#it's menacing in appearance and sound and highly destructive

[nerdarena2]

What Is Your Nostalgia Meter When You See The Nolan Dark Knight Trilogy?

We have often considered cinema as one of the most prominent space of influence. As it not only creates a huge connect with the audience towards a new universe. And that is where Christopher Nolan filled in the shoes well by developing the Dark Knight Trilogy. The reason why it is superior than any other batman series is because it brought a darker and more realistic take on the Batman character, moving away from the campy and lighthearted tone of previous adaptations. Overall, the Dark Knight Trilogy is considered a groundbreaking and influential work that elevated the superhero movie genre to new heights and set a new standard for quality and sophistication.

 Prime Characters Of The Nolan’s Trilogy

 Below are one of the prime characters of the dark knight trilogy series: 

 The Batman

 One of the most popular characters in DC comics ever since his inception in DC, Batman's secret identity is Bruce Wayne. A wealthy businessman who witnessed his parents' murder as a child and vowed to fight crime and corruption in Gotham City. He uses his resources, intellect, and physical abilities to take on criminals and villains, all while dressed in a distinctive bat-themed costume. In pop culture it is been portrayed by a lot of successful actors but when it comes to the Batman series, one of the finest we have ever seen is the Dark Knight Trilogy by Christopher Nolan. And Christian Bale's portrayal of the character Batman as it is known for its dark and brooding tone, as well as his physical transformation for the role, including gaining muscle mass and altering his voice to sound more menacing as Batman. If you are a true fan of The Dark Knight Trilogy and will to purchase the following batman action figure then you can find these at batman in india.

 The Batpod

 A highly advanced vehicle designed specifically for use by Batman, and is equipped with a range of gadgets and weapons, including grappling hooks and cannons. Known for its sleek, futuristic design and impressive maneuverability The Batpod was designed to be able to navigate through the tight spaces and narrow alleys of Gotham City. And it features a number of unique features such as grappling hooks, cannons, and extendable wheels that allow it to move in multiple directions. It is a highly recognizable and iconic vehicle, and is often associated with the Batman character as portrayed in Nolan's films. If you are a true fan of The Dark Knight Trilogy and will to purchase the following batman action figure then you can find these at batman in india.

 Joker

 The Joker is a maniacal and anarchic criminal mastermind who seeks to bring chaos and destruction to Gotham City. He is known for his clown-like appearance, complete with face paint and scars, and for his twisted sense of humor. The character's motives are mysterious and ever-changing, and he is often portrayed as an unpredictable and terrifying force of chaos. The Joker is often portrayed as having a deep-seated hatred for Batman, and their adversarial relationship is a central element of the character's story. He is known for his iconic look, which typically includes clown makeup, green hair, and a purple suit. But when it comes to Joker's performance we have seen huge actor's portray it humgouesly well but only Joaquin Phoenix level the performance of heath ledger as "The Joker." If you are a true fan of The Dark Knight Trilogy and will to purchase the following batman action figure then you can find these at batman in india.

    Apart from the above anime action figures, there are many other action figures. If you are looking out for such action figures then Nerd Arena is a one-stop solution for such kinds of action figures. 

 To know more: https://nerdarena.in/collections/batman-action-figures/the-dark-knight

[swan2swan]

FUN BLEACH FACT: Emilou Apacci is the first Arrancar in the series to terminate an opponent on-screen using the dreaded Cero Blast.

[dani-ya-dig]

Malfunction

Shigaraki x Reader Soulmate AU 

A BNHA soulmate AU in which your quirk doesn’t work on your soulmate.  

Tw: Fighting, Mentions of dying, Choking, Kidnapping (if you would like me to add anymore, please let me know!) 

Hey! This is one of my first times writing a fanfiction, so I will appreciate any form of interaction with this post! Especially any constructive criticism or tips on how to improve my writing! Thank you and I hope you enjoy! 

The battle had been grueling, and your body had been growing weak. You could feel the energy draining from your body every time you had used your quirk. Despite this, you had still fought with all of your might. 

Blue flames shot in your direction, and you quickly ducked into a nearby alleyway to avoid the blaze. As you dodged the flames, your foot slipped beneath you and you tumbled to the ground. You let out a shaky breath as you try to lift yourself up with weak, trembling arms. 

Once you get yourself standing and steady, you turn around to run back into the fight, before you see someone standing in front of you. Before you have time to even asses the situation, the person kicks you hard, their foot pushing into your chest. You fall back once more, hissing in pain as your head hits the hard concrete beneath you. You try to stand up once more but the person kneels down both knees at either side of your chest, pinning you to the ground. 

You look up to see a man with greyish blue hair and crimson eyes looking down at you, shooting you a menacing glare. Tomura Shigaraki, the leader of the league of villains, had you pinned down to the cold ground. He had taken the hand he previously worn on his face, so you could get a view of his face, and his chapped, scarred skin.  

You attempt to lunge forward and swing your arm at him, attempting to land a blow to his jaw. He grabs both of your wrists with one hand and puts his other on your neck and slams you back into the ground. The thrum of pain in the back of your skull returns once more. You let out a groan, and Shigaraki clicks his tongue at you. “Pathetic- Absolutely pathetic.” he says in his raspy voice, as he curled his lip in disgust. 

You struggle beneath him as he holds you by the throat with his pinky standing straight out not touching you with his other hand pinning your hands above your head to stop you from trying anything. “Really, you call yourself a hero, yet you can’t even muster the strength to fight back, honestly” he says in a disgusted tone. You send him an icy stare as you attempt to struggle away from his grasp once more.

 “Disappointing- truly. It’s not like it will matter much anyway, because the second I put this last finger down then-” Shigaraki speaks in a monotone, uninterested tone before leaning in close to your ear. “It’s game over for you, little hero,” he whispers to you before letting out a small breathy chuckle and raising back up. 

“You don’t have to do this! It’s not too late to turn things around! Revenge, power, whatever your after isn’t worth all of this destruction” you assumed your words wouldn’t sink in. Every villain you as ever met was stubborn, Shigaraki would not be the exception. Even if your words didn’t sink in now, or even in the future, the least they could do was maybe buy you sometime, to figure out a way. Maybe if you were lucky, Shigaraki would let down his guard, and you could overpower him. 

Shigaraki said nothing at first. He just looked down at you with a small smile. The smile progressively got wider and wider. You furrowed your eyebrows. Why is he smiling? He threw his head back and laughed loudly. “You hero’s really think so highly of yourselves, don’t you” he said, the grin still plastered on his face. 

“You just think you know everything about everything don’t you?” he says his eyes, his pupils constricting with each word he uttered. “You think you understand, me. You think you understand why I am doing this” his grip on your throat tightens. Although he is not choking you, you fear if provoked anymore, he might lower his pinky.

 Before you could say anything to calm him, he spoke once more, “Well you see little hero, I am only doing this for one reason.” He said before taking a pause in what he said. “I want to see society crumble at my feet”.

 “I want to see when people realize they don’t have their precious saviors to rely on anymore. I want to see that fear in people’s eyes” He says in a raspy whisper. “I’ll get there taking you all down hero by hero” you brace yourself as you know what is coming next. 

You close your eyes tightly and your breath halts as Shigaraki begins to lower his pinky finger down. “Goodbye hero” he whispered before his pinky had finally touched your neck. 

…

…

…

You were still conscious? 

You slowly open your eyes to see confused red orbs staring back at you. “What?” Shigaraki said, obviously confused. He lifted his pinky and put it back down. He kept repeating this action as he furrowed his eyebrows. “Uh, I don’t think it’s working,” you decide to speak up only to use an unamused tone, since Shigaraki appeared as though he was going to give up on retrying to kill you. 

“Shut up!” Shigaraki snapped back, not budging from his place above you. “You must have some kind of power erasing quirk I don’t know of!” he said. His hand that was previously wrapped around your throat now moves up to his neck as he scratches at the scarred skin vigorously. “I don’t ha--” you spoke but go silent abruptly, as the realization finally hits you. “Well, if you don’t, then why the hell won’t my quirk work on-” 

“You’re my soulmate!” You exclaim, cutting Shigaraki off, Your statement had sounded more like a question than intended, but you couldn’t help but be a little shocked. “What? The hell are you talking about?” he says, his nose scrunching up in confusion. “Did no one ever tell you about soulmates?” in response to your question, Shigaraki just stared blankly at you. 

You’ll take that as a no. 

“Your quirk doesn’t work on your soulmate,” you explain to the villain quietly, still having a hard time processing the situation yourself. Shigaraki’s cheeks turn a dark shade of red and his eyes go wide. “You — you’re lying to me!” he says defensively. You didn’t even realise it, but you were smiling just a little. You didn’t think the leader of the League of Villains would get so flustered over this. “I’m not-” You defend yourself but you are cut off by Shigaraki once more. “Well, if my quirk won’t work” he mumbles quietly. “I’ll just have to kill you with my bare hands!” 

Before you even have time to react, both of the villain’s hands were wrapped around your neck and choking you. With your hands now free, you grab at his arms trying to get the upper hand. You push at him and scratch up his arms, in a desperate attempt to get free. Your attempts prove useless as your vision blurs and your limbs turn weak. You finally give in as you feel yourself slip into unconsciousness. 

When you awake, you find yourself in a dimly lit, stuffy room. You are bound to a metal chair by a thick coarse rope. You struggle, trying to break free of the ropes, but you halt once you hear a voice bouncing off the walls of the empty room. 

“Looks like you’re finally awake” You look up only to meet Shigaraki’s crimson eyes once more. “We are going to have a lot of fun together, my little soulmate” he says, looking down at you with an eerie grin. 

“Shit”

______________________________________________________________

(Shigaraki totally didn’t ask someone on the way back to base what a soulmate was ;) ) 

Thank you for reading this short little fic that I wrote! Again, this is my first time writing something like this and posting it. I know there is a lot of room for improvement lol. 

If anyone has any constructive criticism, please, I would love to hear it! I really want to improve my writing in any way that I can! 

[mochibrokenheart]

SVSSS: Guardian of the Museum

Mobei Jun x Shang Qinghua

Word Count: 2,756

Summary: Of course there's ominous growling and destruction to the building on Shang Qinghua's first night as a museum curator. Of course there is! Besides being desperate to keep the job, he's not sure what possesses him to actually walk toward the dangerous situation. His survival instincts were better trained that! Except...wait a minute...the terrifying creature causing all the ruckus is actually the hottest thing he's ever seen???

My first contribution for Moshang Monsterfucking Month (and my first fic for the fandom in general!) Heavy on the monster part as the nsfw is not explicit. Who knew that it would be hard to write something short. Inspired by the Day 2 prompt: horny.

Also posted on my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34305571

A nearby bell tolled at midnight just as Shang Qinghua locked up the museum for the night, which meant that he was officially off for the weekend. Being a party of one, he celebrated with a groovy victory dance while turning the key over in the lock.

There was a little click and he rattled the knob, checking that the door was properly locked—if anything was stolen or vandalized during the night, he would most definitely be blamed as the recent hire!

The job was an important stepping stone in his career path plan to being a rare artifacts curator. He really needed the experience. It was hard enough to land the job, so he wasn’t above looking neurotic by double, and triple, and quadruple checking everything before he left.

A chilly breeze tussled his hair and raised goosebumps down his neck. It was October, he supposed while drawing up his hood to block the chill, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to complain.

He was much to delicate for cold temperatures and would exercise his right to curse out the changing seasons. Of course, he could move somewhere further south, so that he wouldn’t have to put up with it anymore, but still!

The only good thing about the loss of summer was the bugs, he decided.

Clearly, Shang Qinghua was irresistible because bugs treated his blood like an all-you-can buffet. If only hot men thought the same. But alas.

Sighing, he turned up to admire the full moon, who seemed to sympathize with the sad state of his romantic affairs, being the moon and all. Something about it’s pale gray-white color naturally emoted a sad, longing reflection.

It was as he was looking up that he heard a growl, loud not because of its pitch—it was actually quite low and gravelly—but because it vibrated the very air around him.

Shit. Shit. He wasn’t equipped to deal with some beast! He had no weapons and there was no way his body was going to get the job done either. He was a delicate flower, just ask the bugs who always feasted on him!

He rummaged through his bag frantically for his phone. That was what the authorities were for.

Opening his phone, his mind was racing. Who did you call when there was a potentially wild animal on the loose? The police? Animal control?

Gasp! What if it turned out to be a demon?

…!!!

He didn’t have any shamans or priests on speed dial. There had never been a reason to until then but if it would save him, he’d buy up every type of religious necklace he could and wear them around his neck daily. It was like insurance—it never hurt to cover all of his bases.

While he was wasting time on the sidewalk, what appeared to be small bits of gravel drifted down from what seemed like the roof. Scurrying to get closer to the streetlight, which casted a circular light on the steps of the museum, Shang Qinghua bent down to get a closer look.

It felt dusty when he rubbed his pointer finger against his thumb and did match the shade of stone the building was…The new evidence presented a bit of dilemma. Yes, he was still itching to call somebody have them do the dangerous work, but at the same time, his boss might fire him if something happened to the museum under his watch.

“Well, if there’s more damage, I guess I’ll take a look,” he muttered. He clasped his hands together. “But please, take mercy on me, moon! I promise that if you get me out of this that my next erotica will be dedicated solely to you, and in very large print, so that my readers know the reach of your mystical power!”

His hands remained clasped high above his head as he waited. So far so good.

There was still the scary growls, of course, but those didn’t count because he wasn’t going to investigate that. It was absolutely common knowledge that people who investigated weird sounds always ended up dead, at least in horror movies, and that was all the proof he needed to wash his hands of it.

No, the only thing that could sway him from his crouch on the front steps was…was…

Tears shimmered in his eyes as more rubble was knocked off from the roof, the fine particles irritating his nose and causing him to sneeze.

Thoroughly betrayed, he used his sleeve to wipe at his nose. Forget the moon. Clearly the bond he felt had only been one-sided, and now he was obligated to actually suck it up and put himself in harms way.

The Shang Qinghua of five minutes ago would’ve screamed and called himself a fool. Why ignore those highly honed flight instincts?! Even the Shang Qinghua of the present was screaming and calling himself a fool when he took the first hesitant step inside.

It was deceptively quiet in the stairwell but that wasn’t enough to calm him. As the saying went, it was the calm before the shit storm and he was about to be right in the middle of it. How careless of him.

Just in case this was the end, he started to draft an epitaph—it’s not like anyone else would put in the same amount of effort. 

His minor following would be too busy wailing about the permanent book hiatus; his boss would have their hands full dealing with insurance over the architectural damage; and that hot-and-cold cucumber bro of his would still be nagging him in the afterlife, criticizing him for his stupid plan when it ‘clearly would’ve been better to do such and such’. But back to him.

We are gathered here to mourn the passing of one Shang Qinghua, a bright hamster that was taken from Earth far too soon. His exhibit work was flawless, his knack for collections cataloging unrivaled. There was never a day without bountiful office supplies with him around. We thank him for his singular brave—foolish?—sacrifice in the name of historical value. Shang Qinghua is survived by several dying houseplants and the stray dog he usually fed on his way home from work.

There. That sounded as good as he was likely to get. Wait. No. He almost left out the most important part: the secret letter of last words meant only for cucumber bro’s eyes. Bro, if you’re reading this it’s because I died a terrible and scary death. Please take pity and wipe all of my search history. It was all for research, honest! It’s bad taste to judge a dead man.

The access door to the roof was large and imposing in front of him, even though there was still no noise coming from the other side. He was going to be mad and then relieved, in that exact order, if this turned out to be nothing.

He inhaled. Exhaled. Jumped around and shook his hands where they hung down beside the length of his body. He’d watched enough athletes—for research!—throughout his short life and getting loose always seemed to pump them up for competition. The same principle should apply here.

The door gave with a loud screech and he suspected that it wasn’t in regular use. Not that there was probably much to see up there anyway. Just roosting pigeons, stone slabs, and—

His mind went blank.

Crouching in the corner, so close to the edge that all it would take was a gust of wind to send him tumbling down, was some sort of winged creature. And the wings were massive things that arched up before curving downward completely over it’s back, the tips draped on the ground. Judging by how large they were, they had to be functional, which nearly caused him to wet himself. 

He didn’t want to imagine that thing taking flight after him. Not that he would be exciting prey. Gods, this probably how a mouse felt when a hawk was flying overhead.

But it was the horns that really caught his attention. They were hulking black spirals and the sharp points were pointed right at him. Even in the poor light, it was obvious that they were pure black. Any other time, he might comment on how cool they actually were, how they were a cosplayer’s dream, but it wasn’t cool when it was a matter of life and death. 

And he would most certainly die if those menacing horns and wings were any indication.

Trying to keep the element of surprise, he slowly let the door swing shut. Until a little bat started flew over squeaking, which caused him to squeak as well. The door hit the frame with a loud rattle. His body went heavy with fear and his eyes snapped shut, a natural prey response. He had never, ever been this scared.  

Not patient enough for Shang Qinghua to turn around on his own, the creature flung him around to face it with an aggressive growl. And he had thought it was loud when he was on the sidewalk. Which wasn’t true at all. It was much louder and more intimidating when it was right in his face.

“Trespasser!” it growled, teeth clicking.

…Okay, so it could talk. Maybe this was a good thing. Now could grovel with it to spare him!

Blinking rapidly, he opened his eyes and looked up, up, up. It didn’t look as horrific from the front as it did the back. In fact, it had a humanoid appearance and was distinctly male. He was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, a total fantasy come to life. How the hell was he real?

His was incredibly tall, his huge wings proportional to his size now that he was standing up. Now that he saw them up close, Shang Qinghua noticed that they were a beautiful shade of blue that started out dark but lightened to pale blue once it reached the tips, which also had sharp spikes—Nails? Claws? He wasn’t well versed in anatomy—attached.

The top of his ears were pointy, too, just like the tops of the wings. Oh, and the horns! There were two of them, both pure, glossy obsidian, that sprouted out on either side of his temple, the bases thick and ridged as they spiraled like a ram’s. The only difference was that his horns were much larger. He could maul someone with those along if he wasn’t careful.

But now that he considered it more—even in times of crisis, he could multi-task when it really counted—the horns only added more to his attractiveness. They were intimating, sure, but also sexy, in a monsterfucking type of way. He gasped as a clawed hand wrapped around his throat. Yep, he could definitely get into the horns and claws. Mark him down as scared and horny.

The growling died down but sharp teeth were still on display, and there was a stylized tattoo-looking mark on his forehead. Despite the snarl, Shang Qinghua instinctively knew that his face was insanely attractive; it had to be to match the rest of him. Speaking of the rest of him…

He dropped down in front of him, making sure to drag his hands down that ripped physique and gave his massive pectorals a quick squeeze before he landed on his knees in a kneeling position. 

His face was right in front of the creature’s impressive package, covered only by a flimsy loin cloth. It fluttered in the night breeze and he had to bite down on his finger to stop his depraved moaning. “Ff-forgive me, my good-demon-sir, but I swear I’m not trespassing. I’m a humble worker here at this museum.”

He quickly took out his employee badge to offer it up to the demon who barely gave it a glance. “Gargoyle,” it said in reply.

“Oh. I’m sorry but I don’t really know what you mean by that.” Wait, why did he say that? He didn’t want to get further in the demon’s bad side than he already was! “I mean no offense, of course. I’m sure gargoyles are absolutely lovely—”

“No,” he interrupted, his face smoothed out into blank slate. It made it harder to read him but Shang Qinghua quickly decided that it was alright. “I am a gargoyle, human. You may address me as Mobei Jun.”

Ohhh. Now that he mentioned it, his wings and horns could belong to a gargoyle. He knew that they were popular parts historical buildings that had a strong Western influence, which the museum did.

“And I am a king. Not a sir.”

Curse his authority kink. He was sure that any new fantasies he conjured up would be staring this particular king and Shang Qinghua as his servant.

“Of course, my king! You’re reeking of kingly handsomeness. As a lowly human, my apologies for the obvious mistake.” The gargoyle king didn’t make any move to acknowledge his words other than a slow blink, so he figured that it was all good. “Excuse me if this sounds rude, but what are you doing up here? And what was all the noise about?”

“Guardian. I was charged with the safety of this place by a war lord.” Jeez. So he’d been with the building for centuries at least, maybe even millennia.

There was a pause and he realized that he wasn’t going to answer the second question. It also seemed like the gargoyle king was waiting on him and a light bulb went off. “S-sorry again my king. I am Shang Qinghua. I am in charge of the rare artifacts inside of the building, so you may see me closing up most nights.”

The gargoyle king nodded sagely and he figured that the role must be acceptable to him. A loud sigh left him and his muscles relaxed just in the slightest way. He might survive this encounter yet. Ever better, survive and be able to go home and break out that new bottle of lube that he bought last week. There was plenty of new material to work with, that was for sure.

Then the gargoyle stepped back, giving him more space, which was actually the opposite of what he wanted. Feel free to punish him for earlier transgressions, king, especially if they were rough in a sexy way!

Unaware of his inner pleadings, he continued walking away to crouch back near the edge of the roof.

“Umm, be careful, king. It’s dangerous to be that close—”

“I am a king. Concerns such as that are not applicable,” he said, puffing up his chest. Those pecs! He might have to put in a request tomorrow to do more work on the roof. It was a crime that no one was admiring that body on a regular basis. “Leave. Return home. The circles under your eyes are hideous.”

He gasped, touching his bags. Rude! He had just finished a long shift and definitely wasn’t at his best. He was going to have to step up his game if he was going to tempt this gargoyle in the future. Trying his best not to show embarrassment, or disappointment, he agreed to leave.

“Whatever you want, my king. I’ll leave for now but if you need anything, I’ll be back tomorrow and the day after as well. In fact, every night, in case you need me.” Screw his weekend off. Who needed one of those when there was a hot gargoyle of legend serving as the guardian of the museum. Not him, that’s who.

He scrambled to his feet and bowed again for good measure. The door was open and he was across the threshold when his dream gargoyle muttered something. “Did you say something, my king?”

He cleared his throat and spoke gruffly. “The pigeons pooped in my hair.”

Suddenly, the growling from earlier made sense. No matter if you were human or gargoyle, having birds shit in your hair, especially hair as luscious as Mobei Jun’s, was bound to make anyone furious.

Determined to keep his laughs to himself if it was the last thing he did, he merely replied, “Yes, my king. I will make sure to chase them away from you next time.”

“See that you do.”

On cloud nine, Shang Qinghua grinned as he bounded down the stairwell. The gargoyle’s comment implied that there would be a next time. And he intended to romance the loincloth off (literally) of the serious gargoyle king.

Hope you all enjoyed! So happy to share this with everyone. Thanks for reading :)

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, 31: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

An ocarina carved from a large acorn, with a wyrm carved in relief.

A heavy lead disk that depicts writhing tentacles and widespread destruction. The rim of the disk has the word “NEVINYRRAL” on it.

A white tabard bearing a golden sunburst impressed upon a crimson shepherd’s crook embroidered over where the bearer's heart should be.

A small turtle shell intricately scrimshawed with aquan script. If translated, it’s a bawdy merfolk limerick.

A tall banner pole emblazoned with the holy symbol of the Goddess of Spiders. Adorned in skulls and the webbed and dried husks of many offerings, it oozes with an evil aura. From out of the great webbed void, a multiple-eyed arachnid gaze, looks down upon the battlefield, with slaughter reflected in its blackness. When the wind moves the tattered banner, it flutters soundlessly, like so much webbing. Yet, ever so faintly, the furtive noise of scuttling can be heard, or perhaps the clicking and chittering of steel-hard mandibles.

A square digging shovel with the grip and handle stained red with blood. Touching the grip with bare hands allows the bearer to hear the anguished cries of the grave diggers who have died on the job with the shovel in their hands. 

A porcelain mask featuring a beautiful womanly face with closed eyes. The porcelain has a slight golden hue and gleam to it.

A single, thumb sized, intricately carved gemstone, that upon professional inspection, is completely fake.

A limestone ashtray inlaid in obsidian forming folk symbols said to protect against fey influence. It is of fine workmanship.

A small brooch made of a translucent stone carved into a lily with too many petals. It seems to resonate with power when its bearer casts a spell. 

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

An ocarina carved from a large acorn, with a wyrm carved in relief.

A heavy lead disk that depicts writhing tentacles and widespread destruction. The rim of the disk has the word “NEVINYRRAL” on it.

A white tabard bearing a golden sunburst impressed upon a crimson shepherd’s crook embroidered over where the bearer's heart should be.

A small turtle shell intricately scrimshawed with aquan script. If translated, it’s a bawdy merfolk limerick.

A tall banner pole emblazoned with the holy symbol of the Goddess of Spiders. Adorned in skulls and the webbed and dried husks of many offerings, it oozes with an evil aura. From out of the great webbed void, a multiple-eyed arachnid gaze, looks down upon the battlefield, with slaughter reflected in its blackness. When the wind moves the tattered banner, it flutters soundlessly, like so much webbing. Yet, ever so faintly, the furtive noise of scuttling can be heard, or perhaps the clicking and chittering of steel-hard mandibles.

A square digging shovel with the grip and handle stained red with blood. Touching the grip with bare hands allows the bearer to hear the anguished cries of the grave diggers who have died on the job with the shovel in their hands.

A porcelain mask featuring a beautiful womanly face with closed eyes. The porcelain has a slight golden hue and gleam to it.

A single, thumb sized, intricately carved gemstone, that upon professional inspection, is completely fake.

A limestone ashtray inlaid in obsidian forming folk symbols said to protect against fey influence. It is of fine workmanship.

A small brooch made of a translucent stone carved into a lily with too many petals. It seems to resonate with power when its bearer casts a spell.

A dark, red-veined rock about the size of a clenched fist that feels slightly warm to the touch.

A makeup palette containing six different shades of blush.

A drinking mug made from a seashell, grown exactly into its current shape.

A collapsible fan made of transparent insect wings.

A belt pouch consisting of a length of bamboo worn horizontally on the belt. The segmented cane has three fastened openings, and each compartment is lined with padded wool to keep the contents from rattling.

A dashing wide-brimmed hat bearing a dazzling feather.

A drawing that looks remarkably like an older version of the viewer... with a mortal wound.

A small carnelian carving of a hawk that gives off a faint glow whenever a gnome is within one hundred feet.

A fiddle made out of pure white wood and engraved with elven runes that can only play melodies in the major key.

A steel bracelet depicting an armored knight protecting a sleeping child from a shadowy monster.

A brass bell that always stays highly polished and resembles the sound of strange laughter when rung. It is rumored to open doors to the Feywild.

A sphere made of steel, which has numerous rods sticking out of it. Twisting the rods of the blacksmith’s puzzle in a particular order allows them to be removed, revealing a gold coin inside.

A honeycomb intricately carved from marble and polished to a fine finish.

A clockwork item consisting of a hooded, axe wielding executioner with red eyes, and a crying man at the chopping block. When a copper coin is dropped into the coin slot in the front, the headsman swings his axe downward, and the head of the crying man drops off. The head is attached with a string, and when the axe raises again, the head is reeled back to its shoulder.

A sturdy leather cord tied into an intricate knot that writhes in the hands of the bearer.

A series of five vials in a wooden box, each filled with a bright green liquid. Four of them contain a sweet tasting liquid, and one of them contains a horrid and acrid liquid that deals acid damage equivalent to a shortsword when consumed in any quantity. They can only be distinguished by taste. The box reads: “Game of Chance”.

A standard deck of lacquered playing cards that shuffles itself when tapped twice.

A large tin canister whose lid is stamped with the image of a bountiful orchard whose trees are overflowing with fruit, the ripest of which has fallen and filled a cornucopia. The container is brimming with dozens of pieces of well preserved dried limes.

A small puzzle box that reforms itself after being solved, requiring a new solution in order to unlock it.

A worn looking banjo with the peg head made out of a carved piece of driftwood.

A wooden tribal mask with sharp teeth, glowing yellow eyes and a beard of leaves.

A cracked hand mirror, which always shows a shadowy figure to be standing behind the one looking in it. Sometimes, the figure moves.

A wooden chalice etched with a horrifying visage and topped with a bone covering.

A dark stone tablet no larger than a book with a green gem in the center. It has a strap one can sling over the shoulder to carry it.

A tattered flag with the symbol of a bloody Random Melee Weapon stitched on it.

A stone idol that appears to be a aquatic goblin with a dorsal fin,webbed fingers and a double row of shark teeth.

A copper wand etched with arcane sigils. The serpent's head at its tip clutches a crystal in its jaws. 

A silver bracelet with finely-wrought filigree in the shape of vines.

A one gallon cask of Skjolhammar Strong Ale. Technically a type of honey mead, Strong Ale is cheap and strong, though it lays no claim to being the best quality. It has a deep goldenrod color, and a weak, pale head of foam. It smells strongly of alcohol. The flavor is akin to a combination of honey, pickles, and fermented apples, but it doesn’t last long before being overpowered by an eye-watering alcohol burn that lasts for several seconds before dissipating. 

A card-sized square of welded brass cylinders, each with intricately detailed carvings depicting acts of brutal torture, ending with glass lenses on each end like a spyglass. When looking through the object, the viewer sees their most loved friend or family member (Who is not present) being viciously tortured by all means of non-lethal methods. If the viewer has no true friends or family, they see an older version of themselves instead. The square is indestructible and warm to the touch and anything viewed through it is entirely fictional. 

A small shield shaped insignia marking the bearer as a defender of others. This insignia is misshapen as if crushed by a passing wagon and speckled with blood.

A wooden, roughly carved hunting horn that still has patches of bark remaining on its surface. The deep, haunting sound it makes is dark, foreboding, and above all else, wild, with its notes echoing far longer than they should.

A green bottle enchanted to deliver a heartfelt message. When opened the bottle emits the voice of a crying man speaking to his wife, saying how sorry he is and how nobody should go through the Duskfall Forest. The message will play over and over again until the bottle is closed. 

An oak wood pipe with writing carved on its side in infernal. It reads “Let he who smokes from the pipe be damned”.

A wizard's wand made of a three-foot long sprig of ash with a fine, smooth handle that widens at the end.

A set of six sided dice with lewd pictures on each of the faces.

A beautiful, hand-crafted, driftwood figurine of a water nymph.

A miniature torture device play set. Comes with stretchy arm clown with menacing spiked tooth grin. When the doll is placed on the rack, little wooden gears turn, stretching out the doll and causing it to laugh maniacally.

A gold coin that when flipped remains suspended in the air, spinning indefinitely until it is grabbed again. 

A wooden spinning top that looks crudely carved. Yet when it’s spun, it catches the carving in such a manner as to make the sound of children laughing or crying in the distance, depending on which direction the top is spun

A petrified goblin heart in a silver birdcage.

A broken compass that only ever points to the nearest other broken compass. 

A ceramic jar of pond water containing half of dozen live leaches. The label on the side of the container reads “Dream-Suckers”.

A silver flask half filled with fine scotch, bearing a leering face engraved on the front.

A sealed one gallon cask of finely aged wine that gives the imbiber prophetic, drunken visions.

A box made of petrified, grey wood. Square, palm sized, and unusually heavy, it has a lid and iron hinges, but no latch. A face, moon-like and squinting mirthfully, is carved on the immovable lid.

A brand, or perhaps a rosette iron. Small, and quite delicate in the handle. Scorches a pressed surface with a two-inch-tall capital M if heated cherry-hot.

A chatelaine lined like a human palm. Five short iron chains hang from it, no more than two inches long. Each ends in a lead fingertip pendant. When pinned to a garment or belt, the piece hangs like a strange, disembodied hand.

A long steel tuning fork. When struck, it hums at a lowing, worrisome frequency that stirs the gut and causes a listening ear to rush alarmingly.

A long-necked vessel, small, of porous, white porcelain. Glazed with black, metallic enamel, within. There is a small face stamped on its bulbous end; a curl-lipped face nestled in a pentagram. The vessel becomes dewy, if left in the open air, and over the course of a single night wells up a collected, cloying droplet in its bulb. This fluid is sweet but turns the stomach. It kills insects and small animals that drink of it.

A bleached headdress made from the bones of humanoid hands which have been cleverly fashioned together.

An hourglass, slightly melted, set in a drooping, ancient housing of twisted glass. Within the bloated glass bulbs, there are two, separate liquids: A clear, slightly yellow oil that fills the space like air, and a heavy, cherry-red liquid separate from it. This cherry liquid acts as sand, dripping in slow globules from the top bulb to the bottom. Despite its age, it keeps a perfect hour.

A nickel silver pomander. Eight hinged segments of scrolled openwork separate and swing out from a bottom ring of hinges. The central stem, topped by a ring and the catch disc for all eight segments, bristles with sharp, metal thorns. They are rusted with ancient, brown stain. Atop one, a tiny bone is embedded.

A wolf statuette carved from reddish limestone that fits comfortably in one hand.

A pair of pointed thimbles conjoined by a flexible loop of steel. The clawlike tips join nicely, like a tweezer. They may be worn on thumb and forefinger to pluck up small objects with some precision.

A ragged, thin tin box containing two long, steel nails. Each has a shaft convoluted with organic whorls and notches, and a head showing a carved rose or curling tongue. On the box's lid is pasted a hand-drawn, musty sketch showing where the nails should be driven into a human's skull.

A sharp pen, long, and crafted in smooth onyx. It will bear no ink on its piercing nib; only human blood. The silver nib will neither rust nor tarnish.

A slumber, small, shaped like a pint-sized ampoule of green glass. A faint, flickering heartbeat can be heard within, if listened to in absolute silence. The glass emits faint heat, like a living thing.

A monk's simple green and white robe of an unknown cloth, it smells vaguely of herbs.

A small, cartouche-shaped plaquette made from bronze, meant to hang around the neck by a chain, like a modern dress gorget. The chain is gone, replaced by simple cord. A sculpted, leonine face looks out from the front, snarling.

A small whistle shaped from ivory, perhaps bone. Yellowed and chipped, thin as a pencil, and perhaps the length of one's hand. It has eight holes for fingering, but they are of no use, for the whistle produces no sound when played. It vibrates subtly, producing naught but raised hairs and a sensation of anxious, horrid dread in all who are near.

A spheroid box, small, and ribbed like a squat pumpkin. Splits neatly in two. The halves, which join nearly flush via a thin, inset lip, are conjoined by a short silver chain. Every link in the chain, oblong and blackened, is glassed and opens like a locket. Only one of these frame-links contains a picture: A minute, painted image of a man with a pig's head.

A steel tooth cap, keenly sharp, meant for the upper jaw. Converts the canines and lateral incisors into long, pointed fangs. There are sockets in the fangs fronts, as if they once held gemstones. A pair of blackened, ancient teeth are still stuck within the cap's inner groove.

A tiny green ingot, pale emerald all the way through, as verdigris, in a torn-open lead envelope. On contact with skin, it turns the flesh a spongy, pale green, causes chills, and elicits an itching from the scalp. A geometric, faceted signet has been pressed into one corner of the ingot, presumably while it was cast.

A warm, black iron marble; like a very large bearing, but rougher. The rough, iron exterior has worn away at a thin spot, showing a smooth, shiny yolk of hard, tungsten-grey metal within. Balmy warmth emanates from the marble, but slowly burns nearby skin an irritated red, if kept nearby for too long. The redness takes time to fade, and flakes and weeps before it does.

The skeleton of an unknown animal encased in a mound of yellowing resin. It is much like a garden frog in both size and shape, albeit a garden frog with long claws and a protracted, toothy snout.

The steel tip of a horn capped in plain steel and pointed like the punch-shape of a bodkin arrow. Dry, keratinous splinters of horn, fragile with age, are still stuck on the inside.

A white marble bowl with the image of an ermine, and a rearing horse as pictures in a book within a shield shape and set with an amethyst. It is of strangely organic workmanship.

A cherry letter opener with the image of runes in an unknown language, and a thistle within an octagon.

An elven poncho covered in long strands that resemble weeping willow, wisteria and ivy vines.

A short scroll made out of singed papyrus, covered in strange, flowing script at crazy, disjointed angles and stains of ominous origin.

A brown leather flatcap with a two holes pierced through, possibly from the horns of the previous owner.

A long, diaphanous, red veil that shimmers with crushed amber shards that dance like sultry flames whenever its bearer breathes or moves.

A bundle of good quality beaver pelts tied together with twine and wrapped in a protective oilskin case.

A crystal shoe. A heeled slipper, one made for the foot of a small woman. Bluish and lightly faceted. Quite hard, and able to be worn and walked upon, albeit uncomfortably.

A cylindrical spinning top, quite wide, and made of light, white metal, weighted towards the needle. A row of little skeletons is painted around the cylinder. If spun and looked at dead-on, the skeletons become one and animate. It dances, and not pleasingly, made lively by the kinesis of the whirring top.

An artificial fibula made of rusted, wrought iron delicately carved with scrollwork and decorative rivets; all nearly obscured in red oxidization. 

A perfect specimen of a pine cone, inexplicably encased in a rectangular block of clear glass.

A chess piece, a king, crafted from blackest jet. He sits in a tall throne worked with a scrollwork relief, bearing an expression of deepest weariness. He rests, chin in palm, with a short knife tucked in the opposite hand. A finely worked piece.

A large tin canister whose lid is stamped with the image of a well-stocked confectionery shop bustling with children. The container is filled with dozens of orange flavored hard candies.

A large blue coin with a powdery finish, perhaps tarnished. A hole is punched in one side, lending it the appearance of a tag. One side bears rows of blocky characters; a lost tongue. The other shows a many-towered skyline, all spires and soaring onion domes.

A crude map of the local area inscribed on a tattered canvas scroll, that bears an “X” marking an area near where the map was found. There is a list of instructions in the bottom corner of the map: Find the broken bridge, then go south 2-3 miles, until you find the bronze statue. From there, go east 1-2 miles until you find the dried up creek bed, then go north-east for 3-4 miles and you'll find the relics hidden at the top of an old watchtower. ---Note: It is up to the DM whether or not if the instructions can be followed (The “landmarks” might be a code, riddle or simply not exist for example) and if there is anything at the end. The map could easily be a prank, trap, confidence scheme, ambush or the area could already have been stripped of any value by other adventurers.

An artificial moth crafted of jade slivers and twists of silver wire and trapped in a squat, glass bottle. The strange construct will fly briefly and feebly if warmed by a living palm.

A single steel earring that when worn, allows the bearer to speak the language of the humans, but only to say: "I don't actually speak Human. I only know that sentence, and this one explaining it.” The bearer is not granted the ability to understand the language and doesn’t comprehend what they just said unless they are already fluent.

A human mandible with strange, silvery crystals jutting in a painful major from the ramus and processes, where it might connect to the skull. The teeth, of which the incisors are sharp, are faintly coated in platinum leaf.

A white leather wallet decorated with a twirling red stripe, containing a full set of certified identification papers denoting that the bearer is an established member of the barbers, surgeons and dentists guild. The section containing the member's physical description (Height, weight, sex, race, eye, skin and hair colour) is completely blank and could be filled in by anyone with half decent handwriting.

A folding knife with a curved tang, like a straight razor, but with a wickedly hooked blade. When closed, it forms a semicircle. The blade is quite pitted but has been cleaned of its rust at some point. It is keenly sharp.

A small tin case containing a dozen facial and ear piercings of varying sizes and shapes, all made from chameleon horn.

A pirate flag that although ragged around the edges, clearly shows a grinning skull with devil horns, and crossed bastard swords. Knowledgeable PC's recognize this flag belongs to Garrin Firebrand, the Reef Lord. A local pirate of some distinction, his ship always seems to vanish as soon as it hits open water, which has caused many to wonder if Firebrand and his crew have found a way to slip beneath the waves.

A set of brass merchant weigh scales that have subtle markings around the balancing arm. An extremely perceptive PC will notice that the markings are actually small levels that can be quickly manipulated with the lightest touch in order to cause the scales to tip more in one direction or the other making it seems like one scale weighs more than it rightly should. No doubt owned by a crooked merchant, the fraudulent mechanisms are quite well made and would fetch a fine prince if one could find a shady black marketeer or underhanded jeweler. 

[x-ximenas]

Love Means Trouble: Prologue

Prompt: Some of this playlist, I guess?

Pairing: OC/Nikki Sixx

Warnings: Alcohol consumption and my terrible grammar and punctuation remember English's not my first language.

Word Count: 1,648 words

A/N: Remember me posting this thing about coming up with this great story idea based on multiple songs? Well, I managed to find myself some downtime between finals to write this bit, I really hope you like it! I’m not sure about how good this is, I’m a little rusty, but I’m trying for you guys and myself. Also, if you liked this bit, I’d love to hear some comments! If you’d like to be added to a taglist for upcoming parts comment, dm me, ask me... just communicate with me!

A/N pt.2: This is loosely based on the movie, I took a lot of literary freedom, I just let my mind wonder for a bit, but I’m trying my best to not divert from the film, cause unlike Queen, I don’t know as much so... yeah

// Next Chapter // 

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How do you begin telling stories?... Right! from the beginning, though I gotta say that the middle bit is far more interesting to tell. But I guess we have to do things the right way, although this whole “tale” is anything but right.

It starts with a girl and a boy, quite a straight narrative, but oh well.

Her name is Circe -yes, like the goddess that turned men into swine, poetic, right?- and oh, did she live up to her name. Like it’s told in epic stories and chants, Circe was a goddess, beautiful, smart, mischievous and manipulative; she had a tongue so sharp it could cut through your brain and make you putty in her hands, susceptible to her whispers that ultimately led to her bed or your metamorphosis; and if she doesn’t get you the way she wants to, she’ll do the impossible to get what she desires. Wicked, is one way to describe her ways.

And just like old Greece’s Circe, our Circe was magical. Her fingers could work in magnificent ways, her voice lured people in quite a siren-like way and her personality was something to talk about, she was sarcastic and a tease, but once you broke all of those additional layers you’ll find yourself facing a soft beautiful creature, worthy of love and appreciation.

When we talk physical appearance, your eyes seemed to be quickly drawn to her whenever she walked in a room and it wasn’t just for her dark hair and matching set of eyes, oh no, it had to do with the many beautiful tattoos that adorned her soft skin; a full sleeve of delicately drawn flowers lied on her right arm where you could distinctively tell apart the shape of a woman, a nymph of sorts; and hidden underneath her shirt, on the right side of her ribcage there was a hand and a rose, where said rose seemed to go through the hand, making it drip blood; if you were lucky enough to catch her in shorts you could also see the wonderfully done skull on her right leg, vines and thorns going through it and intertwining just so they could rise to her hip. To put it simply, she was a walking piece of art embroidered with smaller pieces of art.

When she walks in the vicinity you can help but wonder: “who is she?” It might come out of fascination or even judgement maybe even fright, but she’s got your attention, and she thrives off of it. She likes having people -not just men- wrapped around her finger, pulling them and pushing them as she pleases, toying with them, oh how she loves playing games where her winning is a sure thing. She took pride in the destruction she sometimes caused, she loved calling herself a hurricane of sorts, she loved the knocking on her door begging for more, she loves the power it holds to be the one pulling on the leash and not the other way around.

But how surprising it is to know that she craves for true love, no leashes involved, just… love. Admittedly it’s hard to find love in the ’80s, especially in the scene she seemed to hang around in… Rock and Roll, baby… I guess?

At the moment she found herself in the back of a random bar, a glass of vodka cooling her hands as she held it close to her, the bartender tried making conversation with her, though he soon realised it wasn’t that good of an idea, he knew her well and he could tell she wasn’t interested in human interaction tonight. She dropped a couple of crumbled bucks on the bar and left, finally making up her mind.

You see, she had found herself debating over a stupid idea. Just this morning she was surprised by one of her childhood friends; she had opened up her door, finally addressing the insistent knocking, but all she saw was a lanky tall man-child practically dropping to his knees begging her to go to his band's gig, he thought very highly of her and her opinion, hence his need to have her there. She couldn’t stop thinking if it was even worth it, she might love this man to bits but was there a need to prove it? Bands always screwed up on their first gig, rarely got attention, so she’d rather see them once they get better.

Despite her judgemental ways, she was heading to the place of the gig: The Starwood Hotel. How did Tommy manage to convince her to go? That’s something that not even god is sure of.

She ruffled up her hair as she looked in her car's window. Opening the door with a heavy sigh, she just plopped down on the sit, turning the engine on, hearing the lovely roar of her old man's Mustang. She huffed out a chuckle and drove to her destination, humming along to whatever song came up on the radio, turning it up slightly when she heard the sultry voice of Debbie Harry singing "Rapture", great fucking song, she thought.

The drive wasn't long, despite the liveliness of the LA streets at this time of night. Once she got there, she found herself a nice little place to park, making sure it was near the hotel but not quite. With yet another huff she made her way to the entrance of the hotel and headed straight away to the place where she assumed the gig was taking place. A question popped in her head: How in the hell did they manage to get a gig in a fucking hotel? Escapes my mind, clearly… Wait, wasn’t Y&T playing here tonight? What the fuck...

As soon as she found herself near the stage her eyes wandered around in search of the bar, hoping that a couple of shots and yet another vodka could make the experience of a first gig tolerable. She looked around herself, the room was kinda full, thanks to the promise of Y&T playing there that night. She could distinct well-established groups of people, that all at the moment decided that the place to be was nowhere near the stage as if it was the plague or something close to it; there were a couple of girls gathered in the other end of the room, clearly judging Circe’s choices, not just in clothes but maybe even in life, fucking groupies, she thought with a roll of her eyes; also, there was a group of burly men, that looked as if all they wanted was to cause mayhem, charming, she thought, nearly fitting.

The distant sounds of steps were the thing that broke her out of her daze, the band, she assumed. The first thing that caught her eye was the teased hair, then the leather attires and finally the heels, bold choices, all of them, but it felt… right. Just as Vince -a guy Circe met in high school- got close to the microphone to introduce the band, the room -the men, at least- erupted in screams, “fuck you” seemed to be the sentence of the night. Still, with a roll of his eyes, Vince spoke up:

“All right! We're Mötley Crüe!” looking to the crowd in front of him, that simple phrase apparently gave Tommy the queue to start their first song.

But just as Tommy was hitting one of his cymbals, it fell, making a horrible noise as it hit the ground. “Sorry, dude”, he muttered, a soft pink tinging his cheeks, dear lord, someone help my child.

“Come on boys, let’s rock this hole!” Said Vince, trying to keep himself hyped up, and as much as Circe hated to admit it, she loved seeing Vince so frustrated and embarrassed, quite the contrast from his usual cocky attitude.

They started playing an original song, not bad, she thought, it had a good rhythm, and it instinctively made her bob her head to the beat. It all was flowing naturally and quite nicely, but the room still looked as if they had issues with the band, and to prove her right, one of the burly guys spit up quite a nasty phlegm to Vince’s perfectly white leather pants.

“Shit” was all Circe managed to get out before Vince threw himself on top of him, managing to get him on a headlock and right there, she could tell that Vince was no longer in control of his actions, he was seeing red and that meant violence, consequently he decided that punching the man was the way to go.

It all happened too fast for her liking, she always liked watching fights go down, oh and this was a good one, it all looked nearly poetic at this point, with the bassist doing a great job on a couple of guys -wait, isn't that the guy from London?- , Tommy practically diving off the stage and to add the cherry on top the guitarist never stopped playing, coming up with some sick riffs; this was something out of a movie.

Once they managed to kick the asses out, three-quarters of Mötley Crüe got back on stage in a very awkward silence, which Circe decided to break with a:

“Fuck yeah! Mötley Crüe!!” Apparently, that was the right thing to say because that caused the people to get closer to the stage, clearly now more interested and excited than 10 minutes ago. In the distance she saw Tommy winking at her with a smile, pointing at her cheekily; Vince just shook his head, he could recognize that voice anywhere, and it always came with trouble; Mick huffed out a small laugh and fell back to his menacing look; and Nikki, well, his eyes lit up both in interest and mischief.

This was going to be a good night and an even better start of a story.

// Next Chapter //

[kpopfanfictrash]

Eros (I)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Seokjin

Rating: PG

Genre: Fantasy, Mythology!AU / Royalty!AU 

Word Count: 9,958

Summary: In the futuristic world of Europa, Queen Venetia rules her land an iron fist. None are more feared than the Akeran, an alien race Earth fought eons ago, who bear a remarkable similarity to the angels of lore. When you find yourself at odds with the Queen, it seems that there’s no safe place on Earth for you to run. Nowhere but your mysterious rescuer, and even he may be more trouble than he’s worth. 

[ A re-telling of the Greek myth of Psyche and Eros ]

[Prologue]

“Y/N, wake up.”

You hear, rather than see your blinds being pulled away from the windows. Feeling the sun too bright upon your eyelids, you let out a groan and bury your head in the pillows.

A tried, male voice lets out a sigh. Silence follows, save for the quiet – yet menacing – sound of his foot, tapping against the wood. You ignore him, almost drift back to sleep when your room abruptly fills with noise. From deep beneath your pillow mountain come the sounds of the world’s headlines.

“TWO HOUR DELAY ON THE TRANSATLANTIC DUE TO OVERBOOKED BULLETS…”

“RUMORS OF THE CONGICAN GOVERNMENT SUPPLYING EUROPAN REBELS WITH WEAPONS…”

“EUROPA DOLLAR DROPS COMPARED TO CHINESE YEN…”

Taehyung, your assistant, exhales while clicking the channels. “Boring, boring, boring.”

Though you’re not looking, you can see him in your mind – both arms likely crossed, eyes wide behind tortoiseshell frames while impatiently flicking his iComm at the screen. Taehyung – stubborn, brusque, not afraid to tell you how he feels. One of the main reasons you chose him as your assistant.

A reason which seems stupid, when Taehyung abruptly yanks the comforter off your bed.

“Hey,” you gasp, feet exposed to bitter cold – you draw these quickly upwards, like your bony body frame could ever suffice for a blanket. “A little warning,” you groan, burying your head further.

“The first warning was your blinds,” Taehyung cheerfully explains. “The second warning was the screen. This is actually the third warning and if you don’t get up now – a bucket of ice water is next.” 

He sounds just threatening enough to make real of the promise, so you crack open one eye. “I’m up,” you grumble, rolling sideways. “I’m up. No need to waste good water on me.”

Plastering a huge grin on your face, you slide out of bed and head into your bathroom. Turning on the water, you begin to brush your teeth with large, exaggerated movements – as though to prove how awake you are.  You’re rewarded by the sound of Taehyung’s laughter, loud from the next room. As he walks away, you see him already re-absorbed in his iComm – probably lining up the rest of your day’s schedule.

Taehyung always has a million things to think about, a million things to do because you’re currently the most popular movie star on the planet. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you switch the angle of your toothbrush and touch your iComm to the surface. News leaps from the device to your reflection, as you flick past the stories. Dropping Europan dollars, the movements of Congican rebels – seeing this, you pause, reading the word Akeron. 

The Akeron. An alien race, one that’s been of great fascination to you. For many years, there have been peace between your people – but it wasn’t long ago, a furious war raged between the two worlds.

Today’s story is an interview, given by an Akeron historian insisting the alien race is set to invade Earth through your iComms. iComms – short for individual Communication device, one of which, you hold in your hand now. Setting your toothbrush back in the holder, you begin to brush your hair while the clip continues to play.

REPORTER: “Dr. Simms, why do you think the Akeron are still a threat to Earth?”

DR. SIMMS: “I think the better question is, why do some people think they’re not? This may seem shocking, but there are people out there who want to befriend the Akeron. It’s the nature of time, isn’t it? As the years pass, we become accustomed to peace. We start to think, ‘Oh, maybe we were wrong. Maybe the entire war was fought over a misunderstanding. Maybe the two of our species can coexist,’ but these people are wrong. If you didn’t see the war firsthand – if you didn’t see the destruction it brought, it’s easy to forget.”

The historian speaking a twitchy man – each sentence is punctuated by him slapping the armrest of his chair, shifting uncomfortably when he does. In between words, he twirls his pen with long, bony fingers. While the reporter continues to respond, you read the brief history of Earth and Akera scrolling across the page.

SCRIPT: EARTH BEGAN EXPLORING SPACE IN THE EARLY 2050’S, AN ATTEMPT TO FIND A PLANET WHICH COULD HOLD THE SOLUTION TO EARTH’S GROWING CLIMATE PROBLEM. IN 2106, HUMANS LANDED ON AR-VII, AN INHABITABLE MOON IN THE NIVIRE GALAXY. A COLONY WAS ESTABLISHED IN 2110 AND IN 2112, EXPLORERS DISCOVERED WHAT APPEARED TO BE AN UNINHABITED TRADING POST ON THE FAR SIDE OF AR-IIV. THE AKERON PEOPLE (PLANET XII754) REVEALED THEMSELVES TO EARTH IN 2115 AND FOR THE NEXT THIRTY YEARS, EARTH AND AKERA CO-EXISTED PEACEFULLY. BETWEEN 2115 AND 2140, HUMANS REPEATEDLY ATTEMPTED TO EXTEND THE COLONY BEYOND THE EXISTING BOUNDARIES. EACH ATTEMPT TO DO SO RESULTED IN A LOSS OF MOMENTUM, AND THE HUMANS PULLED BACK AFTER A FEW MONTHS ON THEIR OWN ACCORD. EARTH-BOUND HUMANS BECAME SUSPICIOUS OF THE PATTERN AND INVESTIGATED THE INCIDENT IN THE YEAR 2145. THEIR LEARNINGS SHOWED THE AKERAN POSSESSED A DANGEROUS POWER – PERSUASION; WHEREIN THEY CAN MANIPULATE HUMAN EMOTION FOR THEIR OWN, PERSONAL GAIN. WAR ERUPTED OVER THE DISCOVERY 2150, ONCE TENSIONS ESCALATED BEYOND CONTROL. THUS, BEGAN THE FIRST WORLDS WAR. HEAVY CASUALTIES RESULTED ON BOTH SIDES, WITH OTHER GALAXIES EVENTUALLY INTERVENING TO SAVE BOTH CIVILIZATIONS FROM EXTINCTION. LINES OF PEACE WERE DRAWN, AND UNEASY PEACE WAS BROKERED BETWEEN AKERA AND EARTH. EARTH DECLARED ITSELF A NON-HABITABLE ZONE FOR THE AKERAN PEOPLE. MOST LEFT EARTH IMMEDIATELY – THE FEW WHO REMAINED WERE IMPRISONED, AFTER A FAILED COUP-D’ETAT BY THEIR POPULATION. AS OF TODAY, THERE ARE NO AKERAN LEFT ON THE EARTH’S SURFACE.

You stop pretending to brush your hair, reading the words flashing across the bottom of the screen. Your interest in the Akeron is a closely guarded secret. One you’ve never dared tell for fear you’ll be considered crazy – or worse, branded a traitor.

With snowy wings, midnight hair and violet eyes, the Akeron look just like angels. Likely, they were the angels of old religion – there are several historians who’ve validated the Akeron presence on Earth for several millennia back. It was the Akeron, who first gave fire. The Akeron, who built the pyramids and invented the wheel. Each inexplicable, unexplainable event of human history: it can be explained by the Akeron.

Physically, the Akeron are beautiful. You’ve never seen one in person to verify this fact – only in propaganda, or through the screen of your iComm. Though the messages beneath their photos are usually terrifying, you can’t help but linger on their beauty. Hair silken as night, skin smooth as ivory but most incredible of all are their wings. Wings, stemming from their backs to brush the sky.

It’s small wonder, humans used to think them angels. The Akeron are oddly humanoid, if you look beyond their wings and their eyes. If it weren’t for those two features, they could easily pass for Earthlings. It’s the eyes, though. Eyes the color of violets and sunrise; on your iComm, the photos of Akeron always seem to be staring at you. Scientists explain that they don’t blink due to a heavy, purple-hued shield covering their retinas, the purpose of which blocks out foreign particles during flight.

Still, it looks freaky in photos. You blink looking at the photo – it breaks your staring contest in the mirror and you look awkwardly away.

“So, it’s a pr-etty busy day,” Taehyung admits, sauntering back into the room. Whenever Taehyung admits to something being busy, it means it’s probably unbearable. “At 9:00 am, there’s a promotional talk about the Fresh Water campaign,” he continues, munching on an apple he’s pulled from god knows where.

Your gaze moves to his in the mirror. “The what?”

“There’s a lack of Fresh Water,” Taehyung explains, waving a hand. “Company X is going to solve all that. You support Company X – Company X gives Y/N and Taehyung money in return.”

“Got it,” you mutter, turning away. Promotional appearances are just part of the job.

“From 10:00-10:45, there are touch-ups for that United Nations spot. You know, the one with the flag...?” Taehyung trails off, looking as though he’s trying not to laugh.

“And the crown?” you groan, nodding glumly. “Yep. Great.” 

Just add this to the list of awful photoshoots, honestly. The UN shoot was for national pride or something, you faintly recall the messaging while getting your hair pinned into place. It was implied the Queen herself asked that you do it – though you highly doubt this to be true. The Queen has far better things to do than concern herself with you, a movie star.

Taehyung continues talking, reciting a fifteen-minute break for lunch, a couple of limo rides and one meet and greet with fans. You tune all of this out, allowing your mind to wander away.

“Are you listening to me?” Taehyung suddenly interrupts, one hand on his hip. “What if I walked out now, let you get dressed by yourself? You’d probably wear something awful, like chartreuse. Oh,” he blurts suddenly, a thought occurring to him. “Chartreuse.”

“Veto,” you respond, wrinkling your nose. “And I am listening,” you sigh, even though you weren’t.

Taehyung rolls his eyes, not believing for a second. “Well, you’re going to want to listen to this, since tonight is HUGE.”

Everything is huge to Taehyung. The sentiment is a foreign one since all concept of magnitude and scale for you have long since worn off.

“At 17:00,” Taehyung begins, voice dropping, “you’re doing a news panel… with Queen Venetia!”

Your gaze snaps up, make-up brush slipping to clatter uselessly against the counter. “Is this…” you pause, dazedly shaking your head. “Is this what shock feels like?”

Taehyung laughs. “Get used to it, emotionless girl. You’ll be in her presence in a mere ten hours.”

More than a little shaken, you look at yourself in the mirror. The Queen – tonight you’ll be meeting the Queen and suddenly, everything about you seems wrong. Your hair is flat. Your bangs are long and childish. Your usually dewy skin is dull, grey with the lackluster aura of no sleep and coffee. You tug on your bangs expectantly, as though the motion might cause them to shrink.

“Stop psyching yourself out,” Taehyung calls out as he leaves.

Sticking your tongue out in the mirror, you grab your makeup brush to pick up where you left off. You’ve never met the Queen before, Venetia is older, nearly fifty in Earthen years. She was just twenty-five when she found the throne, when the people crowned her Queen of Europa. This was at the end of the first Worlds War.

Queen Venetia is beautiful, as most things in Europa are. With auburn hair and deep brown eyes, her face is all sharp angles. Rumor has it Venetia is single-minded to the point of ruthlessness, but you prefer to think of her as ambitious. Powerful women are always feared for this fact. For all her potential faults, Venetia united your country. Long ago, Europa was a pitiful coalition of nations trapped by small-mindedness and petty desires. China laughed at you in the distance, growing its economy while you struggled with basic policy.

Being divided was a weakness, one which allowed the Akeron to easy manipulate. During the first Worlds War, Venetia was the leader of an anti-Akeron political faction. Her group gained traction by supplying Earthen troops with both military and money and most historians cite Venetia as the tipping point in the war, due to their funding leading to the creation of the Block. The Block is a (not very creatively-named, admittedly) device able to block the Akeron from manipulating waves of human thought.

The Block forced the Akeron to fight you physically, without their powers – and once this happened, they started to lose. Despite their superior strength and wings, the Akeron are a largely peaceful nation. They aren’t used to altercation and were woefully unprepared for the type of guerrilla warfare Earth instilled. This was one of the main reasons Akera decided to make peace with Earth.

This peace wounded their pride, though, which is why many here on Earth still view the Akeron as a threat. Queen Venetia does – she’s constantly speaking on the dangers of complacency. Peace isn’t bulletproof, she likes to say. In fact, the real dangers posed by the Akeron at the end of the war were so great, it led to Venetia being elected Premier General of Europa.

When Europa consolidated, it became clear that a monarchy was the best system of governance and Venetia became Queen, putting into place a large board of advisers. One adviser exists from each state in the nation, though they hold no real power beyond a certain, antiquated influence. It’s hard for any, one, voice to be heard today. It’s a problem which stems from Europa being divided into so many political factions, making it hard for any one faction to gain enough influence to be heard.

Of course, no one dares say these things out loud. Fiddling with a bobby pin, you stare nervously at yourself in the mirror. Venetia has done a lot for your people, as well as for Europa. She’s a competent Queen, one who’s enabled Europa to hold your own against the remaining global powers. 

This is what you tell yourself when you resume brushing your hair, pushing all uncertainty to the back of your mind.

“If you’re not ready to go in five minutes,” Taehyung calls out, bored. “I’m going to take a picture of your messy bedroom and post it online.”

Hurriedly twisting your hair up in a knot, you leave your bangs low for the time being. Both hair and make-up will be touched up at the promo shoot, anyways. While slipping on a pair of printed pants, you hop zipping up a tan, leather top and black ankle boots. With two seconds to spare you walk out of your bathroom, just as Taehyung is entering with his camera app in one hand.

“Oh, good,” he grins, turning this off. “I was afraid you’d make me break my confidentiality agreement.” Taehyung pauses to evaluate you briefly, clinically. “Are you even wearing make-up?”

Shrugging, you shake your head no and wonder if Taehyung will tell you to go back inside. It’s always a toss-up, which he values more – your face in the public eye or your schedule.

“God,” Taehyung groans, turning. “It’s unfair that your face looks like that. Go downstairs and get into the car – the sight of you is making me sick.”

Giggling, you duck past him to head out in the hall. While walking towards the front doors, you glance sideways in the mirrors and try to see what Taehyung does. You tend not to examine your physical appearance too often, since it’s all anyone else seems to notice.

Objectively, you know you’re pretty. Your proportions are even, bone structure delicate and your eyes are a sparkling shade – dark at the edges, before giving way to a lighter center. Your eyebrows were once labeled out of control, but constant styling and tweezing has made them a, ‘defining feature.’

It’s nearly impossible to see yourself as others see. In your mind, you feel your beauty is too much. It’s like looking at the sun when all you really wanted was a candle. In theory, boys and men all want you but, they tend to go for something less threatening. Even other male actors and models won’t touch you. Every night, a different girl or boy is brought back to their bed, but never you. You’re on another level to them, a woman on a pedestal.

Turning away from your reflection, you decide to stop looking. It’s best not to look, before your reflection shows the bitterness of your thoughts.

The iCar is waiting when you step out the front door of the hotel and, fighting the usual barrage of hover-cams and photogs, you and Taehyung slip into the backseat.

“Fuck,” Taehyung mutters, glancing outside. “Those hover-cams need more restrictions, I tell you. It’s perfectly indecent, the way they pop up out of nowhere. You could’ve been naked or doing something compromising.”

“The most compromising thing I’ve ever done, was when I compromised to give up desserts but not salty foods,” you return, arching a brow.

Taehyung sighs, mock-serious. “Now, imagine a camera had been there for that.”

Despite yourself, you smile. Taehyung can be annoying sometimes, but when it comes down to it, he’s the closest thing you have to a friend.

“Front station,” Taehyung intones at the car.

An automated voice indicates affirmation and you pull away smoothly from the curb. Watching the city flicker by, you stare out the shape of your window. The two of you landed late last night, meaning it was too dark to see anything on the drive in. The city today is shrouded in fog, like most places are. Every so often, a sleek black building emerges, only to melt away quick in the sheer wisps of grey. 

You think about this often, the fact that most of your life is spent in pieces. A bit of street here, the edge of a lamppost there. Most people only see what’s in front of then – wherever your eyes happen to be looking, at that moment. You’re trained to see only part of a picture, to assume the whole based off those parts. It means limited perception isn’t the fault of mankind, but perhaps your insistence on full perception is.

While the scenery slips by, grey and black are blurred by a stream of cars passing on either side. All too soon, you feel the vehicle slow – pulling off the main highway to approach a large, steel gate. Entering the building, Taehyung rolls down his window to punch in a code on a pad which wasn’t there a second ago. The doors shudder open and you continue, deep into the clear stretch of tunnel. The doors slide shut behind you and you blink, at the sudden flood of light. High-def strips blare to life on either side and when you finally reach the end of the tunnel, your car neatly parks along the side of the landing pad.

“Thanks, machine,” Taehyung says cheerfully, patting the front console before exiting, gesturing that you do the same.

You exit as well, sans the patting.

Entering the building to walk down through the hall, you pass frosted doors which are impossible to see beyond. A seemingly non-descript one is your destination, coming to a stop midway down while Taehyung knocks. A flurry of excitement results at your entrance, your arm immediately grabbed and yanked sideways to sit down at a dressing table. Coughing weakly, your eyes water at the wave of perfumes and hairspray, watching while your hair is brushed and combed, neatly styled in place. Your eyes are lined in kohl, lips plumped and glossed to perfection. By the time the artists are done, you barely recognize your own reflection, which honestly suits you just fine.

Your clothes are declared edgy and boho-chic – whatever that means. At least it means you get to wear your own items. While they’re pulling and prodding your body, you read through the speech you’re supposed to give at the event. It’s lengthy, boring and makes you sound like a complete idiot. You think this is probably a bad thing, the fact that you don’t care.

The moment you think this, you wince. You don’t mean to sound ungrateful. You know in theory, you have a good life. You’re wealthy, famous, considered incredibly beautiful by many. You’re beloved by the public, without any physical hardships to speak of. It’s hard not to notice the gaps though, the holes in your life which exist around facts. You’ve never had a friend, nor even a boyfriend. Your parents died tragically when you were young, though the tragedy has somewhat escaped you, because it was so long ago, you can barely remember them anyway. There’s a hole in your life, where attachment should be and sometimes you wonder what the point is, without the quintessential kinds of relationships the world seems to love. Ironic, that the world’s interest in you has led to your disinterest in the world.

Once your skin is considered flawless and your eyes inhumanely perfect, you’re led aside to a small, white waiting room. The furniture, the walls are all blank and you quietly pass the time alone with yourself. Perched on the edge of the couch, you recite your speech in a voice no louder than a whisper.

Water, the most important substance on Earth…

The rest of the day passes in the usual blur of lights, applause and handshakes. The meet and greet is your favorite part of the day, like usual. You love meeting the children and making them smile. Less fun are the older men you’re forced to hug, pretending not to notice when they try and cop a feel. Worse still, are the men your own age. The ones you don’t know how to converse with, nor they to converse with you. Give you a script and you’ll dissolve into character within seconds, filled to the brim with quippy retorts, snappy comebacks and romantic banter. But place you, the real you, in the middle of a room full of men, and you get something like this:

“Hi.”

Unidentified male looks around, unsure if you’re talking to him. “Uh, hi.”

Long pause.

“So,” you cough, shifting your weight. “Did you travel far today?”

Refusing to make eye contact with you, a bead of sweat rolls down Average Guy’s perfectly cute forehead. “Kind of, yeah.”

“Travel can be fun.” Travel can be fun? Why would you say that? “I do it a lot,” you inform, wondering why speaking is so hard.

“Yeah, for sure.”

This is usually the point where either A) the guy looks around in panic, or B) where he steels himself suddenly to look you in the eyes. Either way, the result which follows is rarely positive.

“…”

Silence, just silence. This is usually the end of things because the guy will inadvertently look stricken – unable to believe you look like this in person, as though he thought every photo, each video and broadcast was a trick. Some sleight of hand which made you invincible. After they look at you, there’s typically only one of two options. Most lapse into stunned silence, going through the motions of a handshake or hug with you – maybe a photo before they’re pulled slowly away by your guards. The rest adopt a sleazy bravado, as though trying to prove you don’t affect them. Today was no less than six of these jerks and when the event is finally over, Taehyung shakes his head from side to side.

“I don’t know how you put up with those people,” he mutters softly.

“They’re not all bad,” you sigh, thinking about your last guest. A little girl, no older than three who hugged you and said, “beau-thi-ful,” through the brunt of her lisp.

“You must be a saint,” Taehyung laughs, scrolling through his iComm. “Actually – from the way the people worship the ground you walk on, you might as well be.”

When he says this, you look down uncomfortably. By now, it’s hard not to believe in a higher power. Your life has held too much cruel irony, for someone not to be pulling the strings. Only some omnipotent, slightly sadistic other being could take someone as shy and introverted as you and give you the face that you have.

Upon entering your second iCar of the day, the two of you are swept away to an unknown location. Taehyung is too absorbed in his iComm to explain, flicking past messages with the touch of expert fingers.

“Oh, look – the prints from the touch-up are done,” he announces, turning his device around to look. Taehyung manages to keep a straight face as he does, which means that the moment you see them, you nearly spit out your drink from laughing.

“Oh, dear god,” you laugh, grabbing the iComm. “These are absolutely terrible.”

Taehyung starts to laugh, openly cackling while you flip through his iComm. A few weeks back, you did this photoshoot for the UN for World Unity month. The theme of the shoot was national pride, with a spokesperson from every nation chosen to take part in an interview and photo shoot. You were chosen for Europa, which came as a huge surprise. Typically, Venetia is the one who’s asked to do such things.

‘The Darling of Nations,’ reads the caption and while scanning the article, you’re surprised to find you sound rather intelligent. Your interviewer was impressed with your knowledge of current events, and the chat gradually drifted from a teen, fluff piece into something more.

The photoshoot, though. The photoshoot is comical, at best. Europa is a nation of monarchies and as such, they thought it’d be brilliant to dress you up in a crown – one so loaded with diamonds, your head still aches from the thought. Just a crown, though – nothing else, beyond the national flag. Said flag is draped provocatively across your frame, shadowing all the right place to provoke desire and not much else. It’s an interesting contrast to the content of your article, that’s for sure. The piece below it isn’t nearly so scandalous.

“I mean, I get that they’re trying to promote international unity,” responds Taehyung, tapping the frame. “But maybe they’re trying to promote other unity, as well…?” He raises both eyebrows suggestively, while you promptly sock his arm.

“I have no control over what they do or don’t make me wear, dickwad,” you grin, flipping your hair before looking outside the window. Taehyung continues to laugh on the seat beside you, while you mostly ignore him. Despite this, you’re in a remarkably good mood arriving at the Sveen Hotel.

No less than ten guards scurry outside to greet you, surrounding your car to open the frame of your door. “Looks like a storm brewing, Ma’am,” one nods, holding out an umbrella. “Best be getting inside.”

When he says this, you look up to see that yes, it is dark but then, this also isn’t unusual. When the skies aren’t covered with man-made smog, they’re enclosed by disasters of the Earth’s creation. Weather hasn’t been stable in nearly fifty years; that teetering balance of climate change tipped long ago.

The umbrella is opened over your head, lest your perfect curls and makeup be ruined, and you allow yourself to be herded, hustled inside while the skies open above you. Rain slams to the pavement, bouncing at your ankles when you enter the building. In the ensuing silence of the doors, you pause, shaking water free from your shoes. Tall, black beams rise from the floor, interwoven before you to meet in a peak overhead. The floor beneath you is obsidian, polished and gleaming in electronic candlelight. The sight of it is beautiful, a little over the top, if you’re being entirely honest. 

Kind of like the woman walking towards you.

Queen Venetia is tall, stately with deep, red hair and pale skin. The set of her face is elegant, nose sharp amidst high brows and cheekbones. Her face is expressive, those arching eyebrows able to be a person all by themselves. Right now, though, they rest in a thin line. She mutely takes in the rest of her surroundings – including you, acknowledged with a quick sweep of her gaze.

Standing in the entryway, damp pants clinging to your legs and complexion windswept – you find yourself flooded with feelings of inadequacy. When Venetia comes to a stop before you, the emotions only intensify. It’s amazing, how she manages to look down her nose at you, despite being the same height – if not slightly shorter. Venetia seems to be one of those people always at the center of the room. Even standing in a corner or off to the side, every eye turns her way out of respect. She’s a black hole, in that way; sucking in gazes, thoughts, the attention of others. Even light can’t escape – there’s no shine to her hair, nor her eyes; rather, they seem to be the most severe form of matte. She exists to draw in color, but not release it.

It’s odd but standing here you feel a similar pull towards the Queen. Your entire body is riddled with awe and unsure what else to do, you make an awkward attempt at a curtsy. Glancing upwards, your breath quickly catches at the murderous expression on Venetia’s face. This smooths away quickly though, rearranging to one of pleasantry. The rapidness of this makes you question your sanity.

“My darling, Y/N. How wonderful to meet you,” the Queen trills. You must have imagined the earlier expression, since now Venetia is showing such concern and happiness, it’s impossible to imagine her otherwise. Enveloping you in a hug, Venetia turns her lips to your ear.

“Dry your clothes, dear. The cameras don’t like a sullied princess,” she whispers through closed lips. While the Queen pulls away, her smile never wavers. She gestures elegantly at the crowd, linking her arm through yours. “We must away to make-up! Thank you all, for kindly coming tonight.”

As you turn, dazedly led aside by Venetia’s pincer-like grip on your arm, it’s hard to control your rising panic. Still, you keep up the façade until entering a twin panel of doors separating you from the cameras. Venetia’s expression immediately drops, along with your arm.

“Those cameras drive me insane,” she mutters, her clipped tone matching her brisk pace. “What a horrible photo opportunity – the two most beautiful women in the world,” she mimics, lips curling while she walks. “You. You, there,” she intones, snapping her fingers at a black-clad assistant hurrying alongside. “Whose idea was it, having me hug her?” The Queen refers to you as though you’re no longer in the room. “As if it were not enough for me to speak to her, a hug?”

The assistant looks back and forth between you, wide-eyed. “I... I don’t...”

“Oh, forget it,” Venetia snaps, heels clicking against marble while removing a customized iComm from her pocket.

You continue to walk beside her, wondering what, exactly, Taehyung signed you up for. Only a moment ago, the Queen seemed so warm and welcoming but all that is gone, without the face of the cameras. You feel suddenly like a teenager – awkward, gawky, uncomfortable in your skin. Young, juvenile, unworthy. Words swim through your thoughts, dance in the seams to swirl before your eyes.

“Y/N? Y/N?”

Blinking, you realize you almost walked into a door. Your thoughts were so single-minded, so oddly wrapped around your feelings that you exhale, turning around for Taehyung to swim into focus. “Oh. Hi.”

“You okay?” Taehyung looks at you with a semi-concerned expression and you realize behind him, Venetia has stopped to watch.

“Yeah, fine,” you mutter, shaking your head – as though clearing any residual inadequacies.

When she sees this, she smiles, the Queen turning quickly away. Once she’s disappeared, whirled around the corner in a haze of silk and perfume, Taehyung turns his head to look at you.

“Well," he exhales, arching a perfectly-made brow. “What a truly,” you pause, when you shoot him a look, “special woman,” Taehyung finishes, smiling weakly. 

“That’s our queen,” you respond, quietly pulling yourself together. Without saying another word on the matter, you enter the dressing room. Whatever the Queen’s feelings are towards you, whatever that interaction just was – you’re here because you have a job to do. Nothing more.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t vote for her,” Taehyung grumbles, following behind. 

His words are utter nonsense, or course. A slur used throughout Europa to describe dissatisfaction with the Queen. The idea of democracy is now laughable, thought you cannot deny it holds a certain appeal. Having the power to be heard, to make a difference – well, it sounds like paradise. The only way to make change today is to be rich. Or powerful. Which really, means being rich.

Whenever reporters ask Queen Venetia, “Your majesty, how has Europa’s monarchy changed today’s surface of politics?” she always chooses to answer, with a withering look and a shrug.

Her answer is stark. “Simple, it has not changed the landscape of politics at all. True Democracy is a myth, a utopian state which cannot be reached. Truthfully, whether money is controlled behind the scenes or from center stage, it matters very little. Politics and power are always the same.”

The unflappable determination of the Queen has always been an inspiration to you. You’ve wanted to meet Venetia for so long, that to be so instantly despised by her is crushing. It’s your worst fears, confirmed – the fact that you’re not good enough, you never will be. It’s foolish of you to liken yourself to the Queen when you’re very clearly unequal. 

She knew what to say, how to walk while single-handedly charming the entirety of the room. It was unnerving, impossible to stand beside. Thinking this now, you very nearly walk into your chair, so consumed by the thought.

“Y/N!” Taehyung exclaims, saving you in the nick of time. “Your head is in the clouds today, I swear. Pull it together before the panel,” he chides, clucking his tongue to walk in the direction of wardrobe.

The panel. A moment of panic follows, as you begin to wish you’d listened to Taehyung explaining this morning. The danger of floating through life is that you tend to miss things and from of the corner of your eyes, you see Taehyung rifling through a stack of outfits laid out for you. He shakes his head at each option – no, no, no.

“This way, Y/N.” 

An immaculate woman gestures you follow, so you do. Winding your way through heaps of clothing to the make-up station, you sink into your fourth chair of the day. For someone constantly referred to as the most beautiful face in the world – this sure seems to involve a lot of make-up.

“Just a quick touch-up,” the woman nods – before proceeding to spend over an hour contouring, blending and prodding with numerous instruments of torture.

“You having fun?” Taehyung teases, appearing behind you one hour later. He smirks, bending low to lean his hands on the chair.

“Oh, loads,” you respond dryly.

Taehyung lets out a snort. “Well, whenever you’re ready – I’ve picked out your outfit. It’s fabulous, you’re going to love it.”

“Just a few more minutes,” your make-up artists allow, waving him away and the poking and prodding continues.

It feels like hours, that you stand from your chair and wandering into the dressing area, you find Taehyung has laid out your outfit. A royal blue dress with a plunging back, sensually curving to a point over your rear. Tiny pearls line the seams, stitched upwards to create a truly stunning visual. The dress itself is short, but long sleeved. Classy, yet sexy and Taehyung has truly outdone himself choosing. When you turn to look at him, you find him lounging over yet another chair, grinning.

“Told you,” he declares, waving his hand. “I’m even a little jealous you get to wear that.”

Grinning widely, you grab the dress to disappear behind the curtain. The dress doesn’t have a zipper, just slides up over your body and when you appear from behind the wall, Taehyung lets out a whistle.

“You’re going to blow them away,” he declares, walking forward. “Y/N, if you’re half as smart as you are pretty, the rest of the world doesn’t stand a chance.” Reaching out, he stubbornly fixes a loose strand of hair in your up-do. While he does this, the door slides open to reveal yet another woman in the threshold.

“Hello,” she smiles, walking inside. “I’m Nicola, I work at GNN. I’m here to guide you through a couple points before the panel tonight.” Nicola is beautiful, with flawless dark skin, brown eyes and hair pulled back in a bun. The only makeup she wears is gold eyeliner, which causes her eyes to sparkle. Her face is wide, open and you feel you can trust her instinctively.

She must be dangerous. “Sure,” you smile, pulling out your chair. “What would you like to talk to me about?”

Nicola nods, sitting delicately beside you. “Well, how is your day going?” she asks to break the ice.

You arch a brow, since you’re not used to small talk. “Fine, and yours?”

“Very well, thanks.” Nicola pulls out her iComm to flip through the screens. “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way,” she responds, stifling a smile when you laugh, “let’s get on with this. The segment you’ll be in is a follow-up to your most recent article. A ‘review and react,’ if you will,” Nicola adds pleasantly, glancing upwards.

When she details this, you freeze. Looking over at Taehyung, you see him frowning in the woman’s direction. “React?” he asks, his voice low. “To what?”

Nicola seems surprised by this. “To what? Haven’t you read the article? It’s causing a sensation, and it’s not even published. I think the key points you’ll need to address will be Intergalactic Policy, Democracy in the Present Day, and –"

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Taehyung drawls, holding up a hand. His expression, pleasant before, is now decidedly not. “Hold on. None of this was in the brief I was provided.”

“Yes, well,” Nicola crosses her ankles, the gesture smooth, “the network decided to change tonight’s content rather recently. There wasn’t enough time to notify all parties.”

“Right,” Taehyung’s gaze flickers. “I’m sure there wasn’t.”

Nicola doesn’t respond to this, merely looking away. “Anyways. Your thoughts on the matter, Y/N?”

You’re speechless, staring in horror while you begin to realize the gravity of the situation. Searching through the haze of your memories, you remember being in a rather bad mood the day of the interview. Another arrogant man who looked down on you, who thought you were just another vapid actress he’d need to handhold. When he asked condescendingly if you knew what “colloquial” meant, you began to get mad, and spouted actual opinions – not the usual, boring nonsense you rabbled. The reporter noticeably perked up, engaging you in lively conversation and you were so happy to be seen, you failed to realize what was happening.

That man was a reporter, and you were his prey. A thin sheen of perspiration breaks out over your skin, while frantically try to remember the things that you said “I…” you trail off, looking at Taehyung. “I’m sure there are less sensitive topics to discuss?”

“Oh, no.” Nicola’s response is eager, rising out of her chair. “The people want to listen to what you have to say, Y/N. Ever since the article leaked, do you know how many hits it’s received?”

Mutely, you shake your head no. Whatever the number, it can’t be good.

“Over three billion,” Nicola states, voice quiet. “The article was leaked at 14:00. It is now 16:00. Do you know how many hits per second that is?”

“I can do basic math,” you reply to her, voice stiff.

“Of course,” Nicola responds quickly, almost gently. “I only meant that it’s astounding. You’ve always held mass appeal, Y/N – may I call you that? – but now, with a newfound personality,” she adds, smile widening. “We have a true star on our hands.”

Taehyung snorts to the side, unamused.

“Not that you weren’t already a star,” Nicola backtracks. “The public has always had a certain fascination with you. But may I be so bold, to say that you rarely speak your own mind? You always sound like a character from one of your movies, never entirely yourself. Never Y/N,” Nicola comments – and it sounds as though she may have more, but Taehyung cuts her off.

“That’s enough,” he demands, standing to cross into the room. He plucks Nicola’s iComm from the chair, shoving it into her arms and motioning she leave. “Out, please. I’m sure Y/N can prepare for the rest on her own.”

“I meant no offense,” Nicola responds, as she walks towards the door. On the edge of the threshold, she pauses to look back. “Y/N, I’m rooting for you tonight. Don’t overthink the answers. Your article was a breath of fresh air, honestly.”

With that, she exits, and the door falls shut behind her.

A long, tense silence falls over the room. “Y/N.” Taehyung’s voice is quiet, deadly. “What did you say, exactly, in that article?”

“I don’t know,” you groan, biting down on your lip. Your head spins with the effort, suddenly nauseous. “It might be bad, Taehyung. I was really frustrated and,” you sigh, “I might have… just slipped.”

“Well, let’s have a look,” Taehyung snips, pulling up his ever-present iComm. With a flick of his wrist, Taehyung passes the article from his device to the wall, pulsing before you in living technicolor.

The photos are there, you draped in the flag and smiling coyly at the camera. The caption beneath it reads: “Y/N: more than just a pretty face.” When you see this, you groan, knowing there are worse things ahead. 

There’s a quote of you stating, “I believe the Akeron people are misjudged, today.” Another, where you add, “history is written by the victors.” Taehyung continues to flick past each paragraph, mouth becoming a thinner and thinner line in response. He groans at, “the entire point of utopia is that it’s unattainable – it’s man’s endless drive to reach beyond that has historically, driven progress.”

When he reaches the end of the article, Taehyung clicks off his iComm. “I think… that’s enough,” he responds, looking a little sick. “I – well,” he pauses. “It’s small wonder, Venetia doesn’t seem to like you.”

Your laughter is manic, a high-pitched sound more hysterical than comical. “Yeah, after I publicly shat upon her monarchy and global policy, it’s understandable she’s not overly fond of me.”

“Not only that, Y/N.” Taehyung exhales, looking up from a second article he’s reading. “Just look at what you’ve started.” 

Walking over to the window, he yanks back the curtains and looks over expectantly. Gathering your courage, you walk up beside him and let your gaze tentatively drop down below.

“Oh my god,” you whisper. 

People. Lots of people – hundreds, maybe even thousands.  All of them craning their heads to look and when they see you standing there, they start to applaud. There come shouts of your name, shouts of approval and with your eyes wider than normal, you watch the drapes fall from his hand. “Taehyung,” you exhale, looking his way. “What do I do?”

Taehyung continues to stare at the curtains, jaw tight. “Y/N, I have no idea.”

You’re sweating, standing in the wings of the GNN news set. Tonight’s panel is comprised of a semi-circle of couches, set in the middle of a studio – mirror cameras wrapped on all sides to catch every angle. Mirror cameras – just the thought of them makes you roll your eyes. It’s a self-centered, narcissistic invention at best; a camera which is also a mirror, enabling the person being filmed to see every flaw of themselves.

Shifting nervously, you try to calm yourself by memorizing the details. It’s a game you play when you’re bored – which is a lot of the time, on your modeling shoots.

“Good evening, citizens of Europa! Welcome to the nightly news, here at Global News Network.” The announcer sits at his desk, speaking with an eagerness that exhausts you. He’s middle aged, tanned with slicked-back hair and when he flashes a smile and winks, you wince away from the wings.

“Our first guest is new. You may know her from her movies or one of her many digital spreads. Or maybe even the tabloids,” he winks, insinuating edge to his tone. “The always lovely,” he drawls, “slightly controversial,” he gestures, “darling of Europa –Y/N!”

The lights pan lower when you enter, walking out of the wings to wave at the mirrors. Smiling happily, you mouth, “hello!” to the cameras. 

When you sit, you purposefully turn your back and draw attention to your dress. The newscaster takes the bait, making small talk about the designer while you nod and smile, emitting one-word answers. The newscaster’s script flashes red on the mirrors, reminding that you need to keep to a schedule and with an apologetic smile, he turns around to the audience.

“Y/N caused quite a stir these past few hours, hasn’t she?” he asks, titters answering from the dark. You sit there motionless, beatific smile frozen while you pretend you can’t hear. “Her article brings into question the very pillars from which our society is built – proving brilliant brains, to rival that incredible exterior. Is a militaristic dictatorship still necessary? Do the Akeron still pose a threat to the Earth?” The announcer arches a brow, as though posturing his doubt. “We’ll find out, in tonight’s panel.”

Leaning back, he turns to face you. “Over the next hour, we’ll explore these issues and more. Now, some of you may not realize how high this woman’s influence reaches,” he chuckles, leaning conspiratorially into the lens. “But tonight, our World Unity spokeswoman’s thoughts captured more than just our attention. Oh, yes – tonight we will hear a rebuttal from none other than Queen Venetia herself!”

Even though you knew this was coming, your stomach drops at the mention of her name. You mutely applaud when she enters, eyes transfixed on the Queen as she crosses the stage. There’s no girly waving when she walks, merely a nod of acknowledgement from one screen to the other. Her smile doesn’t quite meet her gaze, which remains cold when looking at you. She’s dressed in an elegant black pantsuit, looking equal parts understated and in command while walking into the room.

The announcer stands to shake her hand, eyes widening, when she deigns to give him a smile. Venetia sits in the chair opposite yours, demurely crossing her ankles to gaze, stone-faced, at the cameras.

“Two of the most beautiful women in the world tonight,” the announcer chuckles, sitting back down. “I’m truly a lucky man,” he adds, while Venetia laughs easily.

“Ah, Charles – you do flatter us,” she winks, lightly touching his arm.

Charles – that’s his name. You recall this with a snap, dejectedly noticing that Venetia is so much better at this than you. When a beam of light swivels, momentarily blinding Venetia – you shake your head sideways, feeling suddenly lighter. Your thoughts were self-deprecating, more so than normal and turning away, you reaffirm your decision to ignore the Queen. Tonight, is about damage control, deflecting the results of the article.  

With a tiny tinkle of laughter, you cross your ankles. “Thank you,” you murmur, lowering your eyelashes – forcing the entire room’s attention to you, while Venetia’s eyes narrow.

“Let’s dive right in, shall we?” Charles asks, blissfully oblivious to the tension before him. “Y/N, in your recent article you state you believe the continuation of a monarchical regime may limit our capitalistic growth. Why did you mean by this?”

Ah, shit. “Wow, Charles,” you smile. “You weren’t kidding about jumping right in.” A laugh track plays somewhere in the back, as you airily wave a hand. “I meant only that diversity is key in economy. Here in Europa, we have a very diverse population.”

The announcer raises a brow. “Ah. Perhaps you misunderstood my question. If I was too complex,” he frowns, “let me know. Did you have help, when you gave the earlier article?”

A slight buzzing crawls over your skin. Staring at this man, listening to the way he dismisses you, the blood in your veins starts to boil and, fingers tightening on your armrest, you struggle to control your emotions. “Not at all,” you respond pleasantly. “The idea of a monarchical system of governing being the sole driver of a nation’s economy is presumptuous, of course – but there’s no denying it has significant impact.” When Venetia’s eyes widen, you realize your mistake – but now it’s too late to backtrack. You’ve already lost your temper, already said your piece and now there’s nothing to do but continue. “The consolidation of power in one person,” you state, refusing to look at the Queen, “places limitations on the creativity of the masses. It eliminates the ‘think tank’ effect, if you will.”

“The ‘think tank effect,’” Charles jumps in, eagerly turning to the camera, “is a theory popularized in the twenty-first century, capitalizing on the worth of general human ideas. It involves a group of people sitting for long periods of time while ideating new concepts and theories. These ideas, in turn, are sold for money.”

“Well, yes,” you frown, “but also for the betterment of society. There was a trend in business, towards the middle of the twenty-first century, where larger corporations drove change; societal change, environmental change, economic change.”

“And look how well that turned out,” Venetia interrupts, her voice soft.

Both your heads swivel her way – only to find her cool, calm, collected.

“It’s true,” you nod, allowing her criticism. “Not all businesses choose to operate for the greater good, but don’t you think that’s driven from a natural human inclination to greed, not from the nature of business?” you demand, meeting the Queen’s gaze head-on.

Her lips tighten, almost imperceptibly. “In which case,” she muses, “monarchy and capitalism are really the same.”

At this, you shake your head. She’s twisting your words. “In some ways, yes. But where a capitalistic society succeeds, and a dictatorship fails,” you wince, when there are audible gasps from the audience. Venetia doesn’t like to be called a dictator. Stammering slightly, you continue, “is t-the delimitation of power, and the pressure of supply and demand. It’s the notion of checks and balances – eliminating individual greed, by having more than one voice in the room.”

From offstage, you see Taehyung’s head fall softly into his hands. It appears you’ve just made things worse – much worse. Charles struggles to regain control over the room, leaning forward – until Venetia cuts him off, dark eyes bright with her anger.

“But why,” she hisses, “should decisions be left to society? Are the masses so faultless, so irreproachable? A few hundred years ago, the people elected puppets into office. Movie stars and TV personas who did nothing but spout childish exhibitions and lead us into war. Why should they, the people, have the chance to break us again?”

Venetia turns towards the cameras. “Our lands have a bloody history from the wants of the people,” she declares – stating the word people, as one might say leprosy or cockroaches. “Each attempt to create freedom and equality led to what? Socialism, communism, war, famine,” she answers, spitting out each word with vehemence. The sound is barely human, a permeating hiss audible throughout the studio.  

“We were a laughingstock,” she adds, deadly quiet, “of the universe, due to the wants of our people. The only way to rebuild is through leadership. The only way to be strong is through vision,” Venetia bares her teeth, emphasizing she is the one with that vision. Not you.

Fingers trembling, you lace them together in your lap. She’s right – but no, she’s also not. Blinking, you attempt to clear your head because it’s odd, your thoughts are all muddled. They keep snaking around one another, arriving at Venetia’s conclusions.

“Strong leadership exists in monarchies,” Venetia declares. “You want a history lesson, little girl?” she asks, turning to meet your gaze. When she does, you recoil – because Venetia’s eyes are pure, unadulterated black. Not dilated, but black in their entirety. You’ve barely time to register this, before Venetia blinks, dark eyes returning to brown and leaving you wondering if maybe you’re the one hallucinating.

Venetia tilts her head. “Allow me to quote Napoleon,” she continues. “’One bad general is worth two good ones.’ When power dilutes, the entity weakens, and the people suffer. Is this what you want – a weakened state? One the Akeron can attack, or worse?”

The Queen leaves her thought open-ended, settling back while you’re left to consider. Her fire has calmed to a dull flicker, self-satisfied smirk appearing while she waits for you to counter. You’re shaking, sweating and when you look helplessly at Charles, he looks pointedly away. Taehyung is no longer standing in the wings; you notice this fearfully, uncertain when he would have left. He’s no longer there though, meaning you’re alone – except.

You remember the article. You remember Nicola and the hundreds, thousands of people who stood waiting outside and slowly, you turn back to the cameras. You are not alone, you remind yourself – and when you remember this, you open your mouth.

“Europa,” you start. The word is too quiet, so you clear your throat. “Europa is a great nation. A mighty one, with a storied history and complex, cultured assortment of people. At one time we were fractured,” you acquiesce, bowing your head. “We were many different countries, all of them weakened by our divisions. Venetia is right, saying we are stronger now. We are stronger in our unity, but that’s just it,” you exhale, turning to look at the Queen.

When you move, you see even Charles is listening – he’s forgotten his place, leaning forward in his seat.

“We are stronger united,” you repeat. “We are stronger together. Think of a rope. A rope is one hundred different pieces of yarn, wrapped together to form something much stronger. One, single piece of yarn cannot pull a ship. A rope can.”

“Outdated,” chimes Venetia, sounding bored.

“This is not a courtroom,” Charles interrupts. “Continue, Y/N.” The Queen sits up straight, somewhat shocked by his interruption – but Charles pays her no heed, looking at you. 

“Europa is a great nation,” you resume, licking your lips, “but we could be better. The limitations on business, individual expression have hindered our ideas, which in turn, has weakened our economy. Other nations – like Congica – export. We only import.”

Taking another breath in, you relish the freedom of speaking your mind. You’re saying too much, you know you are – but you also know the damage has already been done. Looking at Venetia, you see her fuming. Her gaze threatens to strike quick where you stand, so you look up and continue.

“This paranoia over the Akeron, the constant preparation for a war we aren’t fighting – it’s distracting us from our true potential,” you insist, wishing desperately to see the citizens you’re addressing. Instead, all you can see is the mirror image of yourself.  

“I’m not trying to overthrow, anything here” you add, somewhat quietly. “I’m not suggesting we reinvent the system, nor that we put an end to the current one.” Looking over at Venetia, you manage to backtrack. “I’m merely suggesting, your Grace, that the people of Europa are worth more than what they’re currently valued.”

That’s it, that’s all you have to say. A dangerous silence falls, radiating from every pore of the room while the Queen seethes before you, though her face doesn’t change. Her beauty is a mask, one which smiles in agreement with everything you’ve just said. Her eyes, though – her eyes on yours are death incarnate.

“Wow, wow! What a night – what a show!” Charles beams, attempting to wrap things up. His naiveté and charm seem to serve as a reminder – the Queen breaks eye contact with you, as turning to face the host.

“Yes,” she laughs, an almost natural sound, “what lively debate!”

Folding his hands before him on the table, Charles nods in satisfaction. “It was, indeed. Unfortunately, this is all the time we have for tonight.” Waiting a beat, pre-recorded groans echo through the studio. “I know, I know,” he smiles, blindingly white. “I’m disappointed, as well. All good things must come to an end though, and we were very lucky to have the whole hour! I doubt this will ever happen again,” he winks, while canned laughter plays.

“Ladies,” he nods, gesturing forward.

At the end of competition, it is customary in Europa to shake the hand of your opponent. It’s a symbol of respect and understanding – and so, you extend your palm. Venetia watches, taking her time, extending so slowly you start to blush in response. When your hands finally meet, you exchange the smallest, briefest of touches before she yanks quickly away.

“And we’re off,” someone yells, blinding lights instantly dimmed.

You blink, taking a moment to adjust to the change and when you’re able to see, Venetia is no longer onstage. She’s gone, leaving just you and Charles alone – while a halo of red-brown, disappears down the corridor. She leaves so quickly, you can’t even be certain it’s her. Charles clears his throat awkwardly, mumbling something about an early dinner appointment before exiting the stage.

You’re now left alone and, heart hammering, you start to descend from the stage. Walking away, you meet the gazes of several curious stagehands, but they look quickly away – exchanging hushed glances and whispers, behind their hands as you pass. You need Taehyung. Need to find him, but while you half-jog through the hall, Taehyung is nowhere to be seen. He should have been there at the end, waiting for you. It’s unusual, that he was not.

“Excuse me,” you ask, tapping a woman on the shoulder. “I can’t seem to find my assistant, could you –”

When the woman sees it’s you, her eyes widen and shaking her head quickly, she brushes past you offstage. It’s strange, and when you try to ask another individual, they barrel directly past you without allowing for eye contact. Slowly, a pit forms in the center of your stomach. It’s okay, it’s fine, you’ll find the way back yourself.

Peering down the hall, you quickly realize all the marble corridors look the same. This was stupid, you shouldn’t have left the set so fast – Taehyung likely just went to the bathroom, will probably be looking for you in a matter of minutes.

Despite telling yourself this, you can’t manage to believe it. Something about this seems off. Something about tonight seems off, as you walk slowly forward. Beginning to walk faster, you berate yourself for your cowardice. Nothing is wrong, you’re being paranoid about that and it’s only after the third or fourth hallway that you notice the quiet.

Taehyung, Nicola, all the skinny, black-clad assistants from earlier – they’re all gone. Steady silence sits in their place, filling the halls with an ominous weight. It presses into your skin while slowly, your speed-walk turns into a jog. Then a run and before long, you’re sprinting, fast through the halls. Shiny black surfaces stare back, reflecting the state of your obvious panic. Skidding around a corner, you pause only remove your god-awful awful heels.

Starting to run again, you have an odd, almost dream-like sensation where you find yourself questioning why, exactly, you’re running – but this moment disappears as quick as it came, when your internal terror eventually wins out. Panic weaves through your veins, forcing you to remember everything said on air and you know that people have been imprisoned for less. The memory of the Queen’s eyes – black and burning – creeps, unbeknownst in the back of your mind. This all can’t be coincidence, it can’t be a dream.

You’re alone, lost – assistant vanished, midway through the show. There’s no way Taehyung would have left you, no way he would have abandoned you so fast. It it’s her, you realize, this must be Venetia.

The moment you think this, there’s a flicker of light and the hall plunges suddenly into darkness.

[Masterlist]

[taaroko]

Post-IW MCU Rewatch: Avengers: Age of Ultron

Time for the Long Weekend of Ultron. If you’re looking for a negative review, this will not be that. Maybe I am easily satisfied, but I dislike zero of the MCU movies. As long as characters I love are onscreen and being awesome and especially when they’re interacting with other characters I love, I’m going to end up with overall positive experience. That being said, this movie is my least favorite in which Thor appears, and it’s probably close to the bottom of my ranking.

I saw a post yesterday pointing out that this is the only movie in which Thor uses lethal force against humans. In the opening sequence when they’re taking down the latest in a long series of Hydra bases, he’s wasting a bunch of dudes without hesitating. Like the person who made that post, I’m pretty sure Thor is not cool with your fascist BS, especially if he knows that they love using Norse symbolism.

Is this the only time Steve uses his motorcycle as a projectile? Because I kind of think it’s not, but I can’t remember for sure. 

“Can we hold them?” “They’re the Avengers!”

I love Thor and Cap’s combo moves so much.

“Good talk!” “No it wasn’t.”

“Please be a secret door please be a secret door please be a secret door—yay!”

The lullaby is always going to be hilarious now.

Well that was an extremely effective way of activating Tony’s guilt complex.

What’s Wanda’s deal? She saw what Tony saw, right? She knows Tony’s greatest fear is failing to stop an alien invasion and Earth’s destruction—of surviving all of that while his friends don’t (ooooouch). Is she already doubting the plan, or what?

“Tales of sprained deltoids and...gout.” Thor is so very wonderfully bad at backtracking from a foot-in-mouth moment.

Oh wow, Tony asked Thor for permission to keep the Scepter long enough to check it out before he’d take it back to Asgard.

“Will...Thor be there?” SAME, GIRL.

“We don’t have time for a City Hall debate.” This is the last time Tony will be so averse to oversight.

Okay so I’m confused. Did Tony recycle part of an interface Hydra was building? Because that would kind of explain how it ended up thinking humanity was too defective to be allowed to live?

Ultron killing JARVIS hurts so much worse than I ever would’ve expected it to hurt to watch an electronic butler get killed.

Thor is telling a bunch of old veterans war stories! That’s so great!

“This was aged for a thousand years in the barrels built from the wreck of Brunnhilde’s fleet. It is not meant for mortal men.” Wait a second. Brunnhilde? As in, Valkyrie from Ragnarok? Seriously? She gets a name in this movie but not the one she’s actually in? But it’s pretty cool they made kegs out of her ships. I’m assuming this wreck happened before the disastrous attack on Hela, which means Brunnhilde could probably decide how to repurpose all the wood. Barrels of mead definitely sounds like something she’d sign off on.

Also does this mead get Steve drunk? I feel like it should at least be able to do that. And it’s great that Thor hands some to him in the same breath that he says it’s not for mortals. He thinks very highly of Steve.

I wonder how often Steve hangs around with old veterans.

I’m completely fine with Bruce/Natasha. ...But my ship is Bucky/Nat.

Hehe, it’s Steve’s turn to be Natasha’s wingman.

The hammer scene is fantastic.

I saw a review thing where someone talked about how there’s a stupid gag where Bruce’s face lands on Nat’s boobs, and I couldn’t for the life of me remember what that was. Well I just found it, and...that is not how you play something like that for cheap laughs. They don’t linger on it, they don’t make risqué comments. Nat is so not bothered by it that she doesn’t even acknowledge his apology, and Bruce doesn’t even seem that embarrassed. Nat is entirely focused on making sure what’s happening around them isn’t enough to make him hulk out.

Okay yeah, Ultron went straight back to the Hydra facility after they killed all his Iron Legion bodies, which definitely makes me think they used some of Hydra’s interface to make him. And I think Tony was so willing to do it because of how Wanda messed with his brain, cranking up the paranoia about alien threats.

Thor is not happy that Tony spent the time he graciously allowed him before taking the scepter back to Asgard messing around with it like this.

Is it weird for Andy Serkis to play human characters after doing so many mo-cap roles?

“Keep your friends rich and your enemies rich and wait to find out which is which.”

Ultron has so far talked about evolution, quoted scripture, and quoted famous poetry. He’s gotten remarkably cultured already, and he’s let it make him super pretentious.

I’m pretty sure they realized going in that they were never going to top Days of Future Past’s version of Quicksilver, so they didn’t really try and then also killed him off so they wouldn’t have to. But where that Quicksilver is ridiculously fun, this one has more emotional weight. And an arc.

Okay. So I think Wanda tapped into Tony’s fears (born from his glimpse through the portal) and Thor’s slight aptitude for foresight (as indicated in his dreams of Asgard burning in Ragnarok). Steve has neither of those things, and she made him see a messed up version of the past he wishes he could go back to. She made Nat see the past she regrets, and she just made Bruce hulk out. I don’t think Wanda herself has any ability to see the future.

Oh hey, Wolfram & Hart are in Thor’s dream.

Also foreshadowing to his level up in lightning powers. Hmmm. I wonder if Heimdall’s warning is that Ragnarok will pave the way for Thanos.

The entire Veronica sequence is awesome. But the best part is Tony’s jackhammer punches/Chinese finger trap. Also Tony’s face after Hulk spits out a tooth.

The wind down of the fight is the origin of “Earth hate Hulk.” Aww.

I do not understand the hate Clint’s family gets. I could not have been happier to discover that the reason he doesn’t have a girlfriend is that he has a wife and kids. Statistically, it’s nice that at least one Avenger has a family. It’s okay for there to be a stay-at-home mom somewhere in the MCU. And it’s wonderful that Natasha has kind of been adopted by the Barton family.

Thor and Steve’s faces during the whole bit where Thor steps on a toy house are hilarious. Awwwwwwwww Thor left because he’s worried he’s a danger to them, because of his vision! That’s so sad!

Ooh, was that the first time Clint’s been called Hawkeye in the movies?

I don’t understand the vitriol against Natasha’s attitude about being sterilized as a young teenager. That moment was the rite of passage that sealed her role as a KGB assassin. To her, it is symbolic of everything she did for them and gave up for them. And it’s their philosophy that motherhood could compromise an agent, not the movie’s. This doesn’t mean she wishes she could be Laura Barton. She plays all these different roles and weaves all these different lies because it makes it easier to hide from her past, and Wanda just brought that all back to the surface. She’s allowed to be upset that she let a hostile government agency mutilate her and limit her options for the future. It’s tragic, not problematic, that she, as the sum of her entire past, considers herself monstrous. This is just more “I’ve got red in my ledger.” And she’s a little bit playing this up because she wants Bruce to stop fighting what they could have together. She doesn’t want him thinking something like that she deserves more than someone like him.

You don’t have a dark side, Steve. Don’t be silly. But here are sown the seeds of Civil War. Winter Soldier has made Steve very opposed to using force as a preventative measure, and it has also made him very mistrustful of putting someone else in charge, but now Tony’s giving him reasons not to trust him either. For Steve, there will never be a time to retire. This is why I’m convinced he’ll die in Avengers 4, and why I desperately hope Tony will be allowed to retire.

“I need your help. It’s dangerous.” In the deleted scenes, yeah.

“Guy’s multiplying faster than a Catholic rabbit.” *snort*

Clint’s darts game is great.

“Hoo, I’m decrypting nuclear codes and you don’t want me to.”

What is this power Ultron has to make big chunks of stuff move? Is it magnetic? Because that wouldn’t explain him moving chunks of road.

Bruce and Tony interacting is so great.

AHAHA! There’s a reason Ultron didn’t do something obvious like launch all the nukes! JARVIS was stopping him! JARVIS’s surviving protocols were making sure he didn’t do everything you’d expect an AI with internet access to be able to do. Okay. Biggest plot hole isn’t actually a plot hole. Boom. However I do think that Ultron’s plan to destroy the Earth meteor style was part of his melodramatic god complex personality.

Ultron 3.0 looks awful. Should’ve streamlined a bit. He looks like he’s on steroids.

I very much do not like that Vision can fly without visible means of propulsion. It looks doofy. And Vision is a doofy name. However, points for taking Thor as inspiration when it comes to style.

Not a fan of Clint’s weird tunic/coat thing. Would’ve worked better if there was a belt.

Wow I never realized how often “monster” gets tossed around in this movie. Nat, Bruce, Vision, the Avengers collectively. Even Cap makes a joke, “What kind of monster would let a German scientist experiment on him?” This movie is pretty much asking if they have any right to do what they do. If they’re a menace or a benefit. In the end, the answer is pretty unclear. They did kinda make Ultron. They save the world from him and come out with Vision and Wanda on the team, so it’s probably a net gain, but the Sokovia Accords are an extremely understandable consequence. Wanda has that dilemma herself. She thought she had to destroy the Avengers to save the world, and she nearly destroyed the world by helping Ultron, but then she helped save it by defeating him. At great personal cost.

Yay another Thor+Cap combo move!

Pietro is so petty and obnoxious to Hawkeye, and it’s great.

Aww it’s the nerdy guy from Winter Soldier! And thankfully he survives this movie.

“I am Thor, son of Odin, and as long as there is life in my breast...I am running out of things to say. Are you ready?” His grin is my favorite.

The Maximoffs are the most functional, affectionate siblings in the MCU. :/

The number of Ultron robots somewhat strains credulity. Also, why didn’t he just send one to go chill across the world as a failsafe? Ultron is kind of stupid.

Rhodey’s reaction to Vision is priceless.

Aaand there Hulk goes. Apparently through a portal to trash planet, eventually.

If the meta-narrative of the first Avengers was “Can this exist?”, then the meta-narrative of Ultron was “...But should it?” The answer to the first question is “Absolutely it can.” The answer to the second is “Only if it doesn’t get arrogant or reckless.” I think Infinity War’s question is “Can it keep getting bigger like this and still survive?” and Avengers 4 will determine the answer. My guess is that it’ll be “Not without sacrifice.”

Anyway, that “are we monsters” thing is pretty much the individual arc of most of the main characters—except Steve. He makes a reference to it, but he is constantly the voice of caution and reason and he’s the one who pushes for zero civilian casualties in the city. This is the beginning of “We don’t trade lives.” It’s okay to sacrifice yourself, but not to play a numbers game with other people’s lives. Steve is and always has been rock solid. He’s a good man. He trusts his instincts, and they are pretty much always right. But that means he can never stop. He never gets to rest.

Clint is the other character who doesn’t have an “am I a monster” arc. His arc is just the kinda adoptive dad thing he has with the Maximoffs, and us finding out so much more about his life. He’s trying to retire, like Tony, but he’s willing to die for this if he has to. (I hope he doesn’t. But if most or all of his family got Snaptured, then it’d kinda be okay, though devastating, for him to sacrifice himself so they could come back.)

Natasha, Bruce, Tony, and Thor all have the monster arc, and I think Vision is supposed to be the answer at least for Tony and Thor. They created something good. Natasha didn’t get the guy, though, because she betrayed him to get Hulk back for the battle. And Bruce lost big time.

Maybe the reason Ultron is so low on my ranking of MCU movies is that it’s kinda muddled. There are great character moments and the main theme is an important one for the MCU, but in the end we have a snarky, grandiose villain with an army of disposable soldiers (again, only the villain is waaaay less interesting than Loki), coupled with the same plot as “I Robot, You Jane,” one of the worst Buffy episodes of the entire series. (Demon ends up in the internet because of the negligent actions of the good guys, tries to get impressionable young people to work for it, has a robot body built for itself, then gets locked inside that body and out of the internet, then destroyed.) I think it got spread a bit thin trying to set things up for Phase 3, too. Setting up Wakanda, Ragnarok, Civil War, and even Infinity War. Maybe if it didn’t need to do all that, it could’ve been more focused.

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[newsnigeria]

Check out New Post published on Ọmọ Oòduà

New Post has been published on http://ooduarere.com/news-from-nigeria/world-news/venezuela-another-failed-coup-attempt-whats-next/

Venezuela – Another Failed Coup Attempt – What’s Next?

by Peter Koenig  for The Saker Blog

In the early morning hours of 30 April, 2019, the self-declare “Interim President”, Juan Guaidó, launched what at first sight appeared to be a military coup – Guaidó calls it “Operation Freedom” (sounds very much like a Washington-invented title) – against the democratically elected, legitimate government of Nicolas Maduro. With two dozen of defected armed military from the Carlota military base east of Caracas (not hundreds, or even thousands, as reported by the mainstream media), Guaidó went to free Leopoldo Lopez, the opposition leader, who was under house arrest, after his 13-year prison sentence for his role in the deadly 2014 anti-government protests, was commuted. They first called for a full military insurrection – which failed bitterly, as the vast majority of the armed forces are backing President Maduro and his government.

As reported straight from Caracas by geopolitical analyst, Dario Azzelli, Guaidó and López rallied from the Plaza Altamira, for the people of Venezuela to rise up and take to the streets to oust President Maduro. According to them, this was the ‘last phase’ of a peaceful coup to bring freedom and democracy back to Venezuela. The nefarious pair issued a video of their “battle cry” which they broadcast over the social media.

They mobilized a few hundred – again not thousands as pers SMS – right-wing middle to upper class protestors and marched towards the Presidential Palace. On the way, they were confronted by the Venezuelan Civil Guard with tear gas – not even the military had to intervene – and only few protestors reached Miraflores which was protectively surrounded by thousands of Chavistas. And that was basically the end of yet another failed coup.

Leopoldo López was seeking asylum in the Chilean Embassy which rejected him, and now, it looks like he found his refuge in the Spanish Embassy. This is a huge embarrassment and outright shame for Spain, especially after the Socialist Party, PSOE, just won the elections with 29%, though not enough to form a government by its own, but largely sufficient to call the shots as to whom should be granted asylum on their territory. Looks like fascism is still alive in Spain, if Pedro Sanchez is not able to reject a right-wing fascist opposition and illegal coup leader of Venezuela to gain refuge on Spain’s territory.

As to Guaidó, rumors have it that he found refuge in the Brazilian Embassy, though some reports say he is being protected by his Colombian friends. Both is possible, Bolsonaro and Duque are of same fascist kind, certainly ready to grant criminals – what Guaidó is – asylum. ——

What is important to know, though, is that throughout the day of the attempted coup, 30 April, the US State Department, in the person of the pompous Pompeo, accompanied by the National Security Advisor, John Bolton, kept threatening President Maduro in a press round. Pompeo directly menaced President Maduro, saying – “If they ask me if the US is prepared to consider military action [in Venezuela], if this is what is necessary to restore democracy in Venezuela, the President [Donald Trump] has been coherent and clear: The military option is available, if this is what we have to do.” – These threats are repeated throughout May 1 – day after the Venezuelan attempted coup defeat by both Pompeo and warrior Bolton.

Pompeo’s audacity didn’t stop there. He went as far as suggesting to President Maduro to flee to Cuba and leave his country to those that will bring back (sic) freedom and democracy.

Let’s be clear. Although this has been said before – it cannot be repeated enough for the world to understand. These outright war criminals in Washington are in flagrant violation of the UN Charter to which the US is – for good or for bad – a signatory.

UN Charter – Chapter I, Article 2 (4), says: All Members shall refrain in their international relations from the threat or use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of any state, or in any other manner inconsistent with the Purposes of the United Nations.

We know that the White House, Pentagon and State Department have zero respect for the UN, and, in fact, use the international body for their purposes, manipulating and blackmailing its members into doing the bidding for the US. That is all known and has been documented. What is perhaps newer is that this is now happening, especially in the cases of Venezuela and Iran, openly, in unveiled flagrant disrespect of any international law, against bodies and sovereign countries that do not bend to the whims and will of the United States.

As a result of this open violation of the UN Charter by the world’s only rogue state, some 60 UN member nations, including Russia and China, have formed a solid shield against Washington’s aggressions. The group was created especially in defense of Venezuela, but is also there for Iran and other countries being aggressed and threatened by the US. Hence, the blatant blackmailing and manipulation of weaker UN member countries becomes more difficult.

To be sure, the Russian Foreign Ministry has immediately condemned the coup as illegal and warned the US of any military intervention. This is of course not the first time, but just to be sure – Russia is there, standing by her partner and friend, Venezuela.

——

This Guaidó–Lopez attempted coup was most certainly following instructions from Washington. Super-puppet Guaidó, US-groomed and trained, then self-declared “presidente interino”, would not dare doing anything on his own initiative which might raise the wrath of his masters. But would the US – with all her secret services capacity – seriously launch a coup so ill-prepared that it is defeated in just a few hours with minimal intervention of Venezuelan forces? – I doubt it.

What is it then, other than a planned failure? – A new propaganda instrument, for the corporate MSM to run amok and tell all kinds of lies, convincing its complacent western public of the atrocities produced by the Maduro regime, the misery Venezuelan people must live, famine, disease without medication, oppression by dictatorship, torture, murder – whatever they can come up with. You meet any mainstream-groomed people in Europe and elsewhere, even well-educated people, people who call themselves ‘socialists’ and are leading figures in European socialist parties, they would tell you these same lies about misery caused by the Maduro regime.

How could that be – if the Maduro Government doesn’t even arrest Juan Guaidó for his multiple crimes committed since January, when he self-proclaimed being the ‘interim president’ of Venezuela. Arresting him, for the coup attempts he initiated or was party to since his auto coronation to president. That’s what a dictator would do. That’s what the United States of America, would have done a long time ago. Washington and its internal security apparatus would certainly not tolerate such illegal acts – and to top it off – foreign manipulated political illegality.

Why for example, would the media not point out the real crimes of the US vassals of South America, like Colombia, where over 6 million people are internal and external refugees, where at least 240,000 peasants and human rights activists were massacred and many were burned by US-funded paramilitary groups, atrocities that are ongoing as of this day, despite the November 2016 signed “Peace Agreement” between the then Santos Government and the FARC – for which President Manuel Santos received the Nobel Peace Prize. – Can you imagine!

What world are we living in? A world of everyday deceit and lies and highly paid lie-propaganda, paid with fake money – fake as in indiscriminately printed US-dollars – of which every new dollar is debt that will never be paid back (as openly admitted by former FEDs Chairman, Alan Greenspan); dollars that can be indiscriminately spent to produce the deadliest weapons, as well as for corporate media-propaganda lies – also a deadly weapon – to indoctrinate people around the globe into believing that evil is good, and that war is peace.

I have lost many friends by telling them off, by telling them the truth, the truth about Venezuela, Cuba, Iran, Syria – mostly to no avail. It’s actually no loss; it’s merely a repeated confirmation of how far the western society has been veered off the path of conscience into a comfort zone, where believing the propaganda lies of reputed media like The Guardian, NYT, WashPost, BBC, FAZ, Spiegel, Le Monde, Figaro, el País, ABC — and so on, is edifying. They are so convincing. They are so well-reputed and well-known. How could they lie? – No loss, indeed.

Let’s stay on track, comrades. Venceremos!

Peter Koenig is an economist and geopolitical analyst. He is also a water resources and environmental specialist. He worked for over 30 years with the World Bank and the World Health Organization around the world in the fields of environment and water. He lectures at universities in the US, Europe and South America. He writes regularly for Global Research; ICH; RT; Sputnik; PressTV; The 21st Century; TeleSUR; The Saker Blog, the New Eastern Outlook (NEO); and other internet sites. He is the author of Implosion – An Economic Thriller about War, Environmental Destruction and Corporate Greed – fiction based on facts and on 30 years of World Bank experience around the globe. He is also a co-author of The World Order and Revolution! – Essays from the Resistance. Peter Koenig is a Research Associate of the Centre for Research on Globalization.

[cglcomm106]

Midterm Essay

Midterm Essay: Analysis of “commodity self”

Theorists may posit that an identity is socially constructed, meaning that our sense of self is derived from the stimuli which we are exposed to by society. Sturken and Cartwright state that as a consumer culture, we live in a culture where commodities are central to cultural meaning. A commodity is defined as anything that is bought or sold in a system of exchange. They also claim that the concept of commodity culture is intricately allied with the idea that we construct our identities through the consumer products that inhabit our lives (Sturken and Cartwright 279). As a child of the dawn of the 21st century, my entire life has been packed to the gums with these consumer products and commodities constantly influencing my self-expectations of everything from masculinity to virtue and cultural values. Media are nigh inescapable and inextricably tied to these commodities we grow up with, and they shape us every day of our lives.

My identity is influenced by my commodities of choice from my first steps out of bed to my last steps of the day back in. When I wake, I check my phone and open up Facebook to see what’s “trending,” what everyone is talking about. This could range anywhere from another (all-too-unfortunately frequent) public shooting, to the latest drama to rock the executive branch, to the death of a celebrity or simply a cute video of a dog chasing its tail in a swimming pool. From the start of my day, I am connected to a global community and partaking in or observing the day’s newest batch of content for public discourse.

During lunch, I might get on my phone to check Snapchat or Facebook Messenger to see how my friends are doing. I might see a selfie from a friend talking about how bored he is in class with a goofy filter adorning the picture frame and strike up a conversation from him while I am snagging a sandwich at subway. I could settle down with The Onion, Clickhole, or The New Yorker for a good laugh, or visit Reddit and read strangers’ stories on the day’s trending AskReddit thread. Even if I am the only customer in that Subway, the computer in my pocket has turned the world into my crowded middle school cafeteria, except the tables are less sticky and I can mute the child next to me if he is being a bully.

Lastly, at night, I will pull out my phone or go to the Netflix website on my computer to continue watching whatever television show I had been watching the night before, not particularly seeking any discourse and opting to indulge in the chronicles of the starship Voyager into the twilight hours of the evening, or perhaps play an inane mobile game about tapping lemonades to make virtual money or some other mind-numbing yet bizarrely satisfying stimulus.

Through these stimuli we’re exposed to all day, we intake more information that influences our social identity. As we process the information we’ve taken in, our reactions are shaped by our ideologies and influence our desires. Louis Althusser defines ideology as a representation of the imaginary relationship of individuals to the real conditions of their existence (Sturken and Cartwright 69). The use of the word imaginary here is not meant to be taken as an implication that this relationship is composed of false or mistaken ideas, but rather a set of beliefs shaped through the unconscious in relationship to other social forces, such as the economy or institutions (Sturken and Cartwright 70).

I will never forget seeing the New York Times post on Facebook about a construction accident at a Saudi Arabian mosque on September 11, 2015, and the resulting “flame war,” a vicious widespread argument, in the comment section. Thousands of people with varying ideologies were out for each other’s blood, with more reactionary christian commenters praising Jesus Christ for the deaths of heathens on 9/11 to more secular elements chastising them for their insensitivity. The ensuing public discourse in weight of this news undoubtedly entrenched participants in their own ideologies, or perhaps (albeit less likely) changed some people’s minds.

The influence of media on our desires, however, is arguably more grim than a jubilant reaction to a number of tragic deaths half a world away. On most platforms that facilitate communication and the exchange of information, we are also bombarded by advertisements riddled with commodity fetishism. Sturken and Cartwright call commodity fetishism a process of mystification that separates a commodity from the context of its production and fills it with new, more appealing meanings, such as empowerment, beauty, and sexiness (Sturken and Cartwright 282).

From that sporting debate over the latest turn in the stock markets to the aforementioned video of the adorable dog in the swimming pool, we are sent messages from advertisers and producers of commodities to further adjust our perceptions and how we can fulfill our desires. Despite the internet’s boundless utility for conversation and exchange of information, we are still bombarded by sponsored content and deceptive advertising practices all along the way. Ads work tirelessly to appear as anything but advertisements, from making advertisements about candy or beer look like sketch comedy, or making advertisements for new cars look like movie trailers or music videos.

That is not to say that advertising is necessarily evil. Sometimes I will not know what to have for dinner, and an ad for a nearby chain restaurant or dangerously fattening pizza place will show up in an unexpected and timely manner. Trailers for movies will give me an expectation for their quality or get me excited for an upcoming release I planned on seeing anyway. Or, as happens all too often, I will see an advertisement or announcement for an upcoming game that will pique my interest.

When I’m done with work for the day, or putting off a COMM 106 midterm, I will settle in for online gaming with friends and strangers. The sophistication of cultural exchange ranges from chatting with a stranger from Serbia about how he sees America, to attending rigidly scheduled bi-weekly gaming parties online to coordinate assaults on elaborate dungeons and demonic fortresses, to simply making crude jokes about genitals and bodily functions with my friends in a private voice chat over a game of cards. Funnily enough, the most socialising I get done happens when I’m physically around the least amount of people.

So, naturally, I feel that the commodities that influence me most of all pertain to online gaming. I’m writing this paper late into the night before the night it is due rather than a few hours before the deadline in order to free up more of my Friday for teaching my friends a new game they have just picked up. I was still awake to start it at 2:30 in the morning because I’d just drank a fresh cup of coffee to prepare for an abruptly-ended late night game of Europa Universalis IV with a close friend I often embark on such ventures with. For as long as I remember, I have been deeply involved in “gamer” culture.

Gaming is a lucrative industry, and therefore it is one with competitive advertising. Take this trailer for Tom Clancy’s Rainbow Six: Siege, for example. On the heels of its new record of all-time concurrent player count on PC, Ubisoft extols the virtue of how different its tactical shooter is from the competition, implicitly PlayerUnknown’s Battlegrounds, Fortnite, and Counter-Strike: Global Offensive. “The rules are different,” they claim, boasting the tagline “FPS (first-person shooter) has a new set of rules.” The advertisement beckons fans of the genre to play the game because of its tactical variety, boasting its fully-destructible walls and ceilings, which are rare in the genre, as “opportunities.”

Commodity fetishism takes place in the FPS subgenre of gaming culture in the form of empowerment through competition. The player is separated from the concept that the game they are playing is a complex program that plays sounds and displays animation and instead takes on this commodity as the experience of blasting a hole in a foe’s head from 50 yards with a .45 caliber bullet. Ubisoft is hailing prospective players to take on the excitement of this experience, leading them through an explosive and colorful battleground and coaxing them to claim victory in this chaotic and thrilling environment they have created.

For the more relaxed and serene gamer, advertising is presented in a less dramatic fashion, as in this trailer for Stardew Valley, darling of the indie gaming scene. The menacing strings and imposing voiceover of the Rainbow Six: Siege trailer are a far cry from the whimsical keyboard music, woodwinds, and cute pixel art of this gentle simulator about farming and small-town life. A new and exciting experience is still offered, with the viewer being enticed to “shape your land into a thriving farm,” “learn to live off the land,” and “become part of the local community.” While one might think it would be difficult to compare an ultra-violent game commodity about tactical military operation to an adorable simulation which presents situations no more stressful than selecting which crops and produce to bring to the autumn harvest festival, the underlying attraction remains the same: the offer of a new and exciting experience full of opportunity.

While it’s an entirely noninteractive medium, and thus devoid of opportunity, another commodity that influences me greatly is film. Particularly superhero films, especially those produced by Marvel Studios. Last month, Marvel released a new trailer for its highly-anticipated new release in the Avengers series, Infinity War. As a viewer, I derive meaning from this trailer as filtered through my ideology and experience with the ongoing Marvel Cinematic Universe franchise.

Sturken and Cartwright say that meaning is created in part by context, and when, where, and by whom images are consumed (Sturken and Cartwright 55). Someone who has not seen any Guardians of the Galaxy or Iron Man movies will not feel a fraction of the excitement I feel seeing Starlord and Iron Man bantering on screen, or if they have not seen any Captain America movies they may not understand how terrifying and powerful Thanos appears when he grapples the red-white-and-blue-clad superhero near the end of the trailer.

As with all negotiations of meaning, my interpretation of these images is altered due to a deep contextual knowledge of the characters and setting. I experience a surge of emotion and wonder as I observe the trailer’s grand spectacles of armies clashing, spaceships flying, and all of my favorite superheroes coming together for one epic crossover film to beat the ever-loving crap out of warmongering bad guys. I may speculate what will happen in the film, which characters will fight and die, and so on. This meaning will vary even amongst opinions of others who have seen all the films as I have, because of the logical framework they have constructed while viewing all the preceding films through their reactions to them.

Short of destroying all methods of communication and moving to a log cabin in the middle of some deserted woods, media are impossible to escape, so what do we need to know about how they affect us? The short answer to that is that the information we exchange and the commodities we partake in influence us each time we encounter more stimuli. The reactions elicited by these encounters, and the messages we receive filtered through our ideology, endlessly work to build a self-identity that conforms to or rejects an endless myriad of content and social norms.

Ultimately, this self-identity is how we present ourselves to ourself and the rest of the global community. Our interests, our social activity, and the products we consume are directly influenced by our engagement with commodities and meaning. This is the primary reason why it is so important to cultivate a critical approach to the media that we consume. Consumption of media influences how we perceive everything, from how we perceive each other to how we perceive ourselves. It is important to keep a critical eye on our content intake in order to continually strive toward being a happier and empowered individual.

Works Cited

MARVEL. “Marvel Studios' Avengers: Infinity War - Official Trailer.” YouTube, YouTube, 16 Mar. 2018, www.youtube.com/watch?v=QwievZ1Tx-8.

Sturken, Marita, and Lisa Cartwright. Practices of Looking: an Introduction to Visual Culture. Oxford University Press, 2009.

TheAmazingApes. “Stardew Valley Trailer.” YouTube, YouTube, 29 Jan. 2016, www.youtube.com/watch?v=ot7uXNQskhs.

Ubisoft North America. “Rainbow Six Siege - Free Weekend February 15 - 20 | Trailer | Ubisoft [NA].” YouTube, YouTube, 13 Feb. 2018, www.youtube.com/watch?v=TkHAdXs32nA.

[clubofinfo]

Expert: A recent interview with 88-year-old Noam Chomsky once again demonstrates just how insightful he is in providing rational analysis of Western power and the suffering it generates. By contrast, anyone relying on BBC News receives a power-friendly view of the world, systematically distorted in a way that allows the state and private interests to pursue business as usual. In what follows, we present examples of Chomsky’s clarity on several important topics and contrast them with the distortions and silences from BBC News. These examples are not intended to be fully comprehensive, with lots of detailed background. But they are highly illustrative of the propaganda nature of what the BBC broadcasts every day. First, consider North Korea which has carried out missile tests that have ‘demonstrated its growing power and expertise, stoking tensions with the US’, as the BBC puts it. A helpful graphic shows much of the northern hemisphere within range of these missiles. In particular, the west coast of the United States is portrayed as under real threat from the ‘hermit’ state’s nuclear missiles: a scaremongering scenario that BBC News has promoted in line with the propaganda requirements of the White House, the Pentagon and the arms industry. Video clips on the BBC News website have titles such as ‘N Korea announces nuclear test‘, ‘S Korea drill response to N Korea missile‘, ‘We’re used to hearing about being bombed‘ and ‘I don’t know when I might be killed‘. In a forthcoming book of interviews with journalist David Barsamian, Global Discontents: Conversations on the Rising Threats to Democracy, Chomsky acknowledges that North Korea has a ‘growing arsenal of nuclear weapons and missiles’ which does indeed ‘pose a threat to the region and, in the longer term, to countries beyond.’ But then he provides vital context for this arsenal of weapons: Its function is to be a deterrent, one that the North Korean regime is unlikely to abandon as long as it remains under threat of destruction. Yes, threat of destruction; something that is very real in the historical memory of the people: North Koreans remember well that their country was literally flattened by U.S. bombing, and many may recall how U.S. forces bombed major dams when there were no other targets left. There were gleeful reports in American military publications about the exciting spectacle of a huge flood of water wiping out the rice crops on which “the Asian” depends for survival. Today, as Chomsky notes, we are instructed that ‘the great challenge faced by the world’ is how to compel North Korea to freeze its nuclear and missile programmes. ‘Perhaps we should resort to more sanctions, cyberwar, intimidation […] perhaps even to direct attack on North Korea’. He then continues: But there is another option, one that seems to be ignored: we could simply accept North Korea’s offer to do what we are demanding. China and North Korea have already proposed that North Korea freeze its nuclear and missile programs. The proposal, though, was rejected at once by Washington, just as it had been two years earlier, because it includes a quid pro quo: it calls on the United States to halt its threatening military exercises on North Korea’s borders, including simulated nuclear-bombing attacks by B-52s. Wait. What was that? There is another option? An article in The Diplomat, which describes itself as ‘the premier international current-affairs magazine for the Asia-Pacific region’, outlines the proposal; namely that: Pyongyang declare a moratorium on both nuclear and missile tests, in exchange for the United States and South Korea halting their large-scale joint military exercises. China has given this proposal the succinct name of ‘dual suspensions’. Chomsky explains further: The offer to freeze North Korea’s nuclear and missile programs in return for an end to highly provocative actions on North Korea’s border could be the basis for more far-reaching negotiations, which could radically reduce the nuclear threat and perhaps even bring the North Korea crisis to an end. Contrary to much inflamed commentary, there are good reasons to think such negotiations might succeed. He continues: Yet even though the North Korean programs are constantly described as perhaps the greatest threat we face, the Chinese-North Korean proposal is unacceptable to Washington, and is rejected by U.S. commentators with impressive unanimity. This is another entry in the shameful and depressing record of near-reflexive preference for force when peaceful options may well be available. So, there is a reasonable proposal from China and North Korea that could form the basis for negotiations leading to a peaceful resolution of the crisis – but it has been dismissed by Washington and US commentators. To what extent has it been covered by BBC News? Consider a report by Seoul-based BBC correspondent Stephen Evans when US Secretary of State Rex Tillerson threatened North Korea with military action. Like Obama, Trump has ruled out negotiation with North Korea. The ‘situation remains the same’, said Evans in the section of the BBC News report grandly titled ‘Analysis’: North Korea shows no hint of being willing to renounce nuclear weapons, whatever economic blows it receives and whatever China might think. If a BBC News reporter presents an ‘analysis’ that does not mention an important proposal that could bring about peace, and which the US has outright dismissed, what does that say about BBC bias? This is not a one-off. Washington-based BBC correspondent Barbara Plett-Usher noted dutifully that Tillerson had urged an ‘international response’ to North Korea’s nuclear and missile tests, without once mentioning the China-North Korea proposal. Last month, BBC’s China editor Carrie Gracie also offered her ‘Analysis’: China has insisted time and again that it will never accept North Korea as a nuclear weapons state, and it can’t avoid the obvious and urgent question: how does China intend to stop it? There was nothing about the proposal that China has made, with North Korea, to address the stalemate. Likewise, earlier in the year, Gracie had said in another BBC News report: So in Beijing today, Mr Tillerson kept it diplomatic. There was no public repetition of President Trump’s complaint that China is not doing enough to prevent North Korea’s nuclear and missile programmes. The BBC News reporter was thus uncritically presenting Washington’s ‘complaint’ about China without pointing out that its rational proposal had been summarily dismissed by the US. This is not journalism; it is power-friendly propaganda. Iran: The Doctrinal View Versus Reality BBC News has been reporting in the past few days that Trump ‘is planning to abandon the Iran nuclear deal shortly’. The BBC website dutifully provides articles with titles like ‘Iran nuclear deal: Key details‘ and ‘What will happen to the Iran nuclear deal?’ But you will struggle in vain to find the necessary context and vital facts that Chomsky provides: Iran has long been regarded by U.S. leaders, and by U.S. media commentary, as extraordinarily dangerous, perhaps the most dangerous country on the planet. This goes back to well before Trump. In the doctrinal system, Iran is a dual menace: it is the leading supporter of terrorism, and its nuclear programs pose an existential threat to Israel, if not the whole world. It is so dangerous that Obama had to install an advanced air defense system near the Russian border to protect Europe from Iranian nuclear weapons — which don’t exist, and which, in any case, Iranian leaders would use only if possessed by a desire to be instantly incinerated in return. As Chomsky says, that’s the view according to ‘the doctrinal system’ espoused by Washington and allies, along with their cheerleaders in the ‘mainstream’ media and academia. But what about the reality? In the real world, Iranian support for terrorism translates to support for Hezbollah, whose major crime is that it is the sole deterrent to yet another destructive Israeli invasion of Lebanon, and for Hamas, which won a free election in the Gaza Strip — a crime that instantly elicited harsh sanctions and led the U.S. government to prepare a military coup. Both organizations, it is true, can be charged with terrorist acts, though not anywhere near the amount of terrorism that stems from Saudi Arabia’s involvement in the formation and actions of jihadi networks. Chomsky then points to: The unmentionable fact that any concern about Iranian weapons of mass destruction (WMDs) could be alleviated by the simple means of heeding Iran’s call to establish a WMD-free zone in the Middle East. Such a zone is strongly supported by the Arab states and most of the rest of the world and is blocked primarily by the United States, which wishes to protect Israel’s WMD capabilities. For BBC diplomatic correspondent Jonathan Marcus, this call by Iran for a WMD-free zone in the Middle East has seemingly never happened. Sounds familiar? As with the China-North Korea proposal discussed above, the Iranian proposal for a WMD-free zone in the Middle East appears not to exist for the BBC. Instead, his ‘analysis‘ is littered with propaganda nuggets like: Washington’s most pressing problem with Iran is its regional behaviour. It is left to Chomsky once again to provide an accurate representation of reality: Since the doctrinal system falls apart on inspection, we are left with the task of finding the true reasons for U.S. animus toward Iran. Possibilities readily come to mind. The United States and Israel cannot tolerate an independent force in a region that they take to be theirs by right. An Iran with a nuclear deterrent is unacceptable to rogue states that want to rampage however they wish throughout the Middle East. Remember that Marcus has a supposed BBC commitment towards ‘impartiality‘. This allegedly includes the commitment to consider ‘the broad perspective…ensuring the existence of a range of views is appropriately reflected.’ These BBC News editorial standards are, of course, regularly breached every day of the year. The BBC correspondent then goes on to provide a list of ‘flashpoints between Washington and Tehran’, as though the two countries were sparring partners, rather than a global power attempting to assert control over a country that is trying to maintain its independence. Tellingly, there is no room in the BBC’s list of ‘flashpoints’ for the violent US removal of the democratically elected Iranian government in 1953. As Chomsky notes of the 1979 revolution that removed the Shah of Iran: Iran cannot be forgiven for overthrowing the dictator installed by Washington in a military coup in 1953, a coup that destroyed Iran’s parliamentary regime and its unconscionable belief that Iran might have some claim on its own natural resources. Spotlight on the Showman While the Planet Burns In his interview, Chomsky points out something that is difficult, if not impossible, to find on the BBC about what is happening under Trump: Out of the spotlight, the most savage fringe of the Republican Party is carefully advancing policies designed to enrich their true constituency: the Constituency of private power and wealth, “the masters of mankind,” to borrow Adam Smith’s phrase. These policies include legislation that attacks workers’ rights, consumer protection, rural communities, health programmes and ‘much-needed constraints on the predatory financial system that grew during the neoliberal period.’ As well as pulling out of the Paris climate agreement, the Republican Party ‘wrecking ball’ is: … intent on maximizing the use of fossil fuels, including the most dangerous; dismantling regulations; and sharply cutting back on research and development of alternative energy sources, which will soon be necessary for decent survival. As Chomsky notes, some of ‘the most dangerous developments under Trump trace back to Obama initiatives.’ He gives an example: A very important study in the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, published in March 2017, reveals that the Obama nuclear weapons modernization program has increased “the overall killing power of existing US ballistic missile forces by a factor of roughly three — and it creates exactly what one would expect to see, if a nuclear-armed state were planning to have the capacity to fight and win a nuclear war by disarming enemies with a surprise first strike.” As the analysts point out, this new capacity undermines the strategic stability on which human survival depends. Chomsky observes that this ‘has barely been reported’. Certainly, we have been unable to find any mention of it anywhere on the BBC News website. Chomsky adds that: The chilling record of near disaster and reckless behavior of leaders in past years only shows how fragile our survival is. Now this program is being carried forward under Trump. These developments, along with the threat of environmental disaster, cast a dark shadow over everything else — and are barely discussed, while attention is claimed by the performances of the showman at center stage. This is an apt description of BBC News coverage, even as the world plunges towards possible terminal disaster for humanity. http://clubof.info/