class and this incompetent teacher. By that time Bruce had shown up and brought his kids with him. While his kids talked with the girls and helped them grab their bags, Gordon pulled Bruce aside and told him what the everything that Chloe told him. Bruce was just as horrified as Gordon was and agreed that an investigation needed to be opened against the teacher. Bruce was determined to end this woman’s career.  But first, he was going to help these girls get back to Paris.

Bruce and his kids helped gather the girls’ belongings and then took them back to the manor. He called and made arrangements for his personal plane to be ready to take them all to Paris tomorrow. He and his kids were all planning on going to Paris with the girls to raise hell about what had happened. His kids were just as mad as he was about what had happened with the girls. These girls had helped protect Harley and Ivy and then wanted to make sure they were ok. They were being good Samaritans and then their teacher just leaves them behind. He also makes sure to have the girls call their parents since the plane would be landing soon and their families would be wondering where they were. He assured both families that the girls would be safe with him for the night and that he would come with them back to Paris tomorrow morning to make sure they arrived safely. After telling Marinette’s mother, Sabine, what had happened, the woman was ready to go to the school and kill the teacher that had left her child in Gotham. Bruce assured her that he was already going to be pushing for an investigation into the teacher and that seemed to calm Sabine down somewhat. Chloe’s dad was just happy to hear that his daughter was safe and agreed to help Bruce launch an investigation into Mrs. Bustier’s classroom. It would be a lot easier to do that with the mayor on Bruce’s side. Once both families had been informed about what had happened and the plan to get their daughters home, Bruce was exhausted. He, Marinette, and Chloe all agreed it would be best to wait until morning to go to Paris, so there was time for the plane to be prepared properly. Bruce’s kids were excited that the girls were staying the night and decided to teach them some different stuff. Jason decided to try and teach the girls to shoot. Apparently both girls had really good aim for beginners. Damian taught them some hand to hand combat and both girls were also very skilled at that too. It started to concern Bruce that both girls were this skilled at fighting. Dick and Chloe began a competition to see who was the most flexible of the two. Dick won, but just barely. Later that night when Tim went to the kitchen to get another cup of coffee, he found Marinette in the kitchen making a fresh pot. The two insomniacs stayed up the rest of the night trading coffee recipes and talking about what happened when they had been sleep deprived. The family was concerned when they came downstairs and saw the pair still talking about coffee. They knew Tim wouldn’t be sleeping for a while now.

Later that morning, the Bat family, Marinette, and Chloe all boarded the plane and flew back to Paris. The Bat kids did not want to miss Bruce destroy Mrs. Bustier’s career. When they landed, the girls’ families were relieved to see them and the entire group left the airport together. They went to the bakery, which had been closed for the day to discuss what to do next. Tom and Sabine gave pastries to Bruce and his kids to thank them for taking such good care of the girls and for bringing them back personally. Jason fell in love with these people and their pastries. The whole family knew they would have to pry him from the building to get him to leave now. With the help of Mayor Bourgeois, Bruce launched a joint investigation with the Board of Education into Mrs. Bustier and her teaching. Bruce suggested that both Marinette and Chloe stay home from school and see if Mrs. Bustier ever would contact their families. Both families waited for several days, but the school never called them about their daughters. Not to tell them about what happened, or even to ask why their daughters had not been attending classes. After 5 days, Marinette and Chloe, along with their families, and the Wayne family went to the school after lunch. When they all walked into the classroom, Mrs. Bustier looked at them with a confused look on her face. Mrs. Bustier then asks, “Marinette? Chloe? Where have you been? Why have you been ditching classes?” That set off a bunch of people in the group. Everyone got furious and wanted to yell at Mrs. Bustier but they bit their tongue. Marinette stepped in front of everyone and replied, “We haven’t been skipping. You all left us in that alley when Joker showed up. Then we went to the hospital to check on Harley and Ivy. You never tried to find us after that. You just got on the plane the next morning and left us alone in Gotham. Mr. Wayne was nice enough to help us get back to Paris.” Mrs. Bustier got this really annoyed look on her face and spoke in a very condescending tone, “Marinette you girls should have known better. The Joker is very dangerous and going against him just to protect two criminals was very foolish. And I couldn’t wait for you two to show up. You knew the departure time. And Lila had to get back to help her mother with her work. You two knew that. You girls need to learn to be more responsible.” That comment made the group explode. Some people had to be escorted from the room so they didn’t kill Mrs. Bustier right there, Sabine and Jason among them. Bruce intervened at this point and spoke with Mrs. Bustier, “Why would you have left without them. Even if another student had to get back for a prior engagement, why would you put that above making sure that all of your students made it back safe. And if the timeline was so pressing for this student, they should have made other arrangements or not come on the trip at all if they knew it would be a problem. Did you even bother to do a head count before you boarded the plane? Or did you just take the word of your students?” Mrs. Bustier gets offended at that comment, “I didn’t just take the word of my students, even though my students are trustworthy. I also made sure there were no extra tickets.” Bruce responds, “Yes, there were no extra tickets. Because one of your students tore up the two meant for Marinette and Chloe.” That caused an uproar from the class. Mrs. Bustier gets even more offended and retaliates, “My students would never do something like that.” Tim, who was still in the room, laughed and interrupted, “Oh yes they would. And we have the video to prove it.” Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce sees the girl from the video grow pale. Time pulls out his laptop and plays the video for the whole class. There on the screen, plain as day, is Lila ripping up two tickets. The whole class is shocked. They wouldn’t have thought Lila would purposefully get Marinette and Chloe left behind. Mrs. Bustier starts blurting out lame excuses for her student which just serves to make Bruce angry. By now Bruce is beyond livid and about to blow up on this teacher, when he is shoved by Marinette. No one had noticed the purple butterfly come into the room except for Marinette. As she shoves Bruce out of the way, the butterfly lands on her hair ribbon and fuses with the object. The class starts to panic and rush for the exits, but they can’t get out because the bat boys are blocking the door. None of them are moving, and are confused about why everyone is panicking. They know it can’t be good, whatever is happening. Chloe is yelling at Marinette to fight it when Marinette calmly says, “Hawkmoth, if you akumatize me right now, I will come after you and only you. I would not recommend it.” The Bat family is still thoroughly confused when a pure white butterfly emerges from the hair ribbon. The class appears completely shocked by what has happened. Adrien approaches Marinette now, smiling and says, “Marinette, you really are our everyday Ladybug. You rejected Hawkmoth-” just as he wraps an arm around Marinette’s shoulders, Marinette turns around and shoves him away from her. “I may have rejected him, but I shouldn’t have been in a position that he could have akumatized me at all. For all that you call me your everyday Ladybug, you sure don’t treat me like I am.” The class starts to yell again. This time Alya is the main person screaming, “Chloe and Marinette are just doing this for attention Mr. Wayne! Why would you believe them over the girl you think of as a daughter?!” If it were possible, Lila grew even paler as Bruce revealed that he had never met the girl and that she had been lying. Lila made the stupid decision to keep lying right there and started crying, “How could you say that Mr. Wayne? After all the time I spent with you and your family, how could you treat me like this?” That didn’t work well for Lila and Bruce told her, “I didn’t want to have to do this, but clearly you won’t stop lying. You will be hearing from our lawyers miss.” Lila started crying for real now, cause her mother will never forgive her for this. The class began to realize there that if Lila had lied about this, what else had she lied about? A quick google search revealed that everything had been a lie. The class erupted, yelling at Lila and the chaos began again.

After the chaos was mostly settled, the class was dismissed so the board investigators could handle things with Mrs. Bustier. Marinette, Chloe, their families, and the Wayne family went back to the bakery to talk. Bruce asked about Hawkmoth and what exactly happened with the butterfly. When everyone filled him in on what had been happening, Bruce and his family were shocked. How had they not heard about this? How had the justice league not heard about this? Suddenly, they would be staying in Paris a lot longer, and Batman would be making an appearance soon, to offer help to Ladybug. After that, the Wayne family stayed in Paris for a while, under the guise of wanting to open a new office for Wayne Industries in Paris. At night, the Bat family began to help Ladybug and her team with patrols and tracking down Hawkmoth. When Ladybug mentioned that they suspect Lila of working with Hawkmoth willingly, Damien is enrolled in the school to keep an eye on Lila. Damien and Marinette end up growing close as time went by and began dating. Eventually, with Batman’s help, Marinette was finally able to recover the butterfly and peacock miraculous. With all of that settled, Marinette was finally able to relax a bit and focus on herself. She and Damien continued to date even after he and his family went back to Gotham. They would video chat often and visited each other over the holidays. Who would have thought being left in Gotham would lead to so much happiness in Marinette’s life?

[fantasyinvader]

So, a couple of thing I want to put out here.

1) I’ve mentioned this before, but Flayn’s endings do confirm that Fodlan changes in every route but CF. This of course kneecaps the argument that those endings restore the status quo. But considering that Flayn leaves your party the second you opt into CF, the only route where you lose Enlightenment and the only one whose epilogue’s boarder is black rather than white, her leaving can be seen as important to the ending. Think about it, Nirvana allows someone to escape from the cycle of death and reincarnation. We maintain said status in SS/AM/VW, the routes where Flayn is around at the end to confirm Fodlan changes. CF is about restoring the Empire and losing Nirvana through ignorance, implying the cycle has just reset itself. It is the only route that doesn’t have confirmation things will change, even Heroes makes it out Edelgard is still trying to figure out how things will work, while Lorenz and Sylvain have endings that show they pass their positions off to their kids in complete contrast to what Edelgard wants. What did Hanneman say again in his support to Dorothea? Oh yeah.

“ Consider this. At its inception, the concept of nobility assumed that the greatest among the populace would rise to power... However, in practice, nobility often serves to keep those deemed commoners down, segregated from those who, by chance, were born to a noble family. “

The cycle repeats.

2).One of the things that has been bugging me lately is VW’s role in the story. I know I’ve argued it’s the outsider route because it doesn’t reflect the themes of SS, AM and CF that the game was built around. The idea of it being a foil to CF in some way was there, if it wasn’t meant to reflect those themes than what was it?

Then I remembered the interview, how Claude was originally meant to be a villain you can’t hate. This stuck me as odd, since a lot of people argue that CF is about humanizing Edelgard and making it harder to hate her. That doesn’t fit in with the interview, since it would mean having two likable villain protagonists. But what if, after everything we see, Edelgard WASN’T meant to be likable at the end of CF? That CF was meant to show us how vile she actually was, while the writing around Claude eventually changed so he stood among the heroes.

This started the ball rolling for me. VW’s foil is more about the nature of their stories. As the game says, Claude’s and Edelgard’s ideals aren’t that far apart but here’s the thing, Edelgard’s a liar.

* So for all the talk about her having trust issues and opening up to you, the fact is she does this as soon as her support becomes available, while Claude’s own trust issues figure more into the story and at the end he still doesn’t tell you his real name. Despite how his own damage is less severe than Edelgard’s tale, Claude’s trust issues are more prevalent. It takes a lot for him to open up about what he really wishes to accomplish to the GD, whereas Edelgard lies to the faces of her closest allies.

* Claude also sees violence as a last resort, whereas Edelgard starts the game by placing a hit on her fellow students in order to better facilitate her conquest. This can even be taken to account with their preferred weapons, Edelgard prefers axes, which have great power but poor accuracy. Claude uses bows, outside of the traditional weapon’s triangle, who are known for their accuracy but also tend to lack in power (not to mention, how they traditionally need support due to not being able to directly counterattack). You can also see this with Edelgard being defeated by Byleth (sword) but is able to defeat Dimitri (lance) except when Dimitri is supported by Byleth.

* Edelgard talks about merit but she takes credit for Byleth’s leadership, never putting them into a position of power and even has lines stating she doesn’t see them as an equal. Claude on the other hand recognizes Byleth would be a better leader for Fodlan than himself, and his speech at the end against Nemesis is all about the power of friendship. Hell, in some of his endings Claude doesn’t take the throne of Almyra and instead adventures around the world.

* His ending is in pure light, while Edelgard’s is in pure darkness.

* Edelgard says she has the true history of Fodlan, making it sound like it turned her against the Church. Claude actually does learn the true history and as a result is a lot more sympathetic to Rhea at the end.

* Edelgard talks about uniting the continent, doing away with the Church, and bringing to light the history she has been told. While she forcefully does the first, the details show she takes over the Church instead and spreads her own false history. Claude does unite the continent in the aftermath of the death of it’s leaders, the Church loses a lot of power as a result of the war and Rhea’s death, and Nemesis himself shows up to prove he wasn’t the hero. While this may have played a role in the post-war loyalist uprising, Claude does what Edelgard says she would do.

* Edelgard says she will make peace with Almyra, thinking it will be easy because they don’t believe in the Goddess. But in CF, she kills/exiles Claude. IT’S PRINCE, NO SURPRISE THERE’S AN ATTACK THE MONTH AFTERWARDS. And Hilda and Cyril, both of whom are a part of the GD in VW, can not join her meaning the paralogue that explains that Almyra fights for shits and giggles is not available in CF. Claude does unite his forces with Almyran ones in order to stop Edelgard despite the latter not believing in the goddess.

I mean, we can go on. But it’s clear, Claude is definitely meant to be more heroic than Edelgard. His route is meant to foil CF, showing what it would look like if your leader actually meant what she was saying. Even him being a foreigner can play a role into this, as he’s bringing parts of his culture into Fodlan. Again with the outsider theme, but also outside of the Buddhist/Chinese theming of the rest of the game. Claude is the real deal as he finds the courage to trust others, whereas Edelgard is a fake.

[sagehaleyofficial]

HERE’S WHAT YOU MISSED THIS WEEK (7.21-7.27.21):

NEW MUSIC:

Thrice announced the details of their upcoming 11th studio album titled Horizons/East. It is set for release digitally on September 17 and physically on October 8 via Epitaph, and features their new song “Scavengers.”

VUKOVI released another new song titled “Hurt,” after releasing previous singles “Kill It” and “SLO.” The band will be hitting the road for a tour soon, with support coming from Press to MECO and Delaire the Liar.

Coheed and Cambria returned with a new single titled “Shoulders.” It's the first brand new music from the band since the release of their album Vaxis I: The Unheavenly Creatures back in 2018.

Recently signed band The Linda Lindas released a new single called “Oh!”. The band previously went viral with a performance of their debut track “Racist, Sexist Boy.”

Grayscale announced the details of their new album titled Umbra, dropping on August 27 via Fearless Records. The band also released the album’s lead single called “Dirty Bombs.”

Waterparks ​​joined forces with Autograf for a new remix of their song “Snow Globe.” The band’s latest album Greatest Hits is out now via 300 Entertainment.

TOUR ANNOUNCEMENTS:

Green Day gave their recent single “Pollyanna” its first ever live performance during a show in Tulsa last week. The U.S. run of the Hella Mega Tour begins next week and will arrive in the UK in June 2022.

Jxdn announced the details of his upcoming UK/EU tour in support of the debut album Tell Me About Tomorrow. The tour will kick off in Barcelona on February 21 and finish off in Oslo on March 16.

Don Broco announced a new series of warm-shows ahead of their headline slot at Slam Dunk Festival in September. The band's new album Amazing Things is set for release on September 17.

A year on from the release of their album All Distortions Are Intentional, Neck Deep released a live performance EP titled Live in Lockdown. The band recently announced the opening acts for their upcoming world tour.

Against the Current announced the dates of a UK/EU tour, as well as a series of album release shows across the United States. The tour will begin in Brighton on March 31 and end in Hannover on April 23.

Slipknot announced the first names for the Los Angeles edition of Knotfest, happening on November 5. The lineup includes Bring Me the Horizon, Killswitch Engage, FEVER 333, Code Orange and more.

Sleeping with Sirens revealed they are going to be celebrating the 10th anniversary of their second album Let’s Cheers to This by playing it in full this winter. The band will play at Unsilent Night, which will be taking place in Dallas on December 19.

OTHER NEWS:

The cast of Jackass 4 released a new trailer featuring a stunt performed by Machine Gun Kelly. The film series’ latest installment, officially titled Jackass Forever, is set to be released on October 22.

___

Check in next Tuesday for more “Posi Talk with Sage Haley,” only at @sagehaleyofficial!

[notbadforacat]

Did This Man Ever Stand a Chance?

If the United States of America is a nation of makers and takers, Jacob Wohl is both. He's taken the piss, and made quite a rap sheet. But did he have a choice? #JacobWohl #Humor

The year is 2022. Biden has been in office for a year. The dust of the 2020 election is beginning to settle, but Jacob Wohl is still a free man. They say the FCC has slapped him with their greatest fine (for that sort of thing) ever, but no one reasonable would call that justice. The man is a criminal. He is a thief, a liar, a cheat, and to use robocalls to spread false or misleading information…