#like the were politely whispering threats about who gets Carlos

[leclercskiesahead]

from formula santander

[kxhlzn]

[01] I WALK THE LINE // connor.

SYNOPSIS: Hank meets an unlikely companion in a bar, and an interrogation becomes heated. You have some questions regarding Androids.

GENRE: Sci-Fi, Romance, Angst.

PAIRINGS: RK800!Connor/Reader, slight Gavin/Reader.

WORDCOUNT: 5.4k

WARNINGS: Profanity, Gore, Sexual Innuendos, Bigotry.

SONG REC(S): I Walk The Line by Halsey is the leading theme of this fic.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I think Gavin has some potential, so he isn't completely despised here. In fact, he's your best friend and roommate. Unedited and messy. I'm not really that proud of this lmfaooo.

There was always something chilly about Detroit, Michigan, in the fall— the way the community seems to curl in for the night, ducking into their ratty homes, only ever coming out when the post comes 'round. People are colder, their behavior growing critical and isolated once the leaves crinkle and spiral to the ground. By late October, the streets were littered with merely crooks and the homeless, save for a few ignorant folks who decided to be too slaphappy for their own good; be it from substances or plain stupidity, you couldn't be sure. With the invention of Androids, they too, roamed the uninhabited streets of downtown Detroit; they were usually the first to be mugged, which became almost laughable to Hank Anderson, whom's distasteful viewpoint is made public once he's had a few rounds of whiskey. Some might have called his opinion plain pessimism due to his naturally prickly attitude, but Hank was a realistic, honest man — he wasn't one for fake positivity, and that reflected in his daily life as well. Even if you didn't share his angle, you couldn't write it off so easily — while disheartening, it truly reflects the state of the world on its judgment of Androids.

"Lieutenant, may I ask you a personal question?"

The cool autumn air trickles down your spine in small waves, and your body involuntarily shivers from the sensation; you want to blow warm air to your fingers, but they are clasped tightly around your coat, tugging on the leather. Hank, as you call him, strolls beside you in a leisurely fashion, his own body clad in massive winter clothing. His silence draws a continuation from your mouth. "Why do you hate Androids so much?"

He's suddenly tense from your words, his blue eyes scanning downtown Detroit for an excuse to change the subject. The cold wind ruffles his silver hairs from underneath his coat, and it runs across his exposed neck and into the dip of his shirt. Dejectedly, he wets his lips and rolls his eyes— at you, or himself, he's not sure.

"Because I do, kid. There's not a fucking reason," Hank's tone is distant and gruff, and if it were anyone else, you would have fallen for the lie.

You had always considered Lieutenant Hank Anderson to be a genuine man, despite his unhealthy tendencies — when he lies, there is a reason, so in a normal circumstance, you would have accepted it and moved on. However, you've known Hank for a good year since your raise to detective — you would often visit the pub together, or spend a long night in his house with Sumo, "looking over cases" — which roughly translated to playing cards and watching movies, and glancing over the files once in a while. To see the man close down so easily from a simple question causes you to wonder if you aren't as close to him as you forced yourself to believe, or the extent of the reason is that severe.

"Aye," you almost whisper, your lips chapped from the dry fall air. Hank's stiffness forces a purse of your lips, and he is climbing over himself in an attempt to avoid your eyes.

Hank swallows deeply, hesitantly turning his body in your direction, just for a brief moment. "I'm headin' to Jimmy's."

You bite on your lower lip as you follow his gaze upward; into the dark sky, whose lights were twinkling with mischief and a burn to stay alive. They are fighting for life, battling the reflection of thousands of city lights pouring into the atmosphere. They're fighting an everlasting battle, but yet they persevere. A twinge erupts in your heart, and you can feel in your bones there's a serendipitous moment waiting to burst tonight. Hank's footsteps retreat towards the direction of the bar, and your stomach hops into your throat.

A gush of wind pushes you forward, your body rushing to keep up with Hank's. Instinctively, your fingers reach out gingerly for his coat; gripping the material in your palm brings you a sense of security, and the older man glances behind him, a majority of his face hidden by the collar. His bushy eyebrow quirks and you shrug bashfully, your shoulders slumping in exhaustion.

The fall air is crisp against your chilled cheeks, but there's a warmth rising in the pit of your stomach, a knowing feeling; a gut feeling, one buried deep in your bones; little did you know tonight would mark the beginning of a series of events, ones that will carve the future for both Androids and humankind.

─────────

Jimmy's was dark and dreary, as one might expect of a dilapidated Detroit bar. Voices hum a sad buzz throughout the small building, men tucked away deep in the booths, hands wrapped around bottles. Their eyes held a thousand threats and a thousand secrets; they roam down the two of you as if they hadn't seen you before. The Asian man seated at the farthest booth barks out a laugh suddenly, saying a sentence along the lines of, "Hank, my man! Looks like you brought the detective, huh?"

"She's like a leech some days, but others, she won't talk to me for almost a week straight. Today is simply luck of the draw," Hank utters in response, collapsing on a bar stool, leaning his forearms against the worn wooden counter. You mirror his action, and Hank orders you both a couple of shots. The alcohol rushing down your throat burns, but it's worth the buzz. You push yourself to stay sober enough to walk the two of you home because you know Hank won't.

You can always tell the man's on the edge of shitfaced when his eyes droop and his face nearly falls completely. His shoulders drop to his hips, and he loses his stiff posture. Hank always looks like if you poke him, he'll melt to a pool on the floor. Jimmy eyes you with concern, but you shrug nonchalantly and order a glass of water for yourself and to help sober Hank up.

Jimmy steps back to your half of the bar, his hand wrapped around the glass; before he slides it over, his attention is snatched by the door to the bar opening with a rustic jingle. You pay it no mind, reaching over and grasping the water in your palm. You take a leisurely sip and ignore the hushed whispers now erupting across the establishment. A tension rises in the air, and you finally force your stool back to see past Hank's large arched back.

Eyes scanning the bar, a tall man strolls in with a surge of destination in his step; he has a goal to be reached. You don't even notice he is an Android until his LED swirls a vibrant yellow, stopping to scan a man's face. It would have crossed your mind sooner if the lighting in this joint wasn't so poor. The shadows overlooking his attire hide the serial number and the bright blue contrast to the overall white and dark grey color scheme. His hair is a deep brown, a bit messy in the front but perfectly trimmed and maintained in the back. One defiant strand curls on his forehead, where his brows are knitted together in thought. Below, are a pair of cocoa irises, focused and determined. His entire face exuberates attention to detail, and it takes his eyes rising to meet your curious ones to break you from your trance.

The hairs on the back of your neck rise to the occasion, and you twist in your seat to face the racks of alcohol ahead of you. Heavy footsteps click against the floor, swifter than before. Your breath holds in your throat until a cool, nasally voice greets you and Hank.

"Lieutenant Anderson, Detective, my name is Connor. I'm the Android sent by CyberLife. I looked for you at the station but nobody knew where you were. They said you were probably having a drink nearby. I was lucky to find you at the fifth bar," The Android spoke softly, his shoulders pushed back politely. When he notices Hank refraining from looking at him, he bends between you and the lieutenant, leaning his forearm against the bar. His swift movement causes you to reel back, nearly tipping you out of your stool. You receive a strong whiff of his scent, a mix of lemon and vanilla. His right blade presses into your shoulder, and it sends shocks throughout your skin.

"What do you want?" Hank spits, downing another shot, which makes you grimace; the Android had interrupted your meager attempt to sober the old man.

"You were assigned a case early this evening. A homicide, involving a CyberLife Android. In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators," Connor continues.

"You mean the Carlos Ortiz case?" You blurt suddenly, your eyes focused entirely on Connor. He tilts his head at you, seemingly interested in your presence now. When he nods firmly, you smiled excitedly. "Why are they assigning an Android to aid us?"

"The CyberLife team believes it will be most efficient, due to the excessive rate of deviant Androids," Connor states.

Hank scoffs beside you, his fingers gripping the shot glass tightly. His eyes are hooded and dark, and your face laces with concern. "Well, we don't need any assistance. Especially not from a plastic asshole like you. So just be a good lil' robot and get the fuck outta here."

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but I must insist. My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany you."

"You know where you can stick your instructions?"

"No… Where?" Connor inquires quizzically, and you snort into your glass of water. His attention draws to you briefly, but it soon snaps back to Hank, who rolls his eyes.

"Nevermind."

─────────

You've fallen asleep by the time Hank pulls up to the home in downtown Detroit, as the traffic had been a little hectic so the ride was delayed. You hadn't woken until Connor's strong hands were shaking your shoulders, his leg propping the car door open. "Detective."

You jolt awake, and Connor leans over you to unfasten your seatbelt. You wave his hands away, finishing the job yourself while he pulls back and awaits your exit. You peer over the vehicle to get a good look at the house, which is rusty and poor in quality. The dilapidated structure seems to moan each time a gust of wind strikes its walls, which irks you into being a bit hesitant to immediately enter. Ben Collins stands on the porch, his arms crossed and his foot tapping impatiently against the cracked wood.

As it turns out, Hank isn't too keen on Connor joining the two of you on the investigation. He hightails it into the building like his ass is on fire, fully aware that those at the police tape will hassle poor Connor into twiddling his thumbs in Hank's vehicle. As expected, once you and the Android reach the vibrant yellow tape, a Police Android hums, "Androids are not permitted beyond this point."

The rain pours down heavily, and you've grown a bit exasperated by the amount of disrespect that follows the presence of Connor. When your eyes rise to meet his face, his expression is hard, like he isn't bothered or stunned by this occurrence. You bump his shoulder with your own and twist to face one of the human officers. "He's with me."

You jump forward to grasp the android's palm. You pull him towards you, and he's swift to duck under the tape. He fixes his gaze on the officer briefly, but soon rushes to walk beside you, as if to reiterate the point of your association with one another.

"Bout time the two of you got your asses in here," Hank snaps when he catches your eye once you and Connor are inside the rank building, "Decided you wanted a quickie before you started the case?"

Connor's eyebrows furrow immediately. "A quickie—?"

You slap a firm hand on his chest, stopping his question, and you shake your head. He accepts your answer, but he's still rather confused, judging by the puzzled expression on his face.

"So," you begin, your eyes darting across the living room, "What have we got?"

"You didn't read the file report?" Hank remarks, a smug expression on his wrinkled face.

"No, sorry, I was busy having a quickie with Connor in the backseat of your car," You quip back, opening the vanilla file to freshen your memory of the case.

Hank's lip quirks up in disgust, his attention drifting to the Android hovering over you. "Hey, you. You don't talk, you don't touch anything, and you stay out of my way, got it?"

"Got it."

Ben Collins steps out of the kitchen and heads over to Hank, rubbing his hands together. "So… Two of you got an Android, huh?"

"Oh, very funny. Just tell me what happened," Hank barks, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms.

Detective Collins shrugs and motions the three of you over to the man's body. "We had a call around eight from the landlord. The tenant hadn't paid his rent for a few months, so he thought he'd drop by, see what was going on. That's when he found the body... Jesus, that smell! Was even worse before we opened the windows. The victim's name's Carlos Ortiz. He has a record for theft and aggravated assault. According to the neighbors, he was kind of a loner... Stayed inside most of the time, they hardly ever saw him."

"Looks like a total douche," You whisper mostly to yourself, and Hank snorts softly.

"Looked," Hank replies darkly. He crouches next to the rotting body, disgusted by the sight. "Uh, state he's in... Wasn't worth calling everybody out in the middle of the night. Could've waited 'til morning."

"I'd say he's been there for a good three weeks. We'll know more when the coroner gets here. There's a kitchen knife over here. Probably the murder weapon," Collins says, gesturing you to the kitchen, where there are several evidence markers.

"Any sign of a break-in?" You ask, crouching low to get a good look at the knife. There's nearly a ton of blood on the blade, and it forces a little swirl in your stomach, so you stand.

"Nope... The landlord said the front door was locked from the inside, all the windows were boarded up. The killer must've gone out the back way," Collins states.

"If the Android went out the back way, there's bound to be tracks with the rain today to uncover them," You inquire, but your shoulders soon slump. "But with your men running around, they can easily be mixed in with the rest."

"What do we know about this Android?" Hank adds in.

Ben Collins's reply is weak. "Not much. The neighbors confirmed he had one, but it wasn't here when we arrived…"

He glances once more at the corpse leaned against the wall, and he nearly gags. Stepping towards the front door, he says, "I gotta get some air. Make yourself at home. I'll be outside if you need me."

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"I added a little bit of sugar. Looked like you needed the extra kick, going by the grimace. If you squeeze your face together any more, people might think you're about to soil your jeans," You say, bending over to put the steaming cup on the desk, "Then they'll finally realize your old age is getting to you."

Hank grunts disapprovingly, and gripping the cup and nearly downing it in one swallow. He stands slowly, groaning due to his aching bones; he's equally exhausted as everyone else in the room, give or take. "Wish me luck."

The lieutenant's polished shoes click against the concrete as you take his seat, and he begrudgingly heads for the interrogation room. In the corner of your eye, Gavin runs his hand down his face in irritation and you swirl back around to face him in the office chair. Your grin draws his eye, and he nearly pouts as he looks in a different direction. Offering your own coffee cup to him as you stand, he takes it and sips softly before returning it back to your hands. You lean against the wall beside him, and glance past him to Connor just after Hank's booming voice echoes through the observation room.

"Why d'you kill him? What happened before you took that knife? How long were ya in the attic? Why didn't you even try to run away? Say something, goddamnit! Fuck it, I'm outta here…"

Seconds later, his tall physique shoves through the door, his face drawn in furiously.

"And there goes his jeans…" You say wistfully, and Gavin can't help but have a bittersweet sneer and pass you an expression mixed with both weariness and amusement.

"We're wastin' our time interrogating a machine, we're gettin' nothing out of it!" Hank seethes, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"Have you tried asking him why he killed Ortiz?" You remark, and Hank is almost on the last straw with you.

"'Could always try roughing it up a little. After all, it's not human…" Gavin adds with a spiteful smirk, and he avoids your eyes for sole acknowledgment of your annoyed scoff.

"Judging by the cigarette burns on his forearm, I think he's had his share of getting roughed up," You snark, and Gavin shrugs nonchalantly.

"Then what's one more time?"

Before you can bark back, Connor speaks up, "Androids don't feel pain. You would only damage it and that wouldn't make it talk. Deviants also have a tendency to self-destruct when they're in stressful situations."

Gavin rolls his eyes dramatically, clearing desiring a chance to go home. "Okay, smartass. What should we do then?"

Connor glances between all three of you as if testing the waters; deciding he's got the stage, he suggests, "I could try questioning it."

There's a tense silence for a few moments, and you can practically hear Gavin's disapproval beside you. You attempt to calm him by bumping your hip against his, and the man gives you a side-eye; not a hostile one, which implies your intentions weren't futile.

Hank sighs. "What do we have to lose? Go ahead, suspect's all yours."

"I want to go in with him," you jump, standing straight suddenly.

Gavin grabs your arm, his expression wild and very unfavorable of your proposal. "Are you fuckin' nuts? I won't let you lock yourself in a room with two unknown robots. One of them is a fuckin' criminal, for fuck's sakes."

"Sounds exciting, doesn't it? Just rustles my jimmies," You quirk, placing your hands on Connor's shoulders and giving him a brief shove towards the door.

Your initiative is to comfort the Android before Connor questions him. As you've learned, when confronting a possible hostile, it's important to appear as small and submissive as possible if you have the intention of communicating with it. To do this, you made sure to squat beside him and watch his eyes and his LED. The Android appears bewildered, so you raise your hands so he sees them clearly.

"Hi, there. I'm one of the detectives here at the DPD. We aren't going to hurt you, I promise, okay? Let's get to know each other a bit, is that alright? May I ask your name?" You speak slowly and softly. It's important to make the hostile feel in control of the situation.

The Android is very tense, but his eyes are steady; Studying you.

"We won't hurt you if you tell us what we need to know, okay? I want to help your kind; make sure they get treated right, but I can't do that unless you tell me why you did it. Did your owner… Was he hurting you? Is that why you're scared of me?"

Connor suddenly slams down into the chair across from the Android, making it jump and push you away. Your eyes narrow at Connor, who doesn't acknowledge your presence. He slides the file photos to the other side of the table as you stand and dust off your leggings, and stand behind him. "You recognize him? It's Carlos Ortiz. Stabbed, 28 times. That was written on the wall in his blood…"

Deciding your method was futile, you head back out of the interrogation room and into the one Hank and Gavin were in. Sighing softly, you run your hands through your loose hair and Gavin mirrors your breath of fatigue.

"I have some Hot Pockets in the freezer. C'mon," He says to you, his palm resting on your shoulder. You shrug and follow him out of the room and into the main section of the DPD. The office area is nearly deserted save for a few hard-working employees, diligently wearing their minds away at their desks.

You plop down in a plastic chair at a small circular table in the employee lunch break space, and lean your head against the surface. In the background, you catch the rustling of plastic bags as Gavin tosses some Hot Pockets in the microwave. While they cook, he seats himself across from you and runs his hands together in thought.

"That plastic bastard being here really pissed me off," He complains, his eyes dark.

"I don't mind him all that much, but he's so… Cold," You reply, "But not even in a harsh or hateful way, more… Blunt? Empty?"

"You mean, like a robot?" Gavin says snidely.

"I really hate that word, Gav."

"You know what I hate?" He responds, "Fuckin' machines comin' in and taking jobs. You remember Amber, the secretary?"

"Yeah?"

"She told me she was supporting four kids by herself. She got replaced last month, by guess what? An Android," He continues. "I grew up with kids whose dreams were shit on because machines did the job better. I was here thinkin' my job would be safe, 'cause God forbid one of those things take our Law Enforcement, but here we are."

The microwave beeps loudly, forcing Gavin to slam his seat back and retrieve the warm food. He tosses you a water bottle and refills his plastic seat, taking a Hot Pocket and sliding the paper plate to your side of the table.

"Has anyone ever told you how unlikable you are?"

"No fuckin' duh."

"I like you, despite that. You're real and honest," You announce, running your index finger along the rim of the plate. You tilt your head to the side and allow your cheek to press against the cool surface, your eyelids fluttering shut. "I've always been pretty liberal towards the Androids, but… I guess I never considered how it affected other people until now. For someone so selfish and ambitious, you really care about others."

You can feel Gavin's eyes burning holes in your face, so you crack one of your own slightly to get a good look at him. His expression is deep, full of thought; when he realizes he's been caught, he scoffs nonchalantly and turns to face the counter on his left. His knee repeatedly hits the bottom of the table, a sign of his unease.

"Gavin— you always tell it how it is. No bluffing…" Your words drag off slowly as your exhaustion meets up with you, and you nearly slump off the side of the table. Gavin stands and gently adjusts you so you're not at a threat to tip out of your seat. The man heads back to the interrogation room.

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"Goddamnit!" Gavin's voice rings in your ears, and you absentmindedly rub your eyes of the few minutes of sleep you could capture. You run your hand through your hair, blinking a few times to process the situation at bay.

Gavin is power strolling in your direction, his palms balled into violent fists. Brows drawn in furiously, he avoids your gaze and simply pulls at your arm. "Fuck it, let's go. I'm tired of their shit."

"What'd they do?" You inquire, voice a bit dry from your nap. Your bag is at your desk, so you wave away his hands and turn to walk backward in order to speak with the fuming man.

"Just being assh— Nothing, don't worry about it. None of your business, anyway."

"Whatever shit you put them through is my business, G," You say, the corner of your mouth quirked in harmless amusement. "You can't bully Hank too much, the old man might keel over and have a heart attack."

"I heard that!" Hank shouts from across the station. He too is coming to his desk.

You shrug your shoulders and face the surface of your workspace which is piled in manilla folders. You sigh softly and pass Gavin your sympathies. "I think I might have to stay in for a bit. I've been neglecting my files."

"Suit yourself. I'm heading home to my bed, 'cause I love myself," Gavin says, but he's already out the door before you can reply.

Hank's chair groans with his weight, and he twists it so he can see your expression; He studies it only for a moment. His fingers interlock as his elbows hit the desk, and the pads of his thumbs massage the bridge of his nose. "You gonna ask how it went?"

You laugh softly, your palm running over the top of the manilla folders. "Judging by Gavin's reaction? No, I don't think I will."

You spot Connor's silhouette before his body appears out of the hallway, as hardy as ever in his stride. You shouldn't be all that startled by his endurance, but you are dumbfounded nonetheless. How one can persist this continuously is astonishing. He is an Android, after all. If they weren't capable of such a feat, they wouldn't be as flawless as CyberLife seems to believe, but you suppose fortitude isn't their main concern in the dysfunction department at the time being.

"Shall we continue digging through deviant files, Lieutenant?" His bubbly voice asks, and you slam your forehead against your desk. Connor tilts his head in your direction, perplexed by your behavior. "Are you feeling unwell, Detective?"

He receives mumbling as your response. Fatigue is eating away at you like a disease, and the words that slipped from Connor's mouth make your thoughts spin rapidly. "No, no. Can we take a break?"

Hank groans low in his throat. "Fuck it, I'm going home."

He pulls himself up from his chair and stretches his arms in an attempt to wake. His body is nearly as droopy as the bags under his eyes, and he looks as if he might tip over should a light wind rustle through.

You scan over the pile of folders on your desk, and regret not leaving with Gavin, who you know would get you home safely, with your lack of car and all. You push your face against your forearm and sigh softly.

Hank glances you over briefly and bites his lip. "Uh, Connor, you mind?"

Connor blinks at him. "Mind what, Lieutenant?"

"Taking the girl home, damnit," Hank replies gruffly, gesturing lazily to the gloopy puddle that is you in your chair. "Detroit's not safe at night."

You peer up at him and study the wrinkles creasing his face. You blow air out onto your wrist while you slowly sit up. "Hank, aren't you going home?"

"Yeah— Just gotta hang back for a bit."

You bite back the urge to argue with him; However, Hank can immediately catch your internal battle, and he just barely smirks.

"If you know me at all, you'd know that I won't do more work than I have to," He reassures you, and gestures to the hallway, "Go. Get some sleep."

After careful consideration, you finally agree to let him be and collect your things so that Connor can walk you home. You used to live on your own, but you stayed over at Hank's or Gavin's so often that your rent was expensive and really wasn't worth the money. So, as a consequence, Gavin kindly let you move into the office in his apartment — And it turned out to be a wise choice, if not also the safest and easiest. Splitting the rent was simple enough, too.

The streets are dark as Connor trails just a step behind you, his silence leaving you awkward and uneasy. You attempt small talk — Asking his opinions on current issues, art, and nature — But he's blunt, in an oddly soft and sociable way. You don't think he realizes the tension; That, or he doesn't mind.

Overhead, birds' chatter is kept to a minimum, and there's always a distant siren— which does nothing to calm your nerves. You focus your attention instead on the beauty of Detroit, the way the lights curl amongst each other to create intricate value shadows. This lightens your mood by a landslide, and you find yourself cheery, even despite the dreary weather.

"Connor?" You test the waters again.

"Yes, Detective?" His tone is difficult to read.

"Do you believe in a higher power?" The question leads to deep answers, and likely more questions. You don't expect a detailed response.

In your peripheral, Connor's LED colors yellow, his brow line drawn in.

"Detective, I don't… I don't have the necessary components to form my own opinions," His tone shifts to confusion, but in a vulnerable way, "But I can answer factual questions you might have."

"I detest factual conclusions, Connor," You say, fumbling with a clean tissue in the pocket of your coat, "They make for boring conversation."

A stale silence ensues. If anyone else were to walk you home, you'd feel their body warmth graze your side. You'd hear the way they inhale air and the way they exhale. How is it that he looks and sounds so human, but lacks many aspects of humanity that you'd never find yourself appreciating so much until now?

The gate to the apartment building shakes with the wind whistling through as you gently push it open. Connor doesn't stay far behind you as you slowly stride up the stairs to prevent any excessive creaking.

Once you've reached your door, you turn to face Connor with a small smile. He seems to return it, but likely just so you don't awkwardly stare at each other.

"I will head back to Cyberlife Tower, then. See you tomorrow morning, Detective," Connor says politely, and he descends down the stairs. A part of you wants to tell him to stay so that he's within an actual living space, but you imagine that wouldn't go well for a few reasons.

"U-Um, thanks for walking me home!" He's already gone, but you think he knows you're grateful.

"Yo," Gavin's gruff voice rings once you've locked the door, "Hank drive you?"

You place your bag down on the kitchen table and shake your head. Gavin is laying on the couch, his hood pulled up while he, seemingly, naps. Approaching the couch, you pull up his legs and sit down, letting them rest against your thighs. "Nope. Connor walked me home."

You can practically smell Gavin's apparent irritation. He scowls deeply. "You let the robot take you home? Do you realize how dangerous that is?"

"Oh, please, Gav— Not tonight, okay?" You push his legs off your lap and instead, crawl up onto his chest and rest your head on his clavicle. He sighs but doesn't say anything else.

After a few minutes, you whisper, "We should probably go to bed. Long day tomorrow."

He groans, his chest rumbling your entire upper frame. It's a telltale sign that neither of you are going to be moving until morning.

The tiny Detroit apartment is dark, save for the dim kitchen light hanging above the dining table. It has a yellow tint, making the space feel cheaper. Outside, the night spares only the chirpings of a few crickets; But the low hum of the heater helps swallow the silence.

"... Gavin?" You whisper, testing the waters. You peer up slowly to meet his dark eyes, but it's hard to capture the emotion with the lack of lighting, and it takes a second to realize they are closed. He makes a guttural sound in his throat to alert you of his acknowledgment.

"Do you…" You swallow. "Do you think… Do you think that Androids ever get lonely?"

He remains silent a moment. "I, uh… No, I don't. What makes you think that kind of shit?"

"I dunno, it's just—" You sigh. "I mean, how can they not? They don't get… At the end of the day, they just— They just go back to their charging stations, or, or.. Cyberlife Tower, you know?"

"... Is this about that plastic fuck? Cuz, I really don't think you should be—"

"No, God, Gavin—! Listen," You bark softly, and he adjusts himself slightly, "It has nothing to do with Connor. You can call him that just so you know. Your little Android KKK group isn't going to come to hunt your ass down for calling him by his name."

Gavin scoffs, but it seems less malice and more offense.

"I just… I can't imagine they don't feel lonely."

"Why do you care so much about how they supposedly feel?"

"Well…" You swallow again, trying to word it so that he might understand it.

"Because I know... That if it were me..." You pause, licking your lips. You take a second to trace Gavin's locked jaw with your eyes, and eventually, they travel up to his. His expression is hard.

"Because I'd want someone to give me the benefit of the doubt too— Even if I didn't know I wanted it yet."

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[its-r-i-d-i-c-u-l-o-u-s]

Call Me A Freak- Chapter 13: Anger Management

Words: 1,725

Warnings: anxiety, anger and aggressive attitude, violence, death threats, swearing

A/N: The big day you’ve all been waiting for... family day!!! Just so that you guys know, there are only two more chapters to this fic, so it will kinda be winding down. I love all feedback and comments so don’t hesitate to talk to me!!!

Ch 12 | Ch 14

~ ~ ~

We had been invited to join the festivities of family day, despite having no family to see.

The four of us got all dressed up and walked out of the dorms a few minutes after it had been planned to start.

People stood around the garden haphazardly. There were simple decorations set up and tables for food. And at the very front, Ben was leading a few other students in a song and dance arrangement of ‘Be Our Guest’.

The students were too busy enjoying the show to notice us walk through, although for most of them, it didn’t really matter anymore. We were old news.

The boys were all over the chocolate fountain the minute we got there. Evie and I stood nearby to watch over Dude and ensure that they didn’t destroy the table or something and ruin the festivities. And I may have stolen a strawberry or two.

Once the song was over, Ben began socializing with other students and moved on to talk to his parents. I didn’t bother trying to talk to him. I knew that he’d be occupied today.

“So far, not so bad, huh?” Evie prompted, bouncing the dog in her arms as if she were burping a baby.

“Except the fact that Jay is sticking his face in the fountain,” I laughed.

Evie spun on her heel. “Jay!”

He looked like a caught puppy and he quickly wiped the excess chocolate from his lips.

“Mal!” Ben called.

I waved at him, smiling. But I hesitated when I noticed both his parents’ faces. They weren’t exactly thrilled to see me. I wondered if he had told them we were dating yet.

He beckoned me over, so I gave Evie a quick goodbye and walked towards the family.

Ben and his father wore matching suits, a cute sentiment to someone like me. You would never see that on the Isle.

I approached the walkway they were on and Ben stepped away from his family, meeting me halfway.

“I want to introduce you to my parents,” he explained and gave me a quick hug.

I did my best to appreciate the hug while it lasted. This wasn’t going to be an easy talk. Fortunately, he wrapped his hand around mine when we turned to look at his parents. It was comforting, and I hung onto his arm like it was my lifeline.

“This is Mal,” he told them. “From the island. My girlfriend.”

Well… they definitely knew. Belle’s face was tight as she smiled at me, but they both tried to be civil.

“Hi!” she blurted out, no doubt uncomfortable.

“Hi,” I smiled back.

“I was thinking maybe she could join us for lunch,” Ben suggested.

“Of… course,” the king responded. “An-Any friend of Ben’s…”

“Um…” I started, scratching the back of my head. “I actually came with my friends.”

I was hoping to give the king and queen an out. I still didn’t know what my decision for the Coronation was going to be. There was no point in forcing a relationship with them and I knew that they wanted to have a peaceful family day with their son.

Sadly, they were too polite to take the offer. Instead the queen said, “Well, you should invite them.”

The king stared at them, his face turning to one of concern. I didn’t need to look to know what they were up to. No doubt, Carlos still had chocolate smeared across his mouth and Evie was still cradling the dog like a child. Jay, if I had to guess, had a mouthful of something.

“Because the more, the merrier!” Belle finished.

“Yeah,” I nodded. I guess we were all invited to lunch now. “I’ll go grab them.”

“Uh, how about a game of croquet before lunch?” Beast offered.

God, they were just too nice for me. “Of course,” I said, in my brightest voice.

“Game on!” Ben challenged, stepping away from me to fistbump his dad.

We all laughed, politely. Then, Ben wrapped an arm around my shoulders and led me away.

“Have you played before?” he asked, leaning in so that his parents couldn’t hear.

“No,” I whispered back.

“No?” He paused. “You’ll be fine,” he decided.

~ ~ ~

Carlos loved croquet. Not for the game itself, but because the field was so open that he could run around with Dude without causing an upset with the players.

Evie decided not to play. Neither did the queen, so they struck up a conversation about Evie’s dress, Evie explaining that she made most of her clothes herself. I was shocked that it was all playing out so nicely.

Jay was struggling with the concept of the game. It wasn’t very physical. Jay thought that it would make sense to just hit the ball as hard as possible and Ben had to show him how to play more gently.

“Here,” Ben was saying. “Stand here.” He showed him how to position himself in front of the croquet ball. Then, Jay took a swing. “Nice!” Ben complimented.

I watched them cheer and high five for a moment, before an older woman approached me.

“Hello there,” she smiled.

“Hi.”

“Now, have we met?”

I glanced over at her, but I was already certain that we hadn’t. “No. I don’t think so. I’m new. I’m sort of like a… transfer student.” I did my best to be diplomatic in my explanation.

“Ah, I see.”

I went back to paying attention to the game, but her conversation caught my attention.

“Oh Audrey! Give Grammy a kiss, dear,” she exclaimed.

To my right, possibly the person who hated me most in the entire school, was kissing the cheeks of the sweet lady I had just met.

Audrey froze, catching my eye.

“Grammy?” I questioned.

I looked at the lady and froze. That’s why she thought she knew me… I looked a lot like my mother.

“Sleeping Beauty’s mother,” Audrey sneered. She looked me up and down, judgmentally, as she explained, “Grammy, I don’t think you want to be talking to this girl. Unless you feel like taking another hundred year nap.”

The grandmother’s face contorted into one of confusion. I smiled at her, trying to look as polite as possible, although I knew that any minute now she would recognize me.

It was the smile that did me in. “You!” she shrieked.

I stumbled back, dropping the croquet bat. Others noticed, as well. I could see Fairy Godmother asking others to pause their games as she approached.

“H-How are you here?” she asked. “And how have you stayed so young?”

I opened my mouth to explain, but Ben was at my side in a minute.

“Queen Leah!” he greeted. “It’s okay. Maleficent’s still on the island. This is her daughter, Mal.”

He squeezed my shoulders and I tried to smile at her again.

This wasn’t good. This was causing an actual scene. Almost everyone was staring at this point. Ben’s parents were monitoring from a distance and the headmistress was trying to make students back away from the scene.

“Don’t you remember my proclamation to give the new generation a chance?” he asked.

“A chance to what, Ben?” she snarled. “Destroy us?” She turned to the Fairy Godmother, trying to convince others. “Come on, you remember, don’t you? The poison apples? And the spells?”

I couldn’t find words to remedy the situation.

“Spells,” she whispered, glaring at me. “My daughter was raised by fairies, because of your mother’s curse. So, her first words, her first steps, I missed it all!”

She started to cry, the horrible memories reappearing in her mind. She turned away from us, trying to calm herself down.

“I’m so sorry,” I tried to say, but I was pushed away by Chad.

“Go away! Stay away from her!”

I shrieked, stepping backwards. Evie and Jay walked around to support me, Evie running a hand over my back.

“Don’t do this, Chad,” Ben threatened.

“What? They were raised by their parents, Ben. What do you think villains teach their kids, huh? Kindness? Fair play? No way!”

I bit down on my lip, staring hard at the ground. I couldn’t freak out right here. If I got upset, I could lose control of my anger. We all could.

“You stole another girl’s boyfriend,” Chad jabbed at me.

I scoffed, but Ben stepped in front of me. “Hey! Hey!”

He pointed a finger at Jay. “You enjoy hurting people… And you,” he stopped at Evie. “You’re nothing but a gold digger and a cheater.”

Evie was angry. She pushed past us, pulling out her mirror. “Mirror, mirror, in my hand-”

“Evie, don’t-”

“Who’s the biggest asshole in all the land?” She flashed the mirror at him.

I let go of Ben’s hand, trying to get in between them, but I wasn’t fast enough.

Chad smacked Evie’s arm away and in a blink of an eye, Jay was rushing him.

“Back off, Chad!”

He reached up, grabbing Chad’s shirt in his fists.

Many people ran to stop them, but it was me who intervened. I wrapped a leg around Chad’s, knocking him off his feet, and shouldered Jay away.

Chad got the wind knocked out of him. Coughing and flailing on his back, like a fish. I stepped onto his chest, putting just enough pressure for him to know not to move.

“Don’t you ever touch my friends again,” I threatened. My eyes burned and I knew they were glowing. A few people gasped at the sight.

“Mal?” Ben was quiet, trying to pull me from my haze, but I was too far gone.

“Carlos!” Evie shrieked, doing her best to grab them and get out of there.

I lifted up my foot, redirecting the heel straight to his throat. His eyes were the size of planets.

I leaned down, trying to guarantee my words would hit home. “Or I will end you.”

“Mal!” Evie shouted, but it was Jay who saved me.

He ran up behind me and wrapped an arm around my waist, dragging me away like a child.

Carlos had finally made his way across the field and we all ran up the stairs, one of Jay’s hands still locked onto my arm as if to ensure I wouldn’t go back and beat Chad into a bloody mess.

“Guys!” Ben called after us, but we didn’t stop.

[eddycurrents]

For the week of 14 October 2019

Quick Bits:

Absolute Carnage #4 is pretty damn big as we head towards the conclusion. Donny Cates, Ryan Stegman, JP Mayer, Jay Leisten, Frank Martin, and Clayton Cowles set up near insurmountable odds for Eddie and Spider-Man to face, as Carnage inches closer to victory. It’s very daunting, especially as we potentially see hope fade as other dominoes fall into place. Though a shock revelation might lead to something good for the conclusion. The tension mounting and the continued blend of the rest of the tie-ins to the main story are very entertaining.

| Published by Marvel

Absolute Carnage: Avengers #1 gives us a lead-in to how the previously symbiote-afflicted heroes got to Venom in Absolute Carnage #3 in addition to a bit about beacons in New York and San Francisco calling all symbiotes to feed something. It’s more elaboration on some details between panels for the event, but it’s rather entertaining and covers an element that was otherwise glossed over in the main series. Great art from Alberto Alburquerque, Guiu Vilanova, and Rachelle Rosenberg.

| Published by Marvel

Aquaman #53 reveals more about Thomas Mauer and his history in the founding of Amnesty, complete with some really weird powers regarding manifesting beasties. Then, a reunion of Arthur and Mera is basically aborted as Black Manta attack. Kelly Sue DeConnick, Robson Rocha, Eduardo Pansica, Daniel Henriques, Julio Ferreira, Sunny Gho, and Clayton Cowles continue to deliver one of the best stories from DC.

| Published by DC Comics

Archie #708 sees everything start to come together as all of the disparate story threads begin to converge somehow with Fox Forest. Nick Spencer, Mariko Tamaki, Sandy Jarrell, Matt Herms, and Jack Morelli really build tension here, with a rather spooky feel for what’s going on.

| Published by Archie Comics

Batman #81 continues this next stage of Batman’s assault on the “City of Bane” as all of his “kids” work together to try to take down his father and he attempts to bring the fight to Bane himself. Tom King guides us through a narration essentially putting together some of the missing pieces in Gotham Girl’s story and further protections that he left in the city after Batman’s “breaking”.

| Published by DC Comics

Bettie Page Unbound #5 serves as a coda to the first arc, from David Avallone, Moy R, Ellie Wright, Sheelagh D, and Taylor Esposito. It gives a bit of perspective on Bettie’s trip through alternate realities, while dealing a bit more with the spies who’ve been chasing her.

| Published by Dynamite

The Black Ghost #2 is firing on all cylinders. The story that Alex Segura, Monica Gallagher, George Kambadais, Ellie Wright, and Taylor Esposito are telling here is incredibly compelling, going deep into Lara’s downward spiral following the death of the Black Ghost and all of the mounting problems in her life. There’s a very interesting theme of the intersection of solving a mystery and obsession, complete with the black hole of alcoholism, that just grabs you.

| Published by New Wave Comics

Black Panther and the Agents of Wakanda #2 concludes this opening arc from Jim Zub, Lan Medina, Craig Yeung, Marcio Menyz, and Joe Sabino. We get an interesting mix of Okoye and Janet facing their greatest fears, while elaborating further on the current state of the Sentry. I like this quick, two-part introductory arc structure, further giving this title the feel of a specialized group for certain threats.

| Published by Marvel

Captain Marvel #11 concludes the “Falling Star” arc, revealing more fallout from the first arc and the sheer damage that it’s done to Ripley after she fell into the Nuclear Man’s reality. Kelly Thompson, Carmen Carnero, Tamra Bonvillain, and Clayton Cowles develop a rather demented look on “heroism” here that is quite disturbing.

| Published by Marvel

Chastity #2 unveils more of the human trafficking operation that Chastity has found herself in. It’s not very pretty, but there are some nice funny moments to break up the dark subject matter. Leah Williams, David Maine, Bryan Valenza, and Carlos M. Mangual are telling an interesting story here.

| Published by Dynamite

Contagion #3 continues to escalate the terror of the fungus plaguing New York, and now possibly beyond. There are appearances here of some very interesting near forgotten characters that are nice to see. Great art from Mack Chater, Stephen Segovia, Veronica Gandini, and Andrew Crossley.

| Published by Marvel

Cult Classic: Creature Feature #1 is an interesting start to this second series. You don’t need to have read Return to Whisper before this, but I still highly recommend that series. Here Eliot Rahal, John Bivens, Jerrie, Monahan, and Taylor Esposito kick off a rather hectic beginning with alien creatures. The art from Bivens, Jerrie, and Monahan is wonderful.

| Published by Vault

Dark Red #7 continues to develop the current state of the vampires after taking out the Nazis who were trying to take over, while Chip works to get the little were back to her werepeople. Definitely an interesting society that Tim Seeley, Corin Howell, Mark Englert, and Carlos M. Mangual are creating here.

| Published by AfterShock

Excellence #6 concludes the first arc in rather spectacular fashion. Brandon Thomas, Khary Randolph, Emilio Lopez, and Deron Bennett have been doing some excellent character and world-building in this story and it really pays off here as we get a confrontation between Spencer and his dad, followed by one hell of a revelation that practically changes everything. Great stuff here.

| Published by Image / Skybound

Gideon Falls #17 begins “The Pentoculus” as things start to coalesce again into a sort of “normalcy” in both of our “main” Gideon Falls realities, even as something horrible takes hold of Sheriff Miller’s father. Jeff Lemire, Andrea Sorrentino, Dave Stewart, and Steve Wands establish even more horror here and the feeling that something more is very, very wrong.

| Published by Image

Guardians of the Galaxy #10 catches up with the new baby Magus as we find out that the new incarnation might be as dangerous and deadly as the earlier ones. Also, what Donny Cates is doing with Rocket just cuts to the core.

| Published by Marvel

Hit Girl: Season 2 #9 is the first part of “India” from Peter Milligan, Alison Sampson, Tríona Farrell, and Clem Robins. It sends Mindy off to the street of Mumbai where she’s trying to deal with a bizarre child trafficking/labour ring, and finding out that her actions may have caused more complications than good. There’s a very different feel to this new arc so far.

| Published by Image

Inferior 5 #2 sure is...something. I’m still not entirely sure of the experiments or the characters or the setting, but Jeff Lemire, Keith Giffen, Michelle Delecki, Hi-Fi, and Rob Leigh are doing something that might be interesting here when we see a broader picture. It’s very “huh?” issue to issue so far. The back-up featuring Peacemaker, though, continues to be very compelling. Especially as it reveals that he may well be completely insane.

| Published by DC Comics

The Island of Doctor Moreau #2 concludes this adaptation of the HG Wells story from Ted Adams, Gabriel Rodríguez, Nelson Dániel, and Robbie Robbins. Other than a few minor changes, it’s fairly faithful to the original. The story here is mostly told in double page spreads from Rodríguez and Dániel and they’re absolutely beautiful.

| Published by IDW

Justice League #34 reminds us that revenge isn’t necessarily the correct path to take all the time, or possibly any time, as the endgame plays out across the different timelines and the combined forces gather for one final push against Perpetua. Scott Snyder, James Tynion IV, Bruno Redondo, Howard Porter, Hi-Fi, and Tom Napolitano lay out a wonderful tale of the final battle and a stupid, selfish act that has possibly doomed everything.

| Published by DC Comics

Killer Groove #5 concludes what has been an excellent crime tale from Ollie Masters, Eoin Marron, Jordie Bellaire, and Hassan Otsmane-Elhaou. There’s an incredible nihilism here that feeds into a very fitting end.

| Published by AfterShock

KI-6: Killers #4 gains a bit of a title change with the “KI-6″ bit in this penultimate issue of the series. Not really sure why, but it doesn’t ultimately make a difference for the story being told by B. Clay Moore, Fernando Dagnino, José Villarrubia, and Jeff Powell. We get a nice bit of the Jonin’s history before the two rival groups of former Ninjas show up.

| Published by Valiant

The Marked #1 begins a new series from the Sonata team of David Hine, Brian Haberlin, Geirrod Van Dyke, and Francis Takenaga. It blends magic and tattoos as we learn of the history of a group of magicians who have defended the world from evil through the eyes of their newest recruit Saskia. Beautiful art as usual from the Haberlin/Van Dyke team.

| Published by Image / Shadowline

The Mask: I Pledge Allegiance to the Mask #1 is kind of a strange return for the property, in a story from Christopher Cantwell, Patric Reynolds, Lee Loughridge, and Nate Piekos. It’s dark and deranged, which fits very well overall. While it does follow on from the previous stories, all that you really need to know to enjoy this story itself is revealed here. The political element adds an even greater feeling of being put off-balance.

| Published by Dark Horse

Midnight Vista #2 very nicely develops what Oliver remembers of his abduction and the fallout that has been happening in the ensuing years since he’s been missing. Eliot Rahal, Clara Meath, Mark Englert, and Taylor Esposito are doing some interesting things here, especially as other forces are trying to guide Oliver’s story.

| Published by AfterShock

Psi-Lords #5 elaborates a bit further on the societal structure of the Gyre and the various gangs on it, while we see one of the Starwatchers try to turn Steve. It’s interesting as we get a little bit that gives us more of an insight into the ties to the broader Valiant Universe here and some very nice character building. Renato Guedes art remains phenomenal.

| Published by Valiant

Rick and Morty vs. Dungeons & Dragons - Chapter II: Painscape #2 guides us through some of Rick’s history with D&D, creating some horrible characters that anyone who’s played the game will be familiar with, and an entertaining dungeon crawl. I’m still loving how perfectly Jim Zub, Troy Little, Leonardo Ito, and Crank! are integrating D&D into Rick and Morty.

| Published by Oni Press & IDW

Rumble #17 follows a similar format as last issue’s selection of three stories, only this time there are only two stories, with one split between two different creators. That two-part story is a wonderful crossover between Rumble and Head Lopper, with Andrew MacLean and James Harren handling the line art. It’s pretty great overall, with a natural melding of the two properties, and very nice to see Harren’s return. 

| Published by Image

Savage Sword of Conan #10 begins a new arc from Roy Thomas, Alan Davis, Cam Smith, Chris Sotomayor, and Travis Lanham. It’s wonderful to see a new Roy Thomas story and the art from Davis, Smith, and Sotomayor is great. The story itself is interesting, drawing from some traditional Conan elements of a tavern fight and being hired as a bodyguard.

| Published by Marvel

Savage Tales: Red Sonja Halloween Special is essential if you’re reading the ongoing Red Sonja series. It works well on its own as well, but for readers of the series it builds on Sonja’s trip to the tower of sorcerers in her youth and gives some great insight into her past. Wonderful work here overall from Mark Russell, Jacob Edgar, Dearbhla Kelly, and Hassan Otsmane-Elhaou.

| Published by Dynamite

Something is Killing the Children #2 is even better than the first issue, fleshing out our monster hunter a bit and causing all sorts of complications for her. There are some great characterizations here, nicely capturing some of the reactions from people experiencing the tragedy of a lost or murdered family member. James Tynion IV, Werther Dell’Edera, Miquel Muerto, and AndWorld Design are doing something great here.

| Published by BOOM! Studios

Star Wars Adventures: Return to Vader’s Castle #3 gives us a central story of Ventress hunting a quarry, illustrated by Nick Brokenshire. I’m still very much enjoying how Cavan Scott is using the central tale and its context to elaborate on what he, Francesco Francavilla, and AndWorld Design are doing with the framing story.

| Published IDW

Steeple #2 features all of the charm and humour of Giant Days, but then adds some rather over-the-top supernatural elements that just manages to elevate that charm and humour further. John Allison, Sarah Stern, and Jim Campbell are delivering a rather wholesome look at monster hunting and finding common ground with your local hooligans and Satanists.

| Published by Dark Horse

Strayed #3 advances towards oblivion, as Lou finds the flower-maker and the Premier enacts another piece of his plan for total control. Carlos Giffoni, Juan Doe, and Matt Krotzer continue to tell the heartbreaking tale of this brave little kitty being used and abused by his humans. It’s really sad as to how monstrous humanity is.

| Published by Dark Horse

Superman Smashes the Klan #1 is really damn good. Inspired by the radio serial of the same name, Gene Luen Yang, Gurihiru, and Janice Chiang present a wonderfully nuanced tale of the struggle that a young Chinese family have moving to Metropolis and the overt and casual racism that greets them. The characterizations of the family are impeccable, giving us what feels like very real people, and it makes the story even more heartbreaking when you see what’s happening to them. Especially through the gorgeous art from the Gurihiru pair.

| Published by DC Comics

Tales from the Dark Multiverse - Batman: Knightfall #1 is the first of these one-shots examining some of the most popular events of the DC Universe as they played out in dark reflection. Your enjoyment of this will definitely be predicated on how much you enjoy the grim and gritty Batmen who went wrong during Metal. As a story, though, Scott Snyder, Kyle Higgins, Javier Fernandez, Alex Guimarães, and Clayton Cowles give us an interesting one, with some nice twists, and a suitably bleak Gotham. The art from Fernandez and Guimarães is really good.

| Published by DC Comics

Teen Titans #35 gives us new perspective on the traitor to the team, with Adam Glass, Bernard Chang, Marcelo Maiolo, and Rob Leigh building up sympathy for their decisions, even if they are somewhat demented. It also continues to point that what Damian has been doing is rather villainous. The shades of grey are fairly interesting.

| Published by DC Comics

Trees: Three Fates #2 delves a bit more into the mystery of the dead man and also a great depiction in the past of the romance blossoming between Klara and Sasha. Warren Ellis, Jason Howard, Dee Cunniffe, and Fonografiks are building a very compelling story here, complete with some interesting big ideas to make you wonder about Sasha.

| Published by Image

Vampirella #4 is still rather odd, told in a rather disjointed way that’s pretty much Priest’s style to its natural extreme. Weird stuff with the nuns and all sorts of temptation. The art from Ergün Gündüz remains a huge draw for this story.

| Published by Dynamite

X-Men #1 begins the first wave of the “Dawn of X” titles in this next stage of the brave new world the X-Men have found themselves in, from Jonathan Hickman, Leinil Francis Yu, Garry Alanguilan, Sunny Gho, and Clayton Cowles. It’s much more “normal” compared to the HOXPOX event, operating more standard hero/villain conflict and setting up the continued threat of Orchis, but there are still moments to bask in the new with Magneto and the potentially unsettling as we see Corsair react to all of his family together and the strangeness of Krakoa. This feels like a way to make more traditional X-elements work within this new framework, giving us a great start.

| Published by Marvel

Other Highlights: Absolute Carnage: Scream #3, Absolute Carnage vs. Deadpool #3, Aero #4, Analog #9, Ask for Mercy - Season 2 #3, Captain America #15, Crazy #1, The Crow/Hack/Slash #4, Dead Beats, Death-Defying Devil #3, Firefly #10, History of the Marvel Universe #4, Journey to Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker - Alliance #2, Lucifer #13, Marvel Action: Black Panther #4, Once & Future #3, The Realm #15, Sparrows Roar, Superman’s Pal Jimmy Olsen #4, Titans: Burning Rage #3, Wonder Woman: Come Back to Me #4

Recommended Collections: Bad Luck Chuck - Volume 1, Black Hammer: Streets of Spiral, Calamity Kate - Volume 1, Coda - Volume 3, Critical Role: Vox Machina - Origins - Volume 1, Gideon Falls - Volume 3: Stations of the Cross, Goddess Mode, Gogor, Justice League Dark - Volume 2: Lords of Order, The Life & Death of Toyo Harada, Ms. Marvel - Volume 1, Planet of the Nerds - Volume 1, Robots & Princesses - Volume 1, Runaways - Volume 4: But You Can’t Hide, Spider-Man: City at War, Star Wars: Tie Fighter

d. emerson eddy still thinks that Pumpkin Spice was the most underutilized of the Spice Girls.

[kpurereactions]

She Boss | 5

Summery: She’s her own boss and theres nothing that can’t stop her from ruling the world. Except for the soft heart she sprouts from the young, handsome Korean Leader. Pairing: Kwon Jiyong x Reader Rating: Drama, Angst, Smut, Fluff WARNINGS: Language, light|heavy Violence, light|heavy Smut

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

The small village that you were taken to after leaving the Kwon’s house wasn't anything to sneeze at, since a small village was exactly what it was. Decent sized town houses lined a long drive way that sat just out of town. At the very end of the was your place. A house so big you couldn't help but smile smugly as it. But the closer to the house you got the deeper a feeling you never liked started to set into the put of your stomach. There was something off as the car rolled around the fountain the controlled the traffic of the front. You were thankful that it seemed like Carlo did too as he looked over his shoulder and told you to wait. 

You watched as your bother and a few others made their way up to the front door, their hands hovering over their holsters as they filed into the house slowly. You were on high alert, even if there was actually nothing that seemed to be happening. But all it took was one shot from in side of the house for you to exchange a glance with Ule and jumping out of the car before he could say anything to you. 

You walked quickly, your hips swaying and your heels clapping against the asphalt of the stairs as you readied yourself to make an entrance. The moment the door opened you were able to fully get a grasp of what was going on. Carlo had a man cornered who had obviously dropped his gun while Dino and Martin fought two more. 

Anger rushed through your body as you held your gun up to the ceiling and pulled the trigger making all the mens faces snap towards you, allowing everyone there who wasn't one of yours to be brought to their knees with guns pointed towards their heads in threats to not move. You looked to the side and flicked your finger, motioning for Vince to get you a chair that was in the open sitting room to the right. 

You let the tension build as you slowly took your seat, crossed your legs and opened your bag to pull out a cigarette. You took a second to look at the now bruised covered men, who looked at you with pure terror in their eyes. You lent towards Vince, who brought his lips to your ear, your eyes never leaving the mens in front of you. 

“Do you want me to call GD?” He asked softly making you scoff a little. 

“When have I ever needed a mans help.” You said flicking ash in his directions. 

You reconnected you eyes with the men and flicked your still lit bud towards one of their faces, smiling as the lit end hit one of their cheeks. You sat there and evaluated there faces and you decided. One was obviously the wink link, that was easy to tell since he was practically in tears and his eyes were flicking all over like he didnt know what to do. The two in the middle were more stubborn, fighting agains the hands of your men that were now holding them down in place, they were probably the don't ask don't tellers. Their only purpose in life was to do as they were told and not ask any questions. And the last one, though it was obvious he wasn't a leader, he had to be close to one.

So you took him out first. 

“Jesus Fuck Val! You couldn't have warmed me!” Ule then yelled at you, his hand rubbing against his heart before he started to wipe the blood that had splattered across his cheek. 

You rose your eyebrows and all but rolled your eyes at him, there was no need for him to act like such a kid when something this serious was happening. 

“Do you guys know how tired i am?” You asked standing up slowly while twirling your gun in circular motions in almost a bored way.

“Just today,” You continued as you began to march slowly back and forth in front of them. “Ive already shot two people. And its not even 1 yet.” YoU continued stopping in front of the two hit men. 

You crouched down and got a good look at both of them, your brain working to figure out which one probably had the most informations. And once you decided you stood up and looked to Ule. 

“Ule, hunny cover your ears I'm about to shoot someone.” You said in a very playful way, chuckling lightly before holding your gun out and shooting the bigger one. 

“So. Which one of you is going to squeal?” You said with a smile, bending down in front of them and hugging your knees. 

But your smile dropped with the more confident one spit in your face. You wiped your cheek and bit your bottom lip trying to calm yourself down but you could only do so much before your anger got the better of you and you were slamming the butt of your gun on the soft spot of his head causing him to fall forward groaning. 

“Don't you think thats rude?” You said through teeth, your anger now getting the better of you.

You took your heel and put it agains this head, digging into the soft flesh of his cheek till he was yelling louder. You bent over once there was enough of a gash from your digging and grabbed his hair to pull it back. You forced him to look up at you and when he continued to advert his eyes you lost it. 

“Look at me!” You screamed pulling his hair harder up towards you. 

When he didn’t again you lifted his head higher only to drop it into your knee, breaking his nose and making him fall to the floor again. You looked over to the terrified looking one, who was also looking down at the ground, his shoulders shaking in fear as you stepped closer to him. 

“Look at me.” You barked as Dino and Ule started to drag the other body away. The man in front of you took no time in letting his eyes snap up to you, his bottom lip trembling.

“What are you doing here.” You asked in a deadly tone.

“Don't tell her anything!” The other man yelled from where he was still tied up in a chair. 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, your anger rising even more. You couldn't control your anger though. Usually your anger was something that you could deal with, but there was just something about this situation that made you so mad. Something like this never would have happened if you were still in italy. 

You opened your eyes and walked back over to the guy, punching him square in the face. Hard. He coughed, spitting up blood and for what ever reason his spit up hitting the gorgeous white floor made you even more mad. You hit him again. And again until he was slumped in the chair. He was still breathing though, so you kept hitting him. 

“Val I think thats enough.” You heard from Ule next to you, but you continued. 

“Val! I mean it!” Ule said trying to step in but you rose your gun and pointed it at him. 

“Ule shut the fuck up!” You yelled, actually starting to scare yourself a little bit.

You turned back to the unconscious man and started to raise your arm again to hit him once more with the butt of you gun when suddenly a pair of arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a body. You turned quickly and pushed the body off of yours, immediately calming down when you realized it was Jiyong you had shoved. 

“Let me finish here.” He whispered walking up to you more. He looked down and waited till you nodded before looking over to where Ule stood with Yongbae and Seunghyun and nodding again. “They'll help you settle in.” He said quietly before kissing your cheek and letting go to roll his sleeves up. 

You waited with crossed arms as your men and the rest of Jiyongs moved the other two men down to the cellar of the house before you stormed up the grand staircase. You were absolutely embarrassed by how you lost yourself, the blood on your knuckles would be enough to terrify anyone, but you were different. It shouldn't effect you. But the moment your eyes met the blood your hands started to shake and you crossed your arms across your chest once again before walking quickly up the stairs and into the biggest bedroom you could find. 

You paced around, not quite sure what to do with yourself, your heart not slowing at all making you feel almost a little dizzy. Just as you were about to bust through the door to make your way back down you were stopped by the sound of your name followed by three short knocks. 

Seunghyun was on the other side of the door with a smug smile and three of your bags, waiting politely to be let in. You rolled your eyes slightly and stepped away from the door to let him make his way into the room. You turned and watched as he set his things down, the smug grin still on his face. 

“You're my kind girl.” He mocks, holding to hands up as if to protect his face from punches. 

“Mine too” 

You looked behind him and almost half smiled at Jiyong who also held up some fists before walking your way, turning to playfully throw a few at Seunghyun and walk to wrap his arms around your neck as he hugged you from behind. 

“You can leave those here, go help down stairs and then come back up. We need to have a meeting.” He said before putting his lips on your jaw just to make Seunghyun walk a little faster out of the room. 

“Those men were instructed by Luca to come here and take you out. Since he's dead those didnt have much to live for anyways and from what it looked like they didnt even know he was dead.” He said in a low tone. He pulled away and rubbed your arms before circling around to the front of you, a soft smile being held on his lips. 

“Well at lease the house is sound proof.” You said, your heart finally calming down. 

“I don't think so. Seunghyun got to use his new knife today, no guns.” He said with a light chuckle. 

You smiled up at him as he walked closer to you, his arms snaking around your waist. Your heart immediately slowing down to its normal rate. You let him pull you into his chest and hold you close, his warm touch causing a smile to break on your face. 

“I know you are a tough girl, and I know you don't need my help but... It would just make me feel a lot better if you let the guys and I stay with you.” He said, pulling back slightly so he could see you just enough to read your emotions.  But there wasnt anything that made you feel like you needed his help about the situation. 

“I am a tough girl...” You said pulling back so you could look up at him. “But I wouldn't mind spending an extra few nights with you.” You said smiling and hooking your arms tighter around his neck. 

“Good.” He said smiling as he retightened his grip around your waist. “I was also thinking maybe tomorrow night we could have a little date night. Nothing special, just you and I alone.”

“Wow, two dates in under a week? Your on a roll.” You said making him giggle. 

[techcrunchappcom]

New Post has been published on https://techcrunchapp.com/the-entire-presidency-is-a-superspreading-event-new-yorkmagazine/

The Entire Presidency Is a Superspreading Event - New York Magazine

Donald Trump was on the phone, and he was talking about dying. It was Saturday, October 3, and while his doctor had told the outside world that the president’s symptoms were nothing to worry about, Trump, cocooned in his suite at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland, was telling those close to him something very different.

“I could be one of the diers,” he said.

The person on the other end of the line couldn’t forget that unusual word the president used: dier. A seldom-said dictionary standard, it was a classic Trumpism, at once sinister and childlike. If being a loser was bad, being a dier was a lot worse. Losers can become winners again. Diers are losers forever. But aren’t we all diers in the end? Donald Trump, the least self-reflective man in America, was contemplating his own mortality.

He said it again: “I could be one of the diers.”

The previous day, at 12:54 a.m., he had announced that he and the First Lady, Melania, had tested positive for COVID-19 in an outbreak that would sideline dozens across the West Wing, the East Wing, the highest levels of the federal government, the military ranks, Trump’s 2020 campaign team, and prominent supporters in the religious community. The virus had barreled into the very White House that allowed its spread throughout the United States, where 213,000 were dead and 7.6 million more were infected amid the biggest economic collapse since the Great Depression.

As infections swelled nationwide, the virus made its way inside the president himself — an epic security failure with no modern analog. It was over a century ago, amid a pandemic in 1919, that Woodrow Wilson got sick in Paris. His White House blamed what it called a cold and a fever on the dreary weather. But, in fact, Wilson was sick with the virus now known as the Spanish flu, which killed hundreds of thousands of Americans as his administration looked away. One hundred and one years later, the story of Trump’s “mild symptoms” became less and less true as the hours ticked by. His fever crept up. His cough and congestion grew worse. Doctors gave him oxygen and administered a high dose of an experimental antibody treatment unavailable to the ailing masses and made using fetal tissue, a practice his administration opposes, from the drugmaker Regeneron. Still, he resisted going to Walter Reed. “I don’t need to go,” he said, according to a person who spoke to him. “I’m fine. I’m fine. We have everything we need here.”

Persuading him to leave the White House required an intervention from his doctors, members of the White House operations staff, the Secret Service, and his son-in-law and senior adviser, Jared Kushner. They had failed to stop the mass deaths of high-risk Americans, but they were going to save Trump, the most important high-risk American of them all. They told him, “This isn’t just your choice. This really isn’t about you. It’s about the presidency. Our job is to protect the presidency, and you occupy it.” They asked him to think about the military and everyone else whose life would be upended if the state of the country’s leadership was in doubt.

Fine. He agreed to walk across the South Lawn and board Marine One. The White House said the move was made “out of an abundance of caution.” In a video posted on social media, the president hinted that things weren’t so great. He put it this way: “I’m going to Walter Reed hospital. I think I’m doing very well, but we’re going to make sure that things work out.”

In the hospital, Trump’s world shrank overnight in a way it hadn’t since he arrived in Washington from New York to be sworn into office nearly four years ago. Contagious and isolated from his family and closest aides, he was accompanied by Dan Scavino, the social-media director who had first been his caddie and had survived at his side longer than anyone who wasn’t blood, and Mark Meadows, his highly emotional chief of staff, who slept in a room nearby, and was attended to by a team of camera-conscious doctors. In this sterilized confinement, he tried to distract himself from his illness. He plotted his escape, planned public-relations stunts, watched TV, and took calls from friends, members of his staff, and Republican lawmakers. But he remained consumed by what the doctors told him about his chances of survival. It wasn’t a sure thing.

Nine months into the pandemic and one month away from Election Day, the president considered for the first time that the disease killing him in the polls, threatening his political future, might just kill him, too. On the phone he remarked sarcastically, “This change of scenery has been great.”

He asked for an update on who else in his circle had contracted the virus, though he expressed no regret, no indication that he understood his own decisions could have led to the infections. Unable to process the irony of his own misfortune, he tried his best to find the Trumpiest spin. Looked at one way, he was having the greatest and most important illness of all time. He had the best care in the world, and he raved about the virtues of the drugs the doctors had him on, including dexamethasone, a steroid pumping up his lungs that can induce euphoria. He was awed by the wonders of modern medicine. He said he was feeling really good, and it didn’t sound like he was lying. Then he admitted something scary. That how he felt might not mean much in the end.

“This thing could go either way. It’s tricky. They told me it’s tricky,” the president said. “You can tell it can go either way.”

Trump held a press conference on September 26 in the Rose Garden to announce Amy Coney Barrett’s nomination to the Supreme Court. Photo: Carlos Barria/REUTERS

Statistically, the coronavirus is more likely to cost Donald Trump the White House than his life, though the threat to the latter isn’t helping the former. A little more than three weeks before the election, potentially contagious and freaking everybody out, Trump faces what looks like the end of his presidency. “He’s mishandled the coronavirus, he’s never been popular, and he’s gonna lose badly. I think it’s pretty simple,” a senior Republican official said. “Of course he was going to say, ‘Oh look, I feel great! Look how badly I beat this puny little virus!’ Meanwhile, it touches every American’s life every day in multiple different ways, and he’s handled it badly and people don’t forget that.” Or, as ex–Trump adviser Sam Nunberg put it, “Everything has just completely gone to shit.”

The polls suggest not just that the president will lose to Joe Biden but that he might lose bigly, in a landslide.

When the coronavirus came to America, the president was preoccupied with more obvious threats. The first positive case was confirmed in Washington State on January 21, and that same day, as he landed in Davos, the Senate was debating an organizing resolution for the president’s impeachment trial. In the Alps, he dismissed the news about the virus at home. “We have it totally under control,” he said. In fact, the president soon thought that things could hardly be going better.

After three years of crisis, the election year had begun with his acquittal on charges of abuse of power and obstruction of justice brought by the House under Articles of Impeachment. At the same time, the economy was booming. In the Democratic primary, which would select his opponent for the general election, the candidate he most feared, Joe Biden, seemed to be choking. And Michael Bloomberg was threatening to blow the whole thing up anyway. Trump thought about the last campaign and, ever superstitious, how to replicate its magic. He was relieved when Hope Hicks, his closest aide, returned to the White House after two years in exile in Los Angeles. Around the same time, he welcomed back Johnny McEntee, a former aide he believed to be a MAGA whisperer, capable of knowing exactly what would appeal to his base. He didn’t think about the coronavirus much. And then the deaths began.

“If the president had his way, he’d be back in February,” Newt Gingrich told me. The former Speaker of the House is an opportunist, and in the era of Donald Trump, that means he must be an optimist. In 2016, Gingrich supported Trump’s campaign in the hope that he’d be asked to be the vice-president. Instead, Trump repaid his loyalty not with power or higher status in history but with the cushiest gig in Europe: He made Gingrich the husband of the United States ambassador to the Vatican, based in Rome. Before the pandemic, whenever you’d call the guy, he was in a loud restaurant — “Hi! Yeah?! This is Newt!” — having the time of his life. So one might understand why he’s invested in keeping this whole thing going.

This is what it looks like when the president knows he’s losing, but it’s also close to what it looked like when he won.

Gingrich grasps better than most how to stick to a message, and he keeps a straight face on Trump’s behalf even as he argues things he knows cannot be true. That voter surveys are skewed by the left-wing media. “I think the election is not quite like the public-opinion polls,” he says. That the president’s illness is a political asset. “It gives him a better understanding of what people are going through,” he says. Or that the president doesn’t mean to imply those killed by the virus were weak when he says he’ll beat it because he’s strong. “I think he’s talking about a national attitude. Should it be ‘Hunker down in the basement’ or ‘Reopen the schools’?” he says. Still, he cannot help but break character to admit the obvious: “If the president had his way, there’d be no virus. There’d be historically high employment among Blacks and Latinos. But you don’t get to pick the circumstances in which you run.”

And the circumstances have grown less pickable each day. “I think some of this is sad to watch,” Nunberg said. “It’s getting to the point where he’s almost turning into a laughingstock. What I’m worried about is whether he wants to completely self-destruct and take everything down with him vis-à-vis the election and the Republican Party.” He added, “This is a guy who’s not gonna lose joyfully.”

It does appear at times as though self-destruction may be the point. How else could you explain the Plague Parade circling Walter Reed, in which a very sick Trump boarded a tightly sealed SUV with his Secret Service agents so he could wave at the supporters who had come to fly their flags on the street? Or the Evita-inspired return to the White House, in which a still very sick Trump ascended the staircase to the balcony, ripped off his face mask, and saluted to no one as his photographer snapped away? Or calling in to the Fox Business Channel to suggest his infection may be the fault of the Gold Star military families, since they were always asking to hug him? This is what it looks like when the president knows he’s losing, but it’s also close to what it looked like when he won — after all, he thought he was losing in 2016, too. We all did. “You’re never as smart as you look when you win, and never as dumb as you look when you lose,” according to David Axelrod. In Trump’s case, it may be more like this: What seems like genius when he manages to survive is the very madness that threatens his survival in the first place.

A senior White House official told me there has been an ongoing effort to persuade the president not to do any of this, as there always is during his episodes of advanced mania. Asked what the effort looked like this time, with Trump physically removed from most of the people who might try to calm him down, the official said, “Well, for starters, it’s unsuccessful.”

One former White House official said that stopping Trump from doing something stupid that he really wants to do is possible only if you’re “actually sitting in front of him.” Sick themselves or trying to avoid a sick president, “the people he trusts and respects who would be barriers to that behavior don’t seem to be around,” this person said. “It just looks so chaotic. Duh.”

On October 5, the night Trump returned, a member of the White House cleaning staff sprayed the press briefing room. Photo: Erin Scott/Reuters/REUTERS

A second former White House official said the problem is “now people are so broken down, to the point where everyone’s been in ‘Jesus, take the wheel’ mode for the last couple years, and fighting against him is only gonna get them burned. Why even try?” The president’s staff, this person said, have no ability to think strategically because the president’s behavior poses new threats to survival every five minutes. “I don’t think they’re even considering what happens if he’s back in the White House and he needs oxygen or a ventilator. Their view is ‘If it happens, well, we’ll fucking figure it out when it happens!’ ”

Like Gingrich, they have to stay optimistic. “They aren’t even considering what happens when he’s feeling worse than he’s feeling now, when he’s hopped up full of steroids and other performance enhancers. He’s on the sort of drugs you’d see with a Tour de France rider in the mid-’90s!” Another way to say this, the former White House official said, was that the president is “hopped up on more drugs than a Belgian racing pigeon.” In keeping with the bird theme, this person said the president’s illness was proof that “the chickens are coming home to roost.”

“Going back to 2016,” this person added, “you always had these warnings from the Clinton camp and Democrats and the Never-Trump Republicans that, if he takes office and if a crisis hits, it’s gonna be a mess. But people don’t really vote on that when there’s not a crisis. People think, A crisis isn’t gonna happen! May as well vote for the guy with a good tax policy. Suddenly, this happens, and you always assume it won’t happen to you, but when you act like that, bad things happen!”

One theory of Trump’s self-immolation campaign is that it’s about gaining a sense of control. “I don’t think he wants to lose. I think he wants to have excuses for why he did lose,” a third former White House official said. “If it’s the ballot, the China virus, if it’s Nancy Pelosi. I just think he wants an excuse.”

As he considers the end, he fakes his way through a performance of political possibility. One person who publicly supports Trump and considers him a friend said that, in conversations with White House and campaign officials following the president’s release from the hospital, it became clear that no one who was supposed to know seemed sure when he would be okay. “They’re putting out a big ‘Oh, everything’s fine!’ face. But I don’t think they know how much stamina he’s gonna have,” this person said. “I didn’t like the way he looked on that balcony. Last week, I would’ve said that he was definitely going to win. Now, I don’t know.”

Trump spoke from outside the Oval Office on October 7 about having COVID and the vaccine. Photo: @realdonaldtrump/Twitter

Donald Trump does not often get sick. The philosophy of Fred Trump decreed that “sickness was weakness,” Mary Trump told me, “which obviously Donald has adhered to, which is a big part of the reason we’re in this horrible mess we’re in.”

Mary Trump is the president’s niece as well as a psychologist, whose best seller, Too Much and Never Enough, analyzes her uncle through the dysfunctional family he came from. In her view, the president is best understood as a self-unaware Tin Man, abandoned as a small child by his sick mother and rejected by his sociopath father until he became useful to him, whose endless search for love and approval plays out as mental warfare on the Free World he improbably represents. “In order to deal with the terror and the loneliness he experienced, he developed these defense mechanisms that essentially made him unlovable,” Mary said. “Over time, they hardened into character traits that my grandfather came to value. When you’re somebody who craves love but doesn’t understand what it means — he just knows he misses it and needs it, but he’ll never have it because he’s somebody nobody loves — that’s fucking tragic. He still needs to go to prison for the rest of his life. It’s not a defense. But it’s sad.”

For two weeks before he died, Fred Trump was hospitalized at Long Island Jewish Medical Center in what Mary remembers as “a very beautiful corner room with lots of sunlight.” With her uncle at his father’s bedside, she said, “everyone just stood around chitchatting, making small talk — they just don’t understand how to be human.” When his mother was in the hospital, often for osteoporosis and once after a brutal mugging, Trump visited with an attitude of “Why the fuck do I have to be here?” she said. “It was of no use to him whatsoever.” When Mary’s father, Fred Jr., died in 1981, his brother didn’t even show up to the funeral.

In his 2007 book Think Big, the future president recalled how, a decade before, he “unexpectedly came down with a wicked case of the flu” in the middle of his negotiations to buy a newspaper (he didn’t say which one). “I felt terrible. It was so bad that I called the sellers and told them we would have to postpone the closing until I was better,” he said, which was “very unusual” because “I never get the flu. It’s been ten years and I haven’t been sick a day since then.” Trump didn’t share the story of this freak illness to reveal his humanity but to add to his myth. He lost out to another buyer in the end, he said, and he was happy he did because, he claimed, the unnamed paper turned out to be a bad investment that was some other sucker’s problem. “Catching the flu was a lucky break that saved me from ruin,” he said. “Sometimes luck makes better deals than talent.” In other words, the idea that sickness is weakness, except for when it happens to him, took root a quarter-century before he made it his case for reelection.

Trump is aware that he isn’t healthy. His wife, an Eastern European former model who eats salmon and greens, lengthens her muscles on a Pilates reformer, and glows as if cast in bronze, is “healthy.” As a 74-year-old who takes the unscientific position that human beings have a finite amount of energy that exercise needlessly drains, and who thus never engages in any physical activity more strenuous than golf or tweeting, and whose vices include red meat, French fries, ice cream, Oreos, and Diet Coke, he knows he is very much not that.

And he understood that with age and weight comes heightened risk in the coronavirus pandemic. But he couldn’t accept that he wouldn’t be fine, that he was part of the “at-risk seniors” his advisers kept telling him he should think about since they were an important voting demographic and they were literally dying by the thousands. What he could accept even less than not being fine was not seeming fine. His supporters like to imagine him as a cartoonish representation of his vigorous, manly spirit, a joke directed at anyone who doesn’t find it funny. In memes, he body-slams his enemies. A video from the Trump campaign, released the week of his COVID-19 diagnosis, shows him body-slamming the virus. When I stopped by the home of Willard and Dolly Smith in New Hampshire last month, the flag on the couple’s front lawn showed Trump’s fleshy face on Rambo’s ripped body. “I’m back because I’m a perfect physical specimen and I’m very young,” the president joked on Fox Business on Thursday. But the stabs at self-deprecation, more necessary at this moment than ever before, do little to mask deep insecurity. Since his illness, the makeup the president applies himself has gotten so heavy and so dark that rather than obscure his pale coloring, it emphasizes the contrast between his unnatural face and the bare skin of his ears and hands. (All those years spent judging beauty pageants, and he never learned from the contestants the value of body makeup.)

Personality is policy in the Trump administration, and the president’s insecurity has made the uncertainty about the country’s leadership — unavoidable when any chief executive falls ill — even worse. His unwillingness to admit human frailty has led the White House and its doctors to keep information about his illness not only from the public and the press (three members of which have, so far, been infected at the White House too) but from his own staff. After Hope Hicks began experiencing symptoms at the Minnesota MAGA rally on Wednesday, forcing her to isolate in the back of the plane on the trip home, officials with whom she’d had contact remained in the dark. After she tested positive on Thursday afternoon, the White House failed to notify others who would soon test positive themselves. They learned about it when the world did, not with an official disclosure but with a leak to the media. “The president could’ve given it to her,” one of those people told me, in fairness, but “I would’ve done things different that day, had I known.”

Trump did know, but he didn’t change his plans. At 1 p.m. on Thursday, he flew to his Bedminster, New Jersey, golf club, for a fund-raiser with hundreds of his supporters, some of whom he spoke with indoors. Later that night, he tweeted about Hicks being sick. “Terrible!” he said. “The First Lady and I are waiting for our test results. In the meantime, we will begin our quarantining process.”

Reading the message, the person said, “I assumed he must’ve had a preliminary positive one.” The lack of transparency, this person added, is “symptomatic about how people I work with always keep the wrong things secret.” Suicidal in all senses, this is the Trumpian madness that threatens the president’s political and earthly future as it puts at risk everyone around him.

As one White House official put it: “Everybody at the top should be fired.”

*This article appears in the October 12, 2020, issue of New York Magazine. Subscribe Now!

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[2700fstreet]

OPERA / 2017-2018

DON CARLO

OPEN REHEARSAL

Washington National Opera

Music by Giuseppe Verdi Libretto by Joseph Méry and Camille Du Locle Translated into Italian by Achille de Lauzières and Angelo Zanardini Based on Friedrich von Schiller’s dramatic work Don Carlos

So, What’s Going On?

Spain, the mid-sixteenth century.

Our hero, Don Carlo isn’t doing well. The infante (een-FAHN-teh, basically a Spanish word for “prince”) can’t get along with his father, King Filippo II (fee-LEEP-poh), and, to top it off, Carlo has no real royal responsibilities to keep him busy.

Oh, and did we mention he’s in love with his stepmother?

Filippo had promised Carlo a beautiful French bride named Elisabetta (eh-leez-ah-BEHT-tah), but, at the last minute, the king swept in and married her himself. Not cool. Nope, definitely not cool.

Enter Rodrigo (ro-DREE-goh), a nobleman and Carlo’s best friend. Rodrigo tries to cheer Carlo up by getting him involved in a political cause (nothing says “distraction” like a revolution). Spanish-occupied Flanders, (present-day Belgium) Rodrigo explains, is badly oppressed and needs a leader ASAP. Having a lot of free time on his hands, Carlo agrees to act as “savior” to the Flemish (i.e., the folks from Flanders). Got it so far?

But there’s a catch. He’ll need his stepmom’s permission.

Rodrigo fires Carlo up for a Flemish fight.

Take a listen… In one of opera’s most famous duets, Rodrigo and Don Carlo take a vow of friendship and promise to work together to achieve freedom for Flanders. Listen for the sounds of the brass instruments, symbolizing war and aggression, as well as royalty.

Back to the story…

Rodrigo arranges a meeting between Carlo and Elisabetta, telling the queen her heartbroken stepson needs a favor. But one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, the Princess of Eboli (EHB-oh-lee), overhears and takes Carlo’s heartbreak completely out of context—she thinks Carlo might be in love with her.

At the meeting set up by Rodrigo, Carlo tells Elisabetta he’s dying of love.

In other palace news, the king is highly suspicious of Elisabetta’s relationship with Carlo. He summons Rodrigo and asks him to spy on Carlo and Elisabetta’s extracurricular activities. Rodrigo unwisely uses this moment to plead for Flanders, claiming the king is applying unnecessary force to maintain peace in the Flemish territories. Though slightly moved, Filippo warns Rodrigo his rebellious ways may get him into trouble with the Spanish Inquisition (…bet you weren’t expecting that).

Sometime later, Carlo receives a mysterious letter. Thinking Elisabetta wishes to see him, he waits for her in a romantic spot, and she promptly arrives wearing a veil for cover.

(Yeah, just kidding: It’s not really Elisabetta, but Eboli in disguise.)

Carlo whispers sweet nothings to “Elisabetta,” but when the mix-up comes to light, he tries to take back his professions of love. The damage is done, however—Eboli figures out Carlo’s words were meant for someone else…and that the “someone else” must be the queen.

Rodrigo rushes in. Believing Eboli will go straight to the king for revenge, he asks Carlo to hand over any incriminating evidence pertaining to Flanders.

Eboli plots vengeance against Carlo for (accidentally) playing with her heart.

But tensions between Filippo and Carlo are about to boil over anyway. At an auto-da-fé (an execution led by the Inquisition and overseen by the king), Carlo interrupts the ceremony by bringing some Flemish citizens before Filippo to call the king out and beg for royal mercy. Things get heated, and Carlo draws his sword. Horrified by this treasonous act, Filippo calls for someone to arrest his son. To everyone’s surprise, Rodrigo steps forward and leads Carlo to jail.

A private family feud is put on public display.

Take a listen… In his aria, “Ella giammai m’amò” (“She never loved me”), Filippo contemplates the sad state of his marriage. Listen for the sorrowful string music, which repeats incessantly as if to reflect Filippo’s relentless thoughts.

Filippo wants Carlo out of the way (like…completely out of the way), so the king appeals to the Grand Inquisitor to ask if the holy man will pardon Filippo for ordering Carlo’s execution. Convinced the uprising of the Protestant-leaning Flemish—and not Carlo—is the real threat to Spain and to the Catholic Church, the Inquisitor slyly suggests Filippo may be absolved if he hands over the traitorous Rodrigo in exchange. Yikes.

The Grand Inquisitor offers a terrible bargain: Religious blessing in exchange for Rodrigo’s demise.

Take a listen… In this intentionally frightening scene, the Grand Inquisitor’s deep and forceful voice, along with the quivering strings and percussion, remind the audience (and Filippo) that the church wields power in sixteenth-century Spain.

Suddenly, Elisabetta bursts in claiming she’s been robbed. She asks her husband to take action against the culprit, but Filippo quickly admits to the crime himself. He then confronts Elisabetta about a portrait of Carlo she keeps hidden in her stolen jewelry box. Elisabetta maintains her innocence, however. She may love Carlo, but she’s never been unfaithful.

And yet here’s a twist: Filippo has.

Filippo tries to shame Elisabetta.

While comforting the queen after Filippo’s accusation, Eboli confesses she’s been having an affair with the king and that jealousy (for both Carlo and Filippo) led her to steal Elisabetta’s box and throw some serious shade at the queen. Shocked, Elisabetta orders Eboli to head to a convent. Eboli searches for a way to make things right—and finds one. She stumbles onto Carlo’s death warrant and resolves to intervene before it’s too late.

Take a listen… Eboli curses her own vanity for inspiring her to betray her queen in the aria “O don fatale” (“Oh fatal gift”). Check out how the mezzo-soprano uses both high and low notes to convey her sense of frustration and despair in the musical sample below. Also: Listen for the outbursts from the trumpets, trombones, and horns at the opening. Can you tell things have gotten pretty serious?

But can Eboli alert Carlo in time? Can Rodrigo escape the watchful eye of the Inquisition? And, most importantly, will Elisabetta and Carlo be allowed to ride off into the Spanish sunset?

Who’s Who

(Italian version of the original Spanish names listed; English version names in parentheses)

Don Carlo (Don Carlos) infante of Spain (tenor—the highest male voice) Filippo (King Philip II) Carlo’s father and king of Spain (bass—the lowest male voice) Elisabetta (Elizabeth of Valois) queen of Spain (soprano—the highest female voice) The Princess of Eboli (known as “Eboli”) (mezzo-soprano—a middle-range female voice) Rodrigo marquis of Posa and Carlo’s friend (baritone—a middle-range male voice) The Grand Inquisitor (bass)

Good to Know

You’ve heard of the Spanish Inquisition before, right? No?

Okay, well, just in case you haven’t, you might want to keep in mind that the Spanish Inquisition was a Catholic branch of the Spanish government whose task was to find and “question” anyone who wasn’t loyal to the Catholic church, particularly Jews and Protestants. These “interviews” were often literal torture, as the Spanish monarchy was known to use the Inquisition as an excuse to enslave innocents in order to get free labor.

Now that you’re familiar with the Inquisition: Did you know King Philip II, his wife Elizabeth, his son Carlos, and the Princess of Eboli were also real? Philip II was a sixteenth-century Spanish monarch who did indeed marry a French woman (Elizabeth of Valois) whom he had initially intended for his son. Turns out Philip and Elizabeth actually had a reportedly happy marriage, and the love story between Elizabeth and her stepson was invented by writer Friedrich von Schiller in the eighteenth century and exploited by Verdi in the nineteenth century for maximum dramatic impact.

The Princess of Eboli was likewise a genuine attendant at court and the wife of King Philip’s right-hand man. Rodrigo, however, never actually existed; he’s more of an ideal representation of compassion and progressive thinking created by Schiller at a time when the Enlightenment ideals of reason and rationality swept across Europe.

And Carlos? Sadly the historical Carlos wasn’t quite the romantic hero he is in the opera. Rowdy, and unpredictable, the real-life Carlos was decidedly not in love with his stepmom. Yet, as in the opera, Carlos wasn’t given much power by his father and eventually grew fed up with life in Spain. The infante then demanded control over Flanders, which was being ruled by a brutal cardinal of the Catholic Inquisition.

Just like in the opera, Flanders was a place of political (and religious) unrest in the mid-sixteenth century. Absorbed into Spain’s considerable empire via a political marriage, Flanders was somewhat content to be ruled by Philip’s father, Charles V, who had been born in Flanders and was well respected there. Things changed when Philip assumed the throne, however: Philip was more Catholic than his father and the new king had no trouble sending clerical and military forces to keep the Protestant-friendly Flemish in line—often using violent methods of persuasion.

Philip ultimately deemed his son unfit to serve as ambassador to such an unstable region and had Carlos put in jail to prevent a political catastrophe (thanks, dad). Carlos died while under arrest, but the Flemish controversy continued, and uprisings followed soon after.

Check This Out…

Don Carlo features many melodies that repeat themselves to help the audience recall a particular scene or emotion from earlier in the story. Listen up for tunes that come back to haunt these characters again and again (especially the themes from Carlo and Rodrigo’s Act I duet, Carlo’s first lovesick solo, and the choir of horns that opens the opera).

Though Carlo is the title character, all the leading roles in the opera are given at least one aria (solo song) in which to express their feelings, and each character has their own unique musical and vocal style. Can you identify some of the ways in which Verdi gives each character his or her own spin? Is there a type of note (high, low, stretched out, cut short, etc.) or rhythm (slow, fast, galloping, etc.) that sticks out as being a specific character’s “signature sound”?

The finale of Don Carlo is notoriously open-ended, leaving much of the interpretation up to the performers and production team. Pay close attention during those final moments. What do you think the director and designers of this particular version wanted the audience to believe about the characters’ fates? Do you feel this explanation of the ending is correct? What do you think actually went down in the Spanish court?

Verdi wanted to immerse his audience in the culture and atmosphere of his operas. One of the ways he achieved this effect in Don Carlo was to include music that plays just off stage, giving the illusion of “surround sound” and extending the action of Don Carlo beyond the borders of the proscenium. Listen for the organ, church bells, brass band, choirs, and solo soprano voice coming from the wings of the theater. Do these help you feel like you’re at the heart of the story?

Think About This…

The dialogue between Filippo and the Grand Inquisitor—which was purposely added to the original story by Verdi and his librettists—includes some heavy musical clues regarding the evil subtext of the scene. In fact, Verdi uses ominous-sounding instruments to make it abundantly clear that some devilish plots are being hatched. What instruments stick out for you in this moment? What do you think Verdi’s position was regarding organized religion? What do you think he felt about monarchies like the one in Spain?

Eboli sings a song about a woman who hides her appearance and discovers a terrible secret. And…surprise! Later in the opera, the princess herself actually wears a veil and uncovers something about Don Carlo she wishes she hadn’t. Do you think the creators were making a specific point about disguises or about women who mask their identity?

Don Carlo is a mixture of big, crowded scenes for huge choruses and smaller, more intimate moments for four people or fewer. This contrast between public life and personal drama is something that continues to fascinate audiences in the twenty-first century. Can you name some recent films or TV shows in which the private struggles of a handful of characters are set against the backdrop of an overarching story that packs an epic and/or historical punch (hint: think The Crown or Game of Thrones minus the dragons)? Do they parallel Don Carlo in some way? Why do you think viewers are still drawn to these types of dramas?

Filippo, though tyrannical and misguided, is ultimately portrayed as a sad and lonely figure in the opera—thanks in large part to Verdi’s sympathetic music and also to the made-up love triangle between Filippo, his son, and his wife. Do you think Filippo’s desperate attempts to govern the lives of his family and his subjects are a response to his own feelings of helplessness? How do you think the other characters handle forces beyond their control (e.g., love, war, religious duty, honor, etc.)? Do you think anyone in the opera is more successful than Filippo at facing down these seemingly insurmountable challenges?

Take Action

As hinted above, the private actions in Don Carlo often have public consequences. Toward the end of the opera, Rodrigo, whose personal loyalties to the king and to Carlo are severely tested, ultimately chooses a path he feels will do the most good for the most people. In his beautiful final aria, he considers the type of legacy he wants to leave behind and asks that Carlo never forget him and never abandon the Flemish people. “Non ti scordar’” (“Do not forget”), he sings.

Take some time to think about how your own personal actions can affect public discourse or change. Research a group of people facing adversity like those in the Flemish territories mentioned in the opera (this could be a group you consider yourself a part of and/or strongly identify with, or it could also be a community you simply wish to help). Next, come up with a plan to spread the word and jumpstart a campaign to make a positive difference. Concerned for the people devastated by recent hurricanes, fires, and other natural disasters? Organize an afterschool meeting to educate your fellow students and to brainstorm fundraising ideas. Want to throw your support behind victims of abuse in a foreign nation? Set up a crowdsourced relief fund and ask family and friends to donate.

Want a wider audience for your social justice campaign? Use social media platforms like Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, or tumblr to get people talking about your cause and to post news and pictures of outreach events. If you decide to post, let us know by using the hashtag #donotforget.

Explore More

Go even deeper with the Don Carlo Extras.

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Major support for WNO is provided by Jacqueline Badger Mars.

David M. Rubenstein is the Presenting Underwriter of WNO.

WNO acknowledges the longstanding generosity of Life Chairman Mrs. Eugene B. Casey.

WNO's Presenting Sponsor

Don Carlo is a production of the Clarice Smith Opera Series.

Additional support for Don Carlo is provided by The Dallas Morse Coors Foundation for the Performing Arts.

The Domingo-Cafritz Young Artist Program is made possible through the generous support of The Morris and Gwendolyn Cafritz Foundation, with additional funding provided by Judy and Billy Cox, Robert and Lynn Downing, Carl M. Freeman Foundation, Virginia McGehee Friend, Susan Carmel Lehrman, John & Mary Lee Malcolm, Michael F. and Noémi K. Neidorff and The Centene Charitable Foundation, Mr. and Mrs. Geoffrey P. Pohanka,  Dr. Arthur and Mrs. Robin Sagoskin, Mr. Alan J. Savada and Mr. Will Stevenson, Dr. and Mrs. Guillermo Schultz, Mr. and Mrs. Michael R. Sonnenreich, Washington National Opera Council, and The Women’s Committee of Washington National Opera.

This performance is made possible by the Kimsey Endowment; The Morris and Gwendolyn Cafritz Foundation and the U.S. Department of Education.

Major support for educational programs at the Kennedy Center is provided by David M. Rubenstein through the Rubenstein Arts Access Program.

Kennedy Center education and related artistic programming is made possible through the generosity of the National Committee for the Performing Arts and the President's Advisory Committee on the Arts.