#it’s just one of those days when the looming threat of capitalism leaves me absolutely depressed

[jmin]

entry level jobs asking for experience is my villain origin story

[alliterative-albatross]

My dear, your reblog about Boromir death just broke my heart a little bit more 😭 gotta watch Lotr again !

Let me sink the arrows a little deeper. 

Boromir, son of Denethor was a whole-ass man.

Often Boromir is compared to his father in contrast to Faramir, but he’s actually described as being like Denethor in “face and pride, but little else.” That right there tells you a lot about his character. 

He grew up on Sauron’s back porch, at the end of the decline of Gondor, with a younger brother who idolized him and a father who was slowly spiraling into severe mental illness. As the oldest son of the steward, Boromir has a lot to live up to and not much to work with.

Gondor had been circling the drain for 1000 years. Not only was there the looming threat of Sauron - obviously significant - but there’s the decline of the men of the west to consider, too. Since the fall of Numenor, each generation of men had grown successively weaker, their lifespans and wisdom diminished. Add to that the rise of Mordor: the corruption of Minas Ithil (Minas Morgul), the orcs running around killing people, the fall of Rohan and the treason of Orthanc, plus the back-and-forth taking and retaking of Osgiliath... well, Boromir is a man with a lot to worry about.

Then there’s the personal problems. A dead mom and an ailing, asshole father. A sweet little brother to protect (remember that Faramir really cared nothing for battles and weapons, so of course Boromir, being the Big Brother/Badass Warrior that he was, would worry over him). A city on the edge of ruin, a people on the edge of war they cannot hope to fight, an army of actual monsters living at your doorstep. Boromir’s entire world is literally falling apart at the seams. This is a man who is utterly without hope, a man with the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.

Talk about pressure, am I right?

So, let’s hit on Osgiliath a little bit. It’s not made clear in the films, but Osgiliath is actually the capital city of Gondor. It’s also a major tactical stronghold - he who controls Osgiliath controls passage across the river Anduin. As Captain of the White Tower, Boromir spent pretty much his entire adult life defending this city from constant attack - at one point, he and Faramir held the west side, and Mordor held the east side, and they battled for the bridge in the middle. Like, for months, I think (you may want to fact check my timelines on this, though, because I am too lazy). I’m pretty sure he and Faramir eventually just said “fuck it” and collapsed the bridge behind them (if we can’t have it then you can’t either, Sauron, please go suck a giant cock) and ended up swimming to safety with maybe just a couple of other dudes? Not many. 

So. Boromir the Protector. Boromir the Warrior. 

Now, Boromir the Captain. His soldiers loved him - they looked for him daily when he was gone. He was a good leader and a good man. He was missed, and he was mourned. Even Eomer mentions him fondly, saying that he was a lot like a man of Rohan. High praise, if you ask me.

Now, let’s talk about Boromir the Big Brother.

It is made clear time and time again, in both the books and the films, that even though Boromir may not have understood Faramir, he loved him. Boromir is described as his brother’s defender and protector. He defends Faramir physically in battle man times, and also emotionally, from Denethor the Dickhead.

In the books, Boromir and Faramir both dream of Imlardis and Isildur’s Bane, but it’s Boromir who volunteers to take the journey to Rivendell, solely to protect his brother from the dangerous journey.

And it is dangerous. At one point, he loses his horse crossing a ford - which means he lost most of his supplies, too. He had to walk to Rivendell with the clothes on his back. It took him nearly four months. 

Now, I kind of think this is a huge sacrifice. I mean, Boromir who cared nothing for lore or culture, volunteering to leave his men and take on a journey to Rivendell to see some elves about a dream? It smacks of desperation, sure, which Boromir obviously felt in spades. But also, I think displays that no-hold-barred, sacrificial kind of love that he held for Faramir. Boromir would do literally anything to keep his baby bro safe. 

Boromir’s relationship with the hobbits is special, too. One of my favorite moments in The Fellowship of the Ring is Boromir teaching Merry and Pippin to spar, which is why I chose the gif up top. Just, all of the Feels, am I right? 

This isn’t the only time Boromir acts in the interests of the hobbits, though. Upon crossing Caradhras, it was Boromir who was wise enough to suggest the Fellowship carry firewood with them. This foresight single-handedly saved the lives of the hobbits; they would have frozen otherwise. The next day, Boromir and Aragorn carried them down the mountain. 

So, Boromir was a good guy. He was brave, noble, kind, wise in his own way. He had a good head for strategy, and he could kick some serious ass on a battlefield (I didn’t talk too much about that one because I thought it was kind of obvious).

Now, to address the elephant in the room (or, the ring around the halfling’s neck? too much?) 

Remember that the One Ring preys on our vulnerabilities. I think film!Gandalf said it most succinctly: “I would use this ring for the desire to do good, but through me, it would wield a power too great and terrible to imagine.”

Boromir’s greatest desire is to protect what he loves - his brother, his men, and more broadly, his city and its legacy. Tactically, his argument to return to Minas Tirith and strike out from a position of strength is a sound one: rest up, make a plan, defeat Sauron at the front door, restore Gondor to her former glory. It makes sense. Remember that this is a man who has made a study of military history - he’s not an idiot by any means. But the Ring corrupted this noble desire until all Boromir could think about was this driving need to get the Ring to Gondor. 

Boromir’s story, more than absolutely anybody’s - yeah, even Smeagol’s - illustrates the dangers of the One Ring. The corruption of Boromir wasn’t inevitable, it was unthinkable. This was a good and noble man. He was a badass warrior, a friend, a brother. Boromir’s death proves that nobody is above the power of the Ring. His loss is a fucking tragedy, both to the Fellowship and to his people. 

tl;dr: Boromir is one of my very favorite characters in all of the Tolkien pantheon, he doesn’t get near enough credit, and I mourn his passing just like those White Tower bros. 

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ eleven

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 4.3k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒

mists of celeste act two ➻ part one

​​

You find yourself, yet again, perched on the bridge of The Horizon, arms crossed over your chest as you look out into the black space before you. Typically it would be void of any occupants; however, that is not the case now. A planet looms before you, vast and emerald green all over. From the distance you’re at, it looks almost uninhabitable but you know that can’t be true seeing as that’s where Hongjoong is steering the ship.

You let your arms fall by your side, and a small sigh escapes your lips. A bit of time has passed since San gave you the papers back, but you can’t tell the exact amount of time thanks to being in space all the time. You sleep when everyone else sleeps, wake up when everyone else wakes up, and generally follow the same routine that they do. You do exercise much more caution than they do as you’re still trying to figure things out. San has made things easier for you, as well as Jongho, those two being the crew members you talk to the most on the ship. Yeosang makes his presence known from time to time – a little too known for your liking considering your last interaction with him involved his hand around your throat – but the blonde sticks to Wooyoung’s side like glue ninety percent of the time so you don’t have to be blessed by his presence often.

Yunho comes in and out of your daily routine in that every time he shows up in your path, you make a sharp turn and head in the opposite direction. It is mostly due to the fact that you can’t fucking apologize to save your own damn life, but also just a lingering awkwardness on your end from all but accusing him of stealing the papers that San delivered to you minutes later. Awkward. Awkward. And that’s what is keeping you from approaching him and even attempting an apology. You keep telling yourself that you will apologize eventually, and you’ll try to make things right, but the timing just doesn’t feel right yet. That’s the reason. Absolutely. It’s not because your ego is getting in the way.

You purse your lips as you think about that situation yet again. It’s a frequent thought for you, especially considering that there is next to nothing to do on this damn ship besides wander around or look out into space like you’re doing now. You don’t understand how they can do this so often. A small part of you is starting to feel that fabled “spaceman’s anxiety” – the sensation of being cooped up with nowhere to go except out into space. It’s very aptly named in the very least, but you wish Hongjoong would just get to Aegos already so you can put your feet on solid ground again.

“Y/N.” Speaking of the devil, Hongjoong calls out to you from his place in the pilot’s chair. You turn away from the broad window into space to look at the captain. He doesn’t look back at you; instead, he’s focused on keeping the ship on its steady path to the planet ahead. You walk closer to his slightly elevated chair, taking the empty place beside Seonghwa. You mimic his pose and fold your hands behind your back before answering Hongjoong.

“You called?”

“We’ll be landing on Aegos before nightfall. You’ll be coming with us to the capital Echidna. I have a few business inquiries to make with some partners there. You, Seonghwa, and San will all be accompanying me to Echidna; however, you and San will be conducting a separate mission from Seonghwa and myself.” Hongjoong nods in Seonghwa’s direction.

“Yes, Captain.” The lieutenant bows slightly at the waist before turning to you. “Have you ever been to Aegos, Y/N?”

“No, I don’t think I have.”

“Prepare for intense storms. Echidna has a storm guard dome over the city, but Hongjoong will be landing the ship at the docking station. It’s a ways away from the city so we’ll need to ride the train to get to the city. Once we’re there, I’ll arrange some reservations for a hotel for the night, then we will head for a bar called the Jaded Hornet. I’ll tell you and San more once we’re closer to landing, and Hongjoong will conduct a debrief as well. You should go change if you need to and get your gun just in case. We shouldn’t need to kill anyone, but drunk pirates and mercenaries never mix well.”

“Yea, okay.” You nod along to Seonghwa’s explanation. He offers a small smile in conclusion, and you step away from the captain and lieutenant. You start the short walk to your room without any trouble, but you move slower than usual.

The med bay isn’t far from your room, and you could stop to apologize to Yunho before going to your room. Or after. Either one would work. Still, hesitation fills your body. You have the opportunity to fix things and make them right, but you cannot bring yourself to do it. You know that you’re stubborn to a fault. That’s certainly a large reason for your hesitation because your pride is getting in the way, but something else is holding you back.

You’ve been thinking over things for a while, in all honesty, waiting for an opportunity to get away from the ship and crew. You have what you wanted, you have the papers, you could just leave without any trouble. Now, Hongjoong has presented an opportunity to do just that. If you stop on Aegos for a whole day or more, you would have a chance to escape. You could take the papers and run then. No need to apologize or get attached to anyone. If you just disappeared, you wouldn’t have to worry about Yunho or anyone else. It’s a temptation that entices you for certain.

All of a sudden, you run face-first into what you think is a wall. Just from the sheer size of the thing you hit, it feels like a wall. As you stumble back and fall on your ass though, you realize that it’s not a wall and in fact a person instead. A searing pain spreads across your ass when you hit the floor. In your bewilderment, you look up at the person you ran into and find that you’ve never seen this man in your life.

He’s impossibly tall with broad shoulders spread wide and bears dirty blonde hair that is shaved close on the sides. His hair is long on the top though, a floppy mop over his head, and you almost imagine how soft it would be to the touch. There is heat in his eyes though, a red hue to his irises that betrays what he is. You glance over the Berserker in attempts to figure out who the hell he is and why you haven’t seen him sooner. He returns the gaze with one of his own, but his expression is blank and empty as he looks down at you. You don’t move. The floor isn’t comfortable in the slightest yet this Berserker has you glued to the spot with the empty stare he’s sending your way. You wait, expecting him to reach down and extend a hand to help you up. Still, that stare persists, and he doesn’t move.

You pull yourself together and stand up, unable to look into the Berserker’s eyes as you drag a hand over your now sore tailbone.

“I-I, uh, I’m sorry for ru-unning into you,” you stutter out.

“It’s fine.” His tone is icy almost, icy in a way that tells you it’s not actually fine. “Watch where you’re going.”

You dare to glance up at his face, finding that same blank expression across his features. It remains steady and even, and that causes your stomach to twist and turn as you look over it. There is something strange about the way he remains so emotionless. You can’t figure it out or read him in the slightest, which you are used to doing normally. Having that ability taken away from you is disconcerting, to say the least. In your haze of confusion, you do recall that there are eight members of the crew, and you’ve met all except for one. It’s strange that you haven’t even seen him during your time on the ship, but you’ve heard Seonghwa and Yeosang mentioning his name in passing from time to time – Mingi.

“A-Are you Mingi?” You ask with a hesitant tone.

“Yes,” he answers within an instant. “Why?”

You aren’t expecting to be questioned in return for your inquiry. It catches you off-guard, and you stand across from him with a stuttering jaw for a few moments.

“I-I, uh, well I’m – I’m the newest member of the crew? If you’ve heard?”

“Of course I’ve heard.”

“Oh,” you exhale. You can’t tell whether he’s intending to be flat and rude with you or if that’s just the way he is as a person.

“I know who you are. And I don’t need you to explain it.”

It’s most likely the latter, now that you think about it. There is an underlying harshness to his tone that bridges the flatness. You open your mouth to respond, but Mingi pushes his way past you. His shoulder knocks against yours as he moves, and he hits you with such force that you take a few steps back.

“Don’t get in my way again,” he says as he passes you. You glance up at his face as he speaks, but he isn’t looking at you in return. “You’ll regret it if you do.”

You turn to look over your shoulder and watch him move, the threat in his words causing your blood to run cold. Once he disappears from sight, you look forward again, eyes trained on the spot where he was just standing. In all honesty, part of you isn’t shocked by his behavior. He’s a Berserker, and he certainly behaves like all the Berserkers you’ve encountered in the past with their harshness and underlying aggression. Nonetheless, something is different about Mingi. Almost as though he’s reining something in and keeping it from slipping out. You don’t ever want to see what that is, however, and it’s that resolve that causes you to quicken your steps and hurry to get to your room. The sooner you get your papers and leave this hellhole of a ship, the better.

Your room is dark when you step in, and you don’t bother hitting the light switch as you grab your long and sweeping jacket off the foot of the bed. Before you shrug it over your shoulders, you dig into the small table beside your bed and collect the yellowing papers that hide within the drawer. Your fingers dance over the lettering on the front for a moment. It’s your ticket out, your ticket to freedom and release from the guilt that eats away at your insides.

You tuck the papers into your chest band with haste. The temptation of freedom outweighs any guilt you could have about leaving this ship and crew in the dust. Just as you’re thinking that, your earpiece crackles to life and Hongjoong’s voice carries over the speaker.

“Everyone to the bridge for debriefing.”

You tug your jacket over your shoulders, making sure that the papers are securely in place before you fasten the buttons of the jacket across your chest. The last thing you want is to lose the papers again, especially because there is no guarantee that San will be the one to find them again. You duck out of your room, sliding the door shut behind you, and when you turn around, you run face-first into yet another person.

“Woah!” The person says as you collide. His hands fly to your shoulders and hold you in place as he struggles to maintain his balance. “Damn, I nearly knocked you down. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes find Yunho’s, and he smiles back at you without a care in the world. This is certainly not how you wanted this to go, in fact, you had somewhat resolved to leave with apologizing at all. Yet here you are, inches away from him and suddenly thrust into an awkward situation with no escape.

“I-I, uh, I’m sorry,” you say as you push away from him. Yunho laughs in response and releases your shoulders. He brings a hand to his hair, combing through the locks that are now peach-colored. In your avoidance of him, you must’ve missed the change entirely. It looks almost too good against the light tan of his skin, and you blink furiously to block that thought from intruding too much on your mind.

“No, no! You’re fine. I should’ve been more careful of where I was walking. I got lost in thought and didn’t see you leave your room.”

You respond with a weak and shaky smile, chest constricting almost painfully as he continues to grin down at you without hesitation.

“Are you heading to the bridge too?”

“Yea, I am,” you mutter.

“I’ll walk up with you!” Yunho’s voice is bright and cheery, warm to a fault, and you can’t understand how he’s so gentle with you given your last interaction. You don’t respond as Yunho begins to lead the way to the bridge. Instead, you fall into step with him silently, glancing over at him out the corner of your eye. He’s quiet but not in a concerning way; rather, he hums to himself as the two of you walk. It isn’t until you reach the end of the corridor that you open your mouth to say something.

“I, uh, I’m sorry for snapping at you about my papers,” you say under your breath. It’s still loud enough for Yunho to hear though. He turns to you, smile remaining on his lips, and a light laugh escapes him.

“Are you still caught up on that?” He asks. A few strands of peachy orange hair fall over his forehead as he tilts his chin. “I’ve heard worse honestly. Had worse fights with other members of the crew too, to be honest. But that doesn’t really matter. Did you find the papers?”

“I did,” you mutter with a small nod.

“That’s really good! I’m glad to hear it. From the way you were talking about it, it sounded as though it was something important to you. Did finding it put you more at ease?”

The question is a bit confusing to you, and you can’t understand why Yunho is asking it or why he wants to know that of all things. If you were in his position, you would be asking about the contents of the papers or trying to pry further into the reasons for needing them so badly. Yet, Yunho doesn’t seem to care about that at all.

“It did, yes.”

“Again, I’m glad.” Yunho’s smile persists, and confusion continues to swirl in your gut. You don’t understand him one bit. He shouldn’t be happy for you, and it’s pointless for him to be anyways because those papers are what is going to make you leave. But then again, he may not care about that either.

“I… thank you,” you manage to say through the confusion.

“Of course. If you’re going to be here a long time, I want to at least make you feel welcome and happy to be here.” Yunho’s words cause guilt to twinge in your gut. This is why you were trying to avoid an apology, because now that he’s being warm and kind to you, you feel even worse about planning to disappear soon. You can only offer a smile and a nod in reply, but that doesn’t seem to bother Yunho one bit. “It will probably be hard for you to be on a ship full of men and testosterone. Not to mention we’re all criminals of the government. But if you do need anything, my door is always open. Not just as a doctor. Although as a doctor, I can provide some relief for other… frustrations you might have.”

You choke on your saliva as Yunho speaks, his boldness causing your eyes to bulge and your heart rate to spike in an instant. You can feel the heat of his stare on your face as you reach up to cover your gaping mouth.

“Don’t look so embarrassed,” Yunho chuckles. “It’ll make me act up.” He manages to slide another remark in that has you nearly sputtering. Yunho laughs it off though, the sound warm against your ears, and despite your embarrassment, you find yourself smiling as well.

“T-Thank you,” you say under your breath. Part of you does feel guilty for looping Yunho in with the rest of the crew, labeling him as an awful criminal who can’t be trusted, when Yunho’s only crime seems to be his audacity. You want to believe that Yunho is trustworthy and genuine, but the feel of the papers against your skin reminds you that you can’t afford that luxury.

The two of you step onto the bridge to find everyone there already. You notice that Mingi is there as well, standing beside the pilot’s chair with his back so rigid and straight that it hurts to look at. You move to where San is standing, and Yunho follows you without further comment. It’s the first time you’ve seen every crew member present, since Mingi is there. Yeosang stands across from you, his dark eyes meeting yours, and you exchange small nods. Your gaze slips down to the man at his side, dark-haired Wooyoung with the metal collar bound around his neck. A bandage stretches over his nose, evidence of where you hit him and how hard. You hadn’t meant to break his nose completely, but apparently that’s what you managed to do regardless. Yet another thing to feel guilty about.

“We’ve landed on Aegos,” Hongjoong announces, bringing your attention off Wooyoung and onto the captain. “Seonghwa and I will be conducting business in Echidna. San and Y/N will be coming along as well to collect supplies and information. We have a lead and it’s pretty strong this time, so I’ll need the two of you to come along for that.”

San nods, obviously understanding what Hongjoong is talking about, but you’re slower to do the same. You have no clue what Hongjoong is talking about or what kind of information he’s wanting you to collect, but everyone else seems to know. It feels awkward to ask for clarification when everyone else doesn’t need it, so you keep your mouth shut and mimic San’s nod.

“I’ll provide further information for the two of you when we’re in Echidna,” Hongjoong says, glancing over at where you and San are standing. His piercing gaze shifts to the opposite side of the room and lands on Wooyoung. “I want Wooyoung to come along too.”

Yeosang’s lips part, brows furrowing together in an instant. It’s a sudden rage that coats his features, and he steps towards Hongjoong’s chair. Mingi responds immediately. He moves with haste towards Yeosang, and the shorter blonde’s rage dissipates when the Berserker gets closer. The captain redirects his glare to Yeosang. It shuts the man up before he even says anything, and Yeosang hangs his head rather than speaking up. You feel the tension spike. No one says anything for a moment.

Then, Wooyoung steps forward with a small nod.  If you had blinked, you would’ve missed it, but Wooyoung catches Yeosang by the wrist and closes his fingers around the place where the brand is. The touch seems to placate Yeosang, and he steps back into his original place when Wooyoung moves.

Your eyes meet Wooyoung’s for half a second. The two of you look away at the same time, both facing Hongjoong instead of each other. You can’t keep your eyes from shifting back to look at the bandage over his nose, the faint bruises across his skin, and your knuckles tingle as you remember hitting him. You felt bad about punching him when you thought he was a slave aboard the ship, but since Yeosang dispelled that thought, you imagine the guilt would dwindle away. Still, it hasn’t, and it lingers every time you look at the collared man.

“He hasn’t been a slave for a very long time. That doesn’t mean those scars have fully healed though.”

That statement from Yeosang is was causes the guilt to remain. You’ve really started off on the wrong foot with quite a few members of the crew though. You attempted to kill Seonghwa when first boarding the ship, tried to shoot Hongjoong in the med bay, broke Wooyoung’s nose, fought with Yeosang during your first mission, and snapped at Yunho when you couldn’t find your papers. You’ve managed to cross five of eight crew members, perhaps six if you count running into Mingi in the hallway. In a short amount of time, that’s a hefty feat, and you do feel guilty about being so troublesome.

You’ll be leaving in no time though. Don’t worry about it. You won’t ever see these people again. It’s useless to worry about nothing.

Those thoughts are enough to remind yourself that it won’t matter in the long run if you get away in Echidna like you plan to.

“You’re all dismissed,” Hongjoong says, cutting through the silence with his domineering tone.

“Of course I get left with damn Berserkers,” Yeosang grumbles as he pulls away from Wooyoung. Jongho falls into step with him, walking off the bridge with the blonde, and Mingi follows behind in silence. You glance over at Yunho. He sends a reassuring smile your way before leaving as well, and all of a sudden, you’re left with the other crew members who are going down to Aegos.

Hongjoong rises from his chair and turns to where Seonghwa is standing on his right.

“Stay here a moment. The rest of you can go to the airlock and wait there for us. Tune to the fifth channel on your headsets. We’ll be right there.”

You follow San off the bridge, rushing to catch up with him as he walks, and fiddle with your wristband in search of the fifth channel. You can hear Wooyoung’s shoes scuffing against the floor behind you as you walk in step with San. It feels awkward to walk in front of him like this without saying anything at all, but you have no idea how to start a conversation with the man after snapping his nose.

“Are things always so quiet?” You mutter to San. The man glances over at you.

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“It’s awkward to be in so much silence like this,” you say as though it’s obvious. San shrugs then a laugh overtakes him.

“I didn’t pin you as someone who can’t stand silence. You’re pretty quiet yourself.”

“It’s just because I don’t know you all well. I can’t be outgoing and friendly with you all if I can’t trust you.”

“Well, it seems like you have issues trusting people’s intentions in general. You acted as though I was going to kill you when I tried taking you to Yunho. I mean, I understand it and think it’s fair. I’m the same as you, so I can recognize it in you since I see it in myself. Still, you ought to have a bit more trust and faith in us. Just because we have the label of being a criminal doesn’t mean that we are bad people.”

You purse your lips at San’s words. You know he’s right, and he knows it too based upon that cocky little grin on his lips as he looks over at you. He nudges you in the side with his elbow.

“Is that chatty enough for you?”

“That’ll do just fine for now, I guess,” you laugh in response. The airlock looms before you, and you stop beside it. San does as well, turning to look back at Wooyoung.

“You’re awfully quiet for once,” he says to the other man. Wooyoung’s eyes go wide as you look over at him as well. “Is something on your mind?”

Wooyoung shakes his head fervently. His gaze keeps shifting over to you, eyes flitting around in a way that exposes his nervousness. It causes guilt to eat at your stomach even more.

“I’m sorry for – uh, you know, breaking your nose,” you apologize. “I shouldn’t have lashed out like that.” It’s awkward, and San only makes it worse by laughing. Wooyoung shakes his head a few times.

“No, I-I deserved it honestly.” Even though Wooyoung says that, you still feel guilty, especially seeing the bruising on his skin up close. “I shouldn’t have hit you with a tranquilizer shot either, so we can call it even. One punch for one tranquilizer shot?” His tone turns light and cheery as he speaks to you. It helps ease some of your guilty and worry, but the way he winces when he tries to smile almost erases all of that.

“Um, can I ask something?” You say, looking over to San as you speak. “What kind of intel are we supposed to be gathering? Hongjoong didn’t really explain much so I’m assuming that means everyone else knows.”

“Of course we do,” Wooyoung cuts in. His prior nervousness seems to disappear, replaced by a dimpled smile and bright eyes. “It’s all Hongjoong has been looking for. It’s been years of searching, but he’s never stopped since becoming the Captain of The Horizon.”

“And that is…?”

Before Wooyoung has the chance to answer your question, someone else does. It’s the platinum-haired captain himself, walking up behind Wooyoung and placing a firm hand on the man’s shoulder as he steps forward.

“I’m hunting down the last five sirens in the universe. And you’re going to help me do it.”

✧✧✧

a/n: here we are!! part one of act two!! i’m so excited to delve into the arc for this act and reveal more, but let me know what you think about this part 👀 it’s not super duper eventful but i hope it’s not too much of an info dump

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[luxekook]

love bites | ksj

*written for the FWL luv library project*

⇥ pairing: kim seokjin x reader

⇥ genre: non-idol au, co-workers to lovers, smut, fluff

⇥ summary: you’re stuck working the evening shift on valentine’s day at bangtan bistro. as the city’s most expensive and exclusive restaurant, the bistro draws in couples both old and new with partners looking to propose or to impress. your tolerance for PDA and cringey lovebirds has never been lower. throw a flirty chef into the mix and you’re in for a bumpy ride that might just conclude with a happy ending.

⇥ word count: 5.4k

⇥ warnings: 18+, smut, cursing, bad puns from jin, numerous health-code violations (from fraternizing all up in that kitchen), oral (m + f receiving), protected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it, folks), workplace romance, threats of violence from yoongi

⇥ beta'd by the amazing @shadowsremedy​ (thank you, heath! could not have done this without you, your feedback, and your general support!)

“Will you marry me?”

I screech to a halt, completely astounded at the goddamned audacity of the man kneeling before me. Did he really just ask that? At a time like this?

I shift my weight from one foot to the other as I try not to outwardly show my disgust over the scene unfolding before my very eyes.

“Oh my god, Chad!” The date of this Chad finally launches herself from her seat and into his arms, “Yes!”

The restaurant breaks into applause. My forehead breaks into a sweat.

My left arm feels like it might snap at any moment under the weight of the tray of food that I’m meant to be serving this goddamn theatrical couple. The thought of quitting crosses my mind for the umpteenth time that evening.

A camera flash temporarily stuns me, and I feel a tiny twinge of satisfaction. My looming presence in that commemorative photo will hopefully be a reminder to let servers do their damn job before launching into a whole ordeal.

God, I must have been off my fucking rocker when I agreed to work the Valentine’s Day dinner shift. At least the tip money would be worth it.

Gritting my teeth, I flash my best fake smile and offer words of congratulations to the sniffling couple who finally reclaimed their seats.

“Enjoy your meal,” my mouth says with a smile.

“I wish I could sear you like that filet mignon you ordered, Chad,” my glare says with promise.

Thirty seconds later, I’m in full whisper-rant mode at the corner server station. My friend and fellow server Tabby half-listens as she punches in an order at the kiosk.

“And then this Chad in his fucking khaki suit flails to the ground to pop the question like he didn’t see me walking towards them with all seven entrees they ordered. So then I’m stuck hovering over their table with a giant-ass tray of food while they cry and hug and kiss until, finally, finally, they park it back in their seats so I can serve them.”

I groan, hitting my head against the wall, “What did I do in a past life to deserve this?”

“Kill someone, probably,” a voice pipes up from behind the station’s kitchen window, “Oh wait, you would do that in this life, too.”

Kim Seokjin, head chef of Bangtan Bistro and my partial employer, is leaning over the window’s counter, eyes full of mischief as he watches me.

“Oh, what’s this? Are you volunteering to be my very first victim?” I mirror his position leaning over the window’s counter and give him my best side-eye, “I’ll send you my application for victims on Google Docs.”

“Sounds kinky,” Seokjin grins, “Count me in. My Gmail username is Hugh Chefner. No capitals or spaces.”

“I despise you,” I say biting back a smile.

“You lo-o-ove me!” He sings, heading back into the depths of the hectic kitchen.

And, unfortunately, he’s right. Damn Kim Seokjin and his insane level of gorgeousness, charisma, and dramatics.

Against my better judgment, Seokjin has shimmied his chaotic self right into my well-guarded heart. Despite all of the prickliness my typical demeanor displays, I can’t help but melt under the warm gaze of such a handsome man.

Seokjin is the first person that has ever been able to pique my interest lately and keep it. Yes, it might have something to do with his extreme attractiveness; but, it more-so has everything to do with his genuine kindness and weird sense of humor.

Shit, I’ve gone soft. If we’re arguing Nature vs. Nurture here, this is totally Nurture’s fault.

Bangtan Bistro is co-owned by seven men - each as fine as the next. Being surrounded by good-looking and kind-hearted men day in and day out will definitely fuck with your brain, your body, and eventually even your fucking heart.

Kim Namjoon, a tall, dimpled sweetheart of a man, acts as general manager. Namjoon typically resides in the back office of the restaurant running numbers and going over other business ventures. He used to frequent the front of the restaurant to check on customers, but Jimin has since banned him from that activity after the infamous Spaghetti Incident of 2019.

Park Jimin, as the overseer of staff and servers, commands the restaurant floor with a crinkly-eyed smile and a ferocious temper. Fortunately for his direct subordinates (READ: me), his temper is most likely to be focused on rude customers and his messy business partners. Jimin honestly is the ideal boss because he has our backs and will never hesitate to help anyone out.

Late one Saturday evening, a man refused to leave the restaurant after being cut off from his bar tab. Jimin full-on squared up with him in defense of the poor server who had to break the news to the drunk patron. Luckily, the Bistro’s head of security, Jeon Jungkook, took over before Jimin actually popped off.

Jungkook, as the youngest partner, is shockingly tall and muscular. He definitely provides the intimidation needed for those types of escalating incidents. Despite his tough exterior, Jungkook is a complete softie.

I once caught Jungkook in the kitchen after close attempting to make cookies for a girl he had a crush on. I walked in to see Jungkook standing over a tray of the unidentifiable charred monstrosities and pouting in the most ridiculous way. Needless to say, I helped him bake a new batch with the oven not turned up to 500 degrees so that “they would cook faster”.

Min Yoongi had found the pair of us bickering and had just rolled his eyes and scooped a mouthful of raw cookie dough. As the head bartender, Yoongi is the absolute best at mixing drinks and the absolute worst at customer service. I swear the man gets far too much pleasure from getting people thrown out. He’s also notorious for watering down the drinks of customers he doesn’t like. He’s petty like that. I live for it.

Once, Jung Hoseok tried to take a picture of Yoongi for the restaurant’s website, and Yoongi threatened to shove a sharpened cocktail umbrella through Hoseok’s eye. I had never seen the Bistro’s head of marketing and resident sunshine flee so fast. Hoseok later ended up using an old picture of Yoongi in retaliation; rumor has it Yoongi is still plotting his revenge to this day.

Kim Taehyung often grumbles about how he’s going to be put out of a job since the restaurant naturally provides daily entertainment. As the head of entertainment and events, Taehyung helps to secure live music and special guests. He’s also the most handsome man I have ever seen - with the exception of one Kim Seokjin.

Seokjin, as head chef, is responsible for planning the seasonal menus, overseeing the kitchen staff, and preparing the more challenging dishes. He’s even taken it upon himself to be the resident comedian, which the other six partners vehemently and openly detest. Still, that backlash has not stopped him from naming each evening special with puns. His last Seokjin Special was called “Chicken Pot Bye Felicia”. It had resulted in Yoongi banning Seokjin from the restaurant for a full week. He still hasn’t dared to make another pun, but I can tell it will only be a matter of time.

Basically, Seokjin is an entirely goofy and beautiful mess of a human. Yet, I can’t stop myself from falling deeper and deeper into the trap that is loving someone outside of your league.

When I first arrived at the Bistro for my inaugural shift, I was greeted enthusiastically by Jimin, who I’d met previously in my interview. Jimin had introduced me to each of his partners - each as handsome as the last. Honestly, my eyes and nerves had been exhausted after meeting almost all of them. Then Jimin had ushered me into the kitchen.

“Hey, Jin-hyung!” Jimin had yelled over the cacophony of sizzling pans and murmured conversation. I had watched in awe as the hottest man I’ve ever seen entered my line of vision and stopped before me. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had a face that could inspire priceless works of art with full pink lips, high cheekbones, and devilish dark eyes.

“You summoned me, Jiminie?” The man had laughed in a slightly squeaky manner before he noticed my presence, “Ah, who might this be?”

I had cleared my throat in hopes that my voice wouldn’t crack under the sheer weight of this man’s attractiveness, “Hi, I’m (y/n). I’m starting today as a server.” and thrust my hand out with a shy smile.

He had blinked. Slowly, a smirk eased onto his face as he grabbed my hand. Instead of shaking it, he had brought it to his lips. “A pleasure. I’m Seokjin,” he had murmured, lips brushing against my knuckles. My cheeks had felt like they were on fire as Jimin screeched at Seokjin for harassing me.

“It’s her first day, Jin! Lay off the theatrics,” Jimin had turned to me, “Sorry about him, (y/n). He’s a desperate flirt.”

“Desperate? Me?” Seokjin gasped, “Worldwide Handsome does not do desperate.”

“Did you just refer to yourself as ‘Worldwide Handsome’?” I had gaped at his open arrogance.

Seokjin proudly had puffed up his chest, “Yes. What else could I possibly be called?”

“Well, definitely not Worldwide Humble,” My mouth had said before my brain caught up.

The room had seemed to pause before Jimin erupted in peals of laughter as Seokjin spluttered, “Yah, Jiminie, you can’t let her talk to me like that!”

Still laughing, Jimin had choked out, “(y/n), you officially have a job here until you die.”

Ever since that first encounter, Seokjin and I have established a working relationship based on banter or what Tabby refers to as ‘flirting’. I refuse to believe that ridiculous notion.

Tabby finally finishes entering her order into the kiosk and turns to me, “So, any hot plans for tonight?” Her eyebrows wiggle up and down suggestively.

“Does solo Netflix and chill count as hot plans?” I deadpan as I peer around the server station divider to covertly check on my tables. I lock eyes on Chad and his fiancé, who already seem to be arguing, and I make an executive decision to not go check how their meal is going.

“No!” Tabby’s whisper-yell commands my attention, “That definitely does not count, (y/n). Why didn’t you find someone on Tinder? I even made you that bomb-ass profile.”

I pointedly look everywhere but at her.

“You deleted the app, didn’t you,” she glares at me, arms folded, “I slaved over that profile! There were only so many tasteful cleavage shots of my best friend that I could stomach in one sitting!”

“What the fuck, Tabby! Since when do I have any—”

“Tasteful cleavage shots?” Seokjin’s elated voice practically shouts from the kitchen, “Let me at ‘em.”

His hands launch towards us through the kitchen window and make grabbing motions.

“Seokjin,” I tsk mockingly, “Are you trying to grab my tits again?”

“Again?” Tabby cries, whirling on Seokjin, who looks at us in horror.

“I wasn’t! I swear! I just wanted to see the pictures! I didn’t want to grab your boobs…” He trails off, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like ‘not any more than usual, anyway’.

“Seokjin-hyung! (y/n)!” Jimin blazes into the service station, “I’ve had it up to here with your bickering. You’re both on closing duties tonight - alone.”

“What?” I exclaim as Tabby slinks away. Traitor. “We’re just joking with each other! Right, Seokjin?”

Jimin’s gaze swings from me to Seokjin, who is suddenly suspiciously calm. My eyes narrow. A silent conversation is definitely happening without my participation.

Finally, Seokjin just shrugs with a grin, “Sounds fair to me, Jiminie! (y/n) and I will work hard all night if we have to.”

“Fair?” I choke, “All night?”

Jimin, following Tabby’s lead, scurries away as my attention is diverted by Seokjin’s idiocy. “Scared to be alone with me, (y/n)?” Seokjin’s lips break into a sly smile, “Don’t worry, I don’t bite… much.”

With that parting remark, Seokjin winks at me and disappears back into the kitchen.

“Fuck me,” I breathe out. How would I survive this?

Five hours later, the last patron has been ushered out of the restaurant with the staff right on their heels. I curse as Yoongi waltzes out the door, fanning himself with a crisp fifty-dollar bill and winking obnoxiously. “Have fun!” He cackles, locking the restaurant doors behind him.

“No, please don’t offer to stay and help,” I grumble, sweeping stray pieces of lettuce out from under a table, “I am more than happy to stay here until the ass-crack of dawn with the biggest idiot on the face of the earth.”

“The biggest, huh?” The voice chuckles right in my ear, “How did you know?”

“Goddamnit, Seokjin!” I slap a hand to my heart, “Don’t sneak up on me like that, you oaf!”

Whirling to face him, I stutter to a halt. He’s taken off his heavy chef’s coat and is now left in a tight black t-shirt that clings to his body in a manner that has to be illegal.

I swallow hard, and for a split second, I swear Seokjin’s gaze latches onto my throat.

“Is it hot in here?” I mutter distractedly, tugging at the collar of my stiff white button-down.

“Yes,” Seokjin practically purrs, “It’s scorching.”

Choosing not to acknowledge him, I spin on my heels, grabbing the full dustpan of debris I collected and head towards the back of the restaurant.

Emptying the dustpan in the trash, I walk over to the supply closet to return the broom. The restaurant floor is finished. Now, I just had to see how much of the kitchen Seokjin actually cleaned.

Pushing through the swinging doors of the kitchen, I screech to a halt as I’m faced with a complete and utter miracle.

“What in tarnation?” I gasp, taking in the pristine kitchen full of glistening stainless steel and sparkling countertops. “Kim Seokjin!” I yell, “You damn wizard! How the fuck did you clean everything this fast?”

“You could say I was motivated,” his reply sounds entirely too close. I spin to face him and gape as I notice the bouquet of red roses that he’s holding out to me.

Taking in my speechless appearance, Seokjin smiles smugly and opens his mouth to continue.

I cut him off, “Tell me those aren’t the roses from the fucking table centerpieces... I threw those in the trash, Seokjin!”

His ears turn an alarming shade of magenta, “Yah, just accept the gesture, (y/n)! This is peak romance, you know!”

“They are covered in filth, dude!” I squint, peering closer, “Is that a piece of spaghetti in there?”

Seokjin yeets the makeshift bouquet back into the garbage, “Why can’t you just appreciate my efforts?” He pouts excessively, “Don’t you like me?”

Red alert. Red alert, my mind whirs.

“Sure,” I let out a nervous laugh, “We’re friends. Of course, I like you.”

He steps towards me, “Sure, we’re friends, (y/n), but friends don’t usually want to fuck each other.”

That bitch said what now?

“Did you inhale too much Clorox?” I panic, “Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?” Thrusting three fingers in front of Seokjin’s amused face, I widen my eyes as he suddenly grabs my hand.

“Baby,” he says lowly, sending a delicious shiver down my spine, “If you keep being so adorable, I may just have to keep you.”

Well, shit, okay. “Say less,” I breathe and then immediately slam my mouth shut.

I receive a classic Seokjin grin in return for my idiocy, and my knees shake. Honestly, who the fuck allowed him to be that devastating?

Slowly, his grin slips away, and his eyes ignite with raw desire, “Tell me what you want from me, (y/n).”

My mind short circuits, automatically reverting to my default mode of sass, “Uh, peace and quiet?”

“Really?” Seokjin murmurs, stepping even closer still, “So you don’t want me to kiss you? You don’t want me to turn you over and fuck you until you scream?”

My breathing is ragged. His eyes burn with a hunger I had never seen before, and I’m crumbling.

“Answer me,” Jin demands, desperation seeped in each word, “Please.”

“Seokjin—” I gasp, dumbfounded, “Where the hell is this coming from? We’re coworkers! You’re my boss!”

His eyes flashed darkly as he moved his head closer to mine, “That’s all irrelevant, baby.”

“Irrelevant—!” I stab a finger into his firm chest, “Oh, you little shit, you can’t just say that you want to fuck me and then say that our working relationship is irrelevant! I could get fired. You could get fired!”

“That’s highly unlikely given the fact that everyone else knows my plans to ask you out right now.”

“Hold on a second,” I narrow my eyes, “Are you saying that you purposefully planned for us to stay late tonight to clean the entire goddamn restaurant just so you could ask me out? Are you fucking insane?”

“I prefer the term ‘quirky’,” he quips, “But, yeah, I may have paid everyone $50 to leave us alone for the night.”

“Well, that explains Yoongi… that shady motherfucker,” I internally make note to plot my vengeance. “Why couldn’t you have just slid in my DMs like a normal person, Seokjin?” I groan, “I would have responded to a ‘you up’ with a ‘yes, come over’.”

Seokjin whips out his cell phone. “Does this apply to right now?” he asks, typing furiously.

My phone dings with several Instagram notifications.

hughchefner: u up

hughchefner: wyd

hughchefner: date me?

(y/n): bet

Seokjin’s eyes shoot up to mine after he reads my response, “Really? You agreed to date me by saying ‘bet’ in an Instagram DM?”

“Yup,” I shrug, “No take-backs. Also, to answer your previous questions: Yes, I do want you to kiss me with your insufferable mouth, and, yes, I do want to sit on your dick. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Say less,” Seokjin echoes my earlier statement and captures my mouth with his. I wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him back with equal fervor.

“(Y/n),” he groans right as my tongue swipes teasingly against his lower lip.

His hands slid down my body, pausing only to squeeze my waist gently before settling firmly on my ass. His fingers dig in hard and I let out an embarrassingly loud moan.

“You like that, baby? You like when I’m rough?” Seokjin pulls his lips off mine and murmurs sinfully, “God, I want to devour you.”

I lift my chin up and challenge, “Do it, you won’t.”

His eyes flare, “Oh, babygirl, you were made for me.” Seokjin’s lips return to mine, moving at a slow but ravenous pace.

Still kissing me, he picks me up and places me on one of the kitchen’s stainless steel counters. His hands grab my thighs, tugging them apart to make room for him to stand between them. A harsh groan rises from the depths of his chest as our bodies align.

I hook one leg around his waist and tug him closer still. Pulling my lips away, I lean my head back as I slowly trace his muscles through his shirt. He watches me with his puffy lips parted, his breathing hard. His eyes are wild and I’m loving every second of it.

The room suddenly feels too hot. My hands dart up to shakily begin undoing the buttons of my shirt. Seokjin’s eyes follow my movements with fascination. “Let me,” he purrs and proceeds to rip my shirt from my body. Buttons scatter on the floor with sorrowful little bounces.

“You bitch,” I yank his hair, “That was my good work shirt.”

“I’ll buy you ten more,” Seokjin’s voice is rough and full of desire as he takes in my lacy white bra. Suddenly, his mouth descends to suck at my nipple through the thin lace.

“Damn, you are so fucking sexy,” he pulls his mouth away, “Can I take this off?”

I nod like a bobblehead in 60mph winds, reaching around my back with one hand to undo the clasp and then throwing my bra clear across the kitchen. It lands on top of one of the fridges and I shrug. I’d retrieve it later.

Seokjin tugs off his own shirt, revealing planes of tanned skin. I don’t hesitate to run my hands up and down the definition of his abs and watch in fascination as his muscles constrict under my touch. I run my hands lower, tracing his defined v-line.

No wonder they call it the Adonis belt, I muse, pondering if he’d let me lick it.

Huffing in impatience at my slow exploration, Seokjin returns his mouth to my nipple and sucks hard. My eyes nearly roll into the back of my head. He bites down gently and then blows on my nipple slowly. I moan at the sensation. I watch him through unfocused eyes as his hand slides down the front of my body. He reaches the button of my pants and pauses.

Seokjin pulls his mouth away from my nipple, his lips swollen and pink. “You have to say yes, baby.” His breath hits my ear, making me shiver.

I hold out my hand for a high-five and declare, “We stan a man who asks for clear consent.” Chuckling, Seokjin slaps my offered hand and then links his fingers with mine.

“Also,” I continue, looking into his eyes, “It’s a fuck yes.” I pull our linked fingers close to place a kiss on his knuckles.

“Cute,” he grins, “Now, can I take off your pants?”

“Take off yours first,” I order.

“So eager,” he laughs, making quick work of his black jeans. My mouth instantly waters at the sight of his hard cock straining to be released from the confines of his bright red Versace boxer briefs.

“Why am I not surprised that even your underwear is extra?” I mumble, flicking the button of my pants open.

Laughing, Seokjin takes over, tugging my pants down my legs. He then pushes my matching white lace panties aside and cups my pussy, applying pressure. I roll my hips into his hand.

His fingers trace lightly up and down my pussy, before one dips inside me. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he groans.

“Always,” I breathe out. Suddenly, he pulls his hand away from me. I pout. Seokjin laughs at my expression and then licks his finger.

“Jesus fuck, (y/n), you taste so sweet. Let me eat you out,” he pleads.

I smirk, saying, “I thought you’d never ask,” and then gasp as he kneels before me, grabbing my hips. Seokjin moves to tear my underwear off, and I’m quick to place my foot on his forehead to stop his approach. “I swear to god, Seokjin, if you rip these, I will get Namjoon to permanently ban Seokjin Specials.”

“You’re evil,” he grins, “I love it.” He makes a show of slowly taking my panties off before throwing them carelessly behind him. He then yanks the same leg I had used to thwart his panty-tearing plans and throws it over his shoulder before returning his fingers to my pussy. Seokjin’s thumb circles my clit while two of his fingers thrust into me at a maddening rate.

My fingers grip his hair when I finally feel his tongue licking up the juices that have started to run down my thighs.

After sucking what will probably become a massive hickey onto my left inner thigh, his tongue licks a path straight up my folds until it circles around my clit maddeningly. “Goddamnit, Seokjin, stop teasing,” my voice cracks in desperation, but my plea works. His tongue flicks at my clit lightly before his lips close over it and suck.

“Fuck,” I moan, “I think I like you eating me out more than I like eating your cooking.”

He pulls back to briefly land a light swat on my pussy and I choke on air as painful pleasure shoots through me. “Take that back,” he growls, “My cooking is second only to my handsome face.”

“God, I fucking hate you,” I drawl. The emphasis in my words portrays the exact opposite.

Seokjin sends me a shit-eating grin before his tongue returns to lick at my swollen clit, up and down, and then in a slow circle. His fingers brush open my folds just enough for him to sink his tongue into me. “O-oh,” I throw my head back, one hand moving up to pinch one of my nipples while the other latches back into Seokjin’s hair.

“I’m s-so close, baby,” my words slur as I shamelessly beg, “Don’t stop.”

He immediately pulls away.

“Oh, fuck you,” I seethe. I yank his head back by his hair until his neck is stretched in a long line. His hair is a mess, and I’ve never seen anything hotter.

“I just want to feel you come when I’m inside you, baby,” he smiles, my wetness glistening on his lips.

“Fine,” I shimmy off of the counter onto shaky legs, “Two can play at that game.”

“What?” Seokjin’s brows furrow in confusion.

It’s my turn to drop to my knees. “Oh, shit,” he curses as I tug his boxers down to reveal his hard cock. It’s silky and gorgeous, and I can’t stop staring at it. Seokjin, of course, notices. “You like my cock, babygirl? Take it. It’s yours.”

It already was, I think, as my gaze darts up to meet his.

Without breaking eye contact, I lick his reddened tip, almost moaning at his taste. “Fuck, babygirl,” Seokjin throws his head back. I smile wickedly. I could definitely get addicted to ruining this beautiful boy. “Look at me,” I command, feeling so powerful when he immediately listens.

Slowly, I suck down on his length, hollowing out my cheeks. My eyes stay on his as he groans, and I can tell he’s straining to keep from thrusting into my mouth.

“Please, baby, fuck—!” He moans as I swallow around him and then release him from my mouth with a pop. My hand darts up to grip him tightly, pumping him. Moving slowly, I suck one of his balls into my mouth, rolling my tongue around it gently. Seokjin chokes, “Fuck me.”

“We’ll get there, baby,” I tug my mouth away and grin up at him.

I suck him as far down as I can. His control snaps and he begins to thrust wildly into my mouth, panting.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” his eyes scrunch up as he chants, “I’m gonna come.”

I release him ruthlessly.

“Goddamnit,” he cries, “I knew that was coming, but it still hurts.”

“Well,” I wiggle my eyebrows at him, “If only you had a pretty little pussy ready for you to fuck… Oh, wait.”

Seokjin chuckles, “I see I wasn’t able to fuck some of the sass out of that mouth. We might have to try that again later.”

“Gladly,” I grin back at him, “You have a condom?”

Seokjin picks up his discarded jeans from the floor and digs around in the back pockets. “Aha!” He yells, hoisting up the glimmering gold foil in triumph.

I roll my eyes before snatching the condom from the idiot. Tearing the foil packaging open with my teeth, I grab Seokjin’s length and pump him a few times in preparation.

“Stop being a tease,” he mumbles, thrusting shallowly into my hand.

“Stop being so hot,” I challenge, leaning down to lick his pre-cum dripping from the reddened tip of his cock.

“Impossible,” Seokjin smirks before tugging me back up to face him.

He drops his lips to mine and sucks on my bottom lip. Pulling away slightly, he tugs at it in a stinging bite. Withdrawing his mouth from mine, he spins me around and bends me over the counter.

I feel the head of his cock running teasingly over the folds of my pussy and I gasp, “Please, baby, I need you inside me.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He thrusts into me in one sharp movement. We both gasp as he fills me, gliding in and out.

“Harder,” I moan.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “I’m trying to last over here.”

“Why? We have all night,” I pout before an idea pops into my head, and I taunt, “Wait, are you telling me you’re a one and done type of old man?”

“Oh, you’re going to regret that,” Seokjin mutters darkly.

His hard cock fills and stretches me, pleasure emanating within me from every sharp thrust of his hips.

“Your pussy is mine,” he growls, “I’ll fuck you from against the wall after this. I’ll fuck you until you can’t sass me anymore. And I’ll fuck you all night, baby, and every night after that.”

I clench around him as his dirty words wash over me. “Those are all great ideas in theory,” I gasp out, “But I really want to ride you first.”

“Oh, babygirl wants to fuck herself on my cock?” Seokjin slaps my ass before pulling out, “Well, come on.”

I stand upright and turn to see him walking towards the large island in the middle of the room. He hops onto it and lays down, placing one arm behind his head, and the other one slowly strokes his cock.

“You better get that hand off your cock before I decide to never let you into my pussy again,” I say darkly as I move towards him.

His hand flies off his dick at the speed of light, his eyes wide as they focus on me.

When I get close enough, I climb up onto the island and kneel with one leg on each side of his tapered waist. I slowly sink down so that just his tip is inside me and squeeze.

A garbled moan escapes Seokjin, his hands shooting out to grab my waist in an attempt to push me down further.

“Someone’s eager,” I whisper, bending down to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“I’ve been fucking eager since you were hired.” He smacks my ass and then groans as I reflexively sink down another inch.

“Yeah?” I question, sinking down another inch as his eyes squeeze shut, “You should have said something sooner, baby. I could have been riding you hard for months.”

Seokjin pouts, “Well, there’s no time like the present?”

“God, you’re such a dweeb,” I grin before taking him to the hilt. We both let out strangled breaths as I shift slightly, before placing a hand on his neck.

Keeping my hand there, I lift up and begin riding him hard. My body slides up and down onto his cock at a fast pace. Sweat drips down my back. Seokjin grabs my ass, his fingers gripping my skin, and pounds up into my pussy with brutal and possessive force.

“O-oh, fuck.” There’s something about riding Seokjin that just feels so good. My hips swivel and roll against his. The pleasure steadily builds, and I try to distract myself by biting down on Seokjin’s neck.

“I’m gonna come,” he moans, “Are you close?”

I pull away from his neck and sit up, arching my back to give him a deeper angle. He thrusts up into my g-spot and I gasp, “Shit, yes, I’m close. Come with me, baby.”

I clench my walls around him. Seokjin’s eyes are scrunched shut as he continues to pound into me with harsh strokes.

He shifts one hand from my ass to gently circle my aching clit, and I light up. My walls clench and pulse, locking down on Seokjin so tight that he comes, his hot seed filling the condom as he shudders.

I collapse against him and shove my face into his sweaty neck.

I can feel his laugh bubbling up from his chest before I hear it. “What’s so funny?” I ask, lips brushing his skin.

“Namjoon’s going to kill us for the number of health code violations we just committed,” his laughter causes his cock to shift within me, and I bite back a moan.

“Well,” I lift my face up from his neck to look at him, “We have nothing to lose at this point then, huh?”

I slowly lick my lips, and his eyes drop to them. The only noise left in the restaurant is our heavy breathing. “Round two in Namjoon’s office?” he suggests.

“Bet.”

a/n: this was so fun to write :) hope you all enjoyed it! happy valentine’s day!

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

[jacepens]

Hi I see that you're taking requests so if you're not too busy, I got something for you: do you remember the Assassin's Creed thing that Tyranny of King Washington game? Yeah, so a tyrant King George Washington AU but also involving Lafayette as like a French prince or something who is placed in an arranged marriage with George?? And like Lafayette is slowly goes corrupt like his husband and they're soon like this completely sexy evil power couple kinda deal?? Thank you!

Anon how dare you know my heart so well!! I recently played Assassins Creed III and the Tyranny of King Washington. I don’t know if you know the story behind it, because this is definitely based off the game but hooo boy this is incredible. Thank you so so much for giving me an excuse to rant about this. Because oh my god I adored playing Tyranny. (And making fun of King Washington.) 

Real quick: for those who don’t know the game (which might also be you anon, I don't know) the reason that in the Tyranny of King Washington, Washington goes absolutely insane with power, is because he’s got an Apple of Eden which is an Assassin’s Creed thing that’s basically an old godly relic that is extremely manipulative and powerful. But anyway, here is your little story that I had way too much fun with :)

EDIT: I just added a few morbid details to some of the things Lafayette asked for because I felt they were quite important to see. So you know, if you read this before you saw those details, I’d recommend you at least glance at it again;). EDIT 2: ok ok sorry to be so indecisive but there is now just a dash more sexy at the very end.

Spoiled Rotten to the Core

A burst of golden light was all it took to bring men to their knees. Was all it took to conjure visions, control minds, bring entire countries to their knees.

King Washington. The name alone made anger rise hot in his chest, made him remember and grieve all the things that name stole from him. 

Being Prince of France in a war-shaken world made everything he’d ever dealt with before feel like nothing. 

No one was powerful enough to stop him. Hundreds, thousands, tried and they all ended up in the same place. Six feet underground—if they were lucky, that is. He’d read it was quite common for decaying bodies to be left strewn about the American countryside with no respect for life or death. It was despicable.

But then, King Washington made Lafayette an offer he would be a fool to refuse.

Famine, war, destruction, plague—it all weighed heavy on Lafayette’s mind. He had done everything he could to secure his country alongside his father, the King. They were one of the few countries still standing that had not fallen to the plague of America, and they were one of the world’s last beacons of hope.

King Washington, who seemed to live on another plane of existence entirely, descended upon their country with fury and destruction in his eye. 

Lafayette hunkered down, sobbing and waiting for the worst to be over knowing that they were done—they were finished! 

Miraculously, they were still standing at days end. 

And then King Washington promised his country could continue to thrive and be sovereign and independent from America—all he had to do was marry him. 

Before Lafayette was able to make the choice for himself, his father was already throwing him on a boat and carting him off to the capital of Washington’s new world. New York City.

Washington’s palace was a grand threat looming over the shore. And Lafayette’s heart was caught in his throat. 

When the boat docked, the area became flooded with eager people, so tightly packed together nothing could break through.

Lafayette was paraded through the city like a prize. Their new King! They cried, weeping tears of joy, but Lafayette wondered if those tears were not of joy but of sorrow. 

Lafayette was granted permission inside that grand structure they called the palace with a blindfold over his eyes. It was yanked off once he was inside and he was allowed to gawp at the sheer opulence and magnificence of the interior. The exterior may have looked like a threatening symbol, but inside? Why it made Lafayette’s heart soar in a very particular way. A way that his heart craved to feel again.

Meeting King Washington was a strange experience. Just like the feeling he got in the palace, he felt the same way about Washington. Cool, stoic, and wearing decadent clothes only worthy of a King.

He gripped his scepter that brimmed with power, and Lafayette was drawn towards it. He craved that gentle golden light that King Washington possessed, craved the power he gained. Worst of all, he craved Washington. 

When he gripped his chin and stared into his eyes, as if he was inspecting a piece of fine china, Lafayette felt an unfamiliar sensation shudder through him. Would he disappoint? Washington left without a single word being said, and Lafayette felt traitorously like he wanted to scream and demand he come back that instant. 

He was laid to rest in the comfiest of beds and surrounded by the hundreds of beautiful things that had caught King Washington’s interest over his years as ruler. 

Was that all Lafayette was to him? He wondered with growing sickness. A beautiful Prince that happened to gain his interest? Interest already so quickly moved on. 

Their wedding was lavish and a display of pure opulence. Lafayette was gifted a grand new ensemble to get married in, and dozens of new outfits to show his station as King. King Lafayette. 

A crown was placed upon his head and the crowd chanted his name, thousands of people from below. Lafayette was overcome with adoration for the people below, and the way he understood he could now control them.

He laid in bed with Washington that night, unused to seeing him in such an informal air. The only thing exchanged was a few kisses before Washington suddenly screamed and shouted that he needed to leave at once. He saw that possessive glimmer in his eye, all for that damn scepter, and Lafayette left him to go back to his own room.

He was disappointed to say the least.

As months with Washington wore on, Lafayette understood more and more that he really was there to serve as some sort of pretty pet. But one that Washington readily spoiled.

All it took was Lafayette pressing a few kisses to his lips, and whatever he wished for was his.

He wished for many things as the boredom grew. He wished for paintings and artifacts from across the world, new animals to be displayed in the zoo, and even a little poodle to try and take the loneliness away. As his boredom and curiosity grew, he began demanding more unique experiences. What possessed him to do so, he wasn’t sure. When he asked George for a traitor to slaughter, so he could revel in the sight of their sickly blood slowly draining out them by Lafayette’s almighty sword. When he asked, begged, pleaded if he might throw them in the tigers den just to see what might happen. The angry thought burned in his heart—it was what traitors to King Washington deserved.

Until it dawned on him heavily one day that there was only one thing in the entire world that could make him happy. Two things, perhaps. 

The power, and the one who wielded it.

He smiled as he entered the throne room to see King Washington, quickly turned to look at him, a little smirk dazzling his face. Lafayette quickly set himself down in Washington's lap, as he knew he so enjoyed, and quietly pressed kisses to his cheek and down his neck.

It was strange, the way he enjoyed him. They hardly ever exchanged a word together and yet here Lafayette was, working to earn his affections. His arm encircled around his waist and Lafayette sighed and shifted closer. 

“You want something else, don’t you?” Washington purred, suddenly bringing his lips to Lafayette’s neck.

He let out a gasp, “Only your affections, my highness.”

“Ah, but you earned that long ago.”

“Did I really?” Lafayette giggled, pressing his nose to Washington’s, “Because it’s my understanding that husbands who love each other are supposed to share.”

Washington roared, suddenly shoving Lafayette back, but Lafayette held firm to his throne. “You dare.” He hissed, unmistakable anger coursing through him.

“Don’t you see it, my highness?” Lafayette dropped to his knees before him, “you chose me for a reason. Two is better than one, don’t you agree?” He hummed, dragging his palms and digging his fingernails up Washington’s thighs. He continued to fume above him, but Lafayette could practically hear that resolve chipping away, could hear a faint humming his ears. “Ah, do you hear it? Bring it out, show me that golden apple and it will show you just how much you need me.” He whined.

He watched with anticipation, could see it like a shivering line around Washington as he reached and pulled the apple from it’s scepter. Lafayette sat up, trying to press forward, his heart hammering loudly, seconds away from everything he could ever dream of—. 

He began weeping as Washington pressed it into his palm, tears rolling down his cheeks as his eyes were opened to the knowledge of the universe. He saw strange men with godly powers crushed by this apple, he witnessed entire galaxies being birthed just with the tap of a finger, he saw the way into every person’s heart, he felt every weakness suddenly overwhelm and consume him before he could begin to breath fresh air again. 

King Washington took the apple from his hand, and brought him up into his lap again. Lafayette grinned, a sickly dark and previously unknown grin to his face. His fingertips brimmed with power that he could feel rushing through his veins. He saw the way to destruction, a clear path ahead of him with Washington at his side. 

“You are beautiful, you know.” He heard Washington growl in his ear, breath hot.

Lafayette hummed and then leered, mind overflowing with new ideas. “Then allow your beautiful King to show you his gratitude for granting him such a gift.” He purred, sliding back down to his knees.

This world was not yet the last they would conquer. 

[vanquishedvaliant]

Critique of Fairy Gone’s final episode

Been stewing on it for a few days, but for a show that I've enjoyed so thoroughly, it's hard to accept how much the ending of Fairy Gone let me down.

It's not a resolutely terrible ending, certainly not the worst I've seen in an anime this year, and at a surface level it seems mostly passable, but thinking about it more deeply yields a number of distressing implications that point to- if not a betrayal of it's own themes and ideals, is a deeply depressing answer to them. 

And the worst part is that there is nothing that need by changed beyond the very last episode itself to improve it. All the pieces were in place, but I feel they were played just slightly the wrong ways, and ends up saying several very unfortunate things.

Spoilers below, and a long essay of comprehensive critique.

Cutting straight to the heart of it; Ver's death was cheap and cruel drama for last minute resolution, and I believe that it hurts the story far more than what little was gained from it. So why did Ver have to die, exactly? Especially when her counterpart Wolfran was allowed to live?

She claims that she must atone for her sins, but what precisely are those sins? Veronica was at no point affiliated with the Eins order, was very pointedly foiled in her attempts to commit terrorism and assassination, and was even implicitly forgiven by the target of her vengeance not once, but on repeated occasions. 

Her ultimate crimes amount to little, and more so when compared to Wolfran, who has to this point served an apocalypse cult and terrorist sect and repeatedly gotten away with the harming of innocents and furthering the plans of those who would do further harm. But he gets off with a scratch, forced to keep on living and atone with life instead.

Furthermore, the attack that lead to Ver's impalement and eventualy demise is incredibly dubious, and frankly, offensive when immediately followed by Free's *identical* maneuver that went unpunished. There were no differences between these two attacks at all; they both used their fairies to boost themselves towards the Divine Beast's head, and struck out with a sword. It is endlessly rude of the show to favour Free in this for seemingly no reason other than to ensure his participation in the final boss fight, but even then, there are numerous ways they could have shown this without *perfectly mirroring* the very actions that got Ver killed.

So I've covered the why and the how, but what about what Ver's death means? From the show's perspective, we're told it means she's giving her all to sacrifice herself for Marlya's sake in some grand gesture of love. But this argument holds very little water when examined closely. The two had resolved to take on the fight together no less than 4 times over the previous two episodes, and Ver taking it all on herself is simply contrary to that. HEr reckless behaviour is hardly out of character, but it shows an almost oblivious disregard for the resolution and reconciliation the two faced in the incredibly heartwarming and poignant reunion they had earlier.

Furthermore, Ver's sacrifice; and Sacrifice is what it is, plays into the previously established themes of the Blessed Child and the Cursed Child that Marlya and Ver were designated as and well developed throughout the course of the story. While one might rightly point to this being capitalized on, the message that this choice sends is incredibly dark and depressing. 

We're shown that even though these two managed to reconcile and meet again after years, Ver is still doomed to die for her cause, and Marlya is still doomed to have all those that she loves die. It almost proves the rule that Maryla's care for others puts them at risk. We've never been shown comprehensive proof that this idea is truly a delusion- in a world with fairies and magic, and the two of them being from a village of people specially attuned to them, it has always been treated as an entirely *plausible* fear that she has had to force herself to overcome.

From a broad perspective, it means that Veronica's sins and mistakes are worth her dying for absolution, while Wolfran's do not warrant his death. It means that while Ver is punished for attempting to strike at God, Free is rewarded. This pattern of the principal male characters being favoured over the main female characters is... Unfortunate, to say the least.

Not to mention the all-but-explicitly blistering text of Ver and Marlya's love for each other, Ver's death and Marlya's following sadness are simply one more of an endless field of the graves of women loving women that media has continued to dug for decades, insistenting that a tragically unfulfilled love is the only outcome.

And what comes from Ver's death, physically? Her fairy joins with Marlya's, powering her up and allowing her to bring the end to the conflict. Firstly, the plan was described as feasible with Ver's fairy alone, so the twin powerup seemed like unnecessary flash, but let's accept the fancy fusion for what it is, and still ask;

Why is Ver's death necessary for this? Would it not have sufficed for the two of them to join forces together, and with their newfound connection and communication been able to join their powers? Is there not more to gain emotionally from the two of them affirming their bond to each other rather than having it be cruelly ripped apart by fate once more?

None of this precludes Free from participating, or even Wolfran. Hell, it would have been much more exciting to see all 4 of them team up together to take it down. You can still highlight Free and Marlya's comraderie by having them support each other, while also celebrating each of their connections to their counterparts.

But this isn't what we got.

We get two men who endured this apocalyptic conflict literally no worse for wear, and arguably each better than they started. One woman punished for her already forgiven sins, doomed to be sacrificed for the sake of others and forced to die to prove her love, and one woman who was taught that even her longest and truest relationships will be forcibly stripped from her, and that all she can do is remember them in her heart, with the looming threat that it will continue to happen over and over.

And so Free and Marlya set off on a motorcycle trip to find the answers to the Fairy's mystery, Wolfran settles down in his old town, and Ver was so utterly destroyed from one simple mistake that her grave site is merely a formality.

This is strange, and so easily improved. Free was never much connected with the fairies; his story was always about the echoes of the war he was forced to fight. Why would he not stay and aid in the reparations? Why would he not help his friend adjust to life at home, in the way he couldn't the first time?

Why did Ver and Marlya not go together on that motorcycle trip to learn the truth of their Sunan inheritance, finally together and free to go where they wished? To show Marlya that those that cared to her will not always leave her, and to show Ver that there is good in the world worth living for?

Fairy Gone has been... an enjoyable, thought provoking experience all the way through. It's been an amazing show that I've been excited to watch more of every week... and it's because I loved it so much that Fairy Gone's final episode hurt me so much; both personally as a wlw, and intellectually as a fan of complex narratives. It was so very close, and it could have so easily been better.  

And I really, really believe it should have been. We deserved more.

[phoenix-downer]

Royalty AU

For SoKai Week Day 4 - AU Day

So a month or so ago I shared an excerpt from a Royalty AU I’m working on. This is the prologue and first chapter from that AU, which includes the excerpt, but I’m excited to finally be able to share it with you all! I’m hoping to eventually post the whole thing, but for now, enjoy!

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Prologue

Once upon a time, the many worlds were one great World. The people could move freely between one realm and the next, coming and going as they pleased. But then a great catastrophe split them apart and made the one World the many worlds. The truth was all but lost, living on only in legend and fairytale. All until a brave explorer from Radiant Garden journeyed into the stars to seek his fortune and found another world instead.

New pathways were opened; new means of travel invented. And before long, the worlds were connected once more, and the explorer declared ruler over all. He appointed ruling families over each of the worlds to ensure the subjects of his kingdom were treated fairly and justly.

He was loved by all, and the day of his passing proved to be a time of great mourning. But his daughter proved to be a worthy successor to his name, and so was her son, until a long dynasty of kings and queens had ruled over the worlds, their family name synonymous with greatness and Radiant Garden, their home world, their flourishing capital.

Along with this dynasty came cultural changes and new traditions. Before long it was customary for the heir of the ruling family to choose a spouse from among the ruling families of the other worlds. In this way the family line continued on, bringing in people from many different worlds under the explorer’s great name.

And so as soon as the newest heir to the throne was born, a little princess named Kairi, the other ruling families began their jostling and competing anew for favor from the royal family in the hopes that their young sons would someday join her side as husband and king.

One such family had an heir only a year older than the princess. His name was Riku, and from a young age the princess took a liking to him and to his bodyguard. Even though Sora was a year younger than Riku, his family had served Destiny Island’s royal family for generations as their knights and protectors, so it was only natural that the young Sora would carry on his parent’s legacy and protect Riku. The two were inseparable, and on Riku’s many visits to Radiant Garden to see the princess, Sora was always by the prince’s side.

As the years passed and the three children grew older, an air of resignation settled over the other worlds. Riku’s place at Kairi’s side seemed all but guaranteed. He and Sora were with her every moment their families could spare them, and whispers and rumors of a royal marriage flitted from one eager ear to the next.

But then tragedy such as the worlds had not known since their sundering struck. Strange creatures of darkness emerged from the shadows to steal the hearts of the people and then the hearts of the worlds. And one fateful night, they came to Destiny Islands.

Prince Riku fought bravely with Sora by his side to defend their homeland, but the creatures were powerful indeed.  In the end, not even Riku’s Keyblade, the prized weapon of Destiny Island’s ruling family, was enough to defeat the darkness. And so the world was engulfed, and its people lost along with it.

Princess Kairi was fourteen years old, only four years away from being able to marry. Girls her age were encouraged to celebrate their youth and indulge their fancies before settling down into the responsibilities of marriage and adult life, but Kairi wanted no part in such frivolities.

Her usual cheerful manner mellowed into something more serious, more somber, and she wore tomboyish clothes and insisted on learning how to wield the royal family’s Keyblade. It reacted to the strength of her heart, changing shape and design till it matched her tastes, proving she was the true heir to its power.

“No more worlds will fall to darkness,” she vowed, and the deep heaviness in her eyes, which once had been full of life and light, had everyone whispering.

“See how she loved Prince Riku!” they said to each other. “See how she mourns his loss!”

Of the lost prince’s knight not much was said at all, for the people cared little about those who had no royal blood running through their veins.

Soon the whispers turned to speculation, because now that the obvious choice for the princess’s hand was no longer a contester, hopes long dormant for the futures of young sons reawakened, and the jostling began again.

The princess would have no part of it. Any time the subject of marriage was broached, she was either silent or insisted she would not marry. This brought her parents great grief, as without a husband there would be no heir, and without an heir, no claim to the throne, for she was their only child. And so the months turned into a year, and then into two years, and then three, and before long her eighteenth birthday was at hand.

“The future of the kingdom is at stake!” her father the king cried in a fit of exasperation one evening over dinner. “You must marry!”

“I won’t!” Kairi slathered her dinner rolls with enough butter to make her mother scowl. “I don’t need a husband. I can rule just fine without one.” She stuffed the rolls in her mouth and glared at her father, violet eyes flashing and temper flaring.

“Your ability to rule is not what is in question, dear,” her mother said. “Our concerns lie with what happens after you leave this world and join our ancestors in the land of Kingdom Hearts.”

“I have cousins,” she said, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “One of them or their children or their children’s children can rule after me.”

“Isn’t there anyone at all who holds your interest?” her father pleaded, gripping the edge of the table. “What about that fellow you met the other day, Prince Hans was it—”

Kairi set her glass down with so much force its contents nearly splashed out. “No. Absolutely not.”

“But surely there’s someone who suits you?” her mother asked.

“There was,” Kairi corrected. “There was someone who would have suited me just fine, but he’s gone now.” A wistful look entered her eyes, and she rested her chin on her hand and sighed.

“Prince Riku?” her mother asked, but Kairi was silent.

“Kairi,” her father said, more gently this time, “we know how you feel about the loss of Riku, but you are young. You can find love again.”

“But I don’t want to,” she said. “All of the princes I’ve met weren’t right for me at all. And I don’t think I was right for them, either.”

“Then we’ll just have to keep searching,” her father said.

“Kairi, what if we held a ball for your birthday and invited the princes from every world to attend?” her mother asked. It hadn’t escaped her notice how much her daughter liked to dance. “That way you have a chance to meet them in a less formal setting.”

Kairi played with a strand of her red hair. “I do like dancing,” she said slowly.

“And there won’t be any pressure,” her mother quickly said. “This is just so you can meet more eligible boys.”

Kairi chewed her lip. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to meet more people. At the very least, it’ll be good for figuring out who’s best suited for fighting.” She giggled. “Maybe I can challenge some of them to a joust, even.”

Her father groaned, because ever since Destiny Islands had fallen, it was battle this, strategy that. Not even a ball for her birthday was enough to get her mind off the conflict and the creatures of darkness that had claimed her friends. No other worlds had fallen to darkness since then, but the threat loomed over everyone and tragedy had only been prevented through painstaking measures.

“Then is it decided?” her mother asked, and she nodded.

How little any of them knew just how much their lives were about to change.

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Chapter 1 - The Masquerade Ball

“A fox mask? Very clever, dear,” Kairi’s mother said as she took her own mask, an elegant swan with luxurious feathers, off the dressing table and put it on. “It suits you well.”

Kairi grinned and lifted her mask up, the faux fur tickling her cheeks. “I don’t want anyone to be able to recognize me until the right moment.”

“And a masquerade is just the right thing for that. Maybe you’ll get to know some of these princes as yourself instead of as the princess of our lands.”

“That’s the idea,” Kairi said, putting the mask back on and readjusting it over her hair. She’d suggested the ball be a masquerade, and thankfully her mother had agreed.

The truth was, she missed the easy intimacy she’d shared with Sora and Riku, even coming up on four years since their loss. If just one other guy would treat her, not like royalty, but like Kairi, then maybe, just maybe, she might—

The sharp pang in her chest told her no. But it was too late to cancel the ball now; the guests would be arriving soon. The early birds probably had already. Kairi tugged at the poofy skirt of her dress and sighed. It was just the right shade of pink that looked good with red hair, but it was stifling compared to her battle clothes.

She summoned her Keyblade. It was a good match for the dress, elegant and graceful with its colorful flowers and ocean waves. Her eyes lingered on the little paopu charm hanging on its keychain, another reminder of what she’d lost.

Paopu fruit wasn’t native to Radiant Garden. But it was to Destiny Islands, and all the advisors in her father’s court had raised their eyebrows when they’d first seen it. For a Keyblade reflected its bearer’s heart, and something about Destiny Islands was dear to hers, they’d all said.

Not something, someone, but there was no use telling them that. They thought her Keyblade would change once enough time had passed, but it hadn’t. It still looked the same as the very first time she’d summoned it.

“Kairi, dear? Is everything alright?” her mother asked, breaking her out of her reverie.

“Yes,” she said, hastily letting her Keyblade disappear. She let her mother fuss over her just a little bit longer, and then it was time to go greet the guests.

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“Would you like to dance again?” asked Kairi’s… very enthusiastic dance partner. He wore a weasel mask and had curly blond hair that popped out all over the edges. Going by his size, tone, and manner, he couldn’t be older than fourteen. He was very sweet, but Kairi was about ready to duck into a side room for a break. She made a big show of panting and fanning herself to make it seem like she was exhausted so as to spare his feelings.

“Sorry, but I think I’ll sit this one out.” She nodded towards the refreshments table halfway across the ballroom. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll—”

“I can go get something for you!” he said, and with that he was off. Kairi groaned. She didn’t know how much more of this she could take. She’d lost count of the number of partners she’d danced with after the tenth guy. Even with her mask on it seemed like half the guests had already figured out who she was.

“Would it be rude to hide?” she wondered aloud to herself as she stared after the boy.

“Not if you have a partner in crime,” came a deep voice in response. Kairi turned to face the newcomer, because her mask made it nearly impossible to use her peripheral vision.

He was taller than Weasel Boy and wore a yellow leopard mask and well-fitted suit. His hair was slicked back, and Kairi was drawn to his smile. It was contagious, and she couldn’t help but return it.

“And you are?” she asked, tugging at a strand of hair that had escaped from her disguise.

He pointed at his mask. “A leopard. I know, I know, it looks like a cheetah, but—”

“Does not.” She took a step closer and stood on her tiptoes so she could poke one of the spots. “See? They’re too big to be a cheetah’s. Clearly a leopard.”

His smile grew even wider. “At least someone around here has the right idea.”

Kairi grinned. Part of the reason she’d wanted a masquerade in the first place was because she liked animals so much.

“And who do you think I am?” she asked. A test, to see how he would answer, to see if he was just like all the others.

He was silent for a moment. “A fox,” he finally answered. “Though if it’s okay with you, I think I’ll call you Miss Fox.” He looked in the direction of the refreshments table. “Looks like Mr. Weasel will be making his grand return soon. If you’re still wanting to hide, now would be a good time to escape.”

“Well, Mr. Leopard, take me away,” she said, giggling as she offered her hand. He took it, and off they went, winding through the crowd with ease and getting lost amongst the throng of masks and colorful costumes. His grip was strong, the skin on his hands rough and calloused. Probably from holding a weapon – perhaps this mysterious stranger was a warrior of some kind.

He led them away from everyone else and into the garden outside. The evening breeze was a welcome relief from the stuffiness of her dress and mask, and she sat down on the smooth marble of the fountain. A sculpture of one of her ancestors held a koi that spat a steady stream of water into its basin, and Kairi dipped her hand into the cool liquid.

“Now that we’re away from prying eyes…. Who are you, really?” she asked, running her fingers through the water. “I feel like I’ve met you before.”

“Maybe you have, princess,” he said softly.

Drat. So he did know who she was. Still, it was hard to ignore the way her heart had sped up at the change in his voice.

“Are you a prince?” she asked.

“I’m a leopard,” he said as he examined the nearby rosebushes, searching for something.

Kairi chewed her lip. His tone made it clear he didn’t wish to discuss the matter any further, but she really did want to know who he was. It was only fair, since he knew her identity.

“How do you know who I am?” she asked as he turned his attention to the next flowerbed.

“The mask doesn’t hide your hair.”

Kairi sighed. She should have worn a veil or hood if she’d really wanted her identity to stay a secret. “What, is my hair color famous now?” she asked. Red hair wasn’t that unusual, even it was a trademark of the royal family.

He paused, bent over a group of snapdragons. “Your beauty is spoken of throughout the worlds, yes.”

“Is it really?” This was news to her. Maybe that explained the increase in suitors lately.

“Yes. And they say you grow prettier every day,” he said.

“What else do they say about me?” she asked, trying to keep her voice casual as she flicked water onto the koi statue.

He straightened and turned to her. “That you’re becoming a great warrior. That you’re shaping up to be a worthy successor of your father. And… that you refuse to marry despite your parents’ wishes.”

She thought she saw his lips twitch at that, but then he turned away and resumed his search.

“Well, the last one is certainly true,” she muttered, her hand going to her necklace and fiddling with it. “This whole ball is a ploy by my parents to find me a husband.”

“What, you don’t want to get married?” His tone was inquisitive, almost disbelieving.

She sighed. “Not to any of the princes they have in mind, no. None of them suit me, and I’m not right for them at all, either.”

She thought of the latest meeting with Prince Hans. Nope, not her type. Not her type at all.

“So you aren’t against marriage, just against marrying the wrong person,” he said, running his fingers across the velvety leaf of a Lamb’s Ear before turning his attention to the next group of flowers.

“Exactly,” Kairi said. Why could this stranger understand when her own parents couldn’t?

“Was there ever… was there ever a right person?” he asked.

She was taken aback by the boldness of his question. He had no right to know such things, and yet… she found herself compelled to open up to him.

“Yes. But he’s… he’s gone.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice was far heavier than she was expecting it to be.

“It happened several years ago,” she said, as if that somehow lessened the pain. Everyone expected the wound to have healed, but no matter how much time had passed, she still couldn’t get over his loss.

“And yet your voice betrays you, princess,” he said, his voice low. “There were rumors, you know. Rumors about a prince—”

“He wasn’t a prince,” she said. Why did everyone always think it was Riku? It was true, Riku was her friend, but he was like a brother to her. And yet everyone always thought he was the one she—

“He wasn’t?” the stranger asked, his voice slow and deliberate with just a touch of surprise.

“No. His friend was. He was training to be a knight.”

“A knight?” he asked, his voice going up a few pitches.

“Do you have something against knights?” Kairi asked, raising her eyebrow. Too bad he couldn’t see it through her mask. It was true, the other royals tended to be snobby about class, but… for whatever reason, she’d hoped for better from him.

“No, it’s just that I—” He paused and cleared his throat. “I thought the royal family only allows its heirs to marry members of other ruling families.”

She shrugged. “It does, but I don’t care. As soon as I’m queen, I’m changing the rules.”

“You haven’t given up hope, then,” he said. “You think he’s still alive.”

Kairi’s hand went to her heart. “Yes. Because… because I can… oh, forget it,” she said, her cheeks flushing. She was grateful the mask was hiding her face right now.

He smiled sadly and held out a purple flower, plucked right from the garden around them.

“You should listen to your heart, Kairi. It’s never lead you wrong before, and it sure hasn’t now.”

An aster. Her favorite flower. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. The deep voice, the slicked back hair, the disguise concealing his face—she hadn’t realized. She hadn’t known. But the moment he’d said her name—

Heart pounding, fingers trembling, she stood and reached for his mask. He lowered his head so she could more easily inch it off his face. First his nose was visible, then his cheeks. His features were more angular now, the plumpness of childhood almost completely gone, but as soon as she saw his eyes, she knew. They were as beautiful as ever, no, maybe even more beautiful – blue as the sky, but hinting at a depth of experience and wisdom that hadn’t been in them before.

He’d changed in their years apart. But his smile – well, that would always be the same. She smiled back and touched his face. His skin was dry and rough, like he’d spent hours and hours outside in the wind.

“You’re alive,” she said softly. “You’re really here. This isn’t a dream.”

He closed his eyes and melted into her touch. Her fingers traced a path across his cheek, and he took a deep breath and sighed. She found a small scar that hadn’t been there before, a little dent on his forehead. Frowning, she ran her thumb across it, wondering how it had happened.

“All this time, I believed you were alive,” she said. “And yet— I wouldn’t listen to my own heart. Everyone told me you were dead, and I—”

His eyes opened. “Who told you to doubt yourself?” he asked, catching her hand and putting his over it, the ridges of his fingertips brushing over her own. “Who told you to doubt me?”

“I… I was afraid—”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. I’ll always come back to you, Kairi. I promise.”

She fought back the tears. She’d dreamed of this moment, but she’d never thought it would actually come true.

He reached for her mask and gently tugged it off, a look of awe and then wonder filling his eyes. “The rumors were true,” he said, almost reverently. He ran his hand through her hair, brushing the parts that had gotten tousled out of her eyes.

The mask was no longer there to hide her face from him. What did he see in it? Were her feelings on full display?

She had the sudden urge to tousle his hair. It didn’t seem right for it to be slicked back like that. So she did, running her fingers through it in a way she only could have imagined before. His hair was softer than she thought it would be, its strands smooth and silky. As each spike returned to its rightful place, he looked less like a stranger and more like the Sora she knew.

“Sora, what happened?” she asked presently. Happy as she was to have him back, she still wanted to know the reason for his long absence.

“There’s a lot I have to tell you, but now’s not the time,” he said, grabbing her hand. “We need to find Riku first.”

“Riku’s alive?” she asked as he led her past flowering shrubs and rose bushes and back towards the castle. She’d hoped, once she’d found out about Sora—

“Yes. He’s here, but—”

“Princess!” a thundering voice called as they reached the outskirts of the party. A dozen heads turned Kairi’s way, and she ducked behind Sora and sighed.

“Drat, I’ve been spotted,” she muttered.

“Sorry, I should have let you put your mask back on first.”

Well, they had two options: they could try to run away, or they could face things head on.

Kairi was tired of running. She was tired of hiding. So she clung to Sora’s hand and dragged him through the gathering throng and back inside the ballroom instead.

“Kairi, what are you—”

“Trust me,” she commanded, and he didn’t say anything. Which meant they could hear the whispering and murmuring that much more clearly as she parted the crowds with her mere presence. Fancy ball clothes or not, she was still heir to the throne, and the people knew it.

“Who is he?”

“I’ve never seen him before.”

“Is he a prince?”

“I don’t think so. He doesn’t look like royalty.”

“Why is the princess with him?”

“She shouldn’t mingle with commoners.”

“Are they promised to each other?”

“She has good taste if they are. He’s handsome.”

“If she weren’t dragging him along like a drowned rat, I’d make a move myself.”

“Why him though?”

“Well, even our princess has needs.”

Kairi shot the gossiper a glare. “You will not speak about me or my fiancé that way.”

That got him to shut up. “My apologies, princess.”

“Kairi, w-what?” Sora sputtered. She turned to look at him, and his eyes were wide.

“I told you. Once I’m queen, I’m changing the law. It won’t matter. Nothing will stop us from being together.” She resumed their march to her parents.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, tugging back. “You can’t just—”

“Oh yes I can. We’re engaged, got it?”

“But I didn’t even propose!”

“Well, I just did. Who says we have to do things the old-fashioned way?”

He stopped again, and that forced her to stop, too. “But I just got back. Don’t you think this is a little fast? You don’t even know where I’ve been or what I’ve been doing—”

“None of that matters. All I care about is that you’re here.”

He squeezed her hand. “Kairi, please. We have to talk.”

She hesitated. The way he was looking at her right now, he must be very serious about this, and Sora had been so rarely serious in their happy childhood days spent together that she knew this must be important.

But before she could offer to take him somewhere private, her parents spotted them from the top of the grand staircase. At some point they had taken off their masks, maybe because enough people had figured out who they were anyway. Her father’s mouth had dropped open, and her mother looked as if she’d just seen a ghost.

“Sora? Is that really you?” she called down.

Sora’s face broke into a grin. “It sure is, Your Majesty,” he said, letting go of Kairi’s hand so he could bow. “Knight and Personal Guardian of His Royal Highness, Prince Riku, reporting for duty.”

Well, it was now or never. Kairi grabbed a hold of his hand and led him up the plush red velvet stairs.

“Is Prince Riku with you?” her father called.

Sora glanced around and frowned as he and Kairi continued their ascent. “He is, but he must be, er, a little busy at the moment—”

Her mother pulled a lacey handkerchief out and dabbed her eyes with it. “Oh thank goodness! Both you and Riku safe! But how?”

“It’s a long story, Your Majesties. We ended up in this place called Traverse Town, a haven for people whose worlds have been lost to darkness, and then—”

Her father waved his hands as they reached the top of the staircase. “Well, never mind about all that. We can discuss it later. Kairi, this is great news, don’t you think? You and Riku can marry now, just like you always wanted!”

Sora coughed and shifted next to her, and Kairi cleared her throat.

“Actually, father, the man I want to marry is before you now.”

Multiple emotions warred across her father’s face at this. Her mother, on the other hand, didn’t seem terribly surprised.

“Sora?” he asked incredulously. “He’s not even a knight yet, let alone royalty!”

Sora scratched his cheek. “About that, Your Majesty, Riku did knight me, otherwise I wouldn’t have used the title for myself. I passed all the tests, and—”

“No. I forbid it!” her father cried. “You must marry a man from one of the ruling families! That is the law and it cannot be changed!”

Kairi glared at him. “I don’t care what the law says. I’m going to marry Sora!”

Her father’s face turned red at her outburst. “Enough! You will not marry a commoner, and that is that!”

“Sora’s not a commoner, he’s a knight! Besides, that law is old and stupid and I don’t care what it says! If you won’t let me marry Sora, then I won’t marry anyone at all!”

The ballroom, which had been deathly quiet in the wake of her argument with her father, let out a collective gasp.

She turned and looked at them all. “You heard me right. There is one man in all the worlds it would please me to marry.” She took Sora’s hand in hers and smiled at him. “Sora will be my husband, if he’ll have me.”

Sora’s hand was sweaty, and he took a deep breath and swallowed. “I—”

Her father interrupted him before he could answer, a vein bulging in his forehead. “If you accept my daughter’s proposal, then she will have to give up the throne! Think about her future, Sora!”

Her mother put her hand on his shoulder. “Dear, isn’t it best if we—”

“Fine!” Kairi said, sick of all of this. Sick of the nagging. Sick of being told she couldn’t marry who she wanted. Sick of being told she had to marry some man she didn’t love, all for the sake of keeping up appearances. “I’m gonna marry Sora, and no one can stop me! I’ll… I’ll give up the crown if I have to! At least this way I’ll be happy! At least this way I’ll get to be with a man that I—”

Her father held up his hand. “Enough. We will discuss this more in private.”

Before he could continue what he was about to say, the room went dark. Kairi whipped her head around to see what the disturbance was.

There, in the center of the ballroom, surrounded by green smoke, was a tall, elegant woman dressed in black and purple robes and wielding a staff. A large raven was perched on her shoulder, and as a smile curved across her lips, a sick feeling settled over Kairi’s stomach.

“My oh my, what have we here?” she said at last, her voice smooth as silk. “A royal ball for a royal princess?”

Kairi gripped Sora’s hand tighter. The way the woman’s icy gaze had fixated on her made her stomach flip. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed her father whispering to one of the guards and her mother gesture for another one to come over.

The woman chuckled as she surveyed the people frozen around her, and her laughter was icy, chilling. “Look at everyone here tonight! All the nobles from all the lands! Truly the event of the year!” She looked at Kairi again, and Kairi’s blood ran cold.

“Who are you?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady despite her racing heart.

“My name is Maleficent, Your Royal Highness, and it’s a shame I wasn’t invited to attend.”

[the-penandpaper]

Marc Lamont Hill’s Full Speech for a Free Palestine

November 28, 2018 @ the UN. The next day he was fired from CNN

Full video

Mr Secretary- General, chairman, ambassadors and your excellencies.

Good afternoon. It is with great honor and humility that I accept the opportunity to speak before you as a scholar, as an activist and as a citizen, I am profoundly interested in the plight of the Palestinian people. As well as the broader ethical, moral, and political implications of their struggle for freedom and justice as well as equality. As such this annual convening represents a critical intervention, it also represents a site of possibility. On the other hand, it shows considerable irony. As well know this year marks the 70th anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. This declaration is produced out of the rubble and contradictions of  World War 2 and it was intended to offer a clear ethical and moral outline of the basic rights and freedoms to which all human beings, irrespective race, religion, class, gender, or geography are entitled. This declaration of course has been far from perfect both in design and in execution. Too often we have framed human rights through the lens of the west we've viewed through the gaze of colonialism and we have assessed them to through the limited prism of our own experiences. Simply put, the powerful have too often attempted to universalize their own particular and local values. Still the Universal Declaration of Human Rights has offered us a flawed but functional starting point from which to articulate basic moral and ethical ambitions as global citizens. These ambitions have been particularly helpful when attempting to keep track of the vulnerable against the back drop of imperialism, exploitative economic arrangements, white supremacy, patriarchy and all the other entanglements of the modern nation-state. For this reason, it is indeed ironic and sad that this year also marks the 70th anniversary of the Nakba. The great catastrophe in May 1948 that resulted in the expulsion, murder and to date permanent dislocation of more than a million Palestinians. For every minute that the global community has articulated a clear and lucid framework for human rights, the Palestinian people have been deprived of the most fundamental of them. While the universal declaration for human rights says that all people are “born free and equal in dignity and rights” the Israeli nation state continues to restrict freedom and undermine equality for Palestinian citizens in Israel as well as those in the West Bank in Gaza. At the current moment there are more than 60 Israel laws that deny Palestinian access to full citizenship rights. Simply because they're not Jewish. From housing to education to family reunification, it is clear that any freedoms naturally endowed to all human beings are actively being stripped away from Palestinians through Israeli statecraft. While human rights promises the right to life, liberty and security of person. Palestinians continue to live under the threat of random violence by Israeli military and police. Disproportionate violence within the West Bank in Gaza, unprompted violence in the face of peaceful protests and misdirected violence by an Israeli state that systematically fails to distinguish between civilians and combatants. While the Universal Declaration for Human Rights protects us against torture and cruel and inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment, Palestinians continue to be physically and psychologically tortured by the Israeli criminal justice system, a term I can only use with irony. As human rights groups around the world have noted, the use of solitary confinement constitutes a clear and indisputable form of torture. Yet, in the West Bank, Palestinians are routinely subjected to solitary confinement and indefinite detention. Often with out and formal charges being filed. Last year, the Israeli Supreme Court ruled that physical torture in “exceptional cases” including ticking time bomb situations constitute acceptable means by which to engage in torture. Although these exceptions are themselves a violation of the absolute human right not to be tortured, Israeli security operates and practice in such a way that nearly all Palestinian cases are viewed as exceptional. Nearly every Palestinian is understood to be a potential terrorist. Thereby making them susceptible to ticking time bomb investigation tactics at all times. As such, Israel's practices are routinely in clear violation of the UN's Convention on torture which was signed by Israel in 1986 and ratified in 1991. While the Declaration of Human Rights insists that no one be subjected to arbitrary arrests, detention or exile, Palestinians are routinely denied due process of law. West Bank Palestinians are regularly placed under administrative a framework that allows them to be incarcerated for up to six months and can be extended after a judicial review without being charged with a crime. The only thing needed for such outcomes is the ambiguous claim of a security threat. A claim used by the Israeli state at all times, at all costs and for all reasons. Through this vagueness Palestinians are routinely punished for their political views rather than any actual threat of violence. The declaration of human rights insists that all humans are entitled to a “fair and public hearing by an impartial tribunal. Israeli military courts, the exclusive adjudicator largely, for West Bank residents and in some cases Palestinian citizens of Israel. They have a conviction rate of more than 99%. That suggests that Palestinians are either more guilty than any other group in human history or that the Israeli government is unwilling or incapable of offering fair and impartial trials for Palestinians.  Declaration of human rights promises the right to freedom of movement and residence within the borders of each state as well as the right to leave any country including his *own and to return to said country. It is impossible to travel throughout the historic Palestine and not see the blatant restriction of movement between cities in the occupied Palestinian territories as well as inside the state of Israel. Standing check points, temporary of flying checkpoints, annexation walls and other security barriers, prevent Palestinians from moving freely both within areas legally designated by the Israeli government and co-signed by the Palestinian Authority under the terms of Oslo but also we see in Gaza the restriction of movement that is so severe that it literally defines life in the area. I promise you that I will not exhaust all my time by enumerated every human rights violation perpetrated by the Israeli government. These are well known and have been well documented by every credible human rights organization in the world. Rather I would like to speak to you about the urgency of the current moment.

{sips water}Forgive my thirst, I literally just got off of a flight from Palestine to come to address you this morning and I was boycotting the Israeli water so I was unable to quench my thirst. But thank you for your indulgence or for indulging me rather.

As we speak, the conditions on the ground for Palestinian people are worsening. In recent decades, the Israeli government has moved further and further to the right. Normalizing settler colonialism and its accompanying logics of denial, destruction, displacement and death. Despite international condemnation, settlement expansion has continued. At the same time, home demolitions and state enforced displacement continues to uproot Palestinian communities. For Gazans, the 11 year Israeli and Egyptian blockade by land air and sea, has created the largest open air prison in the world. With only 4% potable water, electricity access that is limited to 4 hours per day,50% unemployment and the the looming threat of Israeli bombs, Gaza continues to constitute one of the most pressing humanitarian crisis of the current moment. And the West Bank conditions are not much better, unemployment is generally around 18% with frequent loss of income due to Israeli military closures. Making it impossible for Palestinian workers to get access to jobs, settlements and extra land allocated for them as well as closed military zones and other restrictions make it impossible for Palestinian towns to grow. And in the mists of it all, Prime Minister Netanyahu's administration has become increasingly indifferent to critique censure or even scorn from the international community for its practices. Perhaps the most glaring example of this indifference as well as the urgency of the current moment is the recently passed nation state law. Through this basic law of the Israeli state has officially rejected Arabic as an official state language. It has described settlement expansion both inside and outside of the green line as a national value and it has reinforced the fact that Israel is not a state of all of its citizens. As an American, I am embarrassed that my tax dollars contribute to this reality. I am frustrated that no American president since the start of the occupation has taken a principled and actionable position in defense of Palestinian rights. And I am saddened, though not surprised, that president trump's administration has further embolden Israel's behavior through it's recent actions. In May of this year President trump officially moved the US Embassy to Jerusalem which he recognized as the undivided capital of Israel. This choice not only flew in the face of international law and precedent but also constituted a powerful provocation and a diplomatic death blow. In late August, President trump then permanently reneged on America's commitment to funding UNRWA. A move that now leaves millions of Palestinian refugees in medical, economic and educational peril. Moreover, the move serves as a political strong arm tactic whereby the United States is unilaterally attempting to resolve through the trump administration, the final status of Palestinian refugees. While president trumps policies have been the most dramatic. It is important that I stress to you, to reiterate to you, that they are not wildly out of step with American policy. Cuts to UNRWA, is an idea that has been raised in Washington for years, dating back at least to the George W Bush administration. President's trump's decision to move the US embassy in Israel from Tel Aviv to Jersusalem caused enormous controversy but he was merely implementing a bipartisan law congress passed in 1995. And in so doing, executed what has already been official United States policy and the fulfillment of a promise made by every president and presidential candidate, Democrat and Republican for a very long time. With regard to the question of Palestine, donald trump is not an exception to american policy. Rather, donald trump is more transparent and aggressive iteration of it. As I mentioned at the beginning of my remarks, the words offered today by everyone in this room, are a necessary component of our resistance efforts. We need powerful, counter-intuitive, dangerous and courageous words. But we must also offer more than just words. Will not stop the village with its make shift schools created local Bedouin villagers. Words will not stop them from being demolished in violation of the fourth Geneva conventions. Words will not stop poets like Dareen Tatour from being caged in Israeli jails. For having the audacity to speak the truth about the conditions of struggle on her own personal facebook page. Words will not stop peaceful protesters in Gaza from being killed as they fight for freedom against Israel still undeclared borders. Regarding the question of Palestine, beyond words we must ask the question what does justice require? To truly engage in acts of solidarity, we must make our words flesh. Our solidarity must be more than a noun. Our solidarity must be more become a verb. As a Black American, my understanding of action and solidarity action is rooted in our own tradition of struggle. As Black American resisted slavery, as well as Jim Crow laws that transformed us from a slave state to an apartheid state; we did so through multiple tactics and strategies. It is this array of tactics that I appeal to as I advocate for concrete action from all of us in this room. Solidarity from the international community, demands that we embrace boycotts, divestment and sanctions as a critical means by which to hold Israel accountable for its treatment of Palestinian people. This movement which emerges our of the overwhelming majority of Palestinian civil society offers a non-violent means by which to demand a return to the pre '67 borders full rights for Palestinian citizens and the right of return as dictated by international law. Solidarity demands that we no longer allow politicians or political parties to remain silent on the question of Palestine. We can no longer, in particular, allow the political left to remain radical or even progressive on every issue from the environment, to war, to the economy, to remain progressive on every issue except for Palestine. Contrary to Western mythology, Black resistance to American apartheid did not come purely through Gandhi and non-violence. Rather slave revolts and self defense and tactics, otherwise divergent from Dr. King or Gandhi, were equally important to preserving safety and attaining freedom. We must allow, if we are to operate in true solidarity to Palestinian people, we must allow the Palestinian people the same range of opportunity and political possibility. If we are standing in solidarity with Palestinian people, we must recognize the right of an occupied people to defend itself. We must prioritize peace but we must not romanticize of fetishize it. We must advocate and promote non-violence at every opportunity but we can not endorse a narrow politics of respectability that shames Palestinians for resisting. For refusing to do nothing in the face of state violence and ethnic cleansing.

 At the current moment, there is little reason for optimism. Optimism of course is the belief that good will inevitably prevail over evil, that justice will inevitably win out. In the course of human history and certainly even in the course of the United Nations there is no evidence of such a proposition. Optimism is unsophisticated. Optimism is immature. Optimism is what my students have when they take examinations that they did not study for. Some become quite religious at the time. But regardless of their strategies of optimism, the outcome is far from guaranteed or even likely. What I'm challenging us to do in the spirit of solidarity, is not to embrace optimism but to embrace radical hope. Radical hope is a belief that despite the odds, despite the considerable measures against justice and peace, despite the legacy of hatred, imperialism, white supremacy, patriarchy, homophobia. Despite these systems of power that have normalized settler colonialism. Despite these structures, we can still win, we can still prevail. One motivation for my hope in the liberation and ultimate self determination of the Palestinian people comes in the August of 2014. Black Americans were in Ferguson,Missouri in the Midwest of the United States protesting the death of the young man named Michael Brown, an unarmed African American male who had been killed by a law enforcement agent. And as we protested I saw two things that provided hope for the Palestinian struggle. One was that for the first time in my entire life of activism, I saw a sea of Palestinian people. I saw a sea of Palestinian flags in the crowd saying that we must form a solidarity project. We must struggle together in order to resist because state violence in the United States and state violence in Brazil and state violence in Syria and state violence in Egypt and state violence in South Africa and state violence in Palestine are all of the same sort. And we final understood that we  must work together and not turn on each other but instead turn to each other. And later that night when the police began to tear gas us, Miriam Baruti(misspelled..sorry), tweeted us from Ramallah. She along with other Palestinian youth activists told us that the tear gas that we were experiencing was only temporary. They gave us tips for how to wash our eyes out. They told us how to make gas masks out of tshirts. They gave us permission to think and dream beyond our local conditions by giving us a transnational or global solidarity project. And from those tweets and social media messages we began then to organize together. We brought a delegation of Black activist to Palestine and we saw the connection between the police in New York City who are being trained by Israeli soldiers and the type of policing we were experiencing in New York City. We began to see relationships of resistance and we began to build and struggle and organize together. That spirit of solidarity, a solidarity that is bound up not just an ideology but in action is the way out. So as we stand here on the 70th anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the tragic commemoration of the Nakba, we have an opportunity to not just offer solidarity in words but to commit to political action, grassroots action, local action and international action that will give us what justice requires. And that is a free Palestine from the river to the sea. Thank you for your time.

[carry-the-sky]

with the ocean in our arms

Rebelcaptain May the Fourth exchange gift for @ladytharen, who requested: “they all live au - jyn and cassian on the run from the empire on their own (space road trip fic anyone?)” I adored this prompt and I really hope I was able to do it justice. HAPPY STAR WARS DAY! :)

(Part 1 of 2 because I’m slowwwww. Posted to ao3!)

When Jyn is nine years old, barely six months spent under Saw’s tutelage, she beats one of the young recruits within an inch of his life. He mutters something under his breath as she’s walking past him one morning, something about her father and letting the Empire get the better of him, what a coward -

She tackles him to the ground before she can blink, fire roaring in her veins and fists as she hits him again and again and she doesn’t stop, not even when his nose cracks and warmth spatters from the place his face used to be.

(It takes two of Saw’s partisans to pull her off him.)

They put her in solitary for a few days after this. “For your own protection,” Saw tells her, the look in his eyes something between awe and fear.

She decides right then and there that she loathes the phrase.

-----

After Scarif - (Jyn laughs at that word, after, because she’d knelt on that burning beach fully prepared to die, to let all afters die with her-)

After Scarif, things get messy.

“You six,” Mon Mothma tells them on Echo Base, commanding and ethereal as ever, “are being hunted. The Empire will stop at nothing until they find you. The likelihood of that happening increases exponentially if you leave this base.”

“She’s right,” K-2 says, earning a sharp glance from Jyn.

Bodhi looks uneasy. “All due respect, ma’am, but the fight’s not on this base, it’s out there-”

“This is for your own protection,” the senator cuts in politely, all politician, and Jyn bristles. Where were you, she thinks, remembering a council all-too willing to run and hide, turn tail in the face of the Empire’s most devastating threat to the galaxy, where was your protection when we made the decision to risk our lives for your cause?

Baze seems to share the sentiment. “We are not cowards,” he growls. “We did not come this far so you could ask us to bury our heads in the kriffing ice.”

“Baze,” Chirrut warns low in his throat, fingers curling firmly over his companion’s shoulder, and Jyn’s heart clenches at the sight. Nothing has changed since Scarif, nothing, nothing, and if this - hunkering down on this icy rock, hiding and withering into oblivion - is the cost of her father’s sacrifice, of everything the six of them have endured and survived together, if this is the cost of victory -

“What, then?” she asks. “What would you see us do?”

Mon Mothma smiles, soft and sad. “I would see you endure.”

No one speaks for several moments. Jyn feels the weight of someone’s gaze on her face, knows whose it is even before she turns her head.

Cassian’s eyes are fire and starlight, the curve of his mouth not quite a smile but Jyn recognizes trouble when she sees it. This is a rebellion, isn’t it? she’d asked the first time she met him, and she sees it reflected in his eyes now, a silent promise scorching the distance between them.

I rebel.

-----

The council doesn’t expressly forbid them to leave the base in the weeks following Scarif, having firsthand experience with Rogue One’s it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission style of operation. Instead, the six of them are scattered across various divisions and departments, each kept busy with a steady stream of menial short-term assignments. Jyn exists in a near-constant state of restlessness, but she tries, she really does, because she’s a part of something now and she didn’t embark on a death-defying mission, survive against all odds, to abandon the cause because she dislikes following orders.

She tries, but old habits apparently die hard.

The first time she tries to leave the base without permission, she doesn’t even make it to the hangar. “You couldn’t have gone very far, anyways,” says the entirely too cheerful sergeant escorting her back to the barracks. “The hyperdrive motivators on the BTL-S3s tend to be a bit shoddy.”

Jyn scowls, hands curling reflexively into fists at her sides - three weeks with the Rebel Alliance has done little to curb her tendency to hit first and ask questions never - but then her father’s face is swimming behind her eyes, Jyn, my stardust, and for awhile after that she keeps her head down and attends to her orders.

“You, Jyn Erso,” Draven tells her in the briefing room the next time she attempts to leave, “you are going to be the death of me.”

Jyn tries a new strategy this time - saying absolutely nothing at all - and it seems to work because the general heaves a massive sigh and informs her she is to report to hangar bay seven in the morning for a patrolling mission off-base. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep a smile from splitting her face, she’s so ecstatic. Never mind that it’s Hoth and that the landscape is about as thrilling to look at as a tauntaun’s backside, it’s a mission out in the world and Jyn will take it, run, sprint, leap with it.

It’s typical for her to go a few days without seeing any of the Rogue One crew, so she’s surprised to find Cassian suiting up outside her designated Y-wing. He’s reaching for his flight helmet as she approaches, turned away from her slightly, and she pauses, uncertainty coiling tightly in her gut as she remembers the last time they were in each other’s presence for more than a few minutes, bruised and battered and kneeling in the sand, fire and light on the horizon and his arms cinching around her, welcome home -

“What are you doing here?” she manages to sputter.

He whips around to face her and holy hell, the mischievous glint in his eye sets something sparking low and warm in her gut. “I called in a favor,” he says with a smirk. “Besides, you need a pilot.”

“Was Bodhi busy?” she deadpans and he laughs, sharp and clear. Danger danger danger her heart thuds against her ribcage, but she hauls herself up the ladder and into the gunner’s seat all the same.

They’ve barely gone two leagues off-base when the explosions start.

-----

(Later, they’ll learn that the base’s location was compromised by a new form of Imperial technology, a probe droid that can track energy signatures. They’ll learn that after Scarif, the impounded shuttle Rogue One had used to bypass the shield gate had been seized to test prototypes of these droids, and that several thousand were subsequently deployed across the galaxy, searching, hunting for six very unique energy wave signatures-)

Now, all they know is Mon Mothma’s voice over the comm, a thin shimmer of static as she orders them to evacuate the planet.

“What about the others-” Jyn chokes out at the same time Cassian asks, “status of Rogue One?”

They’re together and they’re alive, the senator replies, and all Jyn can think of is what she had said to all of them during that first briefing after Scarif -

(I would see you endure.)

Jyn watches Echo Base fall away, a starburst of flame and ash, and thinks not like this, not like this.

-----

They limp along for a few days before the hyperdrive finally conks out, spitting them out into the velvet darkness of Outer Rim Space near Tatooine.

“Looks like this is home for awhile,” Cassian says from the pilot’s seat, sounding as bone-weary as Jyn feels. The planet looms just outside the viewport, an orb of dust and sand, and she thinks of another desert world, one with a crater where its capital city once stood -

Her fingers clench around the crystal that hangs in the hollow of her throat. Chirrut’s voice is in her head, the strongest stars have hearts of kyber, and judging by the Death Star-sized lump in her throat, she figures hers must be made of something else entirely.

(I miss them, she thinks, stars, I miss them.)

The threat analysis grid equipped in this particular BTL-S3 is unreliable at best and completely non-functional at worst, and as such does not detect the approaching class-three sandstorm that forces them to make planetfall several leagues from their intended destination of Mos Eisley. It’s a rough landing and Cassian’s breath is ragged by the time they’re on the ground.

“This ship,” he rasps, “is a piece of mierda.”

“Oh, switch off,” Jyn fires back, struggling to breathe evenly against the adrenaline pounding in her chest. “It’s gotten us this far, hasn’t it?”

He glances up sharply at the word us, looks like he wants to say something in response but he doesn’t. Ice-cold guilt floods through her - he regrets coming with me, leaving the others behind - and she feels herself shut down, burying the rest of the thought before it can take shape.

They hunker down for the night in uneasy silence. The interior of the ship is little more than a pilot and gunner’s seat, less than ideal conditions for sleeping, but Jyn’s unconscious almost as soon as she closes her eyes.  

-----

A dream. A memory -

She’s nine years old again, curled against the far wall of the cave and waiting. The air is strange down here, almost stale, and she suddenly aches to be above ground, breathe the lush-sweet petrichor of the surrounding hills and fields -

(be strong, my heart, my stardust, be strong and remember those who love you-)

There is a loud groan of metal as the hatch above her head yawns open. She tilts her head up, squinting against the sudden brightness, and she’s -

- kneeling in the sand under a canvas of endless blue. Cassian, is her first thought, and she twists, cranes her neck wildly to find him standing a short distance away along the shoreline, the lean length of his body bisected by a curve of horizon in the distance.

“Where are we?” she shouts, even though she already knows.

His eyes are tired, tired as he turns towards her. “Home,” he says.

Behind him, the sky explodes.

-----

As always when torn from sleep by a dream of Scarif, she jerks awake in a cold sweat, feeling like she’s shed a second skin, like maybe it wasn’t a dream at all.

“Cassian?” she gasps into the hazy half-darkness, and her nerves sing with something like relief as she hears him shift in his seat.

“I’m here,” he says, and even husky with sleep his voice is steady like an anchor, like a promise. She feels small, suddenly, caged beneath the weight of what that promise might entail and she ducks her head, bites her lip hard to choke down the sob building at the base of her throat. Maybe, she thinks, maybe I’m not meant to endure, maybe I was never meant to survive that beach -

There’s a rustling from behind her and she flinches as warm fingers skim the surface of her knuckles, thread through her own. Jyn doesn’t turn her head but she can feel his eyes on her, and that’s when she starts sobbing, real, true cries that rack her entire frame and leave her shuddering against her seat. All she knows is the ache in her chest and Cassian’s hand intertwined with hers, and she clutches it tightly like he’s the thing that’s tethering her to solid ground.

“I’m here, Jyn,” he whispers over and over as his thumb movies in circles against her own, “I’m here, you’re not alone.”

Welcome home.

She’s not sure when she stops crying, only that her eyes sting and her lungs burn and she’s utterly exhausted. As her eyes flutter open-closed-open, she realizes she’s never thought of home as a someone instead of a someplace, but here in the shadow-soft interior of their Y-wing, on the run from the Empire along the edge of the galaxy and holding Cassian Andor’s hand like she holds her heart, she thinks that maybe she should start.

[clubofinfo]

Expert: Birds flying high you know how I feel Sun in the sky you know how I feel Breeze driftin’ on by you know how I feel And this old world is a new world And a bold world For me And I’m feeling good I’m feeling good — Nina Simone, Feeling Good, 1965 The idiocy of our times – those tick-tick-tock-tock empty cranial caverns of the American collective delusion – have us clear thinkers and revolutionaries at heart on the ropes. How do we even sleep walk through the carnival that is Facebook, Saturday Night Live, endless Black Fridays, malls and movies, the spectacle that is un-news and the infantile capacity of adults from Ellen to Trump, from Rachel to Tom Friedman, from MSM punks to you-name-it-still-employed economist to control vast hundreds of millions – check that, billions – of destinies. Looting the tax coffers, hollowing out the middle class, rampant perpetual poverty and indebtedness, chronic illness, crashing climate, and a shit-storm of a planet now that we all think Capitalism is the only solution to death. We fiddle with holiday deals while holocaust looms, and we sit, kneel, genuflect, roll over, lie down and plead in our hog-tied American way. Bombs from the suburbs lifted into space with the deadly drone god while Southern California burns, Phoenix evaporates, and both ends of the country flop around like lice-plagued GMO fish on the sinking deck. Prognostication, this is the daily bread, by the millions – blogs, WoP, WSJ, NYT, endless on-line mutterings of the controlled opposition. We have become Pokémon dealers, shuffling the next culling of the economy, or placing bets on the insanity plea of Trump and Company, hoping for black rain and Sunday bloody Sunday. This is the time of Botox broadcasters, the male and female versions of the same plastic people, there, in their million dollar flats at night, conjuring up more of the same silly and insane narratives about things they know nothing about. They ply their trade like traveling prostitutes, selling their bits of Cellophane wisdom and glowing manicured selves like jesters, clowns. The more they try and sound Ivy League and display Driveling Room Temperature IQ, the more difficult it is to understand them. The elite is not some gang of point-one One Percenters. They are in the several millions, count, sixty million of them in the USA, held together with the thieving accountants and hired hands of the legal-illegal class. They are wannabe’s and blue collar millionaires, two doctor heads of households, high end business owners, the traders of guns, pharmaceuticals, laws and other lies. We may have democracy, or we may have wealth concentrated in the hands of the few, but we cannot have both. — US Supreme Court Justice Louis Brandeis Yet, we have to listen endlessly to the We Are the Ninety-nine, which is the absurdity of double-think. One percent isn’t holding up the house of cards. The minions, and the mighty masses supporting these titans of industry and billionaires, they are the Twenty-Solid (& Hard) Percent, in their glory, libertarians and thieves and unwilling to be the blood coming from their proverbial onion hearts. In the United States, wealth is highly concentrated in relatively few hands. As of 2013, the top 1% of households (the upper class) owned 36.7% of all privately held wealth, and the next 19% (the managerial, professional, and small business stratum) had 52.2%, which means that just 20% of the people owned a remarkable 89%, leaving only 11% of the wealth for the bottom 80% (wage and salary workers). In terms of financial wealth (total net worth minus the value of one’s home), the top 1% of households had an even greater share: 42.8% I dance through this mumbo-jumbo Hollywood and Single-Screen-Scroll-after-Scroll mush we call culture, and I hurdle over the Eichmann’s, big and small, and I end up in the same place I started more than 45 years ago – all thieves and charlatans, but with that big all-you-can-eat American cafeteria grin, the lives set in drive through coffee, grease and drugs delivery. This country, ripe for the taking, after genocide after genocide, and then the War is a Racket turned into America is the King Pin, the Biggest Racket of them All. Blue blood in her circulatory system, ever the slave-trading mindset, dredged in Puritanical and Crypto-Zionism. Promised Land is the Disney Effect, and chosen people come and go, as the drive-in’s turn to weeds and the ever-present huckster and PT Barnum and Lying Lynching Legal class rule over the entire mess, over all of the stars and tycoons. Beady-eyed money changers, and those sniveling ones making markets out of nothing, the very steps we take, breaths we exhale, lives we shed. There will be blood is the banker’s credo now, backed by Smith and Wesson and plethora of rockets bursting in air from every corner of the White Man’s/Christian/Jewish world. Cops and coaches, captains and CEOs, we know their kind, and no matter which XX or XY you attempt to rationalize into the madness of Capitalism, no matter which Gender or Identity serves the point-one One Percent class, the project is all cornered and flayed because Capitalism is the breeder of the heathens, the reckless and ruthless, the smiling and sincerely elitist crew. Yet, we hear endless drivel now about Groping A and Groping B, the slithering tongues of these Capitalists on steroids and amyl nitrate and human growth hormones and T-cells, and lubricated eggs from virgin sturgeon. These people in the center of that millionaire goo, in that trade of body and soul for the spin around the rotunda or jaunt down Sunset Boulevard, no matter which Charlie Rose or Dustin Hoffman or Sean Penn you end up with in the same room or office or court of law, unfortunately, they are all the same, groping or masturbating or climaxing or exhibitionisming or peeping tomming or S & M-ing, no matter how you run with them, these elites will eventually get under your skin like pin worms and chiggers. We’ll be seeing the fallout now of the alleged perversions and sexual overtures and manipulations and cajoling and assaults and rapes, wherever they go with those gag rule clauses after the payoffs and silence money. Just out on this day of infamy, Pearl Harbor Day, December 7, stories on John Travolta, one of the richest guys in Hollywood with 5 planes and jets, and his own runway in Florida. This is the microcosm of what Americans are, what they watch, what they believe. Imagine he and his wife, Kelly Preston, living their multimillionaire tax-evading, money-sheltering, cash-gouging lives. So, old John (the Italian-American actor) is accused of attacking masseuses, and he is now in the pig wash slurry of more scandal, as his movie on John Gotti is being dropped (by Lionsgate) because of the allegations swirling around old John (Travolta) attacking guys coming to his hotel rooms for massages (professional): Mafia leader Gotti was brought to trial multiple times throughout the 1980s, only to be acquitted. Travolta, 63, plays Gotti in multiple stages of his life, including when he finally went to prison in 1992. Gotti died of throat cancer, while still incarcerated, in 2002. Last month Travolta was named in a criminal complaint by a 21-year-old masseur who accused the actor of sexual battery that reportedly took place in 2000. According to the bombshell police report, the masseur alleged that Travolta groped his bare buttocks and indecently exposed himself during a deep body massage at the LaQuinta Hotel in Palm Springs, California. During the alleged incident, Travolta, 63, also made lewd remarks about gay fantasies while at the hotel’s spa facility around 1:30 am on February 15, 2000. The masseur reported the incident to the Palm Springs Sheriff’s Department. Officer Mark Peters went to the hotel to speak with Travolta, who had already checked out by the time he arrived. This isn’t the first time Travolta has been accused of misconduct while getting a massage. In 2012, Travolta was sued over accusations that he tried to have sex with a male masseur during a therapy session at the luxury Beverly Hills Hotel. Okorie Okorcha, the lawyer representing the masseur said: ‘My client is afraid of John Travolta’. He added: ‘Mr. Travolta made very explicit threats against my client, which are contained in the lawsuit. ‘Specifically, John Travolta told my client that Hollywood is controlled by homosexual Jewish men who expect favors in return for sexual activity. ‘Let’s face it, John Travolta is an extremely powerful man, and my client absolutely felt threatened by Mr. Travolta. My client was sexually assaulted by Mr. Travolta and he needs to be held accountable for his actions.’ Read more: I bring this most recent case up to illustrate the insane and perverse and surreal aspect of American society, and the money made by talent-less actors who are in bizarre relationships with spouses (arranged marriage with Preston per Scientology), who have the lives of the rich and famous all bundled up in their wacko ways. Do we want to sit through two hours of Gotti, at $12 a pop per movie ticket? Do we have no common sense in this country? The poor and the rich are the mad crowd, the spectacle now conjoined as aberrations of humanity. Travolta, a deacon in the Scientology cult. Do Americans boycott these people, these companies, these ideas, these death by a thousand cuts philosophies and this repressive un-culture to our own humanity? Boys will be boys, and then some. How many men have made the news for their alleged crimes of groping, harassing, cajoling, blackmailing? How many rabbis are speaking out against the large amount of Jewish men caught up in the allegations? How many preachers and priests are speaking up? What about the school teachers, and those university faculty? Mothers? Daughters? Aunts? Any Trump family out there willing to go out on a limb? Where is that ethical code humanity universally has to live with to make sure we do no harm? Golden Rule, Seven Sins of Gandhi ? On October 22, 1925, Gandhi published a list he called the Seven Social Sins in his weekly newspaper Young India. Politics without principles Wealth without work Pleasure without conscience Knowledge without character Commerce without morality Science without humanity Worship without sacrifice The list sprung from a correspondence that Gandhi had with someone only identified as a “fair friend.” He published the list without commentary save for the following line: “Naturally, the friend does not want the readers to know these things merely through the intellect but to know them through the heart so as to avoid them.” Unlike the Catholic Church’s list, Gandhi’s list is expressly focused on the conduct of the individual in society. Gandhi preached non-violence and interdependence and every single one of these sins are examples of selfishness winning out over the common good. It’s also a list that, if fully absorbed, will make the folks over at the US Chamber of Commerce and Ayn Rand Institute itch. After all, “Wealth without work,” is a pretty accurate description of America’s 1%. (Investments ain’t work. Ask Thomas Piketty.) “Commerce without morality” sounds a lot like every single oil company out there and “knowledge without character” describes half the hacks on cable news. “Politics without principles” describes the other half. In 1947, Gandhi gave his fifth grandson, Arun Gandhi, a slip of paper with this same list on it, saying that it contained “the seven blunders that human society commits, and that cause all the violence.” The next day, Arun returned to his home in South Africa. Three months later, Gandhi was shot to death by a Hindu extremist. The law of reciprocity, and where does that fall on American culture, whether through the lens of millionaire men or millionaire women? One should treat others as one would like others to treat oneself (positive or directive form). One should not treat others in ways that one would not like to be treated (negative or prohibitive form). What you wish upon others, you wish upon yourself (empathic or responsive form). The Golden Rule differs from the maxim of reciprocity captured in do ut des—”I give so that you will give in return”—and is rather a unilateral moral commitment to the well-being of the other without the expectation of anything in return. The fall-out in this dog-eat-dog, one man/woman for him or herself stolen land, which is the undertow of predatory capitalism, unfortunately, is all (unduly so) on the shoulders of all men – fathers and uncles, teachers and social workers, sons and uncles, all of us, righteous and far from any capitalist usury mindset, divorced from the take-take-take that is America, seemingly embraced by every boy or girl, man or woman, all intersexuals and transsexuals. The voyeurism, titillation, exhibitionism, proclivities toward gender and self debasement, and the ejaculatory and phallus aims of those tainted elites, and not so elite, are tied to the usury, exploitative and downright greed in every human or business transaction in Capitalism. Men, alas, the patriarchy, are all tied up with what we in America have become along all gender and sexual identities: paranoid, exceptionalist, supremacist, imperial and self-important, warring, and supercilious, superficial and shallow.  It’s an epigenetic cause and effect relationship, inside the DNA code of most red-blooded Americans, gay, straight, lesbian, trans-sexual, and what have you! Scam, flimflam, extort, fine, levy, tax, fee-fee-fee, and then, we steal from our futures, bankrupt our own retirements, rip off generations yet born, dredge the lake for that last caviar-producing fish, and we put it all out there in Google-land, Selfie the Entire Disaster, go on Twitter Tizzies, and then ask for more, and order it all on Amazon, trucked to the door and drone-delivered to the balcony. Funny, how conservative guys like Paul Craig Roberts see this next spasm of looting with the Republicans throwing down their true colors and the Pelosi-Schumer schemers in the Big D club yawning about their protected investments/millionaire and yammering about Russia, here at Counterpunch: What we are witnessing is the complete looting of America and the entirety of the West.  While the Western World collapses, the insouciant, submissive people sit there sucking their thumbs while they are being ruined. Nothing is left of the West except looters at work. This tax bill is an abomination, an act of brutal plunder.  Its sponsors should be tarred and feathered and ridden out of town on a rail, if not hung from a lamp post. If we really break this down, really, what is that tar and feather routine? Imagine, a real world where we aren’t going to take it anymore, one where the tar is 200 degrees and the feathers are all knife sharp and hardened. Imagine the dunking of those thieves-murderers in vats of their fossil fuel gunk, near boiling temperature. I wonder if that’s what Craig Roberts is asking for? And, then, really, what does it mean to be hung on a lamp post? The old ways put the tarred and feathered tied to a lamp post, but hung evokes a lynching. Is that what this staid and conservative Paul Craig Roberts is asking for? Hmm, a call to action, violence? The reality is Americans love their thug royalty, all the Bushes and Clintons and Obamas and the endless Kennedys and now the Trumps. This country not only tars and feathers dissidents, but we’re strung up to dry on the vine. I have lost jobs for speaking out, for advocating as a teacher or journalist or social worker. I write about this all the time, and many places I’ve called my work place were havens for women, me being in the super minority. I have no bended knee and favoritism for the female side of capitalism, like many now are gaggling about. I have been face to face with ameliorating, middling, and in many cases malfeasance prone supervisors and HR directors with the XX gene, and I am not about to go on a tirade of reverse stupidity and count all men as Harvey Weinsteins or John Conyers. We are living up to our collective reputation as mushy thinkers, in this next Tweeting for the Highest Scream for grope x, y and z. Untethered bathrobes, full-on kisses, and all the other pathetic pranks and sexist fun (sic) these leaders of the free world engage in. But . . . . Bombing the world, gutting the world, and possibly stealing all the world’s things, and we talk about Al Franken the Bumbler. Imagine now, a few days ago, that parading multimillionaire, mutilating man, Obama, calling for more women to be elected to office. “. . . because men seem to be having some problems these days.” In all his neoliberal, girl child killing, female wedding party murdering, undocumented woman deporting glee, he sits on the pile of manure that is American retro-thinking and makes these declarations worthy of the nonsense that overrules everything in this country. This is Obama at a private event in Paris on Saturday, and he, of course, was referring to the sexual misconduct allegations made against many high-profile men he golfs with, rubs elbows with, hobnobs for.  Here, this is a must read, his eleventh-grade wisdom and drearily daft psychology: “Not to generalize but women seem to have a better capacity than men do, partly because of their socialization.” Here he is, commenting on the plethora of misdeeds and worse of the great elite class, those champions of perversion like Weinstein or the Franken fellow or Alabama Crimson Tide Moore and Company. This is in Paris, speaking to his elites, arranged by a network of communications professionals known as the Les Napoleons. Millionaires, and many of them perverted on many levels. You think one of these boys and girls club acolytes have a bone of humanism left? Listening to wise scriptures, austerity, sacrifice, respectful faith, social welfare, forgiveness, purity of intent, compassion, truth and self-control—are the ten wealth of character (self). O king aim for these, may you be steadfast in these qualities. These are the basis of prosperity and rightful living. These are highest attainable things. All worlds are balanced on dharma, dharma encompasses ways to prosperity as well. O King, dharma is the best quality to have, wealth the medium and desire (kāma) the lowest. Hence, (keeping these in mind), by self-control and by making dharma (right conduct) your main focus, treat others as you treat yourself. — Mahābhārata Shānti-Parva 167:9 This is 21st Century Google Man, Obama, at his best and most hypocritical, somehow declaring that I as a man should not run for local office or be involved in social change at the political level because of a few perverts making the Twitter feeds? He declares men seemingly have a few problems, and so, this wise American Murder Incorporated CEO (ex) is asking me to stand down as a male and wait for the female leaders, because women have a better grasp on socialization? What the hell does that mean? Where do these Gollum characters come from, this Barak and his Michelle and the millions of shekels shoved into their pockets for their mere existences, for a few hiccuped words ghost-written into Number One Best Seller Hardbacks? The socialization of women like Madeline Albright, Chancellor Merkel, Margaret Thatcher, Susan Rice, Samantha Power, Janet Reno, and, well, the reader can generate his-her-their own list. Socialization of these fine ladies shine a light on their incredible lightness of goodness? This is side-mouth, PC, identity politics talk. These are loopy times, and we’ve been in them for decades, really, since Eisenhauer, as undertow after riptide produced the death of integrity, the death of common thinking, the inability of the American trite and superficial man and woman to advance to a level of sophistication or deep thinking or even wisdom or common sage sense. Look at these fellows and women running the world into the ground while they stash-stash-stash away retirement money enough to feed the world 50 billion times over.  Look at how they are not us and they indeed want us prostrate and afraid and on the run and now in their goofy show of faux integrity. All for one, one for all women. Here’s a run down of some of those so-so better socialized women Obama is calling on. I need not go into their dirty deeds, their recklessness, their thieving and in many cases direct connection to murdering thousands and structurally and violently assaulting millions and millions more. That other gender Obama is asking for help from, the female persuasion, is now front and center the only gender to be socially and structurally ready for service to the country, as Obama blurts out during one of his Point One Percent Meetings in France . . .  because men seem to be having some problems these days. Madeleine Albright  Condoleezza Rice Hillary Clinton . Arizona governor Janet Napolitano as Secretary of Homeland Security Margaret Spellings Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos  Secretary of Education Susan E. Rice, Loretta E. Lynch, Laura Bush, Karen Hughes (Bush Women) Samantha Power? (Wow, what a bastion of integrity . . . I had to throw that in). More rah-rah bullshit from mainstream propaganda: Forbes USA Most Powerful Women Fortune’s Most Powerful Women And, the following from other lists, imagine, the power they wield, and because they are women, according to Barak Obama’s calculus, are stalwarts of humanity! Merkel, May, Gates, Trump — bastions of integrity! Angela Merkel is still the most powerful woman in the world. The German Chancellor has held the top spot on the Forbes Most Powerful Women List for seven consecutive years, and 12 years in total. Another prominent political leader, U.K. Prime Minister Theresa May, ranked second. It is her first time appearing on Forbes‘s annual list. Melinda Gates, co-chair of the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, is the highest-ranking American woman, taking the third spot. Seven of the world’s 10 most powerful women are American, according to the Forbes list. Forbes determines its ranking by evaluating four categories: money — which covers net worth, company revenues, assets under management or GDP — media presence, influence and impact. Of the 100 women on the list, nearly half are from the United States. Ivanka Trump, senior adviser to and daughter of President Donald Trump. Here’s the David Letterman Countdown, Top Ten. Gates Foundation, Facebook, GM, YouTube, Fidelity Investments, IMF, Bank, IBM. Just think of those companies, and how unjust, how predatory, and how destructive they are, but with women in higher up positions and even as CEOs, well, according to Obama, we all can sleep better tonight now that women are at the helm! * Angela Merkel: Chancellor, Germany * Theresa May: Prime Minister, U.K. * Melinda Gates: Co-Chair, Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, U.S. * Sheryl Sandberg: COO, Facebook, U.S. * Mary Barra: CEO, General Motors, U.S. * Susan Wojcicki: CEO, YouTube, U.S. * Abigail Johnson: CEO, Fidelity Investments, U.S. * Christine Lagarde: Managing Director, International Monetary Fund, U.S. * Ana Patricia Botín: Chair, Santander Group, Banco Santander, Spain * Ginni Rometty: CEO, IBM, U.S. Here, an interesting list, with, of course, a few amazing human beings lumped into the superficial and super-rich — Addams, Aquino, Carson, Curie, Mead, Parks, Wolff. But it’s Time Magazine, so we know what that means (run by a woman, or has she been replaced?) Jane Addams (1860-1935) Corazon Aquino (1933-2009) Rachel Carson (1907-1964) Coco Chanel (1883-1971) Julia Child (1912-2004) Hillary Clinton (1947-Present) Marie Curie (1867-1934) Aretha Franklin (1942-Present) Indira Gandhi (1917-1984) Estée Lauder (1908-2004) Madonna (1958-Present) Margaret Mead (1901-1978) Golda Meir (1898-1978) Angela Merkel (1954-Present) Sandra Day O’Connor (1930-Present) Rosa Parks (1913-2005) Jiang Qing (1914-1991) Eleanor Roosevelt (1884-1962) Gloria Steinem (1934-Present) Margaret Sanger (1879-1966) Martha Stewart (1941-Present) Mother Teresa (1910-1997) Margaret Thatcher (1925-Present) Oprah Winfrey (1954-Present) Virginia Woolf (1882-1941) Most Powerful Women According to Fortune Magazine, 2010! Highest paid, take a look at that loot, again, as Obama proclaims, why not have them all (women) run the senate, congress, Supreme Court and the Executive Branch? Carol Bartz                          Yahoo!                 $47.2 million Safra Catz                            Oracle                   $36.4 million Carrie Cox                            Schering-Plough      $23 million Irene Rosenfeld                  Kraft Foods         $22.1 million Wellington Denahan-Norris      Annaly Capital Management $21.6 m Pamela Patsley                 Moneygram International            $17.9 million Susan Ivey                          Reynolds American          $16.2 million Martine Rothblatt            United Therapeutics       $15.8 million — Carol Meyrowitz               TJX Companies              $14.8 million Indra Nooyi                      PepsiCo                           $14.2 million Angela Braly                     WellPoint            $13.1 million Brenda Barnes                  Sara Lee               $11.5 million — Linda Chen                        Wynn Resorts    $11.2 million — Patricia Woertz                 Archer Daniels Midland     $11.0 million Kim Sinatra                       Wynn Resorts    $10.5 million — Mary Callahan Erdoes     JPMorgan Chase $10.4 million Nancy Wysenski               Vertex Pharmaceuticals          $10.2 million — Jackwyn Nemerov           Polo Ralph Lauren $10.1 million Ursula Burns                     Xerox    $9.9 million Martha Stewart                Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia     $9.7 m Ann Livermore                 Hewlett-Packard              $9.7 million Doreen Toben                   Verizon Communications        ��     $9.2 million Katherine Krill                  AnnTaylor Stores              $9.1 million — Kathryn Fagan                  Annaly Capital Management       $8.6 million Ellen Kullman                   DuPont $8.3 million You can’t help it. An artist’s duty, as far as I’m concerned, is to reflect the times. — Nina Simone Note:  Give it to the New York Daily News to call this “the Weinstein Effect as Sexual McCarthyism” http://clubof.info/

[coolminhye-blog]

He Came from Narnia: Chapter 1

Jessica sat in her room eating mint ice cream and working on her latest photo shop painting, in fact, she was concentrating so hard she didn't realize how quickly she was devouring the ice cream and gave herself brain freeze. As Jessica smacked her forehead in agony her cell phone buzzed with a new text message: Mary: What are you up to? Jessica: Just working on a chibi a client has ordered. Mary: Let's meet for coffee, I have something to talk with you about. Jessica: Now? Mary: NOW! Michelle and I have some exciting news. Jessica reluctantly set her work aside and drove to the coffee shop her Mary and Michelle often met at after work to rant about horrible customers, slacker co-workers and how they wished they were making more money. Jessica works a slew of odd jobs which often left her angry and drained and pinning for some new adventure. Mary works a late night retail job of pushing carts around a parking lot, facing and restocking endless shelves of products and ringing up over eager customers who don't know how to check prices and decide there are 10 things in their cart they don't want because it's too expensive. While Michelle works at the downtown library sorting through books that need to be re-shelved and looking thorugh books and movie that were returned long overdue. All three of them were desperate for a vacation and all three of them were about to have the adventure of a life time: "So why'd you call me here so late?", Jessica asked. "I need to finish that drawing by midnight and I'm only halfway through." "You know how we were planning that trip to Korea with Kortney?", Michelle asked. "Yeah, what about it?", Jessica asked impatiently. "Well....she can't go," Mary explained. "And we already have her ticket, which means we have an opening if you want it." Mary began to taunt Jessica with this amazing vacation. "Are you serious?", Jessica jolted out of her seat. "This is a torturous prank if you're not serious." Michelle chuckled, "We're serious! We want you to go! You so deserve it?" "Can you get the time off from all 10 of your jobs?", Mary asked jokingly. "We leave in two weeks." "Yeah, I think that's enough notice," Jessica said. "How long will we be gone?" "The trip plan is 3 weeks long," Michelle said. "We'll be traveling through the Korean country side starting in the HaHoe and Yangdong villages in Andong." "Sounds interesting," Jessica said. "I'M IN! Let's do it!" The girls parted after finishing their coffees and talking about trip arrangements and accommodations. Then it was time to go and finish the chibi and email it to her client. Jessica slaved over the computer screen for about an hour before putting the finishing touches on the chibi and sending it off to her client at 11:30 pm, thirty minutes to spare! In celebration of completing the drawing early, Jessica went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of chardonnay and pulled out her pint of double chocolate and marshmallow ice cream. Jesus, Jessica, you're such a fatty. You'd better go to the gym tomorrow; she thought to herself. After the glass of wine and a few bites of the rich ice cream she brushed her teeth and went to bed. Jessica put in her time off requests and was approved, after that the weeks seemed to drag on. She went out a bought a bunch of new clothes to wear but also kept in mind they would be doing some hiking and would need a sturdy pair of boots and clothes she can get dirty. She had 3 days left to get everything ready and Mary and Michelle were hot on her tail about it. Jessica is known for procrastinating horribly and her friends knew it: Mary: Are you packed yet? You're not are you? Jessica: I'm working on it.... Mary: No you're not, you're drawing again or blogging. PACK WOMAN! PACK! Jessica: I'M PACKING! Air day arrived, the girls had stayed the night with Michelle so they could all pile into one taxi to head to the Sacramento Airport and from there the girls would fly into Ulsan. With the North still impending threats upon Seoul, we decided to stay as far south as possible for most of the trip. As much as the girls would like to see the sites of the country's capital and maybe catch a glimpse of one of their favourite musicians, they didn't really want to risk their lives that badly. Besides, if they found they had the time, they could always switch the tickets to say they fly out from Incheon instead. After a 22 hour flight and traveling forward in time, they finally landed at Ulsan Airport 7am the next day. It was a 30 minute drive to Andong Hahoe Village where they were greeted with a translator and a tour guide who promptly showed the girls to their hanoks. The rooms were small and claustrophobic but the traditional heated flooring was amazing! The girl each got their own hanok since they only slept one and with their luggage, the space was already a pretty tight squeeze. After they each took a two hour nap they were greeted with a knock on the door by the tour guide who was to show them all the amenities, hiking trails and meet and greet some of the villagers whom they would be living with for a week. Their tour guide was Korean American with a tall slender and lanky build, he dressed as a traditional Korean scholar and looked quite silly wearing his thick rimmed glasses with that sweet atirre. "Greetings, my name is Choi HanJae and I will be your tour guide today," HanJae said with a broad crooked tooth grin. "If you have a hard time remembering my Korean name you may just call me Jae." "안녕하세요, I am Dong SukBae," SukBae greeted warmingly. "I will be your translator for the duration of your visit. Please ask me anything." "Are you ladies ready to begin your journey back in time?", HanJae said enthusiastically. We all nodded our heads stoically, still a little jet lagged and starving. "May we eat first?" Mary raised her hand as if she were in school. Jae chuckled and nodded, "Yes, I will show you all the wonderful restaurants and street foods you may choose from." The girls grabbed their purses, sweaters and shoes in anticipation for a wonderful traditional folk village meal. HanJae and SukBae took them through the dust dirt roads explaining all the different buildings and what they were traditionally used for and some are still used for those things, others have been turned into small museums. The girls sat down and had a delicious meal of heotjesbap and gangodeungeo, everything was devoured including an entire pot of tea. "What will we see next, Jae?", Michelle asked. "Would you like to see the Yangjindang House?," HanJae said webbing his fingers together like an evil mastermind. "It's the oldest house in the village and was owned by the Ryu clan when the village was first founded." Mary got a wild look in her eye, "YES! Let's go there!" HanJae and SukJae took us back through a few more winding dirt roads along the river bend and eventually into the centre of the village. "Ryu, Seong-ryong, born in 1542 and died 1607, was a famous court minister who helped protect Korea from the Japanese invasion of 1592. He lived here.", HanJae explained. "Let me take you to Seong ryong's personal study, he has a unique armoire there." They followed HanJae into the house and through several large rooms adorned with antique furniture and pristine rice paper on every door. Everything was very well kept and loved. As they walked into the study there was a large bamboo armoire looming over us. "This armoire is unique in the way that it has been locked for centuries," HanJae pointed to a large antique Asian style padlock. "No one dares to open it and find out why it's been locked for so long. Some in the village say it's cursed and contains the dead bodies of Seong-ryong's enemies. Others say there is another world within this armoire and that the other world is cursed and that's why it's been locked. A few have attempted to break the lock or pick it open, but none have been successful." "Another realm through an armoire," Jessica said pessimistically and crossing her arms. "What is it, the Korean version of Narnia?" Mary scoffed, "C'mon Jess, it's just a village folk story. Don't take it so deliberately." "Yeah, Jess," Michelle chimed in. "Just a folk tale. You like those right?" "I guess so," Jessica shrugged. "That this is absolutely massive and terrifying!" "It was built during the Quing Dynasty when Korea was still known as Joseon Providence. It was built for protection and weaponry. There's supposed to be a hidden door in the floor boards for storage or hiding from the enemy. But since the lock can't be removed we will never know." "Well that was an interesting bit of history," Jessica said sarcastically. "Let's go put our boots on and go hiking!" The girls began to walk back to their hanoks when a mysterious woman walked up to Jessica pointing at her with a sinister look: "YOU!," she shrieked. "The curse will be lifted our worlds will meld into one because of your love and purity for him. You are the chosen one, but only if you're willing to take on the task." "WHAT?!", Jessica backed up terrified of the old woman. "I'm pure? I'm the chosen one? What?!" HanJae gently took the old woman away and she continued shouting, "Believe in yourself my dear! You're in for a battle that you can only win with faith!" Mary, Michelle and Jessica got their hiking gear and turned toward the ancient trails for comfort. They hiked the cliffs along the Nakdong River and took in the picturesque few of what nature had to offer. "This is so great," Mary said admiring the river from the top of the cliff. "I would love to camp up here." "This would be a great place for a pic-nic," Michelle said. "We should bring some goodie with us tomorrow and camp out." "That sounds like a great idea, Michelle!", Mary said enthusiastically. "What do you think Jess? Jess...?" "Sorry, I was just thinking about what that crazy woman said to me," Jessica said still haunted by the woman's words. "Was she putting a curse on me?" "Nah," Michelle said contently. "I heard she's the village shaman. Or the last of them anyway. Shamanism is still widely practiced in the Korean countryside you know." "No, I didn't know," Jessica said angrily. "And I'm still super creeped out by it. How am I the chosen one when I live in California, fuck, I'm not even Korean! I'm Mexican! And how the fuck am I supposed to bring two worlds together? Mexico collides with Korea? I don't get it?" "I'm sure there's a very simple answer and you're over thinking it," Michelle said putting her hand on Jessica's shoulder. "Maybe you can pick the lock on that cursed armoire!," Mary said wildly excited. "Maybe that's why no one has ever been able to get in there! They weren't the chosen one!" "That's stupid, Mary," Jessica said scowling and crossing her arms again. "Why doesn’t someone just blow the stupid thing up or burn it? Then they can get inside." "Why ruin a beautiful and important piece of history?", Michelle asked. "Oh you silly librarian," Jessica scorned. "There's no such thing as curses and that stupid armoire doesn't lead to another realm. And I'm not the chosen one! I want to go to bed now." They hiked back down the steep trail into the village and headed back to their hanok. In the middle of the night Jessica was awoken by a loud CRACK! She sat straight up and saw a strange glow leading from her hanok to the courtyard, it seemed to be a glowing trail of bubbles coming right through the door. Jessica crawled across her bed and slowly opened the door to peer outside, she saw no one and nothing but this glowing trail of tiny bubbles beckoning her to follow them. She went against her better judgment and stepped outside slipping her shoes on and following the glowing trail through the courtyard, past the midwife's house and to the Ryu clan home. Jessica stopped short when she noticed the bubble trail seemed to be floating almost wispfully like a bunch of tiny faeries were holding it together and floating along with it. Jessica swallowed hard and followed the trail up to the front door. Jessica expected the door to be locked since it was after hours: 'This is stupid,' Jessica thought out loud. 'Why the fuck am I here?' With that the door slowly creaked open and the floating wispy bubble trail lit the way through the house winding around corners and taking her through haunting dark corridors to her destination: the armoire. There is stood solid and mighty like nothing could ever demolish it. The giant armoire was creepy and Jessica noticed something else about the armoire: the lock had been broken. She walked up to the armoire to touch the busted lock and it was covered in ice! "What the fuck?!", Jessica yelled. "How the..." She stopped short as the large bamboo door slowly opened and beckoned her to crawl inside. Jessica hoisted herself up into the large armoire and saw a strange glow in the back. Jessica cautiously crawled toward the light and as it got closer and brighter she began to see a whole new realm forming. Jessica turned around to crawl back but the door seemed to have shut, she couldn't see a way back! As she looked back toward the world that was slowly forming she saw a tree filled with beautiful sparkling apples! Jessica stood up and walked toward the tree to get a better look, as she approached the tree she could feel grass between her toes: "Huh?" Jessica gasped. "Where are my shoes? Where are my clothes? These clothes aren't mine!" Jessica was no longer dressed in her pajamas, but dressed in deer skins and lamb wool. She was now barefoot and could feel something on her back...it was a bow and a small pouch of arrows! "What the fuck is this?", she shrieked. "Huntress you have returned!," said a high pitched voice above her. "Who said that?", Jessica shouted looking around. "I did!", the voice said again and suddenly dropping down in front of her face. "EEEee!", Jessica screamed. "What are you doing in that tree upside down?" "My name is Doodle! I'm a tree elf!," he said excitedly. "Welcome back huntress, we missed you! And our world is in great need of you now, the Prince needs you to fight in his army." "My name is Jessica and I need to do what?", Jessica said confused and angry about what was happening. "Jessica, that's a peculiar name," Doodle said. "OK huntress Jessica, follow me." Jessica sighed heavily and followed Doodle into the thick forest not knowing what to expect but knowing she was confused and terrified at beginning to understand what the village shaman had told her only hours before.