#i love seeing new yorkers mad at the rest of the country

[hibiscuslynx]

has ben ever made ny make the argument about nyc pizza being better than any other pizza because of the tap water because i was just introduced to this concept today and im obsessed

[mistymazzello]

Illicit Affairs | part one

Joe Mazzello x reader

summary- Y/N, a failing actress in New York City, is offered an internship as Joe Mazzello’s assistant on the set of a movie. Her seemingly small crush on her boss could get her into trouble, but what does she have to lose?

warnings- cussing

word count- 3.7

a/n- i’m sorry i promised this like 2 months ago and i’m just now posting it, but i’m so excited for you guys to read this!! please let me know what you think and if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

based on illicit affairs by taylor swift

You were finally starting to understand what people meant when they said “New York Minute”. It might seem like a silly phrase people use to describe when time is going fast, but now you’re sure that time is going faster than usual as you ran down the busy New York streets. You quickly wove through people as rain pounded on your hair and your brand new outfit, but you had no time to worry about your now drenched blouse. You were on the verge of tears as you ran down the steps to the subway, checking the time to see that you had 19 minutes.

You fished through your purse to retrieve your metrocard, shivering from the surprisingly freezing august rain. You swiped the card and the machine let out a loud beep at you. The card was declined. With only 18 minutes until your audition, tears finally began to well in your eyes.

“Please no. Please not now.” You groaned out loud, swiping the card again only to get the same result. “Please please please just work.” You whined.

“Havin’ some trouble there?” A man standing behind you observed.

You laughed sarcastically and tried the card again. “Yeah, seems like it. I think the universe just hates me today.”

“Maybe try swiping it the other way?” He wondered.

You tried. Nothing.

You groaned and put your face in your hands. “This isn’t happening.”

“Hey, sweetheart, calm down.” He reached forward and swiped his own card twice. “See? All good.”

The small gate opened and he gestured for you to walk through. Your eyes softened and you sighed lightly. “Thank you.” He nodded as you walked through. “You didn’t need to do that.” You said as he walked through to join you on the other side. You crossed your arms as your hair dripped onto your shoulders, causing you to shiver again.

“I think I did, you were holding up the line.” He joked with a smile on his face. “I’m Joe.”

You let out a small laugh as you turned towards him. “Y/N.” You stated.

“Well, Y/N, your fucking soaked.” He laughed.

You nodded and looked down at your clothes. “I’m gonna have to go into an audition looking like this.”

He looked your body up and down and then met your eyes again. You watched as he began to take his jacket off of his shoulders.

“You don’t have to do that, seriously.” You stated.

He pulled the jacket fully off of himself and held it out to you. “Well I’m going to. Here.”

You gave him a small smile and took it from his hands. Slowly putting the jacket on, you looked at him. “It’s weird meeting a nice New Yorker.”

“Rare, I know.” He laughed.

You pulled the jacket over your shoulders and wrapped it tightly around your waist.

“Better?” He asked.

“Mhm.” You hummed. “I’m like, never gonna see you again, are you sure you wanna give this to me?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Your train was announced over the loudspeaker and you screwed your eyes shut.

“Shit, I’m sorry I have to go!” You said, backing up quickly.

“Good luck!” He shouted back, watching you disappear into the distance, a small part of him wishing he was 10 years younger so he could ask you for your number without seeming like a creep.

The second you turned around, you wished you had just ditched the audition and taken the same train as him, giving yourself 15 extra minutes with him. New York is a big city, and you knew you’d never see him again, but you couldn’t help but hope that there was some kind of invisible string that will pull the two of you back together. A small smile rested on your lips as you boarded the train, trying to remember the exact details of his face. Taking a seat, you drew in a breath, subconsciously wrapping the jacket tighter around your waist. Usually, you would find it weird and uncomfortable if a random stranger paid for your train ride and gave you his jacket, but something about him made you feel comforted and safe.

You soon realized that skipping the audition to stay with him would have been a much better decision. The audition lasted maybe 90 seconds, ending with a blunt, “That’s all we need, thank you.” It wasn’t much different from any of your other auditions, nobody showing any real interest in you. There’s hundreds-maybe even thousands-of girls who are in your exact situation. An aspiring actress using money she doesn’t have to stay in New York, no real roles to your name, struggling to keep your head above water. After graduating from NYU the previous year, you thought that this would be your time, but it’s anything but that.

By the time you arrived back at your apartment it had stopped raining. You were relieved to be back to the comfort of your bed, ready to go straight back to sleep (maybe in Joe’s jacket) but the second you walked in the door, your phone began ringing. It was your dad. You didn’t even have to pick up the phone to know what he was going to say. “What are you doing today?” “Do you have a job yet?” “What are you gonna do with your life? I can’t pay for your apartment forever.”

You couldn’t even be mad, either. He paid for your share of the rent in your preppy uptown apartment. He also sent you money weekly, claiming it’s to help you until you’re able to “Get on your feet.” You didn’t think it’d be taking over a year long to get there. Despite being upset about your career choice, and the fact that he could get you a perfect, well paid job at his company in a few cities over, he wanted his little girl to be happy.

I mean, who else was gonna pay for you to live in the most expensive city in the country? Your failed auditions?

With an over-dramatic sigh, you answered the phone. “Hi dad.”

“Hello Y/N. Whatcha doing?” He said.

“I just got back from an audition.” You said, walking into the living room, the eyes of your roommates Cameron and Jessica immediately falling on you, perking up as you set your bag down on the table.

“How’d it go?” Jessica asked excitedly.

“Whose jacket is that?” Cameron shouted.

You furrowed your eyebrows and pointed to your phone, both of them sinking back down into their seats.

“And how was that?” He asked.

“It was… okay. Not exactly how I wanted it to go.”

“Seems like that’s how they’ve all been going.” He said. You just knew he had a disappointed frown on his face. It almost made you wince.

“I mean, I think I’m gonna get there, dad.” You stepped into your room and shut the door behind you.

There was a silence on the line. “I don’t know, Y/N. I hate to be the wet blanket on your big city dreams but I think you’re being unrealistic. You should come back home and I can get you a job here in 5 seconds. I just-”

“Dad, we’ve had this conversation. I’m staying here.” You said, stuffing your hands into the jacket pockets. You pulled out a gum wrapper and a few quarters. It almost made you giggle.

“On my dime?” He shot back.

Your shoulders slumped and you sighed. “Nobody’s forcing you to pay for me.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s gonna pay for you if I don’t? Certainly not yourself.”

Now you were embarrassed. “Dad… Can you please just trust me? I’ll get on my feet, I don’t know, soon, okay?”

He sighed. “6 more months.” He said.

“What?” You asked.

“I’ll pay for you for 6 more months. If you don’t have some source of income by then, you're coming home and working here.” He knew that paying for you to live in the city wasn’t a financial burden for him, he owned a company. But, he wanted you to learn how to do things yourself, and he knew if he kept spoon feeding you through life, that you would never get there.

A bit taken back, you registered that there were no other options. “Okay. That seems… fair.”

“It’s not what I want to do, honey, but I want you to be productive. To do something with yourself.”

That stung.

“Okay.” You closed your eyes.

“Alright. I’ve got a meeting, so I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay, bye dad.”

You set your phone down on your bed and set your chin on your elbow. You had better think of a better plan than going to an audition every week if you wanted to stay here. “Shit.” You mumbled.

Cameron burst into your room and you looked up at her. “Whose jacket is that?” She asked again.

“Nice to see you too, Cam.” You raised your eyebrows.

Cameron was a bold person. You had met in college, and you immediately clinged to each other’s sides. You grounded her, and she pushed you out of your comfort zone. Cameron was also kind of scary. You had seen what she’d done to people she didn’t like, how she’ll step on people to get where she wants. You’re just glad she likes you.

“Sorry, how was the audition?” She said, pushing the door fully open and leaning on your door frame.

You sighed and set your forehead in your palm.

“Oh, well.” She said, getting the message.

She came and sat on the bed next to you. “So… Now can I ask about the jacket.” She asked softly.

“Some random guy on the subway. It was raining and I was cold, so he offered it to me.”

“Ew! What if it has a tracking device or something in it?” Jessica asked, walking in the room.

Jessica came into the picture Junior year of college. She fit in perfectly between the two of you, bringing some sort of responsibility to the group. She was the stereotypical mom friend, but you loved her for it.

“Was he hot?” Cam asked. The difference in reaction made you chuckle.

“It was just some nice guy. We talked for like 20 seconds.” You stated.

“Did you get his number?” Cam asked.

“No, Cam, he was way older than me.” You said.

“Why does that matter?”

You flopped back onto your bed and sighed, the other two girls exchanging looks as you covered your face with your arms.

“What’s wrong?” Jessica asked as she walked over to sit on the other side of you.

“Nothing, I just… My dad. He says I need a job or else he’s gonna cut me off.” You said, flopping your arms down by your sides.

“Yikes.” Cam said.

“What’re you gonna do?” Jess asked.

“Get a fucking job I guess. What other choice do I have?”

They were both silent as you checked the time on your phone. It was still way early in the morning. “Guys, I think I’m gonna go back to sleep.” You said.

“Alright, babe. I have an audition at 11, so I probably won’t be here when you wake up.” Cam patted your leg.

You nodded. Cameron had already established herself as an actress. She mostly does theatre, but she did do an episode of Law and Order and a few smaller parts in other tv shows. You tried not to be jealous, but in situations like this, you couldn’t really help it.

“I have work too. I’ll be back at 4 though.”  Jessica said. She worked as a journalist for a magazine, making way more money than either of you, so it made sense to be jealous.

“Ivy’s here though, don't know if she’s leaving or not.” Cameron said. Ivy was the fourth roommate, who wasn’t friends with any of you when she moved in. She needed a place to live and you guys needed one more roommate.

She was really reserved, and she didn’t talk to any of you much. This bothered Cameron, since she’s a chatter-box, but there wasn’t much anyone could do. She was going to business school in the city, so she was a few years younger than the three of you, but she didn’t start problems, so nobody paid too much mind to her. Coming up on a year of living with her, and you didn’t really know much about her.

You nodded and climbed under your comforter, still in the jacket and your audition clothes. The two girls stood up and walked out, Jessica turned off the light before she blew you a kiss and left.

Within minutes, you passed out. You woke up a few hours later to your phone ringing. Groaning, you picked it up.

“Y/N!” Cam shouted.

“What?” You said, sitting up in bed, all at once realizing how uncomfortable your pants and blouse were. Why did you sleep in these again?

“Okay, so I was at this audition right, and they’re like, ‘You’re so great but you just don’t have the look we’re going for for this role.’” She said. You could hear cars, horns, and the general bustle of the city in the background, so you assumed she was on her way home.

You ignored her subtle brag as you got out of bed to change. You put the phone on speaker and set it on your night stand as you slowly began to undress.

“And so then they were like ‘but, we love you so much, would you be interested in a paid internship as a film director assistant?’ And I would have done it except the 2 of the 5 months that it lasts for, I’m working on that off broadway production, you know the one wit-”

“Yes, I know the one.” You said.

“Okay, well I told them that I know a girl who would want it.” She smiled.

“Are you serious?” You said as you hung the jacket on the back of your door.

“Yes I’m serious! They said you’d have to apply though, so I have the application with me, but I put in a really good word for you, and pretend I didn’t tell you this, they basically said you have it in the bag.”

You smiled as you picked your phone up again and took a deep breath. “Cameron, thank you.” you said.

“Don’t mention it.” She said smugly. “And guess who the director is?”

“I don’t know, who?” You asked.

“Joe Mazzello.” She smiled.

“Remind me who that is?” You asked.

She groaned. “He’s an actor, Y/N, like a big one. This is gonna be a big movie.”

You let out a breath of happiness. “Thank you so much Cam.”

“I’ll see you when I get home.” She said “I’m about to get on the subway.”

“Ok,” You agreed. “See you.” You smiled.

The second she hung up, you had the overwhelming urge to call your dad. But you didn’t. It felt like he wouldn’t care, or he wouldn’t think that this was serious or that he would think you’re stupid for being excited about an internship.

But it didn’t matter. You had your source of income.

No one could have prepared you for how nerve-wracking your first day would be. You’re stomach had been churning all day, from when you woke up, to when Cam wished you luck and told you to mention her to the director, right up until you were walking into the large glass building that hopefully held your future as an actress.

After a 32 floor elevator ride, one of the producers met you and another boy your age at the front desk. You gave him a weak smile, trying not to let your jaw chatter from nervousness. He looked away.

“So this is where business is done, basically. Everything that’s not done on the set is done in this building. You guys, of course, will be spending a lot of time on set and here. I’d suggest familiarizing yourself with the surroundings.” The producer explained. She was older than you by quite a bit, with silver hair that looked like it hadn’t been brushed in a few days and a kind smile that eased your nervousness. She led you down a hallway that looked like it never ended, never mentioning where she was taking you. “The set is about 45 minutes out of town, and unfortunately, we can’t offer you on set living, like the director and actors get, so you’ll have to travel back home every night.” She never looked back at the two of you as she walked, but it didn’t matter because neither of you said anything.

She stopped outside of a door, with a small plaque on the front that read “Director; Joseph Mazzello”. Her smile faded quickly as she turned around to look at you both. “This is a serious job. As directors assistants, you are to do whatever he tells you. He calls all of the shots. Hundreds of people applied for this position, and we chose you two. I could replace both of you in 5 seconds.” You gulped and glanced over at the boy, who seemed to stand a little taller when he heard how competitive this was. “He’s in here, he’s going to discuss expectations, and he’ll let you know what this job will consist of. Address him as Mr. Mazzello and whatever you do, don’t mess up.”

You nodded and she scanned both of your faces. “Alrighty then.” She smiled again, as if she hadn’t just made two 22 year olds question every decision they’ve ever made.

She knocked on the door and then opened it to poke her head in. “Joe? You assistants are here.” She opened the door to reveal the two of you, stiff as boards.

“Great! I’ve been so excited to meet the two of you!” He exclaimed, standing up from his desk. The second that he made eye contact with you, you realized who he was. Joe from the subway. You’re mouth nearly dropped open at the realization. A deep blush covered your face as you begged the universe to not let him remember you, you could hardly bear the thought of your new boss knowing that you have one of his jackets hanging in your closet right now.

He smiled as he walked around his desk to shake both of your hands. “I’m Joe.” He said as he  took your hand. You smiled, keeping in mind that this wasn’t the first time he had introduced himself like this to you.

“Y/N.” He nodded, and as far as you could tell, he didn’t recognize you.

He moved on to the boy, who had neatly styled brown hair, light eyes, and broad shoulders. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Mazzello, I’m Beck.” He said hopefully, putting your mere ‘Y/N’ to shame.

Joe smiled. “You don’t have to call me Mr. Mazzello, seriously. That goes for both of you, call me Joe.” You promptly nodded as he looked between the two of you.

“Sit down, sit down.” He said.

The two of you sat down and he went back around behind his desk. “You look so nervous. I promise I’m not mean.” He pleaded with an awkward laugh.

He went on to tell you that you probably wouldn’t be doing much in the actual film production, which you were bummed to hear, but what did you expect? “So basically, directing is a big job, and I’ll need help with day to day things. Technical things, running stuff around for me, just random tasks that I don’t have time for.”

He explained more, and the whole time he spoke, you couldn’t help but think of meeting him on the subway. How sweet he’d been, how he had given his jacket to a complete stranger and paid for you to get on. You had let your mind wander to how handsome he was, how good his arms looked in his shirt that was rolled up to his elbows. Immediately, you scolded yourself. You weren’t going to mess up your first job by getting a stupid crush on your boss. Were you really that dumb?

“Mr. M-” He raised his eyebrows as you spoke “Joe. Sorry.” You laughed.

“Atta girl.” He chuckled. “What’s up, kid.”

“We haven’t gotten much information about scheduling, how is that gonna work?” You asked.

“Oh! Yeah, I guess you’ll need to know that. Do you guys have your phones with you?” He asked.

You both nodded and you pulled yours out of your purse.

“Ok, my number is 501 333, 7689.”

You were a bit taken back at the fact that he was giving you his phone number, he hardly knew the two of you and he’s a famous actor. But, you weren’t complaining.

“I’ll just text you where to be and when to be there, alright?” He asked.

“Ok.” You both agreed.

“Alright.” He clapped his hands together. “So, first, I need someone to take these to Alex in I.T. and-”

“I’ll do it.” Beck blurted out as he stood up.

“Oh, ok.” Joe said, just as startled as you were.

“Then I need you to tell him to email me a copy of the call sheet.” He said.

“Got it, Mr. Mazzello.” He said, starting towards the door.

“Come on, call me Joe.” He smiled.

“I prefer to keep things, you know, professional.” Beck sent you a nasty side glance as if to say you weren’t professional.

“Alright then, Mr. Beck.” Joe nodded.

Beck stepped out of his office and you turned back to Joe. “Who pissed in that kids cereal?” He said under his breath, sifting through a few papers on his desk

You giggled and Joe smiled, looking up at you to meet your eyes and then back down at his papers. “So you’re from New York?” He asked.

“Well, yeah. Rochester originally, but I went to college here and I plan on staying here.” He nodded.

“Do you wanna do film production or something else?” He questioned.

“Well, the goal is to become an actress.”

“So you’ve been auditioning for things then?” He looked up at you expectantly. You prayed that he wasn’t trying to figure out if you were the girl from the subway.

You were just opening your mouth to answer when Beck opened back up the door. You both turned to him.

“That was quick.” Joe said.

“What can I say.” He shrugged cockily.

Joe sent you a glance along with a small smile. You looked at your lap, trying to hide the grin that was threatening to show.

[my-brodie999-fan]

The Fats follows a evolved fox-rat family of 8 brothers and 1 sister as they fight a human mad scientist and other threats to humanity alongside their adaptive father/mentor, 2 human allies and other cross-animals in the distant future while trying to accept each other as family. Patriot Fat(voiced by James Arnold Taylor) is the “den-mother and leader of the team and is the most calm and experienced member, but hurt his family and he will hunt you down to the ends of the Earth. He is a hard-headed and serious cone, scolding his siblings when they don't follow orders. He is colored brown, blue pants, has a red belt, black gloves and boots and has blue eyes.

Wreck Fat(voiced by Nolan North) is the most angry and self-loathing loner of the group. He often argues with Patriot about who should be leader of the team. However, they will work together when the situation calls of it.He has intense arm firepower, wiping out enemies in a matter of seconds. He is coloured grey, speaks with a New Yorker accent, red pants, red belt and hazel eyes.

Engineer Fat(voiced by Yuri Lowenthal) is the kind-hearted, calm and gentle pacifist and inventor of the team. He is socially awkward and book smart so much so that his sibling cannot keep up with him. Even though he shows a greater interest in technology than his training, nevertheless, he will defend his family and fight his opponents when there is no other choice. He is also skeptical as he believes humans do not exist and that animals have always been the sole species of Earth. He has red eyes, has a mole on his right cheek, has a cyborg arm, has metallic yellow pants, a blue belt and is coloured silver.

Mischief Fat(Voiced by Mikey Kelley) is the most wild, funny, immature and party-loving surfer dude of the team. He loves riding on his hoverboards, fighting evil and is extremely creative with arts. He is also a member of the Prank Trio along with Runt and Bullsnark. He wants to be part of the human world and he will convince his family to do the same by any means necessary. He also serves as an unofficial second-in-command  whenever he comes up with brilliant plans that save the day or gets the Fats out of life-threatening situations, becoming the closest thing a team has to a second leader.He also has a sad side as he borders on depression as a result of spending years with his siblings and father on a island. He is coloured Yellow, has freckles, dark blue pants, a gold belt, has a beard at 16 years old and has green eyes.

Angel Fat(Voiced by Colleen O'Shaughnessy) is the smart, tomboyish, arrogant and independent tech support of the team and bit of a narcissist and will often bring on about her intelligence. As the only female member of the family, she always has the best of intentions. She is coloured yellow, has a gap between two of her front teeth and has green eyes. She is a great mathematician as she can easily hack into any computer data base by correctly guessing their security codes, Unlike the rest of her family(who wear pants, gloves(except for Buster, Engineer and Growly), shoes and are shirtless), she has blond hair, wears a Fat shirt, is coloured mix-purple/Yellow as a result from a lab accident, has a pink belt and gloves and blue shorts with sockings.

Buster Fat(voiced by Steve Blum) is the biggest and most strongest member of the family. He loves training all day and he hates it when his sibling interrupt him. However, he has a good heart and will go by any means to protect them. He also cares for normal animals, fighting to his last breath to save them. He is coloured green, speaks with a Brooklyn accent, has dark green pants, yellow belt, black boots and has golden eyes.

Runt Fat(voiced by Josh Keaton) is the most dim-witted and dizy, yet lovable member of the team. He’s been part of the Prank Trio since Day One and is often made fun of his stupidity by siblings, however when the situation is necessary, it ultimately proves to be his greatest strength. He is also something of a womaniser as he tries to say something to cross-animal females, but can't bring out the exact words and he is the most gullible of the family, causing him believe whatever lies are told to him, even causing him to betray his family, only to rejoin them in one of the future games. Nonetheless, he is one of the most purest cross-animals, never truely joining evil and always finding out to know the truth about himself and his family. He is coloured red and has one red eye and one hazel eye.

Bullsnark Fat(voiced by Roger Craig Smith) is the adventure-loving everyman slacker, jester-like and thrill-seeker who wishes to travel the world. He is sarcastic, playful and completely devoid of cynicism. He is also one of the member of the Prank Trio along with Mischief and Runt. He’s very loyal to his family and always stands up for them and keeps his promises despite his impulsive and impatient nature. He can be sentimental when villains threaten the world and won't stop until they're defeated and can provide tactical strategies. He is coloured orange, has black boots and gloves, yellow pants, a blue belt and has purple eyes.

Growly Fat(voiced by Trevor Devall) is the strict and irritable, yet caring and kind-hearted powerhouse who breaks up fights between the family. He is prone to anger when someone pranks or tricks him, but deep down, he loves his family very much. He was born somewhere in Mississippi and he is also a history junkie as he collects every newspaper, article and art of the world's history. He isn't fond of humans too much until much later on in the game. He is coloured blue, speaks with a Southern accent, dark grey pants, green belt, black boots, and has blue eyes.

Hopper Frog(voiced by Billy West) is the mean, brash, cocky, militaristic and demanding yet kind-hearted father of the Fats, but as the game progresses, he becomes a more supportive, caring and wise parental figure. He has a soft spot for children and he will be a role model to them whenever he sees them. At the beginning of the game, he is overprotective of the Fats, fearing they could die if they go into the human world, but throughout the game, he accepts that his children are teenagers now and he says that he is proud of them. He wears a green military uniform with no pants, speaks like a mad scientist and has brown eyes.

Sarah Stewart(voiced by Jennifer Hale) is the most beautiful, kindhearted and attractive teenage girl the Fats have ever known. She was abused in school and she has recently graduated from high school to apply for science. She can also sense betrayal in strangers she doesn't know. She is also an orphan as she lives with her aunt, uncle and their daughter. She is a blond teenage girl with pink sleeveless shirt and blue jeans. She also has light freckles on her nose and baby blue eyes.

Peter Braxton(voiced by Ben Diskin) is the comedic, shy and loyal sports player whose life is forever changed when he meets the Fats. He is like a modern-day Prince Charming and he has a crush on Sarah Stewart when he first sees her, but does not kiss her until the end of the first game, He also becomes best friends with Wreck and Growly throughout the game as they play hologram games together. He is also a pacifist as he lost his father in a flying car accident and starts campaigns and TV ads to prevent anyone from suffering the same fate. He is a black haired teenage boy with orange eyes, a sports jumper and brown pants.

Dr. Otto Jekyll(voiced by Mike Pollock) is a highly selfish, insane, cocky and arrogant mad scientist and the main antagonist of the series. He wants to end peace and liberty on Earth and will do it by gaining control of the world's governments, police and money. He is also a deceptional liar as he constantly lies to the Fats and their friends, trying to convince them that he can help people have more improved lives until the end of the first game when he reveals his true motives. He is an mildly obese man with balding brown hair with a goatee and a lab coat with red clothing and black and white rubber gloves and boots. He also has yellow eyes. Gaming Mechanics:

1. The video game series will be an open-world where you can play side-missions and help people in addition to the main story. You can also visit other countries in free-roam in the game.

2. You can use multiplayer as 4 of the each titular 9 Fats with the ability to change between the 8 other Fats until all 9 are all dead and the game resets.

3. You can have collectibles, art and unlock new weapons throughout each level of the game.

4. You can also play as the human characters Sarah Stewart and Peter Braxton in stealth missions.

5. Once you’ve completed the game, you can revisit any of the levels. So you won't have to worry getting through 13 hours without completing the entire game 100%.

6. As I said, you can fire weapons with 2 of the Fats, Engineer and Angel who are the tech support of the team while the rest of the team fight hand to hand.

7. The game will have the feel of a Disney movie , Thomas Perkins-like art, the art of Ratchet & Clank and the backgrounds of Young Justice and The Super Hero Squad while still rendered as a 3D dimensional video game.

And lastly, here’s the title for the prequel tie-in novel: The Raoxs: Animals of Science.

Series Outline:Set in an utopian future where all war, problems and disease has been wiped out, the Fats live on a peaceful island with their adaptive Frog father, Hopper Frang, but they have never truly accepted each other as family or understood their father’s lectures, even starting a war with one another once. On their 16th birthday, they are allowed to leave the island and venture into the Human world. But when a scientist named Dr. Otto Jekyll(a pun on the Dr. Jekyll character from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde) becomes Dr. Peace-Destroyer and threatens to end the era of peace by conquering the world, the Fats are forced to come to term with their calling as a family and what it means to be heroes with the help of 17-year old science intern (smart blond) Sarah Stewart and 18-year old Sports player Peter Braxton.

This would be a Playstation 4 and Playstation 5-exclusive and would be rated E+10 for more cartoon, fantasy or mild violence, mild language, and/or minimal suggestive themes.

Do you want to see this video game series brought to life?

[solutionspotlight]

The Love She Waged from a Prison Cell

How environmental justice activist, Siwatu-Salama Ra, dug deep while incarcerated, and the community that lifted her up.

When Siwatu-Salama Ra arrived at the Huron Valley Correctional Facility last year to serve a two-year mandatory sentence, she was in shock, six months pregnant, and not sure how she would live through the ordeal. She spent her first days in an isolation cell staring at the wall. And yet, somehow, through the harrowing nine months that she was there, she advocated for Muslim incarcerated women, organized around birthing and parenting rights for herself and others in the pregnant and postpartum unit of the prison, and convened a poetry group where women inside wrote and shared their deepest selves. 

Now, after being released on bond since November 2018 with a GPS tether on her ankle for almost a year, Siwatu’s conviction was reversed on August 20, 2019, and the tether finally removed in late October. Her legal team is urging prosecutors to dismiss the case and not recharge her. Her next hearing is scheduled for November 15, 2019, and the tentative trial date is February 18th, 2020.

The environmental activist has spent much of her life as a community organizer. As a teen, she worked with other youth to tackle environmental concerns affecting their local communities and later became the co-director of the East Michigan Environmental Action Council, where her voice and ability to resonate with people was crucial. She was following the footsteps of her mother, Rhonda Anderson, who has been an environmental justice organizer for the Sierra Club for almost two decades. In her interviews, she expresses how being convicted of felonious assault and felony firearm was not like anything she’d ever experienced in her life or could have been prepared for. 

Michigan’s Stand Your Ground

The details of Siwatu’s case were reported by many including dream hampton in Essence, the New Yorker, and Democracy Now! as it became clear that pieces of the case weren’t adding up. 

In July 2016, Siwatu was visiting her mother at her Detroit home with her two-year-old daughter when a young girl came by to visit Siwatu’s niece, who also lived in the home. The family became concerned about the presence of the girl as the niece was recently jumped by her at school. They decided it was best she leave. The girl’s mother, Chanell Harvey, arrived to pick her up, infuriated that her child wasn’t welcome. 

Siwatu testified that she’d asked Harvey repeatedly to leave the premises. Harvey then drove her car and rammed into Siwatu's parked vehicle, where Siwatu’s two-year-old daughter was playing inside. Then she tried to hit Siwatu's mother—she’d forcefully brought the car within a hair of her. At that point, after taking her daughter inside, Siwatu reached into her car's glove compartment and brandished her licensed, unloaded gun to demand Harvey leave. 

Harvey took snapshots of Siwatu, took the pictures to the police, and filed a report that Siwatu had assaulted her and her daughter by pointing a gun at them. Siwatu dropped off her daughter and picked up her husband from work, and arrived hours later to report the incident as an attack on her family by Harvey. One day, after over a month with no response from police, Siwatu’s home was surrounded by police who arrested her because Harvey’s report, in which Siwatu had been named the aggressor, had been on file first.  

Of the many controversial details of Siwatu’s case, the most impactful one is the fact that Michigan is a self-defense "stand your ground" state, which gives a legally licensed, law-abiding gun owner the right to use deadly force if they believe it is necessary to prevent death or great harm to themselves or another person. 

Siwatu was a licensed gun owner with a concealed carry permit and her gun was unloaded. And Michigan law has consistently interpreted aiming an unloaded gun as non-deadly use of force, according to Wade Fink, one of Siwatu’s attorneys appealing the case. He also states that her case should have hinged on whether Siwatu used reasonable force to meet the threat posed by Harvey, rather than whether or not she feared for her life. 

Another issue, Fink points out, is that at the time of the event Harvey was on probation for assault; it was her third felony, and violating probation would have gotten her into trouble. Fink contends this could've been a valid motive for lying. But the defense wasn’t allowed to pursue this line of questioning. 

A YES! article that details the rise in Black gun ownership despite the racist origin of the second amendment, explores the perspective of Black gun groups who view the right to self-arm as basic for self-defense in a climate of constant violence. Yet, we also see where laws like Stand Your Ground don’t always work out positively for people of color, as we saw with Trayvon Martin and Marissa Alexander. 

As reported by Vox, the Urban Institute found that Stand Your Ground laws seem to worsen racial disparities. When the shooter is Black and the victim is white, only 3 percent of deaths are ruled as justifiable versus the 34 percent when the shooter is white and the victim is Black.  “Even when black shooters kill black people,” the article states, “those shootings are less likely to be deemed justifiable in a court of law than those involving white shooters who kill white people.” 

The dominant, false narrative that Black people are intrinsically violent obscures genuine issues of equity. It’s why we can have a criminal justice system that operates on implicit biases, even when all persons concerned are Black. 

Siwatu’s jury had to ultimately decide, based on Michigan self-defense law, whether Siwatu was truly afraid in that moment to warrant invoking self-defense. Despite the question as to why a woman whose daughter and mother are being endangered by a vehicle would not be afraid and feel a basic human need to protect, the jury ruled guilty because they didn’t believe Siwatu could be afraid, only angry. And the felony firearm charge, which means that a firearm was used in an assault, came with a two-year mandatory minimum. 

The power of a community

As she details in conversation with adrienne maree brown on The Practice of Freedom: A Conversation with Siwatu-Salama Ra and Rhonda Anderson on the How to Survive the End of the World podcast, when Siwatu learned that she was having charges brought against her for, essentially, acting within what she believed were her rights to defend her family, she couldn’t wrap her mind around how to continue. But then community showed up.

Siwatu was showered with love. Fellow activists, co-workers, and friends poured in. They showed up at her house asking what they could do to help. There were so many people coming to meetings that were organized on her behalf that they moved gatherings to the larger home of a friend.

At one point in The Practice of Freedom, Siwatu's mom remarks that what was truly notable was how many of the people that came to support were women with children. 

They formed the Siwatu Freedom Team and have not only accompanied Siwatu on her journey for full freedom and justice, but also collaborated with a broad coalition on several campaigns including: developing a set of bills to fight for the rights of incarcerated pregnant and postpartum mothers, parents, and caregivers in Michigan; working to end the felony firearm mandatory sentences that disproportionately criminalize Black people in Michigan; and continuing to support and work in solidarity with women Siwatu met inside prison as they return home. 

Finding a way through madness

From the moment that charges were brought against Siwatu—through her court case and eventual sentencing, right up to her release and the reversal of her conviction, and now as her legal team works to put this case to rest completely —countless people have poured enormous dedication towards supporting her, spreading the word about her case, raising legal funds, writing letters, and organizing meetings. In prison, however, she was alone, facing close walls and prison bars. The letters that poured in from community across the country were like beacons of light in the darkness. 

In the isolation of her experience, she stumbled across a book called Deep and Simple, by Bo Lozoff, who had co-founded the Prison-Ashram Project and worked for 20 years guiding people behind bars to reach their own inner peace. “He was able to steer men and women who were inside of a prison to that oneness,” Siwatu says in The Practice of Freedom. “My community, Bo, my mom, literally saved my life in prison.” 

“I remember reading this book and being just so blown away...it was answering the questions I had, the why me, the what do you want, what am I supposed to do?” Then one day she noticed a copy of Deep and Simple on her pregnancy counselor’s office desk; the counselor offered her all the Bo Lozoff books she had in her office. 

Siwatu reflects that in prison, a person is stripped of everything and anything that could offer them comfort. Reading Bo Lozoff helped her reach a place of peace inside herself despite the deep sadness all around her. “If anybody walks out of a prison...who is enlightened,” she says, “it is the work of themselves, and it is despite of the prison. Bo helped me take advantage of that hell.” 

She also witnessed the spirit of fellow inmates around her. They inspired her. She said in a recent interview with Earth First! “You normally see women on the frontlines fighting, and you saw the very same thing inside the prison: women fighting to hold on to some of their dignity and humanity to say, ‘This is not how we will live.’” 

She says there were women working on so many issues—from trying to get treatment for the yellow water coming out of prison pipes to making sure the food on their plates was sanitary.

When Siwatu learned that her challenge getting a hijab, a Quran, and the meals she required for the daily practice of her faith was not her challenge she faced alone, she led other Muslim women prisoners in organizing for religious rights that legally should have been accommodated by the facility. Her efforts attracted attention from the Council on American-Islamic Relations in Michigan, which filed civil rights complaints on a number of the prison’s practices regarding religious freedom.

Disheartened by the ways in which life behind bars was designed to cut down a person’s humanity, Siwatu also created a poetry group and fostered close bonds with the women around her as they co-created a space of beauty, where poetry offered gateways to emotional freedom.

Finally, her harrowing experiences of pregnancy and birth in prison led her to inform herself of her rights as a parent and mother, which she then shared with other prisoners. At the time of Siwatu’s delivery, the Michigan Department of Corrections did not allow loved ones to be present at labor or delivery although Siwatu’s family, community, and other activists and organizations made every effort to get the MDOC to humanely shift its position. 

In early October 2019, as a direct result of this organizing, the Michigan’s House Appropriations Subcommittee on Corrections added new language to the budget bill that states that anyone in prison due to give birth in prison can consent to one visitor being present during labor and delivery. The language states that person must be an “immediate family member, legal guardian, spouse, or domestic partner.” It’s a signal that change is happening. 

A more humane and discerning system of justice

For every person that is able to have a protest, or national news attention, or a community of devoted people call out that a wrong be brought to light, there are hundreds more sitting in a jail cell without any of these options. 

Siwatu, speaking to Earth First!, said that knowing she was innocent only made it easier for her to see how many more women were likely in prison unjustly. 

“...You have a large population of women who will be returning citizens who have literally been face to face with the very beast we’re fighting,” she said. “They are walking out of that prison cell, out of custody, with much knowledge, so resilient, and so beautiful. I encourage that everybody support women and men coming out of these prisons because they have seen so much. They know what it will take to win this.” 

When asked how being incarcerated changed her perspective on environmental issues, she explained how it strengthened her belief in looking at how different issues are connected.

“It took me to literally be taken away from my family and taken away from my children and placed in a prison cell to understand we have to step away from... self-identified work and dedicate our entire selves to a better world.”

“You have to look at everything,” she said, “and take everything into consideration of how all these injustices are interconnected and feeding off one another.”

And then what could justice look like? Life-valuing structures that value healing more than they value practices that dehumanize, and where deeper understandings of history and social problems are incorporated, so that there are sustainable options for actual accountability, wellness, and growth in communities. 

Showing up to speak, listen, learn, share, and organize wherever and whenever possible is essential for this shift to take place. We can learn from and build upon cases and experiences like Siwatu’s.

ACTIONS:

Support Siwatu’s legal fees as her hearing approaches on November 15, 2019, help sustain her family throughout this arduous process, or support continued organizing Siwatu’s freedom and policy changes, by donating here. 

Go to FreeSiwatu.org to learn more, stay posted, and find more ways to get involved.

Host a house party or community gathering to share Siwatu's story, have discussions, process the impact of this and similar stories, and brainstorm organizing ideas.

Get involved with local groups in your area fighting for prison abolition, environmental justice, and supporting people directly impacted by the prison and criminalization industrial complex who are working for liberation.

[pug-bitch]

That’s not why I’m going (24)

I can’t believe we’re alone

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive, and a VERY steamy scene. This is absolutely NOT appropriate for people under 18. 

Word count: 4,875 (let me know if the ‘keep reading’ cutoff isn’t working well!)

Notes: This picks up right after Drake and Amara take off for the cabin in Portavira, starting with Maxwell’s POV.

*****

‘Alright Amara, that sounds good. Yep, you two get some air, ok? We’ll be fine. No, no, don’t worry about us, I promise, Bertrand and I are gonna take good care of Hana. Love you, see you tomorrow!’

Maxwell hangs up, and turns to Bertrand and Hana, seated on his left in the towncar.

‘Are they ok?’ Hana asks.

‘They’re fine! They’re going to Jackson’s cabin in Portavira until the event on Monday. Amara needs a breather, and I think Drake too.’

Bertrand nods. Maxwell had expected his brother to protest, but ever since they’d talked about their father together, something in him had changed. ‘Then they need to do what’s best for them,’ Bertrand chimes in, surprisingly.

Max is taken aback, but he smiles at his brother. ‘Yeah. That being said, Drake wants to grill tomorrow night and he invites us over, that way we’ll be that much closer to Penelope’s estate.’

‘Oh my God that sounds great!’ Hana says excitedly. ‘I can’t wait to see the cabin!’

Max glances at his brother, who is suddenly looking out the window, his lips pursed. ‘Bertrand, Amara said you’re invited. Come with us!’

His face lights up, and Max’s heart sinks. How many times had he excluded his brother, simply because they didn’t have the same notion of fun? Bertrand clears his throat and says ‘I unfortunately cannot. I’m, um… I have to meet with Prince Liam tomorrow in the late afternoon. About Father and how to go about it.’

Max nods. He and Bertrand had discussed the matter, and both agreed that it was time to stop the blackmail. But first, they needed to talk to Liam and make sure they did it right. After that, they would find a time and a way to openly discuss their father’s secret with the court, and the country, which would allow them to both stop paying off Albert --and, most logically, to let him go--, and to advocate for LGBTQ rights. Max had suggested that they give the money that served to buy Albert’s silence to an association. Bertrand had loved the idea. Of course they wouldn’t be able to do it every month, but once in a while was important.

Max was not surprised that his brother was supportive. Ever since he’d told him about their father’s secret, Maxwell couldn’t stop thinking about the year he came out as bisexual, to both his dad and brother, when he was 18. He was terrified of their reaction, but Bertrand had been nothing but supportive, and although talking about it made him blush, he even encouraged Max to bring his girlfriends or boyfriends home as he pleased. Their father simply gave him a pat in the back, and told him this only sentence: ‘You are who you are, son, in the privacy of your own life.’ Max had always thought it was because his father did not want a stain on their reputation. But now he knew he was hurting from his own lie and simply didn’t know how else to deal with it.

As a result, Max never really came out publicly, just to his friends, and whenever he dated men, he did so in a discreet manner, avoiding the spotlight. With his party boy reputation, he was sure that, if he was ever caught by a photographer kissing a man, it would just be shrugged off as ‘Maxwell Beaumont is so silly! He kisses boys when he’s drunk, what a scamp!’

Max didn’t care, though. His friends knew him, he knew himself, and that’s all that matters.

But maybe this was the moment? Maybe not. If he came out publicly now, some old school, ignorant bigots would probably claim that queerness is hereditary, and that would hurt the cause more than help it. Maybe he’d be public about it one day, but not now. He didn’t feel the need to, anyway.

Max was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice that they had arrived at Ramsford. It would be weird to be here without Dramara. In such a short time, Amara had become so important to him, like a sister, the sister he never had. Funnily enough, if he had had one, he would have never been able to sponsor Amara for the competition, and the rest is history.

‘Are you alright, Maxwell?’ Hana asks sweetly.

He squeezes her hand and responds, ‘Yes hun. I’m glad you’re here. Let’s go have fun!’

*****

Olivia looks at her phone. Her fucking phone, the origin of all this bullshit. A text from Amara, after dodging about 4 calls from her. She wasn’t the worst person to talk to, far from it, but Olivia just didn’t feel like talking right now. Still, she opens the text.

Wanna come to Drake’s cabin tomorrow night for a barbecue? You can stay over, the whole gang is coming. Please, Liv?

She rolls her eyes, but quickly responds.

Yes. Stop harassing me, I’ll come.

The dots appear, and soon another text.

Ok, I’ll leave you be. Just please tell me if you’re ok, and please promise you’ll call if you need anything.

She rolls her eyes again, but deep down, she’s grateful that someone’s in her corner.

Yes and yes.

Without giving Amara any more time to respond, Liv throws her phone at the bottom of a drawer. She doesn’t want to see it right now. She hates to admit it, but the perspective of slumming it in a dirty cabin tomorrow is refreshing. She needs out of this mess, even if it means staring at Walker’s antler collection.

As she’s about to get into more comfortable clothes, she hears a knock. ‘Liv? It’s me.’

Liam. Just who she doesn’t want to see.

But she’s gonna have to face him at some point. ‘Come in.’

As he carefully enters her room, she corrects her posture, and makes a point of maintaining eye contact with him. Fake it til you make it, right?

‘How you holding up?’ he asks, while closing the door behind him.

‘I’m fine.’

Was she, though? She’s not ashamed of having casual sex with a hot man who happens to work for her, not at all. She’s not one to be bashful about those things.

No, that’s not what’s bothering her. She saw Liam’s face fall when he opened his envelope. She saw the disappointment. So sure, she could be mad at him for taking her for granted all their lives, and for holding up to a double standard. As Amara pointed it out, he’s upset at her banging someone else when he has a literal litter of women pursuing him? That’s not fair.

But she knows he knows. She knows he realizes why she’s banging Ilya.

To forget him, to pretend that everything is ok, even if he doesn’t choose her, even when he doesn’t choose her.

That’s not how a Queen would deal with things.

‘Liv, tell me the truth. We both know you didn’t do anything wrong, but it can’t be easy, having your private life broadcasted like that--’

‘I’m fine, Liam,’ she repeats, her tone as cutting as possible.

Liam throws his hands in the air and responds, ‘Alright. Whatever you say.’ He gestures to the ottoman next to her bed, and raises his eyebrows at her. She nods, and he sits down. ‘I, um… I’m sorry that happened, for what it’s worth. I’ll do whatever it takes to find who did this.’

‘Liam, we both know who did this. Madeleine.’

Liam nods. ‘She’s part of it for sure. But I discussed it with Drake and Amara, and they both agree that she couldn’t have done any of this alone. Logistically, it’s not possible.’

‘No shit,’ Liv says. ‘Ask yourself the right questions, Li.’

‘What do you mean?’

She sighs. ‘Just be careful who you trust.’

He nods, visibly not comprehending everything. ‘You’re right.’

She can tell he’s watching his mouth around her, he’s tiptoeing around the problem, and it kills her. Fuck it, she thinks. She’ll just ram right into it.

‘Not much of a royal attitude I have, huh?’ she asks bitterly.

Liam chuckles, and looks at his feet. ‘I don’t know why you’re saying this. You can do whatever you want, and in fact, you know as well as I do that many nobles are not monogamous, so…’

‘But they don’t really fuck the help, do they?’

She didn’t mean to sound so condescending. That’s not her. She doesn’t look down at commoners the way that Neville does, for instance. But it just came out of her mouth before she could stop herself. She’s not going to correct herself, that’s not her either.

‘Liv, I don’t judge you. I promise. You and I never established--’

‘Yeah yeah, I get it, we never had anything worth keeping. Now please get out, I’m tired. I won’t join for dinner, but tomorrow I’ll be at breakfast. Bye, Liam.’

He opens his mouth to respond, but quickly gives up, sighs, and heads towards the door. ‘See you tomorrow, Livvy.’

As he closes the door, tears flow to her eyes. He hadn’t called her that since childhood, since their sleepovers. ‘Night, Livvy,’ he would say, while they were counting the stars on his bedroom ceiling.

No, she won’t cry. Not today. She can still breathe.

*****

Drake can already feel himself relax as they’re getting closer to the cabin. He can tell that Amara is relaxing too, judging from the way she started to chat excitedly once they were about half an hour away from the capital.

‘Look at these birds, Drake! So pretty!’

He turns his head towards her, and smiles upon seeing that she is peacefully smiling at the fauna they are passing on the country road. Part of him was scared that she wouldn’t enjoy the countryside, what with her being a New Yorker, but he can see that he was wrong.

‘I hope you like the cabin,’ he says. ‘It’s very remote but it has everything we need.’

She nods. ‘Of course I’ll like it! I’m not in a state of mind to complain about the lack of wifi, believe me. I’m excited to get away!’

Drake chuckles. ‘Heh, there’s actually wifi in there, you know. I’m there quite often and I like being able to watch movies and TV shows. So you see, it’s more modern than you thought already!’

She smiles and takes his hand, placing it on her thigh where she grips it tightly. ‘Thank you for taking me, Walker. It’s exactly what we need right now.’

‘You’re welcome, it’s literally my pleasure. I’m looking forward to just us.’

‘Me too. Just us, no talking about anything upsetting, ok?’

He nods enthusiastically. ‘Absolutely. No investigations, right?’

‘I’m putting all of this on hold, I promise,’ she responds. ‘Can I just ask you something, one last thing, before we get there?’

His heart tightens. ‘Tell me.’

She sighs deeply. ‘Do you think our friends are ok? I think Hana is, but Liv? Max and Bertrand after all the talk about their father?’

‘I think so. Max is stronger than you think. It may look like Bertrand is the rock of the family, and in a lot of ways he is, but Max is emotionally very strong. Healthy emotions, no repression.’

Amara nods. ‘I see that. I just…’ she shakes her head and stays silent.

‘What babe? Tell me.’ He squeezes her hand.

‘I know Max had a complicated relationship with his father, and he told me that when he came out to him, Barthélémy’s reaction was...underwhelming. Now that we know what we know, there’s definitely a lot to unpack there. I wonder if Max needs to talk about it. I just want to be there for him the way he was for me. For us.’

There it is. Amara is such a good friend, she tends to put herself second, Drake knows that about her already. ‘You are there for him, Suarez. You’re just taking an evening off. We’ll see them tomorrow. He’s not alone.’

He’s squeezing her hand still, eyes on the road. He doesn’t want to look at her, because if he does right now, he may never look away again. His hand feels warm, entangled with hers, and he has trouble defining what he feels. Warmth, happiness maybe. A furious need to be there for the woman he loves and admires so much.

A ravaging fear of letting her down.

*****

‘This is amazing, Drake,’ Amara whispers as they both walk into the cabin.

She takes it all in; the wood panels, the rustic, simple furniture, the smell of fresh air and lavender. She noticed tons of lavender everywhere in the front yard as they got out of the car.

‘Really?’ he asks, visibly nervous.

She knows he has always compared himself to Liam, and that he has an inferiority complex. She just has no idea why. No one could look at this amazing man and think he’s inferior to anyone.

She has just walked in, and yet she feels a thousand times more at home here than she has ever felt in the palace. Or even in her own apartment in Brooklyn, which had always felt like the wrong place. The only place she had ever felt this way about was her parents’ house in the Philadelphia suburbs. A small, modest house, but in a nice neighborhood, and with a huge backyard where she and Sergio would run around when they were kids, and later on, lay in the sun with books and drinks. Their dad still lived there with Nancy, he never had the heart to sell it, and probably never would. When you lose so many people, you want to hold on to the feeling of truly belonging somewhere. That house was like a family member.

That’s how she feels now. Like home.

‘Yeah, really,’ she replies, a little twinge in her voice. ‘I love it.’

Drake rubs his neck awkwardly and smiles at her. ‘Do you want a tour? I’ll give you some toiletries and maybe some clothes until Max brings your stuff. Sav still has a room here, and lots of things in her closet.’

Amara nods. She closes the distance between them and grabs Drake’s hand. ‘Thank you,’ she whispers in his ear, before kissing his neck. ‘I’m not sure we’re gonna need clothes, but ok.’

Drake’s face breaks into a wide grin, as he captures her lips into a deep kiss. They both lose themselves in the moment and Amara feels her head spin. She throws her arms around him, and he pulls her closer.

‘Fuck, I can’t believe we’re alone,’ he whispers, his voice raspy.

Amara has to stop herself so as to not rip off his shirt. After all, this is the finest denim, it should be treated carefully. With shaky hands, she impatiently unbuttons it and throws it on the ground, before pulling off his T-shirt. She’d missed feeling him close to her. Ever since the wave of paranoia, they had barely had the opportunity to be alone, and even when they were, they had to be careful.

No more being careful here, though. Drake responds by unzipping her floral dress and letting it drop to the floor, without ever interrupting their kiss. She can feel his hardness against her, and she can’t wait any longer to set it free. Her hands explore his stomach, then venture south where they undo his belt and unzip his jeans. Amara can’t help but let out a moan upon touching his big, hard cock. She wants it, she wants him really badly. She pulls down his boxers, and lets her hands roam all over his naked body.

He guides her to the kitchen island, a square, wooden cabinet on which Drake hoists her up swiftly, still kissing her. Once she is seated, he spreads her legs open with a movement of his knee, and Amara feels her core burning. She grabs his cock in her hand, drawing a low groan from Drake, and proceeds to pull her own panties to the side. He stops her in a swift hand motion, and pulls down her underwear so quickly that a yelp escapes her mouth.

With one hand on her pussy, he unhooks her bra with the other, and then caresses her breasts softly and lovingly. Amara can’t take it anymore, she’s so wet that she’s worried she will flood the island. ‘Fuck me,’ she whispers. ‘Please.’

He slides two fingers inside her at once, and explores her core in circular motion. She moans tirelessly, hungry for more.

‘You’re so wet,’ he whispers into their kiss.

‘I want you,’ she groans, impatient. ‘Now, Drake, please.’

But he continues to tease her clit with his thumb, his index and middle fingers still inside her. She bucks her hips and grinds his hand, moaning louder and louder. His impossibly hard cock is resting on her thigh, and she feels him getting impatient too, as he pushes himself closer and closer to her. Finally, he puts his tip on her entrance, and Amara can’t help herself but moan loudly in relief. She needs him now, why is he making her wait?

When he pushes himself into her, he lets out a long and deep groan, as if he had been waiting to enter her for hours. She would like it to last, she really would, but she is so close to orgasming from the anticipation, and she knows he’s close too. Too bad, she thinks, they’re gonna have to do it again later and savor the moment more. For now, she wants him to fuck her senseless.

*****

They had come together and it had been mind blowing. Still giddy and shaky from the orgasm and the closeness he had shared with Amara, Drake poured two whiskeys and smiled as he watched her put her dress back on.

‘You look beautiful,’ he says.

‘You look beautiful too, Walker,’ she responds playfully.

He walks towards her and kisses her on the lips as he gives her a glass of whiskey. He felt totally relaxed. Not to mention it felt good to be as loud as they want. No more muffled sounds, no more stress about who might hear. Over here, no one could.

Even the location of the cabin was pretty secret, as it was not on an official road. You’d need to know where to go. Max knew, of course, and so did Liam, but that was about it. Drake wasn’t even sure if Liv had ever been here.

‘Do you want to go sit in the backyard?’ he asks.

She nods, excited. ‘Yes! Let’s enjoy the sun.’

They had to wipe down two chairs; Drake hadn’t been at the cabin in a while and everything was covered in pollen outside. He couldn’t stop smiling, he was simply loving life too much right now. What more could he want? He was away from everything, with the woman he loves.

‘What’s up with the goofy grin, Walker?’ Amara asks cheekily.

Drake chuckles. ‘You know exactly what’s up.’

‘Oh, you’re feeling smug because you drove me crazy and made me wait forever?’ she responds with a grin.

‘Heh, I have no idea what you’re talking about, Suarez.’ He takes her hand and kisses it. ‘It’s just that… you know.’ She raises an eyebrow, prompting him to continue. He obliges. ‘I love you.’

Her face lights up. ‘I love you too.’

They sit outside, side by side, their whiskey in hand, for a while. Then, Drake breaks the comfortable silence. ‘I didn’t even give you a tour.’

‘I saw the kitchen island, that’s all that counts, right?’

He laughs. ‘Do you want to see upstairs? It’s not much but…’

‘I’d love to see upstairs. Let’s go.’

He guides her to Sav’s room first, and shows her to the clothes she’s welcome to borrow. She looks at the framed pictures of the two Walker kids, tracing the frames with her fingertips, not saying a word. She stops at a group photo, including a younger gang: Max, Drake, Liam, Kiara, and Savannah. ‘Wow,’ she says, ‘you know this pic is old when Maxwell doesn’t have his hippo tat yet!’

Drake laughs heartily. ‘Exactly. We were kids.’

‘You were cute. Very broody. Just like now…’

He shows her his bedroom next, the same one he lived in on weekends when he was young. He changed it all though, he didn’t keep it intact the way Sav did. He wanted this place to make him feel like an adult, unlike his room at the palace, which made him feel like a teenage mooch. He’d thought of taking the master bedroom in the cabin, now that his dad had passed and his mom was back in the States. But he couldn’t bring himself to move in. Couldn’t get past his dad’s lingering presence, which made him ache still. So, he had turned his teenage bedroom into something more adult, with fewer posters and more artwork, a bigger bed, better sheets, and even a loveseat for when he wanted to read in the evenings.

‘Drake, this is beautiful,’ Amara whispers. ‘Very nicely decorated, and so tidy. I’m impressed.’

‘Did you expect a bachelor pad?’ he asks, a smile on his face.

She laughs. ‘Not really. I know you’re tidy. I just expected something different. More of a time capsule, less of adult you.’

He nods. ‘I do what I can.’ He smiles at her and wraps his arms around her. ‘The bathroom is next door, feel free to take what you need. Mi casa es su casa, ok? I’m gonna go to the store to get some food for tonight and tomorrow. Any requests?’

‘Just one,’ Amara responds, her face lighting up. ‘Can I come with you?’

*****

Olivia had ventured out of her room right before dinner to get some food. She’d thought of asking Ilya to bring her some, but she didn’t feel like talking to him today at all. He’d called her several times, but she didn’t pick up, so he’d sent her many apology messages. She’d reply another time. She didn’t want him to feel guilty about something that had never been wrong to begin with.

She wasn’t even hungry, so she’d pecked at her food while she was watching Killing Eve on her iPad. Something about assassins helped her relax.

When she heard a knock on her door, she debated playing dead. She was sure it was Liam again, to try and convince her to come down for dinner. She was in no mood to talk to him again.

‘Liv, it’s Rashad.’

She sat up, startled. She and Rashad were far from being close, but they respected each other, and enjoyed each other’s company at official functions, as two cool, cynical people. Maybe he wouldn’t be annoying, who knew. So, for some reason, she went and opened the door.

‘Hey Liv,’ he says nonchalantly, ‘can I come in? I come bearing gifts.’ He holds up a plate of pastries and a bottle of vodka.

‘Fine,’ she responds coldly, even though the sight of the vodka made her heart skip a beat. She was almost out of scotch, so this was good timing.

He closes the door behind him. ‘I won’t pry, I won’t ask questions. Let’s just gorge on éclairs and drink the entire bottle of vodka. Ok?’

She takes one too many seconds to respond. ‘It’s 7. You should be at dinner.’

He shrugs playfully. ‘Eh, I’m not in the mood. All of the interesting people are gone someplace or other tonight. I was starting to regret staying at the palace, but then I remembered that at least, one interesting person remains. Hidden, here, in your lair. So, here I am.’

Liv represses a smile. ‘Fine. But we’re watching my show.’

‘What is it?’ he glances at the screen. ‘Oh, Killing Eve. Love it. Do you have any glasses?’

Olivia nods. ‘Yes. Glasses are over there. Make mine a triple.’

*****

‘We have to buy these. Oh, and these!’ Amara gestures at all kinds of cheeses.

Drake laughs, ‘Hey, hold on, we’re gonna need a bigger basket if you continue.’

She pouts, ‘But the cheese… we can’t get anything that good in the US!’

‘Ha, I know. Alright, let’s take it all. If you and I don’t eat it, Max will tomorrow.’

Amara was delighted. Sure, it was a simple grocery store, about twenty minutes from the cabin, still in the middle of nowhere in Portavira. But that’s exactly what she loved about it. No frills, no court, no bodyguards, no one watching them, just Drake. She was dying to do more normal people stuff with him, was aching to get away from it all. She was still feeling guilty about leaving Max, Liv, and Hana when they needed her, but the guilt was starting to fade away as she felt more and more comfortable in this new, amazingly simple routine with Drake.

He’d chosen fish fillets for tonight, that he would bake in the oven, accompanied by rice and vegetables. She was enjoying looking at him, at how happy he was, conceiving a menu and describing to her how he would cook the ingredients. He also picked up hamburger patties and sausages for tomorrow’s barbecue, as well as some crudités and snacks. Eggs for breakfast, bacon, fruit. He was thinking about everything.

‘Do you want me to make a dessert for tomorrow?’ Amara asks.

‘If you want to, that would be great,’ he smiles as he’s putting peaches in his basket.

‘I could make a pineapple cake,’ she says excitedly.

‘Sounds awesome.’

She kisses his cheek, excited to be a part of the hosting process, even though she is fully aware that Drake is enjoying himself doing all the prep. She can’t help but imagine what life could be like if they just escaped court, and had a regular job, without any blackmailers or sneaky bodyguards. She lets herself dream for now, because she knows in a couple of days, they’ll have to report back to Penelope’s, and by next weekend, Liam will have chosen a Queen. Amara tries to chase all stressful thoughts from her head. Maybe everything will fall into place, that’s what she needs to hold on to.

*****

‘The sexual tension is phenomenal,’ Rashad murmurs, absentmindedly biting into a small puff pastry.

‘Shh,’ Liv says, ‘you’re misreading the show, so shut up.’

Rashad scoffs, and pauses the video, to Olivia’s dismay. ‘Hold on,’ he slurs, already drunk after three very generous shots of vodka, ‘are you telling me you’re not watching this for the character interactions?’

Liv rolls her eyes. ‘No. That’s unimportant. What matters is the murders, Rashad.’

He giggles. ‘Oh, Nevrakis. You are definitely something.’

She tries to stop the smile from reaching her lips, but she can’t this time. The vodka, the sweet, sweet murderous TV show, the pastries, and Rashad’s comforting presence are making her feel warm inside. She almost presses play, but hesitates. Finally, she says, ‘Thanks for coming tonight. I, um. I thought I needed to be alone, but I appreciate the support.’

He nods, finishing his shot in one gulp. ‘Of course. It’s appalling what they’re doing.’ He puts a hand on his mouth. ‘Sorry kid. I said I wouldn’t talk about it.’ He makes a zipper gesture on his lips.

Liv sits up. ‘No, it’s fine. I started talking about it. You can. I’m an idiot who fucked her bodyguard and sexted with him, please chime in.’

Rashad grabs the vodka and pours a shot for Liv, and one for himself. ‘No, you’re not an idiot. In fact, I think you’re as far away from being an idiot as humanly possible, you know. The blackmailer, that’s an idiot. Or several idiots. Like, outing a person? That’s fucking horrible. That can ruin a life. And then what, broadcasting nude pics of someone else?’

Liv laughs. It’s funny how she never stopped to consider how Ilya felt about his penis being printed and distributed to everyone. She’d have to check in with him later. ‘You’re right. Thankfully for him, he’s well endowed. Otherwise it could have been embarrassing.’

Rashad laughs earnestly. ‘Right? I mean come on, the people responsible for this shit are really backwards. They think being gay is a scandal. They think casual sex with the bodyguard is a scandal. You’re above that, Liv. And if that whole thing prevents you from moving forward in the competition, well you deserve better than this country. Than--’

‘Than Liam?’ she interrupts.

Rashad falls silent for a few seconds. She caught him off guard. ‘That’s not what--you know I meant no disrespect. I know you two have history.’

She nods. ‘You know Amara, right?’

‘Yeah. The American woman, very nice. Spoke to her before brunch.’

‘She agrees with you. She thinks I deserve better. I never stopped to think about it in those terms before she mentioned it. And now you mentioned it.’

‘Again, Liv, I meant no disrespect.’ His words aren’t slurred anymore. Olivia can tell he feels bad, and it sobered him up.

‘No worries. I’m starting to get it.’ She chugs her shot, and gestures for Rashad to pour her another, which he does.

‘Cheers, Nevrakis,’ he says, raising his glass.

‘Cheers.’ She turns off her iPad. She needs something else right now, something to keep her mind off of all the shit that’s happening. She thinks of Little Beaumont and his answer to everything. She shrugs. Maybe he had a point. No harm in trying, right? ‘Hey Rashad, wanna play Never Have I Ever?’

*****

Taglist:

@andy-loves-corgis @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @jovialyouthmusic @alesana45 @mariahschoices @drakesensworld @thequeenofcronuts @notoriouscs @drakewalkerisreal @nikkis1983 @simsvetements @iplaydrake @emceesynonymroll @lily1999love @drakewalkerwhipped @drakewalkerrosenberg @drakeswalkers @drakelover78 @silviasutton1989 @dcbbw @carabeth @furiousherringoperatortoad @hollygirl1269 @sirbeepsalot

Thank you for your encouragements, everyone! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[benbarnesescape]

You Do Something To Me

Billy Russo x Curvy Reader 

A Billy Russo AU

Summary: You own a bakery in Brooklyn. He’s a private investigator that comes in to enjoy your baked goods. What happens when the stars shift and your paths intertwine? Will love be enough to handle the dangerous world that Billy’s life is?

Warnings: M for Mature (Language, Sexual Themes)

This story is created in celebration of Ben’s Birthday 

Chapter 1 – Mad About the Boy

Private Investigator Russo was the kind of trouble your mother warned you about. He was all parts that 50’s black and white films stirred in you – dark and brooding and mysterious. Enigmatically charismatic but always kept that part of his personality hidden for the rest of the world, glimmers of it rising to the surface when he was around close friends and colleagues that he trusted. The sort of man that knew what he wanted and knew how to get it, that suppressed his intelligence under quick wit humor and was the kind of handsome that made you believe you were in a 1950’s Noir film. Perhaps that was the biggest tragedy of all of this.

He was so wretchedly handsome that he should be illegal. Hickory eyes that felt predatory always twinkled with intellect and amusement. A shadowed beard that he always kept maintained, his stylish haircut that would look like a hipster on anyone else made him distinguished, his thick dark mane and buzz cut sides balancing his look in all the right ways. He had the kind of lips that you just wanted a taste – just a small one – and a lean muscular frame that you knew when he moved revealed his sculpted muscles, the strength contained by the seams of the button ups he wore. He reminded you of a panther.  A dangerous, dark panther that you wanted to be hunted by.

But that was the fantasy. Because desire or not, that wasn’t your luck.

So you lied to yourself. It was a lot simpler to tell yourself that you didn’t care about Billy then to say it out loud. And it seemed to work. Your natural pride winning over the fact of your heart; that when Billy entered a room you felt like your tongue went twisted and your legs turned into melted butter. But better that then admitting out loud to yourself that you were so love struck after a man and not just any man, the handsome popular detective that most women this side of the island lusted after. Forget about it.

“I don’t know Y/N,” your best friend and co-owner of the restaurant you owned Valerie would say anytime the topic arose. “I think he might have a crush on you.” Oh the fanciful thoughts that spread through your mind after she would tell you that.

A Forbidden Taste was the name of the restaurant you both owned. In the mornings, it was a busy bakery, attracting a clientele of different New Yorkers that were either already living or willing to venture to Brooklyn for, and you were quoting a review from a magazine ‘The best chocolate croissants and coffee this side of the Hudson’. That was how you killed time between the hours of 6 a.m. to 1 p.m. Then it closed for five hours, before it was opened at 6 for dinner and any late night caps to amuse the people. Where they could sip wine and enjoy tapas or the pleasure of a full meal. When you and Valerie had saved up for the restaurant fresh out of college, promising each other that you would make it happen, you had thought it would become a lofty dream. That you would be lucky enough to work in a prominent restaurant anywhere in America that would make you happy.

But now you were thirty and though you slept less hours than you did even in college, had flour constantly in your hair and spent more time worrying over paying the mortgage versus your own rent, you had somehow done it. You owned a restaurant that fused both good evening dining with delicious breakfast tapestries and all it cost you was…your personal life. Sacrifice worth it.  

Which was why the deep crush you had on one Billy Russo had taken you off guard.

It wasn’t that you didn’t date. You had, plenty of times throughout the years especially through the luxury of apps making it even simpler. It was nothing ever too serious – the men in your life didn’t like that you were so involved with your business, that you earned more than them and was more ambitious and, did they never forget to mention, how somehow a middle class thirty year old was able to own their company. It was fine, you could take affection where you could. Except Billy made you think more on the possibility.

It had been eight months ago. Frank Castle, his partner, had heard of your place through Curtis. Curtis, who had sold you insurance for your property and become one of your favorite people, had been the best marketing team you and Valerie could have ever wanted, and all it cost was an occasional box of his favorite peanut butter cookies or croissant or dinner on the house. Curtis was the kind of man this country had been founded on – a vet who knew the sacrifice of being a good man. He had told his best friend Frank, had been mentioning it to him for months and it had resulted in Castle and Russo coming in on a cool, autumn morning.

Valerie had noticed them easily, too handsome gentleman who walked with confidence and grace. They wore suits, the kind of suits that you saw on shows like Madmen and fedora hats to match, their hands stuffed in their pockets as they surveyed the menu. They had settled on something savory, you remembered because you had come out of the kitchen with a fresh batch of whatever it was and had looked into his eyes.

Deep, dark hickory pools that barreled into your soul and made you trip, barely dropping the fresh batch of whatever as you caught your breath as you mumbled your apologies to Valerie who had thrown you a side eye.

That had been the beginning.

At first, they would drop by every other day for coffee and the same sort of savory pastry – Monday through Friday. You spent most of your time in the kitchen, in the back supervising and baking so Valerie always had the delight of seeing them.

And then they changed their schedule.

For the days they wouldn’t come in the morning they would come in at night, typically around 9:30 or 10 and always for tapas and drinks. American Whiskey straight and the variety sampler of tapas. Sometimes Curtis would come with them. Other times Frank’s wife, Maria.

Billy always came alone.

You knew because in the evenings you were at the register, helping to wait tables and manage the front end and bartend, if needed. You always, somehow, ended up making small talk with Billy. Typically while refilling the tables glass with water or when he would check out or was too impatient to wait for a waitress to replenish his glass of whiskey.

The talks were always brief, insightful and made you pant for more.

This is what you’re thinking about Saturday night, the late night rush slowly dwindling down as you sit in a corner, a glass of chardonnay beside you as you looked over the menu for the upcoming week. Really you were glossing over the paper, sketching small designs delicately on the side of the ivory paper, your mind a million miles away.

The balcony was open and diners were enjoying the late evening breeze, how the humid wind mingled with the air conditioned restaurant as they spoke lowly, whispering to each other that it almost felt like secrets once the words hit your ears. You’re too focused on your writing, too enraptured by the couple you were sketching out that you almost don’t hear the clearing of his throat. It nearly makes you jump out of your skin as you move your hand from resting on your chin, startled eyes snapping up to meet the dark lobes that was watching you with mild interest.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” his voice is like the expensive whiskey he always orders, smooth and husky as he clears his throat. “I just wanted to ask if you wanted company?”

He’s not wearing his normal attire, at least not completely. He still has on the suit pants, midnight black today, that is kept up with suspenders that stand out against his startling white shirt though the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. . He’s holding his jacket, thrown over his shoulder that reveals his gun holster though currently it’s empty. His hair is still smoothed back in that stylish coif that makes you want to run your hands through it but somehow he looks less business like, more casual. There’s a glass of what you know to be whiskey in his other hand and his eyes look hopeful as they look down at you.

You find your breath and nod, motioning to the seat on the other side of your booth and he scoots in with finesse as he lays his jacket on the cool leather beside him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not working. You’re always moving around when I come in.” his voice is amused and curious as he takes a sip and you chuckle as you fall back into your seat, hands still doodling at your drawing.

“I should be working,” you give a sigh and shrug. “But it’s been a long week. Valerie was out for most of the week, back to see her family so I’ve been working unforgiving doubles. Which had been fine but I guess it’s just caught up with me.”

He gives a small grin and nods before gesturing to the menu,

“You re-designing the menu? Didn’t knew you drew.”

You laugh, shaking your head.

“No, nothing like that. Just doodling. I’m not good or anything – it’s a hobby. But it’s fun to doodle, to spark my creativity in way that’s not intuitive for me.”

You motion toward his suit, grabbing your wine and asking,

“I’ve never seen you here on a weekend. What has been so important that you’re still working on a Saturday evening?”

He laughs, relaxing into his seat before shrugging.

“Observant are we,” he take a sip of his drink, “I was working a case and got what I needed a lot quicker than I thought. I was so close and….never really had the courage to drop by on a weekend I figured why not. A night cap would be refreshing.”

You nod as you take another sip, looking over him cautiously over the rim of your glass. You want to ask him more, want to ask why he never had the courage and what new case could he reveal some details to, like Valerie was always trying to pull out of him but that insecure part of you that always closed down the conversation stops you. It’s not the insecurity that you’re not good enough – you know that you’re beautiful and intelligent and smart. It’s that small piece of you that always stops you when you like someone more than you are willing to let on and you instead give him a small smile as you flicker your eyes beyond him.  

You both fall into an easy silence, drinking in the sounds of the late evening before he clears his throat again, causing you to look back over at him.

“Soooo,” he asks, trying to break the silence. “Do you like music?”

You lift a curious eye brow. Of course you did. He knew that. One of your first conversations had been around the kind of music you liked, what you would play in the restaurant even if Valerie wasn’t a fan of it.

“Yea. Doesn’t everybody?” he chuckles again, nervously as he lifts a hand, rubbing it behind his neck.

“Ah yes, I guess they do. The thing is, I got these tickets to a ummm…..Herbie Hancock at the Concert Hall for next Saturday. And I know how much you like jazz and Herbie in particular so I figured if you wanted….I know you work a lot, you work hard but I figured I’d ask if you wanted to go. With me?”

It takes you a minute to comprehend what he’s asking, to fight the urge to look behind you and not ask, “Who – do you mean me?” You play it cool instead, opting to instead taking another long sip, slightly tilting your head to the side as you drink him in. You’d never seen Billy so nervous – he was the kind of man that flirted with any women who gave him a second look or didn’t, the kind of man that spoke with confidence and surety. Now, he looked at you like any other man who was asking someone new out on a date and wasn’t sure what they were going to say. You knew the look – saw it every day in New York.

And he was being this vulnerable for you.

“You asking me out on a date Russo?”

His face heats up, tomato red and your stomach lunges as he smiles wider, his eyes avoiding you, his right hand rubbing the back of his neck even more furiously.

“Ahhhhh I guess I am. I mean, I am. I…would you want to? I’d treat you to dinner and everything.”

He has that New York accent that just drips with a confident SWAG, the kind of voice that always makes your heart lunge. His eyes flicker back to you cautiously and you smile as you get up, gathering your paper and throwing back your chardonnay. You walk a few meters before you stop, bending down and whispering,  

“I’d love to. I’ll leave my cell with Kelly at the register. Shoot me a text and we can work out details, I need to start prepping for closure.”

And then you walk as quickly and coolly as you can back to your office because you’d be damned if you don’t text Valerie what just happened.

Tag List: @binbonsadoration @la-fille-en-aiguilles @delos-mio @just-nikkii, @ladyblablabla, @drinix, @youveseen–thebutcher, @marauderskeeper, @thesandbeneathmytoes, @cutie-bug, @banditthewriter @presstocontinue @benbxrnes @hxbbit @padfootagain @fortisfiliae @benbarnesfanforever @lafemmedemon @giggleberts @barnes-ben @iheartbinbons @goblackhatwithme @geminimoonbeamx @that-bwitch

[andrewmoocow]

Steven Universe Secret Wars chapter 1: Meet Tony Stark (originally posted on November 19, 2017)

AN: Greetings everyone! My name is Lightyearpig, you may remember me from such stories like Fooly Falls and Clod on the Run. Today, I bring you an epic sequel to Clod on the Run focusing on the rest of the Marvel Universe that our heroes explore all leading up to a final showdown with the Mad Titan himself! I call it Steven Universe: Secret Wars! To clarify, this takes place after the events of Wanted as it will be shown in Chapter 3 of this part and Part 2. I plan on releasing Part 1 throughout the remainder of 2017 while I plan on beginning Part 2 in February 2018 to commemorate the release of Black Panther. I hope we have a fun ride together and now, on with the show!

"I am deeply sorry sir, but we're going to have to reject your offer due to numerous health complications, but I have to commend you on your patriotism." a recruitment officer said to one Steven Grant Rogers. It was December 1941, the height of World War II and America joining the fight against Adolf Hitler and Nazi Germany.

"Please sir, I beg you to give me a chance." Steve pleaded him. "You are ineligible on your asthma alone." the officer rebuked. "Well what can I do?" the young man wondered. "Just stay out of the war and save your own skin. I've recruited too many men that lost their lives out there and I don't want to do it again."

Walking out of the office, Steve looked down at his feet and started walking. He wondered how he could help his country regardless of his frail state, about how proud his parents would've been if he helped them win. Just then, he heard a voice coming from a nearby alleyway.

"Alright babe, if you're not gonna talk, guess I'll have to make you!" a common thug shouted. Thinking that sounded like trouble, Rogers rushed into the alley where he discovered a crook cornering a tall woman with fair skin, pink hair and a jacket over a white dress with a star on her stomach showing a strange stone.

"You leave her alone sir!" Steve called to the criminal, who turned around to eye him. "Oh yeah, and what you gonna do about that scrawny?" he asked grabbing Steve by the neck and slamming him against the wall next to the woman. "So any last words pal?" he said letting go of the young lad who put up his fists. "I could do this all day."

The brute started punching young Steve in various parts of his body like his face, torso, knee and arm before he picked up a trash can lid to use as a shield. "You think you're gonna protect yourself with that bub? Think again!" cried the scoundrel as he prepared to shoot him with a gun before the bullet was deflected by a large pink shape...belonging to the woman.

"You leave him alone!" she demanded pulling out a sword. "Oh, the big pink broad wanna fight me now? Well what ya waitin' for, bring it!"

"No, I refuse to fight you, but I won't let you hurt this man! Now leave or there will be consequences." the woman insisted and the criminal complied, running off like a coward. "Good Lord, that lady means business! I should get outta here before-" he worried before being cornered by a tall man in a military uniform. "Oh crap."

"Are you alright mister?" the woman asked Steve kneeling down to him. "I'm fine m'am, no need to worry." replied Steve as he struggled to get up, his wounds still fresh. "Here, allow me." she offered kissing him on the forehead, which instantly healed his injuries. "Whoa, thank you miss. I uh, didn't get your name."

"My name is Rose Quartz sir." the woman, now calling herself Rose, introduced herself. "Steve Rogers, glad to meet you." Steve replied shaking her hand. "Steve, I've been wondering where you were." a voice called out to him, its owner appearing to them.

"Bucky, good to see you here. I want you to meet Rose Quartz, I tried to help her against this jerk and-" Steve began to introduce Rose before his old friend Bucky Barnes interrupted him. "I actually am pretty familiar with Ms. Quartz. Plus she has an entourage as well."

As Bucky spoke, three other women came up from behind him. The first wore shades & had square hair, the second was shorter with purple skin and the third had peach-colored hair & a pointy nose. "Thank you helping us find Rose James." the third woman thanked Bucky. "You're very welcome Pearl."

"And I suppose you must be Steve Rogers." the square one said adjusting her eyewear to make the New Yorker appear in their reflection. "How did you know?" he asked. "Your friend told us about you. My name is Garnet." she answered.

"What up, I'm Amethyst." her shorter companion added. "And I'm Pearl." Pearl concluded. "So, Bucky told me you wanted to enlist in some war?" she wondered.

"That's right, World War II. All Adolf Hitler wants is to annihilate the Jewish people & conquer the world with an army of super-soldiers known as HYDRA. The United States have only recently joined the effort against them and started recruiting dozens of young men to fight."

"I still don't understand, why would humans be so hateful towards one another?" Rose lamented sorrowfully. "That's just how life is Rose. And that's why I've wanted to join." Steve answered with determination. "I like your spirit, but why?" Amethyst asked. "Because it's simply the right thing to do."

"Repeated monster attacks in seaside town, ocean disappears, giant green hand appears in Delmarva, missing person reports, local boy and donut shop employee abducted by aliens. Good grief, I wonder why the government hasn't gotten their hands on this town already!" a bearded man in a suit and sunglasses wondered examining various news articles on his tablet. This was Tony Stark, genius inventor and head of Stark Industries, one of the leaders of the technology industry. He was on a private jet headed for a little town in Delmarva called Beach City to investigate some recent events concerning alien lifeforms.

"Let me ask again Tony, why are we going to this place again?" his red-haired colleague and girlfriend Pepper Potts wondered. "That I can answer for you Pepp." Tony's chauffeur Happy Hogan replied. "We've gotten reports from S.H.I.E.L.D that those Guardians of the Galaxy weirdos have entered this town and brought an entire Chitauri invasion with them led by a cyborg tiger & a blue lady with a whip." he explained. "Woo, now that's something I'd never think I would say."

"Thanks for the exposition Happy, plus Fury did say he may know a thing or two about these four weirdos." Tony said as he pulled up the image the director of S.H.I.E.L.D sent him of the four beings, which Potts and Hogan examined with concern. "Is that white lady some kind of bird?" Pepper asked. "And why are they so brightly colored?" Happy added.

"Mr. Stark, we are about to touch down in Delmarva Airport. Everyone fasten your seatbelts." a robotic voice called to them. "Thanks J.A.R.V.I.S, looks like we better buckle up."

Upon finally touching down and exiting the plane, the three were immediately swarmed by photographers & news reporters with a single figure standing by himself next to a limo. "Ladies and gentlemen you won't believe it when you see it, but TONY STARK HAS COME TO DELMARVA!" Lawrence Abrams cried with excitement as he made a grand gesture towards Stark.

"Yes yes, it's awesome that I've come here." Tony announced. "But sadly I'm not here to talk with any of you."

"That's right sir." a voice rang out. Stepping in front of the crowd, the man wore a suit and sunglasses with slicked back hair and a S.H.I.E.L.D ID on his chest. "Oh hey, you must be Agent Kirby." Happy greeted him. "Good to see you too Hogan. Now Mr. Stark, come with me." Leading Tony and his companions to the limousine, he handed them a file as they stepped inside.

"I suppose you know your mission by now Mr. Stark, find these so-called 'Crystal Gems' and interrogate them on these recent happenings like the disappearance of the ocean, the giant hand and the abductions." he explained as they examined the file. "And it all takes place at this specific spot, Beach City."

"Wait, but it just looks like an average seaside town." Pepper stated raising an eyebrow. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong Virginia. Some of our top tech specialists have also been checking out a blog called Keep Beach City Weird that analyzes the strange happenings in this town." Kirby said with a charismatic grin. "Among the data gathered were signals being interrupted by a transmission from a green alien creature." He pulled out a photo of said creature from the folder, revealing it to the trio as a being with a triangular head and a green shape on her forehead. Tony just started laughing like a maniac.

"OH MY GOD, I THOUGHT YOU SAID A GREEN ALIEN CREATURE, NOT A GIANT NACHO!" he guffawed. "Anthony, be serious here!" Kirby demanded. "Alright, I'll stop."

"Mr. Kirby, we're here." the driver stated as he pulled into Beach City. "Well, best of luck to all of you." the S.H.I.E.L.D agent said as he opened the door. "And be sure to bring me some souvenirs!"

Exiting the vehicle, the little town was quiet for a few moments. Maybe too quiet. "Are you sure this is the right place?" Happy wondered. "I'm not sure, the file said this is the spot. Maybe we should ask around." Tony replied before he was suddenly swarmed by what seemed to be the townsfolk, screaming his name and asking for his autograph.

"Yo, can I have your autograph Mr. Stark?! Asking for a few friends of mine!" a teenage boy asked him. "I can't believe it, THE Tony Stark in Beach City! Can't wait to tell Quentin about this!" a large dark-skinned man hollered in excitement. "Everyone please, there's enough of me for this entire town." Stark grinned.

"What, and no love for Harold Hogan?" Happy complained before he noticed a little boy giving him a thumbs up. "See, he knows my worth!" he added.

"Alright everyone, give me some space. I got a job to do." Tony said before one last fan made himself known. "Mr. Stark, wait for me!" he shouted shoving the other citizens out of the way and extending his hand to the billionaire. "Ronaldo Fryman, at your service!"

"Here's hoping this guy is the last one." Tony mumbled to himself as he shook his hand. "So how may I help you young man?" he asked.

"I am one of your biggest fans Mr. Stark, if there is anything you need, I'm here!" Ronaldo exclaimed. "Maybe I could hook you up with some of my family's famous fry bits or show you my blog!"

"Oh yeah, speaking of your blog that's partially the reason I'm here." Tony explained pulling out his phone and showing Ronaldo the picture of the four individuals. "Looking for these guys here, you know them?" he wondered.

"Yeah, they're Steven Universe and the Crystal Gems. They're pretty much local celebrities." Ronaldo answered. "They live down the coast in a beach house near the Big Donut."

"Thanks for the directions kid. Pepper, Happy, handle the mob for me." Tony announced as he went on his way. "Okay, see you later Tony." Pepper said waving goodbye. "Wait, you didn't sign my tablet yet!" Ronaldo shouted trying to catch up to him but failed.

Walking along the shore, Tony took in the peaceful beachside scenery of the warm sun above him, the calm ocean rolling on the sand and the rock formation beside him until he came across a small beach house situated under a large statue of a woman with multiple arms. "Whoo, whoever carved this must have a fine eye for beauty!" he proclaimed walking up the building's steps. He arrived at the door and knocked on it.

He crossed his arms as he waited for someone to answer. "Whoever lives here must be takin' their sweet time." he thought before he heard the front door open. Looking down, he saw a boy with curly hair wearing a pink T-shirt with a star on it looking up at him.

"Hello there sir, may I help you?" he asked. "Yeah, name's Tony Stark. You wouldn't happen to be one Stephen Quasar, wouldn't you?"

The boy gasped in awe. He may have gotten his name wrong, but standing before him was none other than Tony Stark, aka Iron Man. "No sir, my name is Steven Universe."

And so it begins boys, girls and everyone else. How will the Crystal Gems react to a legend meeting their young ward? What does S.H.I.E.L.D have planned for our geode gang? Is there a sinister plot brewing right under their noses, or in this case over their planet? Find out next time on Steven Universe Secret Wars chapter 2, Assembled We are Strong! Thank you all for reading this first chapter but for now, here's a little taste of one story to come.

A sound soul

Dwells within a sound mind

That trusts no one

GRAVITY SOUL: COMING SOON

[swan-archive]

many thanks to @theoroark and mins for helping whip this post into shape, couldn’t do it without you two, i love you both and worship at your feet with bounteous sacrifices of heartsblood and living flesh, etc.

now kids, the moment you all haven’t been waiting for: part 2 of The Herc Post!

(previously on)

Thump.

Herc rolls over in bed, throws his arm around Beth, and sleepily thinks fuckin’ cat, first thing tomorrow I’m locking the little shit outside. Let it get in trouble there…

Another thump, softer this time, as though the culprit is retreating down the hall, and Herc comes awake enough to remember that the fuckin’ cat ran away a month ago and hasn’t been seen since. Thumpthumpthump. Feet on the stairs, clumsy, stumbling and uneven on the lowest steps. Herc shakes the last of the sleep away. Thinks of their strange houseguest. Thump.

Oh. Oh, shit. Herc sits up in bed just in time to catch the sound of the back door creaking open.

Beth—the baby—

Heart pounding, he turns instinctively to the shapes beside him in the bed. Lets out a silent sigh of relief as he sees Beth roll over in her sleep, a curl falling across her face, and baby Johnny’s chest rise and fall steadily. Family’s safe. Thank God. But that still leaves the rest of the house to account for, and a thief on the loose.

If they end up getting robbed by some kid Herc opened their home to, Beth is never gonna let him hear the end of it.

He slips out of bed as quiet as he can (Beth mumbles something about a musket and King George, but doesn’t wake), throws on a pair of trousers, and tiptoes out into the hall. He steps on something soft at the top of the stairs, picks it up: a shirt. Must be Hamilton’s shirt, he realizes, holding it out, it’s far too small to be one of his own, and too fine a make to belong to Cato. Odd.

He continues down the stairs and treads on something else on the second-to-bottom step that turns out to be Hamilton’s pants. Nothing else in the room looks out of the ordinary; no cabinets opened, no furniture out of place, not even the evidence of a midnight snack on the table. And…now this is getting weird. So Hamilton, what, went downstairs in the middle of the night, took leave of his senses, threw all his clothes off, and ran naked down the street? Honestly, Herc might not even be mad that his intuition was so wrong, if it gets him that great of a story.

Splash.

Herc drops the discarded pants. The back door’s still open a crack. There’s a rain barrel standing just outside it, and by the sound of things someone's messing around in there. Herc creeps forward, catches a snatch of soft but vehement muttering. Well then. Maybe he’ll get a chance to reprimand the little thief after all. Teach him a thing or two about being a grateful houseguest.

Ever so carefully, he puts a hand on the door, pushes it open slow to avoid the squeak. Pokes his head out into the back alley. Great spreading puddle of water on the cobblestones, catching the moonlight, rain barrel against the wall, and poking out of it—

Herc blinks hard. Stares. Ducks his head back inside, and then sticks it out again. Stares harder. Tries to will himself awake from this dream, but nothing much happens. Moon in the sky, water on the ground, long green fishy tail protruding from the rain barrel, flopped over limp to one side. As he watches, the tail twitches, flails side to side a few times, and falls still. A strange chirping noise emanates from inside the barrel. Somehow, although it doesn’t sound like any language Herc has ever heard, he can tell it’s a curse word of some sort.

Okay, he thinks, biting back a bark of hysterical laughter. So now he just lives in a world where fucking mermaids turn up in one’s back alley. Fine. That’s fine.

Say what you like about Herc, but he prides himself on being able to adapt quickly. He hurries inside. There’s some mending on the table where he’d left it early in the evening; he grabs a couple of fabric scraps, balls them up, and stuffs them into his ears. Beeswax is traditional, in a case like this, but they’ve no candles burning at the moment, and this should at least force the creature to work a little harder if it wants to ensnare him. And while it’s occupied with that…Herc walks over to the fireplace and grabs the iron poker from off the hearth. Hefts it like a sword. Yeah. That’ll give it something to ponder if tries to get its teeth in him.

Thus armed, Herc walks back out into the alley, where the mermaid’s tail has drooped back over to the other side of the barrel. He holds out the poker and prods just above the tailfin, one sharp jab. The tail twitches, slaps once against the wall, before falling still.

Herc holds his breath, waiting, but the mermaid doesn’t leap out of the barrel, doesn’t try to grab for him, doesn’t make any noise that he can hear through his earplugs. Definitely a trap, has to be a trap, he thinks, but the seconds stretch and stretch and stretch and nothing happens. Maybe worth taking a risk. Poker at the ready, Herc leans over the barrel and peers into it.

The mermaid is bent double, wedged down in there in a way that a human spine certainly wouldn’t be able to tolerate—stuck, if the way it keeps scrabbling at the wood is anything to go by. It sees him looking and braces its shoulders against the side of the barrel, enough to wriggle up a few inches, but the curved walls prevent it from crawling all the way out like that. And then he sees its face—

For the second time in less than five minutes. Herc does a double take. Color’s wrong, eyes are very wrong, but Herc is good with faces, and he recognizes those features. High forehead, beaky nose, dark hair slick with rainwater and cut ragged at the shoulders.

Alexander Hamilton, apparent mermaid, looks up at Herc and smiles, in a way that was a lot more disarming earlier this evening. Must be the teeth.

…Definitely the teeth, Herc amends, as Hamilton opens his mouth, starts to say something Herc can’t quite make out, and reveals two more rows of wicked needle fangs. Herc regains control of himself, and before Hamilton can finish whatever it is he’s saying, sticks the poker down into the barrel with the tip just at his scaly throat. Hamilton shuts his mouth very quickly. Those dead black eyes flick from Herc’s face to the cold iron back to Herc.

“Here’s how we’re going to do this,” says Herc, his own voice dull and muffled in his ears. “You are going to hold nice and still for me for a second. I am going to take these plugs out, and then you are going to explain to me what the hell is going on here, and why you are in my rain barrel looking like that. Without singing at me, please, I hear you make a peep without my permission and I skewer you. I’d rather not kill anybody tonight, but I will if I have to. We clear?”

Hamilton swallows hard. His gills pulse wetly. He nods.

“Good. Keep that mouth shut.” Without raising the poker from Hamilton’s throat, Herc reaches up and removes the plugs from his ears. Hamilton’s mouth twitches, but he presses his lips together tightly, staring unblinkingly at Herc until he’s finished.

Herc withdraws the poker a scant few inches to give Hamilton breathing room. “All right, monster. Talk.”

“…Would you believe I was cursed?” Hamilton says weakly.

“By who? Only people in the house are me, my wife, my baby, and my man Cato. Pretty sure none of us are witches. Try again.”

Hamilton has the good grace to look a little sheepish. “Yeah, I guess it sounds sort of silly when you say it like that. You got me, then. I’m a mermaid.”

Herc rolls his eyes. “Yes, thank you. I can see that. And you’re in my rain barrel because…?”

“Because I was drying out, up there in that room, and I couldn’t breathe, so I came out here looking for some water and this was right here, but then I got stuck and the water all splashed out…um. So.” His shoulders lose a bit of purchase on the side of the barrel, and he slips down so that his chin is in the water. “Would you. Would you mind pulling me out of here and carrying me down to the harbor?” He slips another half-inch, with a muffled rasping noise of sandpaper on wood. “Please,” he adds.

Herc considers.

New York’s his home now, the city of his heart, but before he was a New Yorker he was an Irishman, and the Irish know from faeries. Those lessons out of the old country die hard.

Never make a bargain with a faery if you don’t know the stakes, he hears his grandmother’s voice say. Faeries are selfish to the core, there’s nothing they value more than their own hides. You want a faery’s attention, you let it know you’re responsible for saving that hide.

Then you’re the one who controls the stakes.

“Sure,” Herc says easily. “What’s in it for me?”

Hamilton wrinkles up his brow. “For you?”

“Here’s how I see it,” says Herc, still in that pleasant, easy tone. “You’re clearly not at your best right now, otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten yourself stuck in my rain barrel. You’re out of your depth, you’re in unfamiliar territory, and right now I’m the only one who can help you. You could try and make a meal of me, maybe, but I’ve got this—” he taps Hamilton’s chin with the tip of the poker, and Hamilton cringes away from the touch of the iron, “—and I like to think that I’d give you a run for your money, if it came down to a fight on land. Even if you did gut me, how’s that gonna help you get back down to the harbor? You’d have a full belly, sure, but you’d still be stranded.

“Or, I could decide to say no thanks, mama always told me not to talk to strange mermaids, and just leave you here for the neighbors and the constabulary to find in the morning. Either way, same result: you’re stuck here among a lot of people who don’t know about your, ah, charming lack of social graces or engaging manner, and who tend to chop netted mermaids up for fish bait.

“So I’m thinking you’re not really bargaining for a lift down to the waterfront right now—you’re bargaining for your life. What price are you willing to put on that, I wonder?”

Herc expects rage, the ire of a vexed faery, haggling or cursing or posturing. What he doesn’t expect is for Hamilton’s mouth to fall open in silent horror, his scales shimmering and flushing silvery from nose to tailtip.

“Anything,” Hamilton says. Eyes like two black pits in a moon-pale face. Harder to read than human features, but if that’s not true fear there, Herc will eat his hat.

Interesting.

“…Really?”

“Yes really, anything you like, I know the rules, I know how this works, I do, just take me back to the water and I’ll do whatever you want, I promise, I promise,” Hamilton babbles, his tail flopping back and forth in emphatic spasms.

Huh. Well. He didn’t think it would be that easy. By rights it shouldn’t have been that easy, there should be a catch or a hidden clause somewhere, but Hamilton seems sincere, and if Herc’s learned anything about the kid (the creature?) tonight, it’s that he’s a shit liar. Time to press his advantage.

“All right. Terms, then. First of all,” he says, counting off on his fingers, “you don’t harm me. You don’t harm my family or my friends, or anyone I haven’t given you the okay to touch. As long as you’re in my city, you play by my rules. Understood?” It’s not his best effort, probably strung up with loopholes if you look hard enough, but he’s at least covered all his bases. And Herc’s a businessman; he knows when bargaining you start high so you can work down to a compromise—

“Yes. Fine,” barks Hamilton. No hesitation at all. Herc raises an incredulous eyebrow. Sloppy, very sloppy, he could have at least demanded clarification or tried to press for more favorable terms. There’s definitely something to unpack there, something behind that terror of his, but for now—business.

“So we have an agreement, then?”

“Yes, didn’t I say. Now get me out of here.”

“All right, all right. Breathe, man.” Hamilton dunks his nose under the water and shoots a sardonic glare at Herc as Herc drops the poker and rolls his sleeves up. He leans over the barrel. “Remember, one wrong move, and you’re a goner.”

“I know, I was listening befo—eek!” Herc plunges his arms down and seizes Hamilton around the chest. There’s a fine webbing there, under his arms and along his sides, that stretches against Herc’s hands, and Hamilton squirms uncomfortably as Herc pulls him up and over the lip of the barrel. Rough scales catch on his shirt.

“Hold still, you little monster, I’m just doing what you asked.”

“Yeah, finally, thank y—hey, hey, what’re you doing, don’t drop me, don’t put me down—!”

“Think, please,” says Herc, lowering Hamilton to the cobbles in a slippery heap. “Might look a little strange for me to be walking around town with a fully grown mermaid in my arms. You’re gonna have to turn back and walk at least part of the way.” Hamilton squawks in outrage, and Herc adds, politely, “If you can, that is. Is it a voluntary thing? If not, I could probably scrounge up a wheelbarrow and a blanket to throw over you.”

“You—you didn’t—that wasn’t what I agreed!” Hamilton splutters.

“I think your exact words were I’ll do anything, I promise, weren’t they?” Herc nudges the poker on the ground with his foot, as a reminder. “This is how we get you back to the water. You don’t like our deal, you can walk. Slither. Whatever.”

Hamilton’s scales flicker several shades darker, and he spits out a couple more of those weird chirping curses, but dignity wins out in the end, so he sullenly draws himself up, breathes in deep, and starts to—change.

Herc watches this process for a second or two before he says, a tad queasily, “…I’ll go get your clothes. A naked man strolling down the street attracts attention, even in the middle of the night. Can’t have you arrested for public indecency after going to all this trouble.”

Hamilton makes a strained noise of assent, one limp boneless limb kinking up into joints with a series of audible cracks. Herc doesn’t quite scuttle back inside, but he moves perhaps with slightly more haste than is warranted.

So. A mermaid. A mermaid that is now in debt to him. A mermaid that is now in debt to him, that can turn into a human at will, sort of, that needs his help getting back to the ocean, please. Okay. Herc leans against the wall and bites down on his tongue to stifle the stream of what the fuck what the fuck what the fuuuuuuuuuck that wants to come out, tries to ignore the faint unpleasant noises emanating from the back alley. Easy, Mulligan. Deep breaths.

His brain whirrs around in a panicky cloud of unproductive cursing for a moment before settling down enough for him to start putting one foot in front of the other. Clothes first. Clothes for Hamilton, and then to the harbor, and then he can come home and freak out just as much as he’d like when there’s no one waiting on him. Feels good to have a plan.

He follows the breadcrumb trail of Hamilton’s clothes back up the stairs and into the spare room, where boots and stockings and coat lie discarded in a heap on the floor next to the un-slept-in bed. Guess you wouldn’t expect a mermaid to know about furniture, Herc thinks, kneeling and gathering up the clothes. A bit heavier than expected, something weighting down a corner of the coat.

Herc rifles the pockets and comes up with a handsome leather pocketbook. Hefts it in his hand. Definitely weighty enough for it to contain some cash. He flips it open and, yes, there’s plenty of money in here to pay for a drink, the little hustler. Or maybe not a hustler; if he doesn’t know what a bed is, he might not know how money works either. Which in itself begs the question of how he figured out clothes, and managed to get his hands on a suit of his own.

Money isn’t all that’s in there. Herc fishes around and pulls out a letter, carelessly folded, its seal broken. My dear Brother, he reads, this letter is to acknowledge the receipt of yours, last Tuesday. I am as well as can be expected…

Herc skims the rest of it, but finds nothing of particular interest. He’ll check it a little closer when he has the time. Flips it over to check the address, and—oh.

Aaron Burr.

Herc rocks back on his heels. Well, that fills in a couple of the blanks. Guess Burr had a reason to be running late for their meeting after all. He carefully skirts around the concept of exactly how Hamilton had gotten the clothes away from Burr. Don’t jump to conclusions, Mulligan, you can get the answer out of Hamilton soon enough. Takes time to get down to the harbor. Plenty of time for a chat.

Arms full of clothes, Herc walks out of the room and nearly runs into Beth on the landing, robe thrown on over her nightgown and her face drawn with worry.

“Hercules, oh, thank God!”

“Beth? Beth, hey, what’s up?”

“You were gone,” she says, still jittery with sleep-fogged panic. “I woke up and you weren’t in bed and you hadn’t said anything about the Sons meeting this late and I thought, some kind of raid, maybe, Redcoats at the door in the night, but you’re here, you’re…”

“I’m here, babe. Everything’s okay.” Herc discreetly adjusts the bundle of clothes so he can embrace Beth one-armed.

…Not discreetly enough. Beth reaches out and plucks at Hamilton’s coat. “What’s this?”

“Oh, that’s just, it’s…”

“Is this that Hamilton boy’s coat? What’re you—these are all his clothes. What are you doing with his clothes?” Herc tries to move so as to block the door to the spare room, but Beth has already peeked in over his shoulder. “He’s—gone? He’s gone, and he’s left you his clothes. Hercules, what the hell is this?”

Herc looks at Beth. Tries to think up a convincing lie. Fails, because Beth is even better at sniffing out a liar than he is, and would not take his attempts well. Only one thing for it.

“He’s a mermaid, Beth.”

“He’s a—” Beth blinks several times very quickly. “I’m sorry. Still half-asleep. You’re gonna need to say that again.”

“You heard right the first time. He’s a mermaid and he’s currently hiding in our back alley and I need to take him down to the harbor so that he doesn’t—opposite of drown. Whatever fish do on dry land. I know, I know how it sounds,” he continues, as Beth opens her mouth with a look of mingled confusion and horror, “but it’s the truth, and I would explain more, but I need to get him to the water otherwise we’re going to have a dead mermaid behind our house and maybe a curse on all our heads.”

Beth opens and closes her mouth a few times without any words coming out. “…I thought mermaids were all supposed to be girls?” she manages, finally.

Herc has to chuckle at that. “I’ll be sure to ask him what the deal is with that first chance I get.”

“Ask him. Okay. Ask the mermaid.” Beth steps back, shaking her head, before fixing Herc with her sharpest glare. “This isn’t some kind of hare-brained cover-up for one of Mr. Laurens’ ridiculous schemes, is it?”

“Elizabeth. My dearest heart. Please give me a little credit. I think, if I were coming up with a bare-faced lie to tell you, I would do better than it was mermaids, don’t you?”

“…True.” Beth pushes her hair out of her face. She steadies herself, squares her shoulders, and when she looks into Herc’s eyes it’s with an air of act now, ask questions later. Rock-steady. There’s a reason he trusts her to hold down the fort when things get dicey in the city. “Fine. Fine. I’ll buy this…insanity…for now. But you owe me an explanation.”

“I know.”

“A very detailed explanation.”

“And you’ll get it, as soon as I get home, I swear. I won’t be long. No more than an hour. If I’m gone any longer—”

“I’ll tell the authorities to start dragging the harbor for your body, I suppose?” This in the wry tones she uses when the Sons of Liberty are doing dangerous work, dirty work, and she tells him not to bother coming home if you don’t manage to silence that snitch, knowing full well that he might not make it out. Even if she hasn’t accepted all of the facts of his story yet, she’s cottoned on to the danger.

“It won’t come to that. It won’t,” Herc says, as much to convince himself as Beth. “I’ve got him under control, it’s going to be fine. I’ll go and then I’ll come back home and then you’ll get your explanation.”

“I’d better.” She gives him a little shove. “Go on, then, you were in such a hurry before.”

“Don’t wait up for me.”

“You know I won’t,” she deadpans, and Herc knows he’ll find her sitting in her chair by the fire, wide awake, when (not if) he gets back. “Come home safe.”

“You know I will.”

Herc kisses Beth, quick and fierce, leaves her there on the landing. He hurries downstairs and throws on boots and coat before going back out into the alley. Hamilton is curled up on the ground next to the rain barrel, completely human again,  but shivering unhappily. He jumps as Herc splashes up to him through the puddle on the ground.

“You took your time,” he snaps, snatching his clothes out of Herc’s hands, “I thought you were gonna be in there forever! I don’t know how long I can stay like this, so we’d better—”

“Wait, what do you mean you don’t know?” Herc says, aghast. Hamilton grunts, wriggling into his pants with all the grace of a fish out of—don’t even think it, Mulligan, you’re better than that—without bothering to stand up. “Isn’t this your…magic, thingy? How can you not know how it works?”

“This is new to me too, all right? You really think I would have done something as idiotic as get stranded this far inland if I knew I was gonna dry out so quickly?”

The honest answer to that is yes, especially given the way Hamilton’s rammed his head through the neck hole of his shirt with the whole thing turned around backwards, but Herc keeps that to himself. Hamilton yanks his boots on and, more or less presentable, takes hold of the lip of the rain barrel and pulls himself up. Lets out a sharp gasp the moment he puts weight on his feet. Herc jumps forward to grab him before the legs go out from under him.

“What’s wrong, what is it?”

“It’s…this stupid body, useless thing…hurts,” Hamilton pants, clinging to Herc with startling strength. He trails off into shallow breaths with a hint of whine to the exhale. Real pain there in the tension of his grip.

“Hey. Hey. Hamilton. Talk to me.” Herc gives him a little shake. “You with me? You gonna make it?”

Thankfully, Hamilton hooks an arm around his neck and straightens his legs with an obvious effort. He clenches his jaw and rasps, through gritted teeth, “I can do it. Let’s go. Before—” He doesn’t need to finish that sentence. Herc's mind conjures up the alarming image of Hamilton losing control halfway back to the water, going all scaly and taily in the middle of the street. Herc is a smooth talker, but that might be beyond even his skills to explain away to the constabulary. With that pleasant thought hovering over him, he walks Hamilton out of the alley, and they set off down the street.

As slow as their progress had been on the way to the house earlier in the evening, it’s nothing to how torturous it is now. Hamilton is wobbly on his legs as a newborn colt, and winces at every unexpected dip and bump in the road. Herc feels reasonably secure in his cover story of escorting a drunk young friend back to his rented rooms on the waterfront, should they attract any unwanted attention, but he’s still on edge. He half-expects every little sound to be a battalion of Redcoats, here to trip them up and waste precious time, leave him dragging a wet fish down the road. Not a useful frame of mind to be in. Nerves can make you as obvious a target as carelessness, in their way.

Some kind of distraction, then. Strike up a conversation. Looks less suspicious that way, a couple of buddies having a chat on their way back from a late night at the bar. And, as he’s established, he’s got a few questions he’d like Hamilton to answer.

“So, how’s a mermaid come by a nice suit like this?” asks Herc quietly, very conscious of the buildings all around them, full of sleeping people. “And don’t say you bought it, you and I both know you don’t know what money is.”

“I do so—” Hamilton colors up, a shade of deep green that would be very attractive on a gentleman’s waistcoat but looks truly bizarre on human skin. “Fine, I didn’t buy it, I took it off someone. Just some guy. You said yourself a naked man attracts attention, didn’t you? I had to blend in somehow. He’s fine, probably,” he says dismissively, catching the expression on Herc’s face, “I didn’t eat him. I didn’t even hit him that hard.”

“Right.” Herc thinks for a moment on on everything he’s ever heard about willowy sea-maidens catching burly sailors in their clutches and dragging them under to drown without a second thought. Well, shit. He’d better get himself ready to send his condolences to Burr’s sister, whenever Burr’s body gets found. Poor guy. Herc can’t say he ever particularly liked him, but he didn’t deserve to go out like that.

“And what about the name? You take that off some other clueless sod you bashed over the head—? Ow, Christ, stop that!” Hamilton’s grip on his arm has gone from tight to crushing all of a sudden.

“No,” Hamilton says, low and icy. Something in his voice suggests those needle-teeth of his, even though the ones visible in his mouth now are blunt and human. “I didn’t take it from anyone. It’s my name.” He squeezes Herc’s arm, hard enough to make the bones creak, before easing off. A gentle warning: this subject is closed.

Stranger and stranger. First the terror over the life-debt, now this touchiness about a simple name. Put that together with the mystery of how he turns himself into a human, and Hamilton becomes something far more intriguing than just a wild story to tell the lads down at the bar. Better not poke too hard at the puzzle of him just yet, though, lest Hamilton start pushing back at the loopholes of their agreement. Herc beats a rhetorical retreat.

“Okay, sorry, sorry. I just thought—ow—” Herc pries fruitlessly at Hamilton’s fingers. “I thought mermaids were supposed to have names like, I don’t know, Calypso? Melusine? Something a little more—ethereal, I guess.”

Hamilton wrinkles up his nose. “Are you making those up? They don’t sound like real words at all.”

“I am not, they’re from—whoa, easy, there.” Hamilton’s body has shuddered, head to toe, and Herc has to work hard not to shove him away in horror. When Hamilton blinks up at him, his eyes have gone black again.

“…We should hurry,” Hamilton says in a clipped little voice. “It’s getting—I don’t have much longer. Like this.”

“Right. Almost there, Hamilton. Ham. Can I call you Ham?”

“It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Hammie. What about Alex?”

“I told you, I don’t care,” says Hamilton—Alex—but despite everything there’s the shadow of a smile picking at his lips. He staggers again, and it vanishes. The hand on Herc’s arm has sprouted claws. “…Probably better if I don’t talk. Distracting. Just walk.”

“Gotcha,” Herc says, his nerves starting to jangle again. “Only a little bit further. Just a bit.”

By the time they get in sight of the water, Alex isn't walking so much as being dragged, although he’s still making a token effort at moving his legs, as if to convince himself that he’s still walking under his own power. He’d perhaps pass for a very, very drunk human at a cursory glance, but anything more probing would catch the sickly cast to his skin, the eyes, the way his legs don’t seem to bend quite right at the joints. It’s with no small amount of relief that Herc hauls him around the side of a warehouse to a little-used section of docking and lets him crumple bonelessly to the boards.

Alex doesn’t even bother removing his clothes, just lets them slough off as the change takes him, his dorsal fin slicing a neat rent up the back of his shirt and jacket and his pants falling empty to the ground as his legs are replaced with a squirming length of tail. He lets out a warbling screech and slithers straight off the side of the dock without a backward glance, hits the water with a great splash.

Herc curses inwardly and hurries off the dock to press himself up against the wall of the warehouse, seeking what meager shelter it can provide. No way that racket went unheard, and the last thing Herc needs is for this weird, weird night to end with some Redcoat deciding he looks suspicious and taking him in for questioning. Some god must be looking out for him, though, because there’s not a peep from any of the surrounding buildings or alleyways, and after a couple of minutes Herc deems it safe enough to tiptoe back out onto the dock.

No sign of Alex, and Herc has just decided that he must’ve swum off for good when a few scraps of white and oxblood fabric float to the surface of the water, followed by Alex’s face. He smiles, fangy but genuine, when he sees Herc there.

“Thank you,” he says. “That was—didn’t know how that was gonna go, for a second. Could’ve been really bad. Thank you.”

“No problem,” says Herc, waving a hand. “What’re friends for?” A somewhat loose application of the word, but Alex appears to like it. The color of his scales softens subtly, and his smile widens.

“Friends. I guess. Huh. I’ve never really had—well, not since—” That hesitation again, furtive sense of I’ve-said-too-much. Herc is really going to have to probe a little deeper into that. With an embarrassed frown, Alex draws back from the dock as if to dive back underwater.

“Hey, wait a minute, don’t go anywhere just yet. Our bargain, remember? Stay put for a second.”

Alex scowls, but grabs hold of the edge of the dock and clings there. “What do you want from me now? I didn’t eat you, I won’t eat any of your family, I already promised that, I don’t know what else you want from me…”

“Not something I want, just a proposition for you. Might wanna hear it out.”

“Oh?” Alex is endeavoring to look uninterested, but Herc takes the fact that he hasn’t refused to listen outright as an encouraging sign. He plows on.

“Consider meeting me back here, two days from now, at sunset. I’ve got some plans for you, if you’re still interested in getting in on what’s happening here in the city. Unless that was a lie, too.”

“It wasn’t. I’m not a liar, I hardly lied to you at all, except for…well. Except for the obvious thing.” Alex bites his lip in a way that’s almost endearing if you ignore the teeth, and then says, reluctantly, “I do wanna know what’s going on. I…I didn’t come all this way just to sit and watch. I wanna be part of something. So. I’ll be here.”

“Great. It’s a date.” Herc turns to go, thinks better of it. “Also: don’t kill anyone between now and then.”

“What?!” Alex yelps, so loudly that Herc flinches and makes frantic shushing gestures. Hamilton ducks down into the water, a little shamefaced, but bobs up again and stage-whispers, “Then what am I supposed to eat for two days?”

“I don’t know, I…there’s fish in the harbor, surely, you can eat those, right? Or is that cannibalism?”

“Don’t be stupid, of course I can eat fish, but they’re so small here, and they don’t, it’s not…” He blinks, one-two, a translucent membrane sliding over his eyes a half-second after his lids open. The monster visible again under the veneer of gawky kid. “It’s not the same. It doesn’t—keep you. It’s not enough. Warm blood’s better. And there’s so much of it here.” The tip of his tongue flickers over his lips. “So much prey…”

“You can’t even make it two days? Just two?” says Herc, his gorge rising.

“I could try.” Alex’s tone very cold now, very distant. Not human at all. Try, sure. Herc’s not really interested in playing the odds on that one.

An idea surfaces. “Actually. Have you seen the soldiers patrolling around the harbor? Do you even know what a soldier—they wear red coats, big white cross on the front, and usually some kind of stupid hat? Or have you not been in town long enough?”

“No, I’ve seen them. I’ve, um.” The pointed fins at the tips of Alex’s ears droop a little. “I lied about that too, I guess. I didn’t arrive today, like you said, I’ve been here in the harbor since yesterday. Just watching. Trying to figure out the right way to look, to be—anyway. Yeah, I know what you’re talking about.”

“Good. You can eat them.” Herc smiles grimly. “Eat as many as you’d like.”

“Wait, really? Are you sure?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely. Gotta keep your strength up, right?”

Alex shoots a suspicious glare up at Herc. “What’s different about them, what makes them okay to eat?”

“You’ll find out, if you don’t skip town on me.” With a burst of bravado, Herc leans down and ruffles Alex’s hair. Alex lets out a chitter of surprise, and Herc turns to go. “See you in two days, little shark.”

Herc walks away, whistling to himself. When he looks back Alex is nowhere to be seen. For all Herc knows, he could be high-tailing it out to the ocean now, could be heading back to wherever he came from (the Caribbean? Nevis and St. Croix? Unless that had all been a lie too), but Herc has a feeling he’ll wait. He recognized that eyebrow twitch from their earlier conversation, the way his frame had quivered with barely-contained energy.

Yeah, he’s hooked.

Herc grins. Maybe Alex would find his fish puns tasteless, but Herc will have plenty of audience for them once he introduces Alex to the Sons of Liberty. He imagines they’ll be happy to put up with any number of bad jokes, once they realize what they can do with a mermaid on their side.

[theclevergirls]

Celebrating Lin-Manuel Miranda or: How Lin Saved 2016 With a Musical About the Ten Dollar Founding Father

Last December I was working in New York City. I remember it so clearly, I had to work the day after Christmas and it was cold and I was unhappy. I was walking from my grandmother’s apartment where I was staying on 28th street to 30 Rockefeller Plaza, which is not a short walk, but I had planned it that way. On this walk on the slushy and grey Manhattan streets I heard the drum opening and heard these words for the first time:

How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore 

And Scotsman dropped in the middle of a forgotten 

Spot in the Caribbean by Providence, impoverished, in squalor

 Grow up to be a hero and a scholar?

That song changed my life. 

Mostly it was Lin Manuel Miranda who changed my life. But to talk about how I have to go back to the beginning.

In the fall of 2009 I was a freshman in college. It was the first time in my life I was living away from home and I was severely depressed and deeply homesick. It was during this time that I saw In the Heights on Broadway (with the entire original cast minus Lin, go figure). 

(Embarrassing pic of me & Chris Jackson when he was just a boy from the barrio and not our 1st president ^^)

In the Heights remains one of my all time favorite musicals and one I regret to this day not talking the rest of my family to see because it captures so accurately the spirit of being Hispanic. There is so much passion. Not the mention some really amazing dance numbers.

I love Lin for being so proud of his heritage and for helping me connect  to mine. Like Usnavi In the Heights I had an Abuela who was one of the strongest, most wonderful women I know. Lin gets that. He put that into the play through a character named Abuela Claudia. I still can’t listen to the song “Alabanza” that’s about her without crying.

It’s the little details he infuses into the musical like how Usnavi makes his coffee (light and sweet, the way my father drinks his as well), the man selling piragua on the street in the summer, and the neighborhood gossip. These are such specific things that Lin manages to make feel universal. He made a play that reminds me so much of my family and made me more proud than ever to be (half) Puerto Rican. 

I followed Lin’s career after that, but it was in dark days before I joined Twitter so it was only vaguely. I did listen to the In the Heights original soundtrack a lot that year though. And I still do.

Flash forward to 2016 when I listened to Hamilton pretty much nonstop. I have cried over every single song, except maybe King George’s. Sometimes I cried for Angelica’s love for her sister. Sometimes I cried over Philip’s death. Sometimes I just cried because Lin managed to write a song that included the words “revolutionary manumission abolitionists”. 

Hamilton made me even more proud to be a New Yorker (something I’m never shy about). Most importantly it helped me proud to be an American during a time when frankly it’s been hard to do so. 

In one of the roughest years in recent memory for many, Hamilton and Lin got me through. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without either. From Lin’s morning and nightly inspirational tweets to his musical about a man who overcame every obstacle to help found our country, I had everything I needed to get through the day. 

Lin has proved himself time and time again to be a champion of the underdog, the voice for the voiceless. He uses his immense fame as a platform to promote causes he cares about like the Puerto Rican debt crisis, Graham Windham, and Planned Parenthood. 

Lin is one of those people you cannot be mad at for his success. He works so hard and stays so humble and grateful. He is so much fun to watch because he’s one of us: he gushes over famous people on Twitter, he sings in the car, he’s a total geek. He just also happens to be a certified genius.

So Happy Birthday Lin! Thank you for changing so many live, including mine. Thank you for showing us that intelligence is cool, that words can be more powerful than we ever imagined, that passion is contagious, and that kindness can go a long way. 

What’s next?

Brittany

[fairest]

DIDN’T GO TO TWITTER YESTERDAY - September 13, 2018

As for what’s next, I will leave that to the specialists.

Music is my mistress, Duke said.

There were a few others.

Duke had a Tristan chord of mistresses, a Lulu chord of broads.

Duke’s mistresses in tutti frutti.

I saw this heartbreaking Caufieldian thing yesterday. 

Good thing I didn’t have my nose down in Twitter or I might have missed it.

I was walking by the American Stock Exchange … this old couple took a photo … the man went and stood by the art deco handles of the ASE …  the ‘militarized police’ … whatever that means … don’t guard the ASE ... I don’t even think it trades anymore .. it used to be called the New York Curb because the traders stood outside like guys wearing mattress signs ... anyway … he held the door handles … his wife snapped a photo, they both laughed, he shrugged his shoulders, they laughed again and kept walking toward the 9/11 memorial … his pants needed shortening it was really sweet.

In my Caufieldian head I decided … that man worked at the ASE early in his career … they were some of the most exciting months of his life … he seduced, in part, his wife with some of his stories … and then he moved to Ohio and met this lovely woman, his wife … he cries when he thinks about her hair in the sunlight from before all the treatments … he made her shave her pussy in 1999 because Britney Spears did it … so she would look like a milf who couldn’t get enough cock … and then he tried to soothe his wife’s razor burn with the same ice pack he used on his bad shoulder … and she almost killed him and died from laughing … and they raised 4 exceptional children … one of them almost got into Oberlin and had Hannah Horvath as a freshman buddy … and now the couple are in New York … it’s her first time EVER … it’s his first time in 40 years … and he said he wanted to take a picture in front of the ASE … cause he worked there right after college for two months … but by the time they got there it was just whatever … still … she snapped the picture, and now they have it.

He’s just this cog in the wheel from Ohio with 4 children who worked at the ASE as a runner 40 years ago, before he got his real job at Raytheon or Toyota.

The cog in the wheel is heart wrenching.

What freaks me out about the WTC is not that it’s gone, or all this memorial stuff that took its place, but that the Burger King across the street is still there.

So is Pronto Pizza, so is the Essex World Café where they have good 1000 Island dressing for burgers.

I’m not going to write: that used to be my brain, now it’s a CVS. That used to be my heart, now it’s a Sweet Greens.

So many beautiful people in New York, who invited you.

It occurred to me today I might be so uncomfortable because I no longer live down the street.

I have this note here: yesterday you missed a good idea in the women giving up. Maybe women have too much dignity to “give up.” Maybe they have too much respect for work, for the muse, to say, like Markson’s copycats, David Shields or Karl Ove or whatever, I just give up, here’s a list of shit I like and shit I felt on this day or that day … although it seems like Eileen Myles gave up, but I don’t think she’d put it that way, or what about Kanye, same idea.

America doesn’t smell like anything.

I know, I’ve been to America, I live in America, and America doesn’t smell.

New York smells.

Rotting cooked flesh and cooked flesh rotting.

That’s what you’re paying for.

America, on the other hand, is one big odorless Kardashian vagina.

I have this note here: don’t add ‘…with a shived off clit…’ it’s not really you, even if it came out right after, it’s not really the good you, that’s not what you want to say, let the chapo trap house dudes say shit like that, they have the guts, they are truly mean men, whereas you, you’re a nice, scared, standard friendly guy, and your body shakes during confrontations.

America is odorless like Caitlyn Jenner’s vagina, affection will solve every problem of freedom.

This diary is about not going to Twitter

Dear diary, what if I am lying to you? 

Maybe I’m on Twitter right now, sending David Frum DMs that say, you frum?

I’ll frum you … I’ll frum you from behind … but don’t tell me I have to keep it … because I’ve got two x chromosomes.

This diary will end when September ends, and then it will be a book.

You know it.

I know it.

Will you stay with me until October?

What makes me a true New Yorker is that I can stand anywhere in New York and not move.

What a myth it is, that an ex-New Yorker remembers everything about New York. 

I don’t remember shit.

A great male writer returns to New York after 25,000 years and remembers which train car you need to be on for the 14th Street exit, and which train car you want for Vesey over Barclay.

The last great myth of the male writer, before this one.

Yeah that’s bullshit, I have no fucking idea where I am.

I’m so emotionally unavailable in this place I almost pronounce the ‘h’ in humor.

Today’s entry is just about how I walked around the city making associations, it’s pretty bitter, empty, vulgar, boring, I’ve done this, I’ve done that, what, for 10,000 days of my life and many more.

Funny story, I am the only punk in New York.

I run you to 21.

I see the car in front of you.

Americans are turned off by Marx because Marx smells like something that needs coriander.

Stop saying Marx.

Just stop.

Stop.

And when you’re finished not saying Marx, don’t say Marx again.

I just think of Richard Marx when you say Marx, stop saying Marx and I’ll be right here, waiting for you.

I’ll take an adult erection course, as long as they don’t make me read Marx.

Here’s a funny story, I was running for the train ... get out of my way turista ... I am a great male writer on my way to discuss Richard Marx at the New School … they have a scrumptious prepared egg salad sandwich in the cafeteria … it’s going to dribble from my mouth when I tell the youth there are no ethical egg salad sandwiches under capitalism … and I would’ve made the train but I didn’t have a metro card … just my Ventra card from back in Chicago.

I had to go buy a Metro Card, and the fare is like $2.75 now, I remember when they paid you $40 to ride the train. 

I won’t write that CVS used to be my liver, or that this Joe and the Juicer was my grandmother’s pancreas, but the Joe and the Juicer across the street was divined from my father’s seed the last time he masturbated in 1987.

I can’t hear.

Should I listen to Illmatic and pretend it still loves me?

When I read a great essay I google the writer’s name … and then I see they have a twitter … and I think, oh, they have a twitter, that’s so touching, let me follow them and see the other things they write … what’s even more touching is when they don’t have a twitter at all … actually that’s just weird .. you can’t be a human being without a social media presence.

My founding myth as a writer was my college professor telling me I didn’t have the guts to be a writer.

You are very talented Stuart, he said, but I don’t think you have the guts.

I’ve gone through my whole life as a desperate amateur who thinks he thinks asking more questions than I can answer and it’s killing me constantly, this bearded professorial voice in my head saying I don’t have the guts, what it takes, last licks, to be a writer.

This is what I heard: you are too unique.

You are too unique, too pure, too clean, too afraid of being a total loser, to be a real writer.

Maybe you can express yourself in cascading major ninth chords, but you cannot express yourself in words.

Keep writing, you’ll get better at it, you might even get better at it than a few other people, but people will never relate to all that you say. You will never make a reader cry. People will relate to some of what you say, but never all of it. Scribbled private notebooks for your secret joy stolen from someone else’s notebook. You don’t have the guts to be a writer. You don’t have the sac to relate. 

I can’t move faster than the speed of my forgetfulness.

People always say there’s so much brain power in New York, Berlin, wherever. People always say the best minds come here, but I don’t know, all these people look slightly dumber than me.

There are people standing in line to buy sneakers and I can’t help them.

No one ever says there’s so much brain power in Compton.

Thought about tweeting today:

back in NYC, the rotten apple, feast of san gennaro, hope I don’t get whacked.

I rub my wife’s ankles and calves, we make lists, we cross things off. We ask if our kid shit or if it just smells like shit in this Rite Aid, which used to be a discotheque.

It must be so depressing to be a super model, no friends.

Fake tits look so gross, all these Brenda Walsh jeans.

Every time I see a picture of Jennifer Lawrence for Gucci or Aldi or Chanel I say to my wife, she got mad in like 2014 or whatever when there were pictures of her tits … that was before Twitter really poisoned the discourse …it was totally okay to see Britney Spears’ cunny in 1999 or some shit but not J-Law’s white breast, that’s where we DREW THE LINE … you cannot see J-Law’s tits.

The men are even worse.

Really looking forward to Lady Gaga falling into Bradley Cooper’s arms in the new A Star is Born.

Too handsome to be this straight and dress this gay.

How depressing to wear dress shoes without socks and shorten your pants, show your ankles, really gross, just go work for the American Stock Exchange for 90 years and buy 38X34s Dockers with flex stretch like the rest of the honorable five foot seven men of this country.

German men too tall carrying babies, men who are too tall for war, shave your stupid beard.

Why don’t you stop pretending to be a fake European, there are enough fake Europeans in Europe and Saudi Arabia.

Air conditioners dripping, business won’t make it.

I am looking for my voice (the first thing I had).

For an American, it almost seems like New Yorkers don’t speak English.

It is too fast, this language. 

You know how in Paris you order the wrong thing because you don’t speak French .. then you see what the real ugly French people are eating, and you’re like .. damn! … that looks so good! …I’m only here for 2 more nights! I will never figure it out and then I’ll be back in America where all the pigs taste like lambs! And the cows taste like pigs! And the chickens taste like cows! And all of it tastes like shit and you can’t smell a goddamned thing! Fuck I wish I spoke French!!!! Then I could be eating what those ugly French people over there are eating it’s a calf’s balls!!! goddmnit I’m an American legal citizen! My people have killed more cows than Indians! I deserve your calf’s balls! …  well I feel like people who speak English, as a first language, people from, like, Shanksville Pa. or wherever … fluent English speakers … who can pass hard tests in English … they come down to a deli by the 9/11 memorial, they stand under the mall and its oculus and they want an everything toasted with a little butter and two fried eggs with well-done home fries on the side … but they don’t know how to say it … their English tenses up, goes fucking nuts … they order the wrong thing, a plain bagel ... not even a bagel .. they end up with a FLATBREAD ... untoasted ... with egg whites and sliced tomatoes on the side … it’s so horrible ... they’re like, shit, I just want to go to Panera ... New York bagels are overrated and you can’t find a good tomato west of Sicily … there is so much pressure on human beings, they fail, mostly, but they don’t lose hope.  

Paninis and parms piled high in front of house freezers, butcher hands naming cuts with blue-ribbon toothpicks. The most boring looking British woman in $7,000 flats, a man with a utility kipah and hands full of accordion files.

I said to my son, Alexander Hamilton is buried here and so are you.

Tonight before dinner my uncle produced his article, handed it to me, said, Stu, this is what I was talking about last night at dinner.

My uncle wrote a 22 page article about two fields and gardens poets.

Double-spaced, he said, about 22 pages.

He sent it to his teacher in China.

My uncle’s hands shake now. He used to drive and make jokes. He doesn’t drive anymore. He doesn’t make jokes about his wife anymore, but if I make a good joke about my wife, which happens quite often, my uncle laughs.

He wrote a 22 page double-spaced article and the last line is: as for what’s next, I will leave that to the specialists.

He said he understood if I didn’t have time to read it, what with my job, my own novel, my son, he knows I’m a busy young man.

I told him I could skim some of it now and then he could email it to me and I would let him know some comments in further detail. I said I didn’t know much about the field and garden poets, although I had read some David Hinton and I’ve seen a postcard or two in my day.

My uncle said the title was actually Two Poets, Two Magistrates, Three Dynasties.

I told him I thought that was a good title. And that all writing should end with the sentence ‑ as for what’s next, I will leave that to the specialists.

As for what’s next, I will leave that to the specialists.

[apexart-journal]

Moraa Gitaa in NYC, Day 1 & 2

I finally arrived in New York yesterday! It was a long flight with a connection in Schiphol in Amsterdam with a layover of four hours and taking that both flights were eight hours each – it was no surprise that I was jet lagged. From JFK airport I was picked up by a Super Shuttle which carried six other passengers so I didn’t get time to engage the driver in conversation about the sites we were passing by, I wish I could have because in my country Kenya we have an expression that says cab drivers are the best tour guides because they know everything and have their fingers on the pulse of all that goes on!

 �

I had read a little about New York and I had gathered that the city is situated on one of the world's largest natural harbors, and it consists of five boroughs: Brooklyn, Queens, Manhattan, The Bronx, and Staten Island. Later Elizabeth Larison, Apexart’s Director of Programs came by the apartment and she told me a little more about this interesting fact. She even said that I will get a chance to see and experience the Hudson River – I can’t wait, I’m so excited! I honestly didn’t mind that Elizabeth came over immediately I arrived because it did give us a chance to go over logistics of my stay and we she also gave me a tour of my apartment building which does have a swimming pool and gym for when I feel like it. And then off we went for a walk to familiarize myself with the streets.

I know that when one thinks of New York City we tend to associate the city with its extraordinary building and skyscrapers but as we walked, I realized that ancient dances with modernity here because there are beautiful old buildings with ancient architecture of years gone by! The mad rush of people congesting the sidewalks is there – just like we see in the movies – LoLJ! Especially given that it was late evening and most people were coming from work and most probably shopping in the famous shops before heading home.

Immediately on my first evening I was plunged into the subway system and started finding my own way to events -  I wasn’t too overwhelmed though because I’ve been to London and Amsterdam which also have such efficient transport systems – all one needs to do is get the hang of Google Maps. I also learnt that in New York people talk of ‘Downtown’ and ‘Uptown’ and not East or West and so I’ll have to keep this in mind when finding my way around.

Next on my schedule for my first day was to attend an Augmented Reality New York (ARNY) meeting which was at Industrial Color 32 situated at Avenue of the Americas. This is a monthly meeting for Augmented Reality enthusiasts and tech geeks. My highlight for the evening was a presentation by Ludo Colin of EachScape who has recently in collaboration with E! Entertainment developed a new 360 sort of camera app which is a whole new experience especially when videoing and capturing their red carpet moments and interviews! Other demos of the evening were Blippar’s JavaScript AR called BlippBuilder Script presented by Hermes Frangoudis among others. The event was a house full and it looks like New York’s tech sector is really thriving with lots of enthusiasts given that the attendees also had many questions for the presenters especially on app installations and improvisations.

I went home and had a light dinner and decided to call it a night .to try and alleviate the jet-lag so that the following day I will be more energetic!

On day two I took a couple of hours to settle in and then took a tour of the neighborhood where my apartment is situated which is in lower Manhattan. I familiarised myself with the local market and Union Square. I’m lucky that Union Square is directly opposite my apartment. The square is a well known space because it’s an important and historic intersection in Manhattan. It is located where Broadway and the former Bowery Road – now Fourth Avenue – came together in the early 19th century; its name denotes that "here was the union of the two principal thoroughfares of the island" rather than celebrating either the Federal union of the United States or labor unions. Artists love the place and I can spend hours here because you find a lot of creatives hanging out here and some even performing! It reminded me of Trafalgar Square in London.

I then headed to the Apexart office and space. I had a short tour of the current exhibition dubbed ‘Animal Intent’ organized by Emily Falvey featuring several artists. Most interesting to me was the creation Sapsucker Sounds, by Annie Dunning which is a playful conflation of woodpecker and human culture. It reminded me of the ‘Woddy Woddy Pecker’ cartoon I used to watch as a child. I had a chance to play with the creation – It is made of wood and brass and the centre of this piece of art is a pattern of holes dotting the surface of a log. Exhibition viewers get the chance to play this unusual musical score by turning a lever, which produces an explosion of pins through a comb of metal tines. I shuddered at a painting of caterpillars but luckily it was time to meet Steven Rand the Founder and Executive Director of Apexart, Elizabeth Larison and also Chelsea Guerdat who is Apexart’s Operations Director – they took me out and treated me to a sumptuous welcome lunch where we discussed further of what my expectations and Apexart’s are for my fellowship/residency.

After our lunch I had an hour before my next session for the day and so I decided to take a walk to the 9/11 Memorial Museum which is only a five minute walk from where we had our lunch and ten minute walk to my next session. The Memorial Museum was a sombre reminder to me especially as a writer and a Peace and Conflict professional that the cost of peace is painful.

I had a Psychotherapy session scheduled for later that afternoon. I admit I was a bit startled when I saw this session on my schedule and I wondered why I was going to see one. Surprisingly it went well because I realized it’s about knowing my state of my mind and I did get to talk about some stuff that I’ve not talked about in a long while!

 My next two events for the day were on fashion and both were in the same locality. The first one was at the Fashion Institute of Technology (FIT) and it was more of a fashion and textile history exhibition. This exhibition is awesome and explores the experiences of several generations of fashion designers of African descent from the 1950’s to the present. It was very interesting to me because the curators have looked at fashion through the several lenses including race, activism etc. It even has a section on when black models started coming into vogue!

 The last event of the day was at the Katie Murphy Amphitheatre where Hal Rubenstein gave a talk on the twentieth century fascinating decades of the 1960’s through the dual lens of film and fashion. It was an hour long talk but I thoroughly enjoyed it because I found Rubenstein to be downright witty, very charming and wry at the same time and many times had the audience in stitches!

 I look forward to the rest of this month with these different cultural voices of the never-ending attractions calling out to me and streets filled with an embracing atmosphere and friendly New Yorkers (The few I’ve talked to on the streets when asking for directions or a building I can’t find, have been overall very friendly and helpful). I can see that I’m going to enjoy my endless walks, cultural immersions in the Big Apple as I get to discover the 'New York Experience'. 

[7eventytwo]

Talking with MIKE from [sLUms] after an incredible performance at 7eventytwo’s first show of the 5-borough tour at Silent Barn in Brooklyn.

Hey Mike, you and the whole [sLUms] family are natural born performers. How do you personally get in the mindset to perform? Do you psyche yourself up or just take the energy available at the given moment?  

It's always weird getting in front of people and performing live, I get these really weird butterflies in my stomach. It's a really nasty ass feeling. I perform best when I got my friends and family with me, they help me calm down a lot. Before I perform I always try to just remember who i'm doing it for and put my heart in it and from there i just get lost in it you know.

When you’re lost in it, are you still the same Mike you woke up as, or have you become a different persona on stage called MIKE?

Mike and MIKE are the same people, just like I'm really shy when i’m not on stage or if I’m not rapping so like being on stage or recording always gives me my time to be confident and I want people to feel how I feel for once you know?

For sure. The other thing about your live performances that has always interested us is the way you all feed off each other.  On Valentines day you were in the front row rocking out to 6press and his incredibly emotional / charismatic performance. You knew you were going to have to follow that up and to top it off have Jazz Jodi coming up right after you with a killer set of his own. On some level that must be difficult. It’s clear you guys have such a positive supportive vibe with each other. It makes everyone on the outside really get behind you, but I’m still wondering if you also feel competitive with each other. Is there an aspect of one-upmanship to your group performances?

Sixpress did like the most beautiful performance I ever seen him do and it’s because it came from his heart and his true intentions you know. It was really heart-felt, and i don't think its ever about someone doing better than the other. We do group sets to show that this is for all of us. To show people what [sLUms] is even though we represent it as individuals. I think it's okay to say that we all feel different things but we have a gift when it comes to how we say it and our spirits are just aligned. It's definitely a more feeding off each other type of thing then competitive. Like when bad energy is there, I always do a crappy set just cause it throws me off terribly. Also, Sixpress, Booliemane, Jazz Jodi, King Carter and DJ Masoon are like my brothers. We've gone through some embarrassing ass moments, super struggling moments and mad good ones. We all been through a lot together. We became brothers beyond music, like we genuinely got love for each other.

You’ve been getting some attention lately in the mainstream music press. We saw you in the New Yorker and Pitchfork in the same month.  Has that changed anything for you?

Yeah, it definitely changed a lot. Really quick. Attention is cool but sometimes it can be overwhelming, especially when it’s not asked for or expected. I appreciate it though, I can definitely see my life changing for the better. People change all the time so it really doesn't mean anything to me, I just didn't like when people were acting like I was doing something new. Like, I been working this hard, been putting in this much from the start. People like to act as if they didn't know, but it’s whatever. Shoutouts to the writer who fucked with me heavy though, I appreciate it a lot man.

I know we were thrilled to see you get some recognition that you clearly deserve.  It was cool for us to learn more about Silent Barn at the last 7eventytwo show, they are a collectivist venue without bosses and so their decision-making process was pretty fascinating.  What about [sLUms]? You guys are a collective too, right?  How do you make group decisions?

We don't really have a position of powers, the whole idea is to be collaborative. We're like brothers besides music. We probably spend more time bonding than we do making music, but it all counts at the end. We bond and the music gets better, you know? We go through disagreements but we believe in each other and everybody's insight so we've never really taken a loss when it comes to that. We have deep discussions a lot about how we wanna go about things.

In the [sLUms] documentary you said it takes a village to raise a boy, and [sLUms] is your village, but it seems like when it comes to [sLUms] its more like it takes a village to raise a village. What do you think?

Yeah it’s definitely like that, or it’s just like building a house. You gotta start with a foundation and the different pieces of the houses have to connect in order to be strong. We all learn from each-other and use each others resources to grow.

Are [sLUms] are growing in number? How would you decide to take in another member?  

Nah, [sLUms] isn't growing in numbers. People who book shows and write about us always try and add extra people into the group. It's me, SIXPRESS, KING CARTER, BOOLIEMANE, DJ MASOON, JAZZ JODI. I doubt we're gonna have any new members.  

How did you guys come together in the first place?

We all just met through each other like one by one. I met Ade on Soundcloud and we found we live like one street away from each other and just started kicking it from there. King and Boolie I went to High-School with and we was doing music shit during school a-lot, so I just had them by my sides all the time. King was like my big homie and Booliemane was like my other big homie when King left outta school. Me and Booliemane was listening to all the same shit but he was always ahead of the game when it came to music. Sixpress had introduced me to Jazz Jodi at this basketball park in Chelsea and then he started spitting and I was like damn this nigga nice. He was really just barring out in the park like it was nothing and you kinda tell he never really made a song before but just made verses and shit. Then Jazz Jodi introduced me to Mason because we was looking towards starting to do live shows and shit and none of us knew how to DJ. Mason had been DJ'ing for a while, his pops was a pretty big DJ back in the day.

After you guys won the 7eventytwo battle of the bands last spring, with a truly legendary finals performance, you guys got the chance to do some recording at Brickhaus studios with engineer Daniel Lynas. What was that experience like? Has anything from that session been released yet?  

Daniel Lynas is a super cool dude yo. He made the recording experience super relaxed and whenever we went to record with him it was always a good time you know. We actually recorded the whole Friends Of Ours tape with him.

You recently started making your own beats too, what has that experience been like for you?  

I've been working with beats since like last September/Late August. Beginning was really stressful because I expected the program I use to do everything for me but I learned I had to do some work myself. I've definitely gotten a lot better from my old pieces. It's very cool making your own stuff because it feels mad good when you make something that truly reflects you.

Do you read the newspaper or news sites or anything? How do you stay informed? Are you freaked out by America right now? What kind of politics do [sLUms] advocate?

I don't really read newspapers or go on news-sites but I learn a lot about whats going on by listening to friends, discussions, just interacting with people. I prefer judging society based on interactions with the society instead of reading newspapers or watching the news. I mean, I highkey been freaked out about America before Trump. Black people overall been freaked out by this country. Donald Trump just represent the type of people we try to pretend are not alive. I mean like, 5/6 of Slums are literally political beings. My existence is a part of politics today though, you know? So it's not really advocacy but its fighting our lives and the lives of our brothers and sisters.

Has anything changed for you since Trump has taken office?

Not really, I still live the same life I use to. I always compare it to like when the Great Depression happened, like ain't nothing happen to black people accustomed to America's bullshit so, yeah. I mean like now, it's harder to do basement and house functions cause these conservatives been out here snitching ever since that Oakland thang.

To listen to MIKE and the rest of Slums go here: www.slumsnyc.bandcamp.com