#one of if not the most astute tactical observers in the room

[age-of-moonknight]

“Solve for X: Part 2 (of 3),” Strange Academy: Moon Knight (Vol. 1/2023), #1.

Writer: Carlos Hernandez; Penciler and Inker: Julian Shaw; Colorist: Edgar Delgado; Letterer: Clayton Cowles

[lorei-writes]

(Un)Suitable

Chevalier & Esther (pre-relationship) (OC Chart: Esther) Fluff (+Bitter Undertones) ~500 words Chevlebration Day #4: Drivel / Love

This story takes place shortly before Esther and Chevalier become a couple... and it makes me realise that perhaps there exists an AU in which Clavis didn't pull certain strings and they never got together in the end. It's one of those quiet stories, with certain things tucked between the lines (or at least I attempted to do that).

Content Warnings: food mention

“Prince Chevalier, the tea is ready,” Esther chirped as she entered the office, the metallic rattling of the tea cart announcing her every step. “No milk or sugar, just the way you like it.” The porcelain saucer plinked against the desk, a rivulet of steam rising above the cup. Chevalier spared it – her – a glance, but only a glance, the commotion she brought along hardly qualifying as a worthy distraction. His focus (mostly) undisturbed, his attention returned fully to the contents of the letter he held.

“Prince Chevalier, the tea is ready,” Esther chirped as she entered the office, the metallic rattling of the tea cart announcing her every step. “No milk or sugar, just the way you like it.”

The porcelain saucer plinked against the desk, a rivulet of steam rising above the cup. Chevalier spared it – her – a glance, but only a glance, the commotion she brought along hardly qualifying as a worthy distraction. His focus (mostly) undisturbed, his attention returned fully to the contents of the letter he held.

… Lady Vivienne is most astute among the students under the tutelage of Lady Strozzi, and shall complete her studies by the end of the upcoming summer…

Another plink – a side plate, most likely assisted by a silver dessert fork and a warm slice of pie. It had become something of a habit between them, although whether the sweet scent of cinnamon was intended as a lure remained rather unclear; Chevalier did not consider Esther one to employ such tactics, however, her satisfaction was indeed beyond reasonable whenever he humoured her. Another one of her oddities, perhaps.

… The broadly understood humanities are her field of expertise; she has received classical history education and thoroughly acquainted herself with the works by masters of pen, chisel, and brush. As such, Lady Vivienne…

The correspondence set aside, Chevalier took up the cutlery, the inherent elegance of his every move gaining an almost theatrical undertone. The pie gave in under the fork, snowdrops-apple-slices peeking trough the layer of crumble topping dusted with powdered sugar. Politely intrusive (which is to say, miserably obvious and failing at stealth), Esther observed him as he ate, seemingly inquisitive, awaiting something to come after one – which? – of the bites. His eyes met hers and she averted her gaze, a faint pink hue coming over her cheeks. A skittish ferret, indeed… Amusement tugging his lips into a grin, Chevalier set his fork aside.

“It is acceptable,” he declared. A warm spring breeze of a smile came over Esther’s face. “However, Show-off sliced apples too thinly.”

Her head shook. “Yves is a much better baker than me.”

“That’s irrelevant; it does not suit your recipe.”

It was a waste of time. Undeniably, it was a waste of time, yet Chevalier still made room for it in his schedule. As incomprehensible as that was, he went along with the idle conversation, listening intently to the most mundane of things. Esther, as per habit, spoke with stars in her eyes, an open book of a person with an entire meteor shower of expressions flashing over her visage… And the room felt a little colder when he finished sampling her pie and she left together with the tea and the rattling of the cart. Only the letter still remained.

… As such, Lady Vivienne would surly satisfy Your Highness’ intellectual curiosity, both as a conversation partner and a lifelong companion. With her many talents, she would make for the most suitable wife. The Cappels would be honoured to enter into an union with the Michels…

Chevalier folded the letter in half.

What drivel.

Various Works: Esther x Chevalier

You've seen a typo? Let me know!

Tag List: @lancelotscloak @solacedeer @keithsandwich @bicayaya

@faustianfascination @sh0jun @violettduchess @pathogenic

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@claviscollections @queengiuliettafirstlady @lucyw260 @nuttytani

Tell me if you'd like to be added to my tag list! :)

[squirrelno2]

My Star Wars OCs: a comedic primer

if you’ve wandered here from ao3 you’ve probably encountered at least one of these people, but if you’ve found me through the vagaries of tumblr that is less likely so! Here is a list of my major ocs for your convenience for the next time I start going off about nothing whatsoever, organised by the story/universe they were introduced in:

Sometimes a Family Is verse

Ven/Shiny: she/her, Nautolan, Dogma’s adopted daughter. half-forgotten childhood trauma papered over with borrowed trauma from her family who spends most of her time clinging to anything clone-related that she can

Nalyan: he/him, human, totally not Dogma’s adopted son (he is they just don’t ever admit it). A poorly rested limp noodle of a person who is too busy doing bootleg medical research in the back of a beat up ship to go outside.

Clone Rebellion verse

Sneak: he/him, clone, formerly served under Krell [Sneak darling I’m so sorry]. puts up a very good front of being a cool collected criminal mastermind when on a con but also will jump off a bridge if you dare him to. as one does.

Nali: she/her, Twi’lek, smuggler/con artist. her soft spot for slaves and clones is a parsec wide, but also she’s usually the one daring Sneak to jump off a bridge

Nine: he/him, clone, still serving under Krell. baby Nine is a bundle of joy and every version of him after the first chapter is deeply deeply fucked, but that won’t stop him from also daring Sneak to jump off a bridge. while doing a flip.

Drum: he/him, clone, pilot in 327th. he likes music and singing and making way too astute observations about people, and is probably the only person on this list who doesn’t think people should be dared to jump off bridges. in general he's under the impression he's the smartest person in the room, and on rare occasions he's almost right.

Dead Brothers Rescue Coalition verse

Nel: she/he/they, clone, lieutenant in the Coruscant Guard. by circumstance they are a pencil-pusher and by passion they are a detective, but mostly they're just really bad at friendship. they make up for it with stubbornness.

Jesse Lives verse

Jale: he/him, theelin, scavenger freelance salvage worker. brightly coloured dipshit who loves his mother and has never effectively used a weapon in his life. preferred survival tactics are Talking Too Much and Being Useful, but also the first one tends to get him into trouble more than anything.

Time Slip verse

Arson: he/him, clone, maintenance on Kamino. absolutely full of little shit energy and voted most likely to commit the crime he’s named for. likes droids more than people, which considering the people he knows is absolutely fair.

Murder: he/they, clone, washed-up medic in training turned Kaminoan maintenance. would never ever hurt a fly but also spends most of their time making excuses for their more violent loved ones because ??? cognitive dissonance I guess.

Jaywalking: she/her, clone, maintenance on Kamino. knows all your secrets and is just trying to decide if she wants to blackmail you or kill you over them. the thing keeping her from doing the latter is usually the fact that Murder and Arson would be sad about it.

Other

Nobody: he/him, clone, ARC trooper who works almost exclusively with 212th. he is exactly as fucked up as his name implies, and also more so because his best friend used to be Slick. make of that what you will.

Pip: he/him, clone, 501st. a beautiful ray of sunshine who will see the worst person in the room, ask "is anyone gonna befriend them?" and not wait for an answer.

Roadkill: he/him, clone, 501st. the worst person in the room. really tired of Pip's shit.

Zeel: she/her, Rodian, doctor with a very very lapsed license. abrasive at the best of times, but also winner of the "Most Cameos in My Fics" award because she can't stop helping people. mostly clones. she's very annoyed about that fact, too.

Tayonissa "Tayo" Miran: she/her, Mirialan, Jedi. it's a good thing she doesn't exist because if she knew I was the one piling all this grief and trauma on her she would become very violent very fast. as it is she's just trying to pretend she's not super gay for her second-in-command.

Errol Dasa: he/him, Cathar, bounty hunter. he's got a sister and a space cat and a fundamental belief in the goodness of the universe, which leads most people to wonder why the hell he assaults, kidnaps, and kills people for a living. he doesn't see why it's weird.

More OCs can be found @shagpaboloutpost (clones) and @relevant-url-incoming (SWTOR)

[backtoyuta]

NCT 127: at a frat party

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❁ [Taeil] Introverted confidant; Taeil is the guy you go to to seek solace in when you're not really feeling the vibe. Maybe the music sucked, the drinks weren't having an effect on you or it was too rowdy, whatever the problem was you could always sneak away or locate him somewhere a little quieter and just observe the mess from a distance. He'll laugh appreciatively if you took the initiative to sneak some snacks or drinks laid out and ruffle you hair playfully to thank you, making astute remarks about how drunk his friends are and groan about how he'll probably have to carry one of them home later. It's likely that you'll both be stuck with the task of making sure everyone gets home safe, shove bread in someone's mouth in hopes of it helping somehow even if you're not totally sober yourself. Maybe he gets really into the party once in a while, and when he does he benignly encourages you to let loose yourself and join in the fun, however it's almost always a guarantee that you'll end up taking a breather from the noise together in the garden, the part of the living room that isn't occupied, in desperate situations a random storage cupboard (Everybody got the wrong idea with that one) (No, you never quite lived it down). It's a nice feeling to see his expression perk when he finally sees you, the quick hug you always exchange, the knowing glances when your social batteries are already dying and its time to dip.

❁ [Johnny] Life of the party; Being the extroverted king he is, Johnny is the guy you might end up holding onto his sleeve for most of the night, figuratively. The guy that knows everyone, he'll happily adopt you if you look like you feel out of your depth and kindly make you a drink and usher you towards a group to try and let loose. Being with Johnny means a lot of attention, being introduced to people here and there and him playfully picking on you during drinking games, volunteering to make a fool of himself when someone dares you to do something a little too outrageous. Johnny is the comfort you need whilst simultaneously the reason for your death because drunk Johnny means a lot of shameless flirting and eye contact from across the kitchen counter, as well as keeping you close to his side and out of reach when someone else tries the same thing on you. At some heinous hour in the morning the rooms are considerably emptier, discarded cups everywhere and chiller music is humming from the bluetooth speakers, you could kid yourself that it was just you two even though you're sitting in a pool of people. His arm swung casually around your shoulders, "Did you have a good time?" Falling from his mouth slightly slurred and giving you an affectionate squeeze and a lazy kiss to the top of your head when you nod your head yes.

❁ [Taeyong] Hangover mum no. 1; We all know Taeyong has his maternal vibe going on, but lest we forget he too is a guy in his mid twenties looking for a good time. That being said, he wasn't surprised when Johnny dropped you off to his charge, the smell of alcohol radiating off of you, your appearance looking a lot more fragile from what he remembered when you first arrived that evening. He was incredibly patient, letting you rest in his bedroom while you sipped your water, salty pretzels at the ready for when you got the munchies and if disaster struck, he didn't judge when he pushed your hair back for a tactical chunder. He would assure you that you weren't keeping him from his friends when it had been a little while, and would keep a close eye on you when you rejoin the group, just a cup of lemonade in your grasp as a means of preventing a relapse. He's the guy that doesn't pressure you to join during drinking games, is perfectly content to give you his hoodie and let you sidle up to him as means of comfort and just observe everyone else admitting to disgusting truths during Never Have I Ever. At the end of the night he walks to your pace, will listen and hum attentively at any drunken musings that fall out of your mouth he knows you'll regret telling him tomorrow.

❁ [Yuta] King of the drinking games; Yuta isn't the type to shy away from a good time, and he's always front and centre when it comes to lowkey humiliating himself in Ring of Fire, truth or dare, or any of the classics. His confidence outweighs the most disgusting things he's admitted to doing, the embarrassment of what someone dared him to do and you've never seen someone chug a drink with so much gusto. Always manages to come up with the most evil questions, hitting right where it hurts and you dread when his turn rolls around again and his gaze lands on you. He's impressed when you take up his dares with dignity, or admit shamelessly to any hidden tattoos or piercings. If you caught his interest, will switch on the scorpio and keep his gaze trained on you for the rest of the night, will try and pry any information out of you by keeping you included in conversations and will 100% invite you to his room when the party is over. His demeanour reads as chaotic, he thrives being around his friends, but you somehow manage to unlock that calmer more intuitive part of him when he catches you outside the bathroom to check that he didn't go too far during one of the infamous games being played in the living room.

❁ [Doyoung] Hangover mum no.2; We've all seen the sweet and caring side of Doyoung jump out before, so if you're on your merry way towards being wasted he can't help but intervene to make sure you're ok. Don't be fooled though, he doesn't really have the patience of Taeyong, so expect a whole lotta tough love. He won't hesitate to flick you on the forehead when you get a little too in his face, though he deliberately doesn't do it too hard. Inadvertently gives off the impression that you're a nuisance as he scoffs and sighs at you weeping over a packet of crisps, has to later make a point of assuring you that "you're fine, you should just know better". There's an air of fondness that lingers when you settle down a bit and start to enjoy yourself at a more acceptable level of tipsiness and he insists that he walks you home. "Begrudgingly" hands over his jacket when you complain about being cold even though that was his plan all along, and takes mental notes of all the ridiculous drunken comments you make so he can torment you with them later.

❁ [Jaehyun] The guy who may or may not be responsible for your death; One thing about Jaehyun, he's the guy who's terrible at mixing drinks. Don't look at Johnny, he won't help you, when you asked for sex on the beach expect anal on the rocks because Jaehyun knows jack shit about ratio of alcohol to mixer. Don't worry too much, as much as it's his fault for accidentally getting you trashed, he takes as much responsibility for looking after you and making sure you have a good time. Lowkey turns into a frat boy cliche, the hat is on backwards and he's already tugging your arm to coerce you into being his partner for beer pong. He drinks most of the cups whenever you lose to make up for the terrifying concoctions he had you drink earlier and celebrates over excessively when you win by wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and lifting you in to the air slightly. His harmless nice chad vibes make for good company and there's the tingly feeling of chemistry when he laughs loudly at your jokes, eyes turning into little crescents and dimples popping, he watches proudly and thinks "that's my girl" when you make all his friends laugh with you.

❁ [Jungwoo] Level 300 clinger; whether you're moving between groups, leaving to get more food, or shifting to get a better view of the beer pong table, Jungwoo will find a way to squeeze in next to you some way some how. You can always feel an arm ghosting around your waist or around your shoulders, or hear his giggle right there beside your ear. After spending so much time on your feet, you both eventually flop on the sofa, a tangled mess of limbs whilst you try and catch your breath. People keep asking if you're together because of the excessive physical contact, and you hate how he thrives at you scrambling awkwardly for an answer to convey that wasn't the case while he just smiles innocently, making no effort to debunk the comments. There's a high chance that if either of you end up staying over in the other's house, he'll make sure he'll consensually sleep right there next to you, talking randomly about any topic that crosses his mind until you fall asleep. The mornings involve laughing at each other's bed head until you tune into your hangover's, sharing the one bottle of water while scrambling for painkillers and nagging at each other for not cutting either of you off when you went too far.

❁ [Mark] Lightweight; to keep it short and simple, Mark Lee proved himself to be a bit of a lightweight from the get-go, and now here you were, the room dim and bass thumping while Mark laughs loudly at whatever Johnny was saying and you haven't even been there for an hour yet. Mark is the guy that is kinda hard to keep track of, you thought you saw him in the kitchen but now he's messing around with Haechan in the garden and each time you regroup with him he's even more drunk than before. He always finds you eventually, maybe you were taking a load off at the snack table, munching crisps and replying to texts when a lanky arm swings over your shoulders and Mark's smily face is way too close to your line of sight asking if you're OK. If he feels he's neglected you for too long he overcompensates by ushering you to his current group and making a point of pulling a fold out chair right next to his, his laugh dominating the conversation even if the joke wasn't that funny. When the night draws to a close, he settles down, the lack of people taking a toll on his energy and that's where he engages in conversations way too deep for a frat party and way too personal for just friends, though you never worried, there was no way he would remember any of this tomorrow.

❁ [Haechan] Partner in crime; That one friend who you end up hanging with the whole night, even if that wasn't the intention. Haechan doesn't fear drunkenness, it doesn't seem like he fears anything, and he'll always without fail drag you down with him. He's the guy that cheers obnoxiously when you down your shot, always picks on you in the drinking games because he loves to see you embarrassed and the one you sneak away with to try cigarettes even if it turns out you don't really like them. His famous last words are always "I'll do it if you do it" and that's the story of how you both ended up jumping into a neighbour's pool completely wasted, and now hoarding the bottle of tequila. Haechan is the guy that kind of makes you make a complete fool out of yourself, but always assures you that nobody will remember by the morning and to just live in the moment. Your favourite part of these frat parties is always looking through your photos the next day and laughing at all the horrendous selfies and videos he took before you noticed he had your phone for the last 15 minutes.

[gryfon-spanish-werewolf]

Uuh dunno if you would like this prompt : Anna and Elsa as a mythical creatures.

Would love too see what you will write them as ^^

@like-redhead-probably I sat thinking about this ask for a long time, because while I IMMEDIATELY thought of one for Elsa, Anna’s absolutely eluded me. And I know you were probably looking for a story, but I am unable to stop myself from first EXPLAINING my choices xD

I was already thinking about the myth of the Hulder (or huldra if we’re speaking of the creature in general instead of the specific Norwegian myth) for other story-related reasons, and as I did more research, I felt like the Hulder REALLY shared similarities with Elsa.

Generally speaking the huldra is a Scandinavian myth of a pale skinned, blonde or brown haired, attractive young woman who lives in the wilderness, often luring men away with song or dance to be killed or misled, stuck wandering forever. Sometimes she’s connected strongly to water, and instead of making men lost, she drowns them. Sometimes she is described as similar to an elf or fey-like creature, with characteristics related to other Huldufolk (we’ll get to them later) such as living in a parallel world, or a world Underground, and therefore preferring caves or appearing and disappearing suddenly. Sometimes she is depicted as having a hollow back, or a cow’s tail, which she hides out of embarrassment or to conceal her true identity. Which… how cute is that?

Before the 11th century, the myths were focussed more around the Huldufolk, which literally means “Hidden Folk”. There are lots of stories as to why and how the Huldufolk came to exist, but for the purpose of Elsa I think it most appropriate to look at the Christianization of the myths. Why?:

Frozen and Frozen 2 are modern movies made by an American company and Christianity is nigh untanglable with American culture, they take place in ~1840s Norway, F1 has a dedicated place of Christian congregation depicted in said movie, an official royal crowning overseen by a Christian faith leader, and the adaptation of Frozen generally comes from author Hans Christian Anderson and therefore should take his life and society into account, etc.

The Christianized myth says that one day Eve was washing her children (presumably after Cain, Abel, and Seth) in the river, when she heard God approaching. Ashamed that He would see her kids unclean, she hid the half she wasn’t done bathing, and when God asked, “Where are the other children?” Eve claimed that she had all of them present, indicating the clean ones. This gave God pause, but in the end He said, “Then let all that is Hidden, remain Hidden.” The children that Eve lied about became the Huldufolk, unable to live among humans. These people would eventually become characterized as dwarves, elves, fairies, etc., as time and interpretations rolled on, the huldra being just one of many mythical “species”.

So. Who is Elsa? She’s a:

fictional, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, fair-skinned young woman who led thousands of men wlw to wander helplessly into the dark caves and wildlands of social media with a power ballad and a jaw-dropping transformation sequence

Okay I’m joking… mostly…

In fact my interest in choosing the Hulder for Elsa lies purely outside of any romantic or sexual appeal, especially since Elsa as a character exhibits next to 0 romantic or sexual interest across two whole movies and an additional two shorts. Indeed, there’s a reason people headcanon her as either asexual, aromantic, or both! No, the reasons I chose the Hulder are:

Elsa’s name

Her upbringing

Her duty as queen, and

Her general behavior, specifically in regards to Frozen 1, as Frozen 2 Elsa is, at times, an almost completely different character

Elsa’s name was chosen very specifically by the filmmakers because it means “God is my Oath”. Oaths are binding, heavy, and invoke the maker’s or subject’s actions and personhood in the future. In Elsa’s case specifically, it invokes divine witness: perfect for a queen, someone born to rule. A promise to be fair, to uphold, to protect, to lead, to be a dignified and honorable face for the country. And Elsa was so ready to be that… except for the powers of course. Or at least, when they became something other than a magical gift of wonder and joy. When they became dangerous. Then there comes another oath, spoken to powerful creatures of magic, the Trolls, and born from parental fear: “She can learn to control it.”

Binding, heavy, invoking of Elsa’s future. As she grows, Elsa becomes closed off, quiet, hiding in her own home. She still takes her duties seriously, but now that she has been Other’d, taught to hide herself and her curse, she is just as much shadow as person. To young Anna, Elsa must have been almost ghostlike, disappearing right when Anna thought she’d cornered her, only to reappear sometime later down the hall, out of arm’s reach.

God promised Adam and Eve that their children would inherit the earth, even after leaving the Garden of Eden. Then suddenly that changed, due to Eve’s fear and shame of her unwashed children, and some would now inherit Underground, or somewhere else entirely. The lost children of Eve had become Other’d, needing to hide, disappear, and resort to inhuman tactics just to exist. Maybe they’re jealous, maybe they're just tricksters. But it’s not their fault. And it wasn’t Elsa’s either. Another reason they are similar.

Now, it’s not all doom and gloom for the Hulder, or for Elsa. While the Hulder is generally known for her more chaotic and negative attributes - just like our favorite snow queen, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. There are a few myths that say burning a charcoal fire -instead of a coal or gas one- is most pleasing to the Hulder, that she’ll even watch over it during the night, and wake the sleepers in case something happens. If a traveler leaves supplies behind with a note or offering for the Hulder, they will travel safely. In fact, some people leave caches for her, as though to cater to specific requests. Coming across the Hulder by chance can have a multitude of outcomes, but if an astute observer spots her cow tail and mentions it, she may become shy and run away. Don’t mention the empty back though, that’s almost certain death.

Basically my point is… trade out the word “traveler” for the name “Anna” and we can draw all the similarities we want. Anna did all of those things, in a way. Anna gave Elsa a little gift of their favorite snowman every Christmas. Anna knocked on Elsa’s door and spoke to her, treated her kindly despite the distance between them, literal and metaphorical. It’s not hard to imagine that Anna left little notes around the castle, hoping Elsa would find them, read them, and know that Anna still loved her, still missed her. And, well, hopefully Anna wasn’t setting any fires and falling asleep next to them - but Anna always kept a light on for Elsa, in her heart. And it flickered and wavered sometimes, but it was a strong fire most days. And we know Elsa was always drawn to it, drawn to Anna because she loved her right back. Loved her first, even. And because it was a warmth that pleased Elsa, she tended it, quietly, carefully, warmly. Like putting a blanket over an Anna that had fallen asleep in the painting room, refusing that slice of chocolate cake so Anna could have two desserts, and listening, for hours and hours, days and days, for the sound of Anna’s glorious bonfire-like soul outside her bedroom door. Even when her secret was revealed, Elsa believed that the best way to protect Anna’s life, her flame, was to distance herself, running to a secret, special place all her own - much like the Hulder might run away back to the Underground.

And this last part’s just me, but I’d like to think that if the Hulder was treated kindly, respected, and given dignity, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if someone came across her accidentally. That instead of being instantly drowned, or the Hulder becoming sheepish and attempting to run, it would feel recognized. It could be called by name. And instead of feeling the need to hide it’s Otherness, it could be treated as part of it, and cared for just the same. I don’t even need to be subtle here: Anna called Elsa by Name, really saw her, and reframed her darkness into light. Anna hasn’t fought God yet, but she did walk through hell and back for a sister that everyone else saw as a threat, monster, and sorcerer. A category 9 Other. Too bad for them, Anna’s got a Category 10 heart.

Speaking of. We finally got to Anna.

Anna was difficult to pin down because to me, Anna is so very, very human. That’s what makes her special! Yes, yes, you could throw any mythical creature at Anna and the fun part would be trying to make it work within her personality and characterization BUT since the question was Anna AS a mythical creature, that changes the game! The word ‘creature’ itself tends to conjure something distinctly INhuman. So I…. tried, and cheated maybe a little. Because I picked for Anna the Norse Valkyrie.

Most people know what Valkyries are so this one takes significantly less explaining. Valkyries are women that are warriors, shieldmaidens, and the hands of Odin, and they choose who lives and who dies during battle. Their chosen dead ride with them to Valhalla, while those they choose to live are usually granted honors in life. There are the darker sides of Valkyries that paint them as blood hungry maidens waiting on the sidelines before a war, singing the names of who will die with glee… but generally speaking the version of Valkyries that most people know and admire today are accurate! And thank goodness because attempting to depict Anna the other way would probably give me an ulcer.

Anna, much like the Valkyries, is a woman of valor and strength, who is perceptive, guides others, sees into people’s hearts and reveals their goodness. Valkyries are also warriors of prowess themselves, and Anna in Frozen 2 with that ice sword? We all know she was ready to use that for real. She also exemplifies traits that Valkyries both look for and have! Bravery in the face of danger: hello Marshmallow, Elsa’s own blizzard, Hans’ lethal sword strike, LIVING MOUNTAINS, and a damn collapsing.... dam. She also defends those who cannot do it themselves: saying publicly that, “My sister is not a monster… she was scared, she didn’t mean any of this,” even if that cast suspicion or doubt on herself, and the crown, as a whole. Anna knew and believed in Elsa, despite all the years and heartbreak and anger. Despite the impossible magic that literally just happened before her very eyes. Belief in character, despite appearances. And once they were reunited, Anna made every effort to stay by Elsa’s side because she STILL had that faith in her. Anna’s name means “Grace” or “of Grace”, and damn if she didn’t extend that to the person others found most unworthy, even to Elsa herself. Valkyries see what others don’t, and their decisions are final.

[Deep breath] SO! You asked for Anna and Elsa as mythical creatures. You got… a small academic paper, by social media standards xD. I intend to write a little piece about a Valkyrie who encounters the Hulder on the edges of a battlefield and… realizes she never made a choice about this particular woman. And wonders why she can’t ;). BUT I didn’t wanna leave you hanging any longer. Hope you like my choices!

Oh also, nobody asked, but Kristoff is a werebear. No research required

[disgraced-doctor-junkenstein]

[Continued from here] @queen-of-the-junkers​ “Very astute observation!” Junkenstein chimed though he moved Peach close to his chest as to better keep hold of her as well as make lunging at him risk having the potted plant be in the way of his more vital organs. His other hand remained high in the air like a torch in warning. “However you greatly misunderstand the true nature of bombs.” Choosing to remain stationary, Junkenstein allowed the Queen to cautiously move around him somewhat, his eyes still trained on her as his thumb continued to hover over the lit red button. Would she truly risk attacking him now? Honestly, it would be her greatest advantage and yet he had to wonder if she might doubt herself as well as had underestimated him yet again.  “Scare tactics?” So that was what she thought this was. A fair but completely wrong assessment of the situation at hand. “You really-” He had started to laugh when her doubt in his brilliance was voiced. A sharp jolt tore though his emotions as he gnashed his teeth together in rage. Grace truly was just another ignorant royal that underestimated his worth, his brilliance, his cunning, and skills! She honestly should be made a proper example of and killed as a warning but Junkenstein was a vengeful man and he already had plans to humiliate her. Perhaps the grand finale needed some adjusting when they would reach that step!

“Remember what I said about bombs?” He pressed the button only for the room around them to immediately strobe all around them with red light and a shrill hiss as the center pieces in half of the bombs rose up to start releasing a cloud of deep navy gas that flooded the room looking purple ever other second as the other set of bombs still flashed in warning. “Destruction is the main goal for most, sure!” Having dropped the detonator as it became useless, the doctor moved to his side opposite of where he saw the Queen try to lead off in. His free hand dipping down into the collar of his lab coat to fish out a mask to move over his lower face just as the gas started to temporary obscure their surroundings. In a few more seconds the other half would reveal their purpose.  “Best strike me down fast, Grace! That or leave before the toxin sets in. Does it already burn your lungs? Oh if it is then we are in for one HELL of a ride!” Junkenstein cackled wildly as he backed towards the nearest door fully expecting to be pounded upon but it hardly mattered at that point. This was phases two of his plan and even if he were to be killed here by her, there was more in store for Grace and he was sure she would curse his name as she would stumble through the maze he turned her home into.  As the plume of gas began to dissipate the other set of homemade bombs went off. A large crackling of electricity webbing in arcs between them in bright blue volts that were nearly white in nature. The doctor’s goggles helping to save his vision as he stilled in the doorway to watch. Hell, he could not let himself be killed here and by the Queen no less but if he were to die, well then, surely the Queen would learn not to mess with the mischief ever again. 

All around them everything began to turn back on. Lights growing ever brighter only for them all to pop, sending shards of glass raining down throughout the palace as Junkenstein continued to laugh. Then suddenly it all stopped. The world was thrown into pitch black darkness save for the chemical bombs that highlighted the mad doctor which might serve as a warning to stay back or maybe a lure. Either way, phase three was starting.

[understandableparadox]

bischeon lore part 1: Crash landing era

Welcome to bischeon! the lost colony planet of Alterna.

countless generations ago, this planet was marked to be a safe-haven for high bloods. the long coast lines and fertile lands would be made into resorts, tactical training centers and farm lands. supplying food and young blood thirsty generals to the Grand trollien fleets slow all consuming march across the galaxy.

though as the more astute may observe, given its title of a lost colony, that is not exactly what happened...sailing out over the vast expanse of space, near a old old pocket in a solar system that seemed to good to be true. each planet regardless of how far or close to the burning red sun in its center... all of them were bursting with life! lush and verdant with breathable atmospheres and vast oceans.

the captain of the initial touch down mission was known simply as the Catptain Nyasputin. an eccentric, a lover of history yet one of the most capable pilots within the history of the star born fleets... they were nearing the point where they could park it on any of the many paradise planets and live out the rest of their sweeps. they could almost taste the beach side booze...

they approached the planet with two moons, chosen by committee by the somewhat hive sick highbloods. they planned to have the touch down point in a clearing exactly one mile out from the ocean, allowing the low bloods and drones to start up base camp.

though just before they could pass by the atmosphere, a sound ringed out. not a hiss. not a roar. not a scream.

yet it echos out, reverberating, resonating with all that it comes into contact with. the planet shakes and seems to take on a greener tint. the screams of yellow bloods below within the bowels of the engine room managed to rise up as their power swelled.

psychokinetic energy flooded the facilities, destroying the navigation devices. frying the communications array, nearly exploding the delicate equipment meant to hold and foster the matriorb.

now. the mark of a good captain is hard to measure. at times a bad one and good one can be indistinguishable, as the only goal is to reach point b. everything in between is negligible to a point.

the mark of a good captain is found in HOW they respond to a disaster. of course any captain would do their best to avoid the danger in the first place but as oceans and space hold each other close in their commonality of surprise, we rarely have such a choice.

very truly, the ship may have been a lost cause, one that would have only been remembered as a mysterious disappearance on alternian records and a sign to avoid that general cut of space.

yet nyasputins nerves...or seemingly lack thereof was their life line. even with the multiple engines turning the various appliances of the ship into bombs, the navigations systems still worked. the ship could still be steered.

his original plan was to just level the ship out so that it would skid across the longest possible path, using the trees to act as the ships main method of slowing down, then start culling portions of the engine blocks to come to a halt.

though fate rarely treats our plans kindly. as the catptain looked out at the path that would leave him with some crew instead of none he watched something come into view. something massive. something glowing with burning energy and eyes glowering with a hate much the same.

it had the same white scales of the lusus back hive. yet it was wild. territorial enough to watch this massive meteor of chitin and energy hurtling towards it and not back down...

that glow burns brighter and brighter, flames almost liquid in consistency dripped from its maw. the heckles on nyasputins neck raised as he sensed this wouldn't be a "lol, shoulda fucking moved idiot" situation.

a hail Mary, the catptian through everything into the ships defenses. allowing all steering capabilities to die out, all emergency systems to falter, even removeing power from the wifi router in the highbloods lobby.

just as the shimmering field of psiioniic energy formed around the ship, a beam of pure white wrapped around it. blinding light streaming with the burning hatred for the intruders from the life forms on the planet. the force of the beam slowly dragging the ships orbital crash momentum down to a crawl and finally even pushing it backwards.

even with the shields present, they felt themselves nearly boiling from the heat, yet they felt no burn... instead the crew were lucky enough to only report bouts of confusion. extreme fatique, a good amount of the crew would pass out. those were the enviable as they watched and waited to see if they would die or survive.

minutes or hours, it was impossible to tell as the onslaught finally stopped, the ships power depleted, the engines dead or dieing... the ship fell from the sky with a massive crash. but astoundingly, miraculously intact...

the crew took stock of their dead. they took stock of their injured. the latter far larger... but few dead aside from a vast swathe of yellow bloods. Stranded on planet until a new generation could be established.

the few that took the first few steps realized that they were no where near the ocean...they had no idea where on this vast planet they landed. The only thing they could see were the massive trees that sprouted up around them, they had landed in some kind of clearing.

the drones that weren't fried from radiation or broken on impact were set to work along with low bloods to begin felling trees, the highbloods desperate to establish a hatchery and begin raising the next engines. desperate to at least create smaller ships to cart their numbers to the ocean for a far more favorable base of operations.

yet as they begin to create facilities, as they began to create a small home out of logs and rubble they realized a grim truth. they wouldn't be able to survive in this small clearing for much longer. they wouldn't be able to create the housing needed to both keep and defend their mothergrub with exploration.

a violet looks out towards the tree line. their eyes kept flicking towards small signs of movement, small bits of white within the near pitch black. with the monster still fresh in their mind... they began to feel a bit more conscious of the blood within them and just how easily it could be spilt.

this violet would call for a scouting party.

[lordberenger]

state of mind

Or: the modern, ex-boyfriends AU no one asked for, ever

read on ao3

Laurent shouldn’t have come.

He knew this the moment he stepped through the door. He took a second to be bitter about it, then he corrected himself: he had known he would spend a horrible night the moment he chose to put on a tux and climb into his car. Denial was not going to get him through the evening.

The Marlas Hall was an impressive building, allying the golden varnish of the expensive and well-conserved with the bluntness of the old. The gardens were particularly noteworthy, full of wide trees and cleverly half-hidden ruins. People raved about finding millennium-old stones in the middle of their evening strolls, but failed to realize the trees were often even older.

The gardens were tempting, yes. Laurent could smell the perfume of early-summer flowers and feel the breeze on his face through the open french doors leading out, but he refrained himself. This was a charity event thrown by his own brother: he had to socialize and charm the room into parting with a few of the superfluous zeros in their bank account.

Still, he couldn’t banish the feeling of dread pooling low in his stomach as he stepped through the room, darting furtive looks right and left. But what was the point? Was he trying to locate or avoid?

Auguste snagged him by the arm before he could finish that thought.

“Laurent,” he said with forced cheer. “I’m so glad to see you. Thank you for coming.” He squeezed Laurent’s biceps a little tighter. Laurent didn’t know who he was trying to convince. “Um, Vannes is here.”

“I hope you’re more eloquent in your speech,” Laurent said, shaking off Auguste’s almost painful grip.

“What?”

“Tell me what you have to tell me and go. You have a party to host.”

Auguste’s eyebrows drew together. “I have the right to be concerned for my little brother’s—”

“Oh, so we’re concerned, now?”

A pause. Auguste looked at him with his clear blue eyes and sighed.

“You know, don’t you?”

“The name’s hard to miss.”

It was right there at the top of the invitation list. No one would see it other than Auguste, Laurent, and the affected staff, but that was enough.

Damianos Akielos.

The name didn’t haunt Laurent. He felt unease and excessive annoyance, but he knew he could get through the evening. He didn’t have a choice. Or maybe he did: maybe Auguste would give him one, out of brotherly affection and concern, and ask him later for a favor that Laurent would be too happy to fulfill. But Laurent hadn’t made it this far in life without an iron spine and a stronger discipline: he would see the night through.

Ex or no ex present.

Who had dumped him. Or would have, had tried to, before Laurent did it first, out of pride and self-respect.

“Laurent,” Auguste started.

“I’m fine.” He was a little surprised to find it true. “I won’t talk to him, though.”

“He might want to talk to you.”

This was probably a plea to be civil. It missed its mark by a hundred feet.

“I doubt it,” Laurent said, and turned away to greet the newest arrival of guests.

He did. In securing his pride, Laurent might not have stopped to preserve Damianos’s. That was what the “I’ll never see him again” part of the plan was for.

Damianos didn’t enter until the gala had started in full. Laurent noticed the kind of commotion near the door that announced a new arrival: the steward drawing people forward, the customary stop on the threshold to gauge the room and let people gawk, should they need to—and it was almost always assumed that they did.

Laurent slipped behind a large group of people dressed as severe as he was and tried to will the light off his pale hair. He thought he was making a decent job at pretending to consider the paté hors d’oeuvre when Jord’s voice grunted from behind him.

“I’ll punch him back to Ios.”

Jord was much less conspicuous in his staring than Laurent, although he was wearing a simple black suit that marked him without subtlety as a bodyguard and was thus invisible to most of the people milling around.

“Please don’t,” Laurent said.

Jord grunted again. It could have meant anything from a disregard of Laurent’s words to reluctant agreement: knowing Jord, it was most likely a mix of everything in between.

Laurent took a flute from a nearby tray. “Is that apple cider or champagne?”

Jord shrugged. “Drink and find out.”

That was the method Laurent usually preferred to avoid. He took a careful sip, though, and almost recoiled when the tart taste of alcohol hit his tongue. Laurent didn’t drink: he liked neither the taste nor the effects. Tonight, though, in the shadow of Damianos's large back, the idea was more tempting than it had ever been.

“That’s not apple cider,” Jord warned next to him, as though Laurent had missed it after his first taste.

“I know.”

Jord eyed him for a moment with the easiness of a man who had seen Laurent grow up and suffered through his teenage moods. He shrugged then: Laurent was not the person he was paid to protect and he would not dare baby him, for the same reasons.

“Don’t mess up,” he called as Laurent departed, done with the insidious interrogation.

“I never do.”

Laurent chose not to hear the ugly snort behind him. He waved through the crowd, stopping to chat with couples on the look-out for recognition from the hosts and larger groups who would unanimously revel on his witty conversation once he departed.

He saw Torveld and the blonde doe-faced youth he had taken as unofficial sugar baby, and the looks exchanged with the closest server, barely older. Vannes smiled her shark grin at him from across the room. Laurent met her stare and raised his glass in salutation. He almost bumped into Ancel a minute later, and spent a longer time than he intended talking horses with Berenger.

Laurent had to give it to Ancel: though he was clearly bored and out of his depth, he found a way of holding Laurent’s gaze dead on. It would have been uncomfortable, had Laurent not spent his formative years developing and honing the same tactics.

It was almost enough. The clock was indicating well past eleven when Laurent’s eyes passed over Damianos for the first time.

It was a quick glance, accidental turned informative: Laurent noted the width of his shoulders, possibly greater than two years ago. The shine of his hair, combed and slicked back in a way that somehow tamed the curls. The dark color of his suit; almost a perfect match to Laurent’s. The thought bothered him for a moment, so he traded it for a third glass of champagne.

It was almost certainly a mistake. He found he did not care much.

Drinking meant relative immobility. He had raised the glass to his lips when Damianos turned from his conversation—who was it with him? Did it matter?—and saw him.

The look on his face was too earnest to stomach this late in the night with alcohol in his blood. Laurent held his gaze for two seconds, which were two seconds too long but did not appear that way at the time, and turned away.

The party was winding down: the charity part had been done, and now there was music from a half-hidden orchestra and some dancing. Laurent cut through the small of gatherings of people he did not have the obligation nor the will to entertain anymore and stepped outside.  

The balcony was wide, closed off by a wide stone bannister with intricate carvings, and led off to the sprawling grass. Laurent took a moment to inhale deeply. The cool air was a blessing on his overheated skin; he put down the glass and folded his arms on the bannister, pressing his forehead into the stone. He didn’t know what kind of stone it even was: sandstone? Granite? Were the two even alike? He knew it wasn’t marble: he could still feel its smooth expanse under his hand and the blinding vision of it under the sun.

There he went again.

Laurent stayed close to the bannister when he took down the stairs, unsure of his own legs. He had no experience on which to base his current state on. He didn’t think he was very drunk, but the filter in his mind seemed to have a life of his own. He felt as though he would explode in words if anyone talked to him. Maybe he would keep on talking until there were no words inside his head anymore, let them pouring out until he was dry as a desert.

Maybe he was a desert: dry and cold at night, uninhabitable and hostile.

Damianos found him leaning against the remains of an old column, watching the stars unblinkingly until his head spinned and he had to close his eyes against dizziness.

“Laurent,” Damianos said after a while, after moment spent aware of the other and their shared history. It weighted between them, like a bag full of water that kept splashing them frozen.

“Ah,” Laurent said. He opened his eyes. “Hello, Damianos.”

Something passed in Damianos’s gaze. He was probably thinking about the last time Laurent had called him his full name, before they had dated. He liked easy camaraderie and friendliness, but Laurent was not here to reassure his need to be well-liked.

“Did you know I’d come and find you?” he asked. “I didn’t know myself until I did it.”

“You’re a really bad liar.”

“You’re drunk.”

Laurent let out a silent laugh. “Does it bother you?”

“I hope it’s not because of me.”

Of course it was. Laurent turned fully toward him and crossed his arms on his chest. Damianos’s eyes were wide open and dark in the moonlight, like his clothing and his hair. He looked like a sketch on canvas, his lines suggested rather than fully drawn.

He looked like the man Laurent had left a year ago alone in his apartment, angry and crushed because he had not gotten to do the crushing himself.

“What are you going to do about it?” Laurent asked, meaning the long conversation everyone had wanted to have with him afterwards.

Oh, Laurent, why did you break up with him?

I thought you guys were moving in together!

Laurent, he was perfect. What have you done?

Love is a scam. Drink?

Damianos didn’t seem to understand him. “You’re drunk,” he repeated.

Laurent waved his hand. “Astute observation. Are you trying to make it disappear by repeating it? If you say ‘Laurent is drunk’ three times, you’ll invoke—”

He was rambling. Damianos strode forward once, breaking his pace immediately. He gained and lost his assured expression in the same breath.

“This is the first time I see you in a year,” he started, running a hand in his hair, messing it up, “and you’re drunk.”

Why did he keep saying it? Laurent had seen him with a glass in hand: he could not pretend at perfection. Laurent pushed back from the column.

“Right,” he said, not entirely sure of the next words pushing out of his mouth. “This is as predictably boring as I thought it would be. If you’ll excuse me—”

“Wait.” Damianos’s arm shot up to block Laurent before he could step around him. It was for show and they both knew it: Laurent would be able to sidestep before Damianos could make up his mind to reach for him. “Were you avoiding me?”

“No.” Laurent made a dismissive gesture. “You don’t avoid a fly.”

“Is that what I am to you? Something to swat away?”

Laurent wanted to say yes, you are. Get out of my way. He wanted to say, no, because I’ve never felt this lost than this past year. His mouth felt full of cardboard.

“Damianos,” he started, focusing on the lapel of his jacket, rather than the strong chest under it or the face above his own, earnest and true when it was not bearable to be. “Damen.”

The look on Damen’s face changed with that word: in a flash, he was still the slightly arrogant young man who had swept Laurent off his feet even though he had felt nailed to the ground.

“I—” Laurent said, and then his phone rang.

They looked down at the same time. Laurent let out a little disbelieving laugh. Damen said “Your phone” like it was an incantation.

It was Auguste. It stopped ringing right when Laurent tapped to accept the call, then started again almost immediately.

Auguste wasn’t an anxious caller. There had to be a problem.

“Then you should go,” Damen said, and Laurent realized he’d said it out loud.

“Yes,” he said and picked up.

Damen turned away first, stepping aside to let Laurent go back toward the building.

Laurent went without turning back, trying not to hear the singular sound of his steps on gravel. He didn’t want to think about Damen’s solitary figure next to the white stone, half cast in the shadows like an echo of the past.

He did anyway.

[littlespoonevan]

RIGHTYO since you offered to make my day how about either "5. In the back seat of the car", "23: Reunion" or "14: in public" for andreil? :D I couldn't decide so whatever you like the best

asjkdhfks Tina, I don’t know how you managed to pick the three prompts that are all so tempting asjhd it took me forever to decide one which one to go with but amnesia aus are my secret weakness and I felt like it would be sO PAINFUL with these two, I couldn’t help myself

I feel like this got so long it should probably be on ao3 instead but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  lmao I hope you like it!!!!!

23. Reunion

*

From the very beginning, Andrew has been cautious inhis relationship with Neil.

It’s a self-preservation tactic; even before Neilstarted wanting him back he knew he couldn’t have this. He’s always beensilently waiting for the day Neil will be taken away from him.

He just didn’t expect it to happen like this.

Temporary retrograde amnesia.

After their game, the backliner that had beenhounding Neil all night had caught him off guard right as Neil had taken offhis helmet, barrelling into him and knocking him to the ground. Neil’s head hadbounced off the hardwood floor of the court with a sickening crack and Andrewwould’ve likely ended up with another assault charge under his belt had he notbeen so concerned with the fact that Neil wasn’t immediately waking up.

Now he’s sitting in the hospital waiting room,feeling anxiety roll off his teammates in waves and choking down his own furyas the doctor explains to them that Neil appears to have lost his memory as aresult of his head injury.

It’stemporary, she says.

Wecan’t say for sure when he’ll get his memories back,she says.

Supportand patience is what he needs from you most right now,she says.

Hedoesn’t seem to remember anything from the last two years, at least,she says.

The last one is what piques Andrew’s interest andhe’s immediately pushing himself out of his chair, intent on making a beelinefor Neil’s room.

“Andrew, they didn’t say we could go in yet!” Wymackcalls after him, sounding exasperated and exhausted.

“He doesn’t remember,” Andrew says, not bothering tolook over his shoulder as he makes his way to the door of the waiting room.“He’s going to run.”

That seems to spur the foxes into action and there’sa mini stampede behind him as he charges down the hall to Neil’s room.

Neil is in bed with a nurse checking one of themachines he’s hooked up to when they arrive. He seems calm from the outside butAndrew recognises the wild look in his eyes. He’s panicking. He’s trying tofigure out how to escape.

“Neil,” Matt says beseechingly and Neil stopsfidgeting where he lays, eyes wide as he focuses on the crowd in his doorway.His gaze travels from one of them to the next and Andrew’s stomach churns whenthere’s no flicker of recognition on Neil’s face as he looks at him.

He hangs back as the others crowd Neil. They allstart talking over one another before Aaron begrudgingly points out thatthey’re going to overwhelm him. He shoots Andrew a sidelong glance as he saysit but Andrew doesn’t return it.

He listens for a minute or two as Matt takes up therole of explaining to Neil what’s happened but he can’t stomach it for verylong before he’s storming out of the room and out of the hospital altogether.He sits on the bench out on the sidewalk instead, a cigarette clutched betweenhis trembling fingers.

He’s not sure how long he stays out there for – aslong as it takes him to burn through six cigarettes – before he’s joined bysomeone.

Nicky knows better than to sit next to him but herounds the bench so he’s standing in front of Andrew, hands stuffed in thepockets of his jacket to ward off the chill.

“Aren’t you going to come inside?” he asks after abelated silence.

Andrew raises his eyes to look at him, offering himno answer other than another drag of his cigarette.

“Andrew, he’s your boyfriend,” Nicky says, voice fraying at the edges and finallylosing some of his patience.

“No, he’s not,” Andrew replies dully and Nicky huffs.

“Now isn’t the time for your stupid riddles aboutyour relationship,” he snaps, expression turning pleading. “Andrew, he’s hurtand he’s fucking scared and he won’t believe anything we tell him. He thinkswe’re just feeding him back the cover story he thinks he’s fed us.”

“And what do you want me to do? He doesn’t remember me,” he says through grittedteeth. And that’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? Neil is here but he isn’t.He doesn’t remember Andrew; he doesn’t remember anything. And Andrew feelsunbalanced, unsteady, like the wind has been knocked out of him.

He- he lovesNeil. In whatever fucked up way he’s capable of feeling love. And he’s gottenused to it. The affection, the comfort, the steadiness he feels with Neil’spresence by his side.

And in one fell swoop it’s been taken away from him.

What’s he supposed to do now?

Nicky’s expression softens like he understands andAndrew hates that too. He hates that Neil’s made him vulnerable, that Neil hasmade him more open. Even if it’s just a sliver.

“Andrew,” Nicky says quietly. “Even when you twohated each other, you were able to convince him to stay. Can you just try?”

Andrew squares his jaw, stubbing out his cigarette onthe bench before standing up. He doesn’t say anything to Nicky or pause to lethim follow but Nicky seems to recognise his acquiescence for what it is andkeeps his thoughts to himself as they make their way back inside the hospital.

The rest of the foxes are waiting outside Neil’s roomwhen he comes back inside and he doesn’t slow to talk to them before he’spushing open the door.

Neil looks up in surprise at the sound of Andrew’sentrance and Andrew can feel his eyes on him as he casually drops into thechair beside the bed.

Holding onto his calm has never felt quite asimpossible as it does now with Neil watching him with a curious gaze but Andrewforces himself to remain impassive.

“You’re not Aaron,” is the first thing Neil says andAndrew quashes down the hope that festers in his chest. He and Aaron aren’tdressed the same and, as oblivious as Neil can be, he’s perceptive when itcomes to details he thinks might be important. It’s not recognition and hecan’t let his mind believe it to be.

“Astute observation,” he says blandly.

Neil continues to stare at him, eventually asking,“Why did they send you?”

“They’re under the impression you actually listen tome.” The truth is, it’s always been the other way around. Andrew always listensto Neil, even when it goes against his better judgement.

“Listen to you about what?”

Andrew finally lifts his head to meet Neil’s gaze andit hurts. It hurts to see the blankexpression, it hurts to see the spark of interest that’s usually evident inNeil’s eyes missing, it hurts to see there’s no affection that Andrew’s grownso accustomed to.

“They think I can convince you not to run,” he says.

Neil visibly startles at that, expression suddenlymuch more guarded than it was before. “What?”

“You’re on the third floor of the hospital. There’san elevator to your left and a stairwell at the end of the hall to the right. Thereare cameras but they have blind spots – I’m sure you’d figure those outquickly. You’d get to the exit but you wouldn’t even make it to the highway beforesomeone would find you. So,” he says plainly. “Don’t run.”

Neil is watching him with a calculating look now andat least it’s something familiar.Andrew has seen this look before. Not for over a year, but he’s still seen it.

“If you know me as well as you apparently do, youshould know I’d find a way,” Neil says after a too-long pause.

“Abram,” Andrew says softly, gut twisting at the wayNeil’s entire frame stills at the word.

He looks at Andrew, and Andrew decides to answer hisunspoken question.

“You’re not Nathaniel anymore. You don’t rememberNeil. But you’re always Abram.”

“Who told you that?” Neil asks, voice quiet to maskhis panic.

“You did,” he tells him. “A year ago. When you wantedme to trust you. I’m giving it back to you now. Trust me.”

Neil squints his eyes as though he’s trying to workAndrew out. The joke’s on him; Andrew can’t even work himself out. “Whathappened?” he asks eventually.

Andrew feels like releasing a sigh of relief but hesuppresses it. “Your mother is dead. Your father is dead. Your uncle killedhim. All his associates are either dead or in prison. You’re under Moriyamaprotection. You officially have permission to play exy for the rest of yourlife. It’s over, Neil.”

Neil releases a slow breath, digesting theinformation, before he finally meets Andrew’s gaze with vulnerable eyes. “It’sreally over?”

Andrew nods once and Neil closes his eyes.

They don’t talk for the rest of the night but Neil doesn’ttry to run and Andrew stays. It’s at some point in the middle of the night,with Neil asleep and the room dark save for the glow from the heart monitor,that Andrew finally allows the fear to settle beneath his skin as he turnsNeil’s keys over in his hand.

He’s scared.

He’s scared Neil won’t remember. He’s scared of Neillooking at him like he’s nothing, like thisis nothing. It’s never been nothing and Andrew has only just admitted tohimself – quietly, in the deepest recesses of his mind – that this iseverything.

He cranes his head back, closing his eyes andreleasing a careful breath.

The walls are collapsing in and he’s not sure howmuch longer he can keep them standing.

*

Neil has been in hospital for four days.

He still feels odd, referring to himself as Neil, butafter his conversation with Andrew, Matt had brought him his passport anddriver’s license to show him. It feels odd but at the same time somewhatfamiliar. The same feeling you get when something is on the tip of your tonguebut you can’t quite remember what it is.

Andrew hasn’t been alone with him since the firstnight and doesn’t stick around much even when the other foxes are there. Neilhasn’t asked but he can tell their relationship is different to the one heshares with everyone else.

Andrew had been the one he’d believed the firstnight, the one who seemed to know how to actually get through to him. Neilnever envisioned he’d let someone close enough to him that they’d know him thatwell but evidently, Andrew is an exception.

(Not to mention, the little slip ups everyone hasbeen making tell him all he really needs to know.)

A few of the other foxes are with him now, talkingabout how the doctors said Neil could be discharged tomorrow since he seems tobe recovering well – besides the whole amnesia thing.

“Oh. Neil,” Matt says, getting out of his chair andgoing to the corner of the room. He grabs a small duffle bag, coming over toNeil’s bed. “We brought some of your stuff just in case you do get to go home tomorrow.”

Matt drops the bag into Neil’s lap and Neil tugs atthe zipper to open it. It’s mainly clothes but what he presumes are his phoneand his keys sit on top of the pile. He takes them out one at a time, firstturning the phone over in his hands and inspecting it. He’s not surprised whenit doesn’t jog his memory but he can’t help feeling slightly disappointed.

He picks up the keys next, going through each one onthe ring. Kevin tells him the first three are for the court before Neil can evenask and he hears Nicky punch Kevin’s shoulder, telling him to let Neil try andfigure it out on his own first.

Neil doesn’t pay attention to them though, looking atthe other three keys. One is a car key – for what car, he has no idea. Theother two are similar and he guesses one must be the key for his dorm room.

“What’s this key for?” he asks, choosing one of themat random.

Nicky moves closer to inspect the key, letting out anamused noise. “That’s for the house in Columbia. Damn, I didn’t know Andrew wasthat serious. He must’ve given it to you when you guys were there this summer.”

Neil frowns. That doesn’t sound right.

“He didn’t.”

“Hmm?” Nicky asks.

Neil looks up, the tail end of a memory at the cornerof his mind. “He didn’t,” he repeats slowly.

Thekeys, the trust, the honesty, the kisses.

“He gave it to me last year, at the start of theschool year.”

Nicky’s eyes widen at that. “Back then?” he asks in disbelief.

“Nicky, not the point,” Dan cuts it, fixing Neil witha serious expression. “Neil, do you remember?”

The doctor had told Neil his memories could all comeback at once but he’s still not prepared for the onslaught that hits him, twoyears of memories flashing through his mind’s eye and pressing against the insideof his skull. It’s like a tidal wave and Neil shuts his eyes as he tries topiece through them all.

Some of it is a bit jumbled up but at the centre ofat all…

He looks up, unsure how long he’s been silent as hemeets the hopeful expressions of Dan, Matt, Nicky, Allison and Kevin. “Where’sAndrew?” he asks quietly.

“He’s back at the dorms with Renee,” Allison answersafter a beat and Neil’s fingers tighten around his keys. The weight of how muchthe past few days must have impacted Andrew hitting him full force.

He reaches for his phone, tries to turn it on andlets out a frustrated breath when he realises it’s dead. He looks up, findingNicky’s gaze. “Call him.”

“Neil, do you remember?” Matt asks, repeating Dan’searlier question.

“Yes,” he says impatiently, directing his next wordsto Nicky. “Call him.”

Nicky’s mouth drops open in shock before he springsinto action and fumbles for his phone in his pocket. Matt says something aboutgoing to get a doctor but Neil ignores him, full focus on Nicky diallingAndrew’s number.

It takes too long for Andrew to get there and Neil spendsthe time sitting through an examination from his doctor, answering questionsand getting frequently irate as they continue, eyes trained on the door to hisroom.

When Andrew finally arrives, pushing through thefoxes blocking the door, Neil feels his breath catch in his throat.

Andrew is watching him, visibly keeping a tenuous strangleholdon his emotions, though Neil thinks no one can really tell except him.

“Andrew,” he says and he hopes it sounds different.He hopes Andrew can hear the difference.

Andrew doesn’t react and Renee ushers the foxes outof the room – Neil makes a mental note to thank her later.

“Come here,” Neil tries again, softly, with feelinghe normally reserves for the privacy of their own room.

It gets Andrew to move though. He walks over to thebed on stiff legs, stopping just by Neil’s hip. Neil sits up, meets his gazehead on and raises a hand. He lets it hover in the air first, right by Andrew’scheek, but Andrew doesn’t flinch or move or sayno so Neil carefully lays his fingers against Andrew’s cheekbone.

Andrew’s eyes are ablaze and Neil wets his lips. “I’msorry I didn’t remember you,” he whispers.

There’s a split second of still and then Andrew ispulling him into a crushing hug.

Neil releases a shaky breath, hands clutching at theback of Andrew’s jacket.

“If you ever do anything like that ever again, Iswear to god, Josten-“ Andrew tries to threaten, pulling back for half a secondbefore he’s hugging Neil again just as fiercely as before.

“Okay,” Neil soothes, burying his face in Andrew’sneck and breathing him in. “Okay,” he repeats.

Neil can feel the tension slowly seeping out ofAndrew’s bones the longer he holds on and when Andrew finally sags against himNeil raises his head, gently bumping their temples together. “Lie down with me?”he requests.

It takes a bit of manoeuvring but eventually Andrewis lying on the bed with him. Neil is turned on his side, head pillowed on thespot where Andrew’s chest meets his shoulder while Andrew’s fingers curl lightlythrough his hair.

Andrew is quiet, staring up at the ceiling, but it’snot the peaceful kind of quiet they’ve both become used to. Andrew is deep inthought and Neil only needs one guess to figure out what about.

“Hey,” he says softly. “I promised you I wouldn’tleave. I meant it.”

Andrew’s hand stills in his hair for a moment but hedoesn’t look at Neil when he speaks. “I told you to stop making promises youcan’t keep.”

“I can keep it,” Neil protests, pushing himself up onhis elbow and leaning over Andrew too look at him.

Andrew stares at him, jaw working. “Two hours ago youwere in no fit state to.”

Neil huffs, feeling frustrated as he tries to thinkof the best way to explain where his mind’s been for the past few days. “Nobut- you were still the one I trusted the most. You were still the one I wascurious about.”

Andrew continues to look up at him, silent and stonyas ever.

“Why do you find it so hard to believe I could fallin love with you?” Neil finally whispers and he watches the way the words makeAndrew come undone. Just a little bit.

Andrew’s throat bobs and his eyes search Neil’sexpression like he’s looking for an escape. “It’s hard enough to believe once. Idon’t expect it to happen twice.”

Neil’s chest aches at that because how can Andrewstill not understand? How can he still not see it? He takes a second to let therevelation wash over him before he meets Andrew’s gaze again. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

Neil leans down, connecting their foreheads beforetheir lips but when they do kiss he tries to pour everything into it. All thethings they don’t say out loud. All the things they don’t even say tothemselves.

He pulls back after a minute or so – neither of themare in the right headspace for any more right now – and he settles his headback on Andrew’s chest, seeking out Andrew’s free hand and playing with hisfingers. Andrew’s other hand returns to his hair and Neil feels contentment slowlysurround him once again.

“I promise I’m not leaving,” he says one last time.

Andrew doesn’t reply but he doesn’t pull away either.

The silence between them now is fragile, uncertainafter too many confessions, but Neil lets it be. Instead, he focuses onrefamiliarising himself with his sense memory.

Taking in the smoky scent of Andrew’s clothes,listening to Andrew’s quiet, measured breaths, lips turned in to remind himselfof Andrew’s taste, eyes fixed on the strong line of Andrew’s jaw where his faceis turned towards the ceiling once again and, finally, he feels.

Touching the callouses on Andrew’s hand, feeling thetingle down his own spine as Andrew’s fingers card through his hair, envelopinghimself in the warmth that emanates from Andrew’s body.

His entire world could be erased but this. He doesn’tthink he could ever forget this.

*

[d-noona]

AERO

SUMMARY: In a future of political, economic and moral collapse, a genetically enhanced superhuman prototype named Y/N escapes from military confines and dwells amidst the decadent underground street life of *Seoul* to avoid government agents who want to bring her back into the fold.

WORDS: 2943

Jeon Jungkook x Reader

M.LIST | CH. 10

CHAPTER 09 - THE VISITOR

After getting extremely annoyed coming back home empty handed once again in search of Taehyung and Hoseok, Y/N enters her shared apartment. She calls out for her best friend "Choon, are you home?" But to her dismay she realizes that her best friend is working late shifts at the hospital. Y/N pulls off her leather jacket, drops it on the floor. She kicks off one boot, then the other, then peels off her black turtleneck revealing a black lacy bra underneath, she dives onto her futon and sighs. Not out of fatigue, more like the weight of the world weighing on her tonight. Reminiscing on her two lost friends. She lies there beat, then she senses something. Call it vibration, intuition. She sits up suddenly and is very still, like deer in the forest listening for a predator's approach, then she turns and look behind her and sees the Gold Statue on a milk crate bookshelf against the wall.

Y/N gets up, crosses to the statue, picks up the item and look at it a long moment trying to run the math. Then, impetuously she heads out of the room colleting her just doffed clothes as she goes.

She rides her rice-burner without any helmet, flaring through the night to a familiar alley way as she jumps up the tall building. She steps over the ledge and sees the very familiar building across. The apartment that she once attempted to rob.

The luxurious apartment, subdued lighting. Y/N drops down from the familiar skylight landing in a crouch. She sees Jungkook, standing in the dining room, just lighting a candle at the long table. There are two place settings. He looks at Y/N and blows out the match. "Have you ever noticed how cats always seem to turn up around dinner time?" he smirks at Y/N as he continues to fix the table with food and drinks for his astute guest. Y/N giving Jungkook an icy glare responds "I won't be staying"

"I'm not a half bad cook" he smiles at his guest. The tastefully arrayed table suggests this is an understatement. Wary of her surroundings Y/N paces slowly towards the living room "Like following me around and pestering the people I work with wasn't bad enough, but breaking into my apartment?" Jungkook tilts his head to the side, seemingly like a bad habit. "It was open"

"You got a lotta nerve" Y/N responds in anger. "Me? You're the one who tried to rip off this place." Jungkook continues to put the salad on the table for his guest, not paying much attention to Y/N as she glares at him. She spat in irritation "Completely different situation. I steal things in order to sell them. For money. It's called commerce, but some stranger sneaking into a girl's bedroom is bent."

"Bent?" amused Jungkook raises his eyebrow with a smirk on his face. "Bent. How am I supposed to ever sleep there again knowing some pervert probably touched everything I owned?" as Y/N paces left to right in a slow sultry manner, just like a cat would. Jungkook gave out a naughty laugh and smiled "If you're that nervous, you're welcome to stay here."

Y/N feigns complete revulsion at the thought as Ruben the security guard enters in a rush, drawing his gun menacingly, some ace wrapping on his wrist and a bandage on the bridge of his nose. "Whoa there boy, we've been through all this." As Y/N raises both hands in order for Ruben to see that she is no way going the let the man touch a single hair of hers. "It's okay Ruben, we're fine" says Jungkook as he sits at the chair nearby. Y/N raises an eyebrow at Jungkook "We are not fine"

Ruben lowers the gun but continues to watch Y/N suspiciously. "This is a tactical exposure which I go on record as not liking" says the muscle man. "Noted, Ruben do me a favor and look in on Janna and Juliette." Replied the walking hot stick with a mole right below his luscious lips.

Ruben grudgingly exits and Y/N circles the table. She idly kicks the plywood which has been fastened over the window she broke the last time she was there. Jungkook sighs at his failed plan. "Look, Y/N if I made you feel uncomfortable or creeped out. I am truly sorry. It wasn't my intention, but I had to see you."

Y/N doesn't know what came over her, perhaps the heat is coming on as she looks at the man in front of her she feels the sickening grudge pulling her from below. She attempts to stay away to avoid his eyes and his touch. She turns slightly looking at Jungkook briefly "You'd think a guy who's taken on the job of saving the world would have a few more important things to do than traipse around after some girl."

Following on the lead of flirting which Jungkook knows all too well, he rides on "I haven't been able to get you out of my mind" he says. He reaches out for Y/N's hand "Come here. I want to show you something." Putting a hand on each shoulder, he steers her over to an ornate mirror hanging above the sideboard. "Tell me what you see." As Jungkook point out to the mirror.

"Gold leaf, art nouveau, French, early nineteen hundreds. I could probably fence this for about three or four grand easy." Y/N says while observing the piece of art hanging. However Jungkook points to her reflection in the mirror. "No, I mean this" as Jungkook gently places his hand on Y/N's chin. "Probably the most singularly beautiful face I've ever seen."

Y/N was caught off guard and was embarrassed, face turned red as she looks down "Expensive gifts, surprise late night visits, over the top flattery. You really always come on this strong?" as she questions, looking up at Jungkook. He gently massages Y/n's nape, as he brushes his hair from behind "Only when I meet someone I have to know everything about." He continues to lean in giving soft kisses and licks on her ear. Y/N doesn't resist feeling a tying knot forming below her pelvic line, she heaves and inhales him drunken at the arousal building up. He brushes Y/N's hair more revealing a bar code on her neck. "And now I think I know pretty much about everything." He abruptly pulls away, leaving Y/N standing there hot, bothered and confused by the interruption.

"Suppose I can help you locate the other ones." Jungkook says as he moves towards the living room of the apartment. Y/N follows him with a confused look on her face then realizes the predicament she's in. Turning pale and wary of the man opposite of her. She plays dumb "The other ones?" she asks. "You lost me" she continues.

"Come on Y/N. first I watch you dive headfirst out the window fifteen stories up like you're Super woman. Then, I found this in your apartment." Jungkook continues as he pulls a vial of pills out his pocket. Y/N registers outrage, however this doesn't stop Jungkook "L-Triptophane. A neurotransmitter sometimes used in homeopathy to control seizures. Then the light bulb went off." He smirks at Y/N since he knows he got her good.

"You did go through my stuff" Y/N states in horror. As Jungkook turns and head into his study, Y/N follows him, Jungkook starts typing information on the computer keyboard. "I got an anonymous report years ago from a guy who was a lab technician at a covert genetics lab in Daegu Mountains." Jungkook blabbers on as he continues to pull out a file labelled Project Aero. The same file fills the computer screen.

"I don't know what you're on about but I'm out coz you're fucking insane" says Y/N as she starts to back away. However Jungkook didn't acknowledge her as he continues to speak "He said they were working on something called Project Aero, which was using recombinant DNA to produce a superior human. A warrior, an advance infantry soldier. Apparently these soldiers have special abilities. Super strength, speed, endurance, and who knows what else they might've cooked up in your genes" as he stares at Y/N.

Y/N stops at her tracks and turns in anguish "Not that I don't enjoy a good urban legend but what does any of this have to with me?" Jungkook looks up at Y/N. "The barcode on your neck Y/N. I know who you are and what you're running from." The revelation freezes Y/N in her tracks, she suddenly bolts but Jungkook rushes to her, catching her, and looks up her eyes with utmost concern. "There were two other transgenic males captured from the initial escape, and in 2020 a few months after the pulse, they escaped. There were only 3 of you left that were successful to this project Y/N. Only 3 out of hundreds genetically enhanced hybrids. The rest died during experimentation."

Y/N struggles and loses her balance. Her brain goes out of her wits when she hears this. "Taehyung and Hoseok?" The emotion is plainly evident in her eyes. "You're one of those transgenics Y/N. Now you'd be called a hybrid." Jungkook attempts to steady Y/N as she starts to fade and bend over to peer at her eyes. "Look at me. Listen, I am not your enemy. You are safe with me. Trust me." As Jungkook gently massages Y/N's arms as she looks straight into his eyes, for some reason unknown reason this man knows a part of her life, he may use her, and he just be the death of her, but no matter because she for some reason trusts him. Y/N sits on a couch relating the specifics of her history to Jungkook.

"We got separated right away. I never knew if they made it." As tears fall from Y/N's eyes. "How old are you exactly?" Jungkook's curiosity got the best of him. Y/n gave Jungkook a small smile "Well I was 33 when they took me in way back 2017, whatever they injected seems to make my aging stop, also allowing me to look younger than my normal years." Y/N shrugs off the surprise look on Jungkook's face.

"How well do you remember the lab?" He trails on question after question. "I remember fine after the lab and the plane crash. We and several other survivors were dragged into the lab. We could've been declared dead by the government, however anything prior to the crash is just a blur. None of us remembers our previous lives prior to being dragged in, when we got to the lab there were prior experiments. Hoseok and Taehyung were one of those in vitro babies, they were already living in the facility before we got dragged in, they were the younger yet earlier generations, Taehyung was 14 and Hoseok was 15. The rest were plane crash survivors. Ages ranging from 9 to atleast 50's. As far as I can recall we all had a normal life before all this, though most of our memories have already been erased. I was the only survivor left in the crash that was successful to the project. My DNA structure was changed after birth as compared to Tae and Hoseok, their DNA has been etched since birth. I just didn't understand what was going on during the time. They held the survivors for months, did experiments, we never questioned anyone. We we're all too scared. They never told us anything except what to do. I was in a cell block with Hoseok and Taehyung and the others. Then slowly as months pass by it was just down to five. There were two other girls with us from the escape but they were in such bad shape before we bolted. I'm not sure if Jondy or Max survived. They were younger than I was at least."

"How much do you know?" as Jungkook continues to question Y/N which she obliges to answer seriously. She felt good having to share such valuable information of her life with someone after many years of trying to hide what she is. "I know they made me. Got the branding on my neck to prove it. Whoever I was prior to the accident was no longer existent." She sighs.

"Yeah, the technical term for you is a Chimera." Jungkook adds. Y/N stares blankly into Jungkooks eyes. "Yep, a made-up creature. Like in mythology, head of a lion, body of a goat and a tail..." Jungkook cuts Y/N "Of a girl" he says and gave her a weak smile.

Y/n chuckles in Jungkook's attempt to stop her from describing the monster she sees her to be "Your basic freak" Y/N adds in. Jungkook stares at her in amusement "Hardly. I meant what I said earlier, you truly are beautiful" Y/N acknowledges the compliment with a brief glance, then looks out the city lights as her cheeks reddened. Then she speaks "Christmas is a snap when you've been kidnapped from your family, no parents, and no relatives. Just a bunch of gene sequences from probably twenty different people and animals." She smirks at Jungkook. He laughs "Like extra virgin olive oil, the best of the best" he says.

"You know the weird thing is Taehyung and Hoseok lived in the lab for years, prior to us being put in together. I guess the Corporation was testing out possible outcomes of having to recombinant DNA on both in vitro babies and after birth. We got the short of the stick. They saw the opportunity and took us from our families. Prior to us being joined in the barracks with these kids. They were so different. Taehyung and Hoseok, they knew nothing but training. Nothing from the outside world. It's like they have no emotions. At all. But I guess that's where Aero messed up. They mixed us over with this kids and ended up confusing the kids, confirming true emotions. I owe my life to them you know." As Y/N blabbers away, tears fall from her eyes. Jungkook leans in and wipes her tears with his thumb. Y/n snaps out of it.

Turning from the window to face the young man "You said you could help." Jungkook got up from his seat approached Y/N, "I could search for your friends, since considering the predicament you're in they're the only family you have at this point in time. I can ask for my informant to gather information about the old lab you were held in and see what side effects their studies may have for you and your peers, maybe we can also find out more about your family and get you back." Jungkook holds Y/N's hand and rubs his thumb across it, she stares at the young man "I prefer not to find them, my family I mean. While I have the corporation following my ass, I don't want to endanger them. Though I would love to see and be with Hoseok and Taehyung again." Y/N stops for a brief second and turns to Jungkook again "What's in it for you?" He stands up and looks out the window "Your help."

Y/N stands up abruptly "I already don't like the sound of this."Jungkook acknowledges the threat and danger that he is asking of the girl but he has no choice in order to survive this he needs Y/N. "The woman you met. Janna, she supervised workers removing cortodiazapine from gel caps by hand and replacing it with powdered sugar. The real drug was being shipped out of the country to be sold to the highest bidder at the black market. The placebos were distributed to County VA Hospital and six veterans' clinics in the area. Janna Reid is prepared to testify that was instructed to this by one of Sonrisa's men. You know who Edgar Sonrisa is?

Y/N turns to look at Jungkook "Yeah, I caught one of your hacks. He's Satan's spawn or something." Jungkook attempts to reach out for Y/N's hand "So you know the lengths he'll go to keep Janna from going public. I'm turning Janna over for a witness protection but if you're with her the risk of her safety goes way down."

Y/N avoids Jungkook's gaze afraid for what may happen. "I didn't make it this far by attracting a lot of attention Jungkook. I am still on the run. They want me bad, I have people on my ass either wanting to put me back in a lab to do weird experiments on me or worse have me killed." Jungkook sees the fear in her eyes. A flash of the scared innocent by stander once shown. Wondering who Y/N was prior to all this mess she's in as of the present.

"They've lost track of me and I intend to keep it that way." Y/N stands up ready to leave as Jungkook attempts to stop her "You're a soldier Y/N. That's what you were put here for. But soldiers need a mission otherwise they tear themselves up." He says in desperation.

Y/N huffs at Jungkook "That's deep. But before you lecture me about the meaning of life, maybe think about my family who's been missing me, thinking that I died along that place crash years ago. Think about how I came to be, how this special abilities were made, you want a lesson in life? Maybe you oughta start getting one. Ta ta!" Then, Y/N leaps up and grabs the combing of the skylight. She pikes sharply, like a gymnast and pulls herself up though the opening, and just like that she's gone.

[getanattitude]

The Ultimate Glossary of Terms About best beginner keyboard

“The greater you dig into a bit of Ives, the more enjoyment you get from it,” the pianist Jeremy Denk mentioned not long ago, sitting in a piano in a rehearsal space on the Juilliard College. “It’s like solving a puzzle.”

Then he enthusiastically deconstructed Ives’s “Concord” Sonata, untangling and conveying the themes and motifs embedded during the intricate textures of the intriguing score.

Mr. Denk is going to launch a disc, “Jeremy Denk Plays Ives” (Feel Denk Media), showcasing two piano sonatas, an esoteric decision of repertory for any debut solo album. But then, there is nothing generic relating to this adventurous musician. His vivacious intellect is manifest the two in his playing and on his site, Feel Denk, an outlet for astute musical observations and witty musings, whether or not a lament about inedible meatballs or possibly a spoof job interview with Sarah Palin.

Mr. Denk will exhibit his much more mainstream credentials when he performs Liszt’s Piano Concerto No. one with Charles Dutoit as well as Philadelphia Orchestra commencing on Thursday with the Kimmel Heart in Philadelphia and on Oct. 12 at Carnegie Corridor.

Mr. Denk argues which the Ives sonatas, composed early from the twentieth century, are mistakenly classified as avant-garde works instead of “epic Intimate sonatas with Lisztian thematic transformations.” For the relaxed listener, the audio that Mr. Denk describes in the CD booklet as “good, creative, tender, edgy, wild, first, witty, haunting” can unquestionably sound avant-garde. Ives, who created his living in the insurance enterprise, included jazz, riffs on Beethoven and American hymns, marches and folk tunes into his daringly experimental piano sonatas, rich in polytonality, thematic layering and rhythmic complexity.

“It’s so splendidly in-your-confront,” Mr. Denk reported, demonstrating a very maniacal passage inside the “Concord” Sonata. “It’s also fairly amazingly unattractive. There is one thing maddening about his sense of humor. Ives is repeatedly thumbing his nose at you in a method.”

But Mr. Denk implies that Ives’s tenderness, which he illuminates beautifully On this recording, is underappreciated. “Ives is commonly about things recalled,” he reported, “or Recollections or visions fetched out of some tricky area.”

He performed the harmonically misty passages in the next movement on the “Concord,” exactly where Ives directs that a piece of Wooden be pressed about the higher keys to make a cluster chord. “It doesn’t really feel gimmicky in the least to me,” Mr. Denk said. “It’s all blues in The underside. Ives understood tips on how to use those tiny clichéd bits of Americana in a way that all of a sudden will get your gut. You may’t believe how touching it truly is.”

Mr. Denk, 40, has long been enthusiastic about Ives because his undergraduate days at Oberlin in Ohio, the place he carried a double significant in piano overall performance and chemistry. “My full double diploma expertise was considerably of the continual freakout of 1 kind of A different,” he explained.

He had been a “genuinely nerdy highschool student” that has a constrained social existence, he reported. “Ever considering the fact that I used to be A child I desired to check out Oberlin and preferred the liberal arts. Of course I really get intensive pleasure from drawing connections involving pieces and poems and literature and concepts.”

Mr. Denk described himself as being a “observe maniac,” but his horizons have prolonged far beyond the follow area since Oberlin. Though nibbling a massive bit of chocolate product pie at an Higher West Side diner near the condominium he has rented considering the fact that about 1999, Mr. Denk referred to his site, calling it “an surprisingly superior outlet to release tensions of 1 variety or A further.” He claimed it had drawn new listeners to his concert events. An avid reader of liberal political blogs, Mr. Denk goals of crafting a classical tunes Model of Wonkette, he claimed, but that could be tough to do with out offending persons. And he tries to steer clear of offending men and women, he added, even though he did a short while ago submit a rant about plan notes.

Mr. Denk, who phone calls himself “a real Francophile,” is delicate-spoken but extreme, his discussion peppered with references to varied “obsessions”: coffee, Ives, Bach, Proust, Baudelaire and Emerson.

He went off on “a Balzac mania” a several years in the past, he mentioned.

“That was a unsafe time, and every thing in everyday life seemed drawn out of a Balzac novel,” he additional. “I shed about a few decades of my life to Proust. I’m positive it modified every little thing, which include my enjoying.

“One day my manager was like, ‘Dude, You need to center on your vocation and finding your stuff jointly.’ ” At that time, Mr. Denk reported, “I used to be bringing Proust to meetings.” He additional: “I’m not sure I really experienced a profession route. I was just carrying out my Bizarre issue, which possibly seemed like a disastrous nonroute to most of the folks who have been watching above me. I keep in mind some exasperated meetings with my administration, but they ended up very individual and devoted, which I’m insanely grateful for.”

Mr. Denk grew up in Las Cruces, N.M., one among two brothers, a son of tunes-loving nonmusician mother and father. His father, that has a doctorate in chemistry, continues to be (at distinct situations) a Roman Catholic monk as well as a director of Computer system science at New Mexico Condition College.

Mr. Denk stays hooked on the chili peppers of Las Cruces, he stated, seemingly only half joking: “The red and the green and The complete spirituality of chili peppers. It’s nevertheless a huge Component of my life. Once i go household I drop by this actual dive and obsess in excess of their green meat burrito.”

When not on tour, Mr. Denk spends time together with his boyfriend, Patrick Posey, a saxophonist as well as the director of orchestral routines and setting up at Juilliard, wherever Mr. Denk obtained his doctorate, finding out with Herbert Stessin. Mr. Stessin recollects owning been impressed by “the maturity and intensity” of Mr. Denk’s actively playing and remembers him as “a rare scholar who absorbed items very speedily.”

Mr. Denk explained he “was in school forever” until eventually “at some point I chose to trust my own instincts.” Now he teaches double-degree undergraduates for the Bard Faculty Conservatory of Music. The pianist Allegra Chapman, who analyzed with him, mentioned he was “concerned with a great deal greater than the notes around the web site, always citing literary and historical references.”

“Now I endeavor to tactic songs within a additional holistic standpoint,” she extra. “He is quite passionate. He used to soar across the room and bounce about and wave his arms. It was actually entertaining. He tried to get me to consider the new music having a humorousness.”

This combination of enthusiasm, humor and intellect, so vivid in both equally Mr. Denk’s taking part in and his crafting, is what distinguishes him, based on the violinist Joshua Bell. The two have already been typical duo associates due to the fact 2004, whenever they carried out on the Spoleto Pageant United states of america.

“You obtain the intellectual musicians or individuals who don their coronary heart on their sleeve and not using a lots of musical thought,” Mr. Bell explained, “but Jeremy manages to carry out both of those, Which’s ideal. Now we have lots of arguments in rehearsal, which can be the fun section at the same time. The actual fact we don’t normally see eye to eye retains things fresh and would make me query every little thing I do.”

Mr. Bell, whose selections of repertory are typically more common than Those people of his a lot more adventurous colleague, stated he wasn’t always an Ives fan: “Which has a great deal of recent music I’m somewhat cautious. Despite Ives, right up until I listened to Jeremy. He just delivers it alive. He has this sort of a great creativeness, and nothing is done randomly.”

Ives’s piano sonatas, Mr. Denk explained, “are in a method like animals that don’t want to be tamed.”

“Just about every efficiency needs to be so diverse,” he included, just one purpose he was at first hesitant to file them. Like Bach, he mentioned, Ives leaves lots to the performer’s creativeness.

A great interpretation of your “Goldberg” Variations at Symphony Room in 2008 disclosed Mr. Denk’s profound affinity with Bach. Mr. Denk will carry out the operate and Books 1 and a pair of of Ligeti’s Études at Zankel Hall on Feb. sixteen.

To keep the “Goldberg” Variants refreshing, Mr. Denk is incorporating new fingerings, he claimed, “to reactivate the link concerning my brain and my fingers After i’m taking part in it.”

“I believe it’s an actual magical position when you have the muscle memory,” he included, “although the brain is ahead of your fingers.”

Transforming the fingerings is one way to stay clear of program, he said. “I get actual enjoyment from creating in a very superior fingering. It truly is like relearning the piece, and it will make you not choose any Take note without any consideration.”

The musical philosophy Mr. Denk relates to Bach, Ives and various repertory is probably finest summed up in that site put up on program notes: “I’ve by no means been an enormous enthusiast in the ‘Envision how groundbreaking this piece was when it was penned’ faculty of inspiration. For my revenue, it ought to be innovative now. (And it's.) No matter what else the composer may need intended, she or he didn’t want you to Assume, ‘Boy, that must are already great again then.’ The most elementary compositional intent, absolutely the ur-intent, is that you Participate in it now, you make it transpire now.”

[brightlycoloredteacups]

Just Let Me Hold You

@vitalanidragonbane

Admittedly, this probably isn’t what you had in mind when you asked me for more Sugar Daddy Ivar. But he demanded to be loved today. I’m sorry if this isn’t want you wanted. 

Sugar Daddy Ivar

SFW (For once)

           Ivar Lothbrok would never be able to throw you over his shoulder, he couldn’t fuck you against a wall, couldn’t fuck you on top of the dining room table, it was simply beyond his capabilities. This did not mean he couldn’t fuck you. In fact, he fucked you very well.

           Using a combination of toys, a hundred meaningless nights with hookers, and his own astute observations, Ivar could make you sing like a goddamned canary. And there was no mistaking the pride he felt when you came undone. Underneath him, on top of him, all tied up and gagged, it was always a pleasure to see, even more pleasurable to hear.

           The best part of it all was your desire for him. The heat in your eyes that matched his own, the hunger and passion in your kisses. Some days, when entire weeks had gone by and you hadn’t seen him, you’d claw at him, ripping buttons from his expensive shirts just to get at the flesh underneath. Nothing in all the world made him feel more wanted, more desire than when you did that. The bruises and marks that you left on his skin was all the evidence he needed to quiet that niggling voice inside his head that insisted you were only doing it because he was paying for everything.

           He loved the envy he received from other men, and even some women. You were achingly gorgeous, incredibly charming, and even funny if you had the mind to be. You would make the perfect trophy wife of some rich asshole if you had the wherewithal. You didn’t. You enjoyed books as much as diamonds, witty conversations as much as yacht rides. You made him look good in the eyes of others, in turn he treated you with reverence, as goddesses should be treated.

           As much as he liked the sex, with as good as you made him look, it was moments like these he chose to burn into his mind’s eye. You were sitting next to him on the bed, warmest, fuzziest onesie on, fuzzy slippers with a tiger pattern on your feet. There was a book in one hand, the other was grasping his, fingers tangled together. Holding hands to you was just an afterthought, it was something you did so often you didn’t even think about it anymore. It made Ivar’s heart ache with love for you. You reached for him as if it were the most natural thing in all the world.

           A year ago, this simple act of affection would’ve broken his heart. He once had to pretend every small gesture you sent his way was done out of love, not because he paid for everything. He remembered very clearly the small kisses he would leave on your skin when you slept. In the dead of night, he held you, smelled the perfume of your skin, felt the heat of you and pretended, for just a moment that you loved him too. When he took you from behind it was easier to fool himself into thinking that you desired him as much as he desired you. Long hours in the darkness were spent creating an illusion of comfort, only to be broken with the arrival of dawn.

           Now all his midnight dreams were true. He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed it. The small smile on your face made him smile too. This was what love felt like, contentment. In this moment, not even Sigurd’s jealous words could penetrate his bliss. “I think we should heat up the spaghetti in the fridge.” You tell him. He only hums in agreement. In truth, he doesn’t want to move. It’s cold out now, and the pain in his legs is severe. You close your book and look at him, sparkle in your eye.

“Come on,” You say, removing your hand from his. “I’ll even feed you off my plate.” He chuckles, moving to sit up. He groans, the pain in his legs greater than he anticipated. You look at him. Internally, he begs you not to ask him if he’s in pain, it will ruin the moment. Instead, you something else entirely.

           You settle on his side of the bed and begin to roll his pant leg up without hesitation. He grabs your hands, forty years of fear telling him he needs to stop you. You look at him, brow furrowed. “I’m fine.” He says. “Don’t be a damned baby.” You snap, trying to remove his hands from yours. “Ivar, let go of me.”

“I’m fine,” He says again. It comes out more like a plea than anything. “Ivar,”

“Just don’t,” he’s quiet, trying not to yell at you. It’s important you don’t touch his legs. If you do, you’ll realize he’s wrong and you’ll run for the hills. “Ivar, I’ve seen your legs before,” You remind him. Yes, you have, many times, but you’ve never touched them. He’s panicking on the inside, wondering what he can do to prevent this. “I’ll just-”

“You’ll just sit there and let me take care of you.” You snap. Ivar purses his lips, biting back the vicious retort threatening to come forth. Ivar watches as your face softens. The look in your eye is telling, you’re going to change tactics. “Is it so wrong to want to take care of my baby?” You ask, bringing his hands to your mouth to kiss. “To love him and want him to feel his best?”

“Please don’t do this to me.” He begs. “I only want to make my baby feel better.” Your leaning in now, brushing your lips against his. Ivar is weak against you. As much as he loves the control, he has no defenses against forty years of longing for someone like you. “I love my baby,” You continue after breaking the kiss. “So, so much.” You kiss him again, running your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly. This is what makes him crumble. “Fine,” He says, leaning back on the headboard. “Fine.”

           He closes his eyes, unable to take the sight of your disgusted. As you roll his pant legs up, he prepares himself for utter heartbreak. He goes through his mind, remembering all the good moments you had, knowing they would be the only things to get him through this rejection. He breathes in deeply, and lets it out slowly, determined not to get choked up. He couldn’t keep you forever, of course, you were just under contract. Your love for him was fragile, it wouldn’t survive this.

           He jumps when he feels your soft hands touch the leg closest to you. “Is it that painful?” You ask. He grits his jaw but says nothing. Squeezing his eyes tightly, he’s determined not to look at you as you rub his twisted limb. “My poor, sweet Ivar,” You say, working out the knots. “You should’ve let me do this sooner.” He still doesn’t answer you. His humiliation lasts forever, or it seems like it does. He fists the sheets, grinds his teeth, wondering when you’re going to run screaming from him and never come back.

           He’s wondering if he can beg you for one last night together before you leave him, No sex, no kissing, even no touching if you didn’t want it. He simply wanted to watch you sleep, buried comfortably in his sheets, pretending once again you cared. Just one last time.

           This is when you take him by complete surprise. You stop for a few moments to lean down and place a kiss to his knee. He’s so shocked he yelps. You jump up and look at him wide eyed. “Did I hit a bad knot? I’m sorry baby. I’ll try to be more gentle.” You place another kiss on his knee and get back to work. Ivar watches you, mouth hanging open. It’s as if his most secret wish had come to life.

           This is the most intimate thing you’ve ever done to his body, and you’ve done some pretty intimate things. With every stroke of your hands, he feels a shiver down his spine. Finally, he can’t take it anymore. He grabs your wrists and yanks you to his chest. “Ivar, really? Let me finish.”

“I will,” He promises. “Later, Just let me hold you for a moment.”  

I promise we’ll return to our regularly scheduled smut in the next one. But like I said, Ivar demanded to be loved. 

[objectofobsession-blog1]

[Gymnophobia]

   @botanyknowledge

It’s inevitable to the survivors that they’ll need to wash themselves of the dirt and grime they manage to pick up while running or stumbling through the underbrush of the entity’s twisted terrain, not to mention the survivors also managed on most occasions to come back to the campfire covered in blood and occasionally gore it made bathing a necessity after a trial especially after a particularly difficult one where all that really happened was the eldest of the survivors tried to avoid doing the actual work while the younger tried their best to get generators done before the more experienced of the bunch were on their death hook.

She’d be lying if she said she was one of the faithful few that worked on objectives but at most she could only settle down to accomplish the feat of one with help from on of her teammates for the extra speed it granted. It’s too late to apologize to Feng and Ace for spending the entire round only distracting and playing around instead of helping get those generators fixed, especially since her tactic of fooling around is the one that’s worked where she ended up running head first out the gate only holding her mutilated arm.

Which is why she was out here searching for that spot, a pond, to clean herself off in she’s found it too when she pauses seeing Laurie. Oh, she had assumed that she would be the only one out here and she certainly didn’t want to ruin her bathing with her bloody arms and clothes. She’s slightly thankful that she can only see Laurie’s bare back from where she’s standing, but it’s not as though she hadn’t seen another woman’s naked body before (especially with Nea’s type around) it’s more because this was the same woman that she had previously held hands with _not to mention _the subtle flirting, all in all she’s thankful Laurie didn’t have an actual excuse to call her a pervert for staring at her bare chest.

She’s unsure of how to proceed at this point with Laurie in the pool and blood still dripping off her own clothes and drying on her skin, she needs the little pond to clean off in but she knew laurie probably wouldn’t want company in there especially bloody company. The best she can do is make her presence known and that after Laurie’s done in there that she needs to clean off too ‘I’m not looking but when you’re done let me know…I need to wash off.’  She hopes to god that Laurie doesn’t turn because if she does all she’s going to see is a flushed and flustered Claudette.

  If there _were _bathing utilities in this fog-filled place, she was–for a good majority of her stay thus far, exempt in knowing exactly where they lay. Perhaps the older, more realm-savvy survivors were holding their tongues on the matter out of morbid curiosity in seeing how long it would take fresh meat to collect enough grime to resemble the Wraith with his complexion of sulfuric mud. She wouldn’t put it past Ace to indulge in that sort of experimentation, if only so he could chuckle at her misery shortly before offering her a map to a puddle she could use to scrape off the dried blood that had long since stained her flaxen hair a shade of brown akin to the flesh of most rotting fruit. At least, she hoped it was all a big joke compared to the potential exile she suspected she’d earned from making mention of her blood-ties with one of the fog beasts. Maybe she deserved to lose all the soft features of her survivor peers, unrecognizable beneath her bloody mask as much as the Shape was beneath his. Eventually, she resorts to stalking to stake out a rough mental map of the path leading to the pond, and once she’s sure from her astute observations of their usual routines, she picks a moment of reprieve among them to slip away from the fire’s side, and take the twisting trek to the water’s edge.  The black surface brims with moon rays, and–taking advantage of the rippleless surface, she studies her reflection with some hesitance. If she smells as worse as she looks, then maybe her team’s wide berth of her is a bit more justified then she first figured. Although, it still didn’t explain why they were so mute to mention the place she could painlessly mend the problem.

  Her reflection scowls back up at her, and she slams both of her palms through it to scatter the image with ripples and mud before it can remind her of the wary look in the other survivors’ eyes, or worse– justify it. Leaving her sweater and jeans soaking in a still pool blocked in by a branch, she wades out into the middle of the pond and doubles over to dunk her face. Crusty strands of her hair soften and spread out to frame her submerged mouth she leaves open, tolerating the brackish taste of the water to expel a soundless scream. The rising bubbles tickle her ears as she empties her lungs beneath the inky surface. When they start to burn, she tosses her head back and seizes a fistful of her hair bunched over one shoulder to wring. The layers of grime slide slimy through her fingers until the rough texture of her hair returns after a few more dunks and scalp scrubbing. Without shampoo, she can’t imagine the dirty yellow strands smells any better, but she’ll take one victory at a time. And feeling loads lighter after melting layers of Trials off her body is a victory in her book.

  Perhaps her spine had chilled without her noticing thanks to the cold water dripping down her back, but the pair of eyes (or rather, four of them) peering out at her from the embankment don’t prickle the damp hairs along her nape enough for her to detect Claudette’s company before the woman cautiously calls out to her. With only a soft flinch to show for her dropped guard, Laurie quickly sinks down to her shoulders with a slosh before turning to regard the other survivor with a peach tint warming the bridge of her nose. She’d taken plenty of showers in the locker room after gym class with Annie snapping at her bare heels with the latest gossip for her not to mind the medic’s company, but she can’t help but feel embarrassed she’d been caught sneaking a dip in a place no one had made mention to her yet. “Oh, uh–that’s not…” Trailing off as she scuffs a stain off her cheek with damp knuckles, Laurie wades closer to the shoreline until the water subsides past her naval. “necessary. Really. I’ll just scoot out of your way.” Or hit a patch of pond slime while scooting. Catching herself on palms and knees in the shallows, she swallows and sits back, drawing her knees over her chest as she regards the botanist with a smile she summoned if only to save face when hers was freshly spattered with mud. “Or fall into it. Christ.” She’s going to need another rinse.

[marjaystuff]

Elise Cooper’s Author Interview of Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child

Verses for the Dead by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child brings back the return of their beloved character FBI Special Agent Aloysius Pendergast. There is a slightly new recipe for this famous crime solver with a new boss, partner, and medical examiner.

A welcome relief in this story has the authors moving away from anything supernatural and deciding to stick to crime-solving, understanding that the story and characters are riveting by themselves. In this old-fashioned mystery, a Florida woman while visiting her husband’s grave has her dog find a human heart with an apology note. The current victims are women whose throats have been slit and breast bones split open to remove their hearts, all in quick and expert fashion. The killer leaves notes at the graves of women who committed suicide and signed it “Mister Brokenhearts.” As other body counts mount up it becomes apparent that the notes left have a tinge of literary verses from T. S. Eliot to Romeo & Juliet.

Unlike his past supervisor Pendergast must now deal with Walter Pickett, an FBI assistant director recently assigned to the New York City field office, who is determined to keep this maverick agent under his control by assigning him a partner, Special Agent Coldmoon. The new partner is expected to report back on any of Pendergast’s deviations from the rules. Both Agents are a contrast of each other.  Coldmoon is part Lakota Indian and part Italian.  Pendergast dresses like an undertaker, and always seems to have more money than the average FBI agent preferring the luxuries of a fine hotel, private jet, and nice car. Soon Coldmoon realizes his partner is astute, smart, observant, and has a way of looking outside the box. They enlist the help of the medical examiner who is willing to go against her supervisor to find clues.

Sorting through betrayals, lies, and deceptions, readers are treated to a unique storyline that is highly volatile.  An added treat is the humorous banter between the characters that is both refreshing and amusing.  

Elise Cooper:  How did you both decide to write together?

Lincoln Child:  I was an editor for St. Martins where my job was to find new properties.  I specialized with non-fiction that included the sciences. I visited the Museum of Natural History in New York and saw peculiar objects, a bizarre history, with eccentric people. I thought this is worthy of an Indiana Jones movie.  I did some research and found the guy who wrote most of the historical articles.  We became friends after I edited his first non-fiction book.  

Doug Preston:  I was sitting at my desk at the museum and this distinguished editor gave me a call asking me to lunch at the Russian Tea Room.  What struck me is that he appeared younger than I was; and impressively at the tender age of twenty something he was already a Senior editor.

EC:  How was Pendergast born?

DP:  I wrote the first few chapters of this novel that had two policemen.  Lincoln said that these two were essentially the same character.  He wanted to fold them into one character.  In about fifteen minutes Agent Pendergast was created.  When he arrives at the scene of a murder it becomes obvious he is not a conventional FBI agent, and looks more like an undertaker with his black outfits.

EC:  How would you describe Pendergast?

DP:  A person out of place and out of time.  A gentleman from the Old South, specifically New Orleans.  He is looked upon as a total freak. He does things off the books, unorthodox, wealthy, and an iconoclast. He is like a twisted, dark Sherlock Holmes.

LC:  We have fun writing him.  He is an over the top character that is eccentric.  He enjoys his comforts. He has become legendary to go rogue and work on his own.  

EC: How would you describe Agent Coldmoon?

DP:  He is one of the finest characters we have written.  Very iconic that keeps to himself. One scene we wrote in the book shows their different tastes.  Pendergast is a terrible coffee snob while Coldmoon likes camp coffee with that foul smell.  At a certain point Pendergast buys his partner a fine expresso coffee. Coldmoon takes one sip and pours it out.  This shows their differences, but they both end up respecting each other.

LC:  One thread of previous Pendergast books is saddling him with lazy and incompetent law officials that he had to work with.  Coldmoon is not a boring person and we hope he made an impression on the reader.  He looks like a Native American with long black hair and piercing eyes.  Quietly he shows Pendergast he is an equal with the same intelligence and observations.

EC:  There are many contrasts from loyalty to betrayal, the coldness of Maine to the hot humidity of Miami?

DP:  We like moving our characters into different places literally and figuratively to see how they would react.  Coldmoon is from South Dakota so the Maine coldness does not bother him, but he could not stand the Miami muggy heat.  On the other hand, Pendergast in Northern Maine is freezing to death, but from New Orleans is used to the Miami weather.  

LC: Regarding betrayal versus loyalty Coldmoon is assigned as Pendergast’s partner with a secret agenda.  As time passes he realizes it is wrong.  He must choose loyalty to his superiors or loyalty to his partner. Whoever he is loyal to the other will see it as betrayal.   

EC:  Another contrast is insubordination versus thinking outside the box?

DP:  The FBI has evidence gathering rules to collect for trial.  Pendergast has a high closure rate of his cases, but rarely do they reach trial because the perp is dead.  At first, Coldmoon is appalled by his partner’s tactics, and the treatment of the FBI rule book.  They have quite a bit of conflict about this.  

LC:  Pendergast only accepts one dollar a year because he is wealthy and is doing the job for the enjoyment of the work.  He thinks of it as solving a puzzle.  As the story progresses his new partner sees the reasons behind what Pendergast does.

EC: You have humorous banter?

DP:  We write it by playing off each other.  We keep re-writing it to make it funnier.  Sometimes our level of amusement gets out of hand and we have to take a step backwards. The author Joyce once said, “Tragedy is merely underdeveloped comedy.” We read what we write, books with a certain level of humor.

LC:  The partners try to one up themselves which can be humorous. Finally, there are scenes influenced by the setting.  For example, Coldmoon thinks he has a ten-minute drive, which turns into two hours because he got the name wrong.

EC:  Can you give a shout out about your next book?

LC: The next Pendergast book is out next winter.  We are discussing if Coldmoon will return in the next novel or sometime in the future.

DP:  We are starting a new series that will have two characters first introduced in the Pendergast books.  The recurring characters are Corrie Swanson, a newly minted FBI agent, and Nora Kelly, an archeologist. The two of them get tangled in a horrific case that has taken place in California’s Sierra Mountains.  This is where the Donner Party got stuck in the snow in 1847.  Half died of starvation, and half ate those bodies. In the present, Nora does an excavation of the campsite, and something happens that puts the party in mortal danger.  It will come out this summer and is titled Old Bones.

THANK YOU!!

[investmart007]

United States News: Assistant Attorney General Makan Delrahim Delivers Remarks at Notre Dame Law School

New Post has been published on https://is.gd/xaUSKC

United States News: Assistant Attorney General Makan Delrahim Delivers Remarks at Notre Dame Law School

Onward to Victory: Competition Policy in Collegiate and Professional Sports

United States – Good afternoon. Thank you to Dean Newton for inviting me to be with you today and discuss the intersection of organized sports and antitrust law. I first knew Dean Newton as my constitutional law professor in 1992. I arrived with a science background and relatively little sense of what to expect in a law school classroom. But I was instantly hooked by Dean Newton’s class. She is a wonderful scholar and academic, and a testament to the power of excellent teaching and administration. I am grateful to her for furthering my love of the Constitution and I’m honored to be here today.

Notre Dame is an ideal setting to talk about competition policy in collegiate and professional sports—and not just because we find ourselves on the eve of the storied Notre Dame-Michigan football game. As a highly respected academic institution, known for its success both on and off the field, Notre Dame has cultivated an enviable place in our national sports consciousness. The Fighting Irish played their inaugural football game in 1887. Since then, Notre Dame’s sports prowess has cemented its place in athletic history. Many people may not be aware, however, that for the past eleven years, Notre Dame has ranked first in the nation for its 98 percent student-athlete graduation rate, the highest for all universities with football programs, and I commend you for that.

I also would be remiss not to add that Notre Dame features prominently in my Front Office. My old friend and colleague, Roger Alford, is on leave from the law school faculty to serve as my deputy for international affairs. He is doing some groundbreaking work and I am grateful he agreed to serve. I am also grateful to Notre Dame for allowing him to do it. Also, my counsel, Bill Rinner, is a proud Notre Dame alumnus and an incredible legal mind, who just this week became a father to another potential Fighting Irish. One of our top litigators, Julie Elmer, is also an alum.

Today, I wish to share some lessons and observations about antitrust policy in collegiate and professional sports. The sports industry is fascinating for competition lawyers because it reflects a hydraulic tension between competition and necessary cooperation.

That is leagues, teams, and governing bodies require collaboration so that on-the-field competition can take place – but anything less than intense competition makes sports less attractive to players and fans alike. It’s not surprising then that U.S. courts are often tasked with distinguishing between necessary collaboration and anticompetitive conduct in an industry whose very essence is competition.

The realities of organized sports make the application of the antitrust laws to sports unique. Just as in music and other entertainment industries, however, the considerable evolution of the business of sports over the last century prompts us to take a fresh look at competition policy in an industry that’s as much a part of our national economy today as it is part of our culture.

Like so many of you, I have a deep love and admiration for sports. As a kid from Los Angeles and a devoted UCLA alumnus, I am proud of the fact that UCLA has the most team sport national championships of any college in the nation. Growing up, I cheered for only two college football teams: the Bruins and any team playing the Trojans. I know that we, in this room, share that last point in common.

Whether it’s Notre Dame versus Michigan, UCLA versus USC, or Duke basketball versus North Carolina, rivalries tell us something about why Americans love sports: for both athletes and sports fans, raw competition and love of the game offer lessons in perseverance, triumph, and teamwork.

To quote the late Byron White, the greatest athlete to serve on the Supreme Court, “[s]ports constantly make demands on the participant for top performance, and they develop integrity, self-reliance and initiative. They teach you a lot about working in groups, without being unduly submerged in the group.” Of course, the late Justice knew something about top performance. A talented football, basketball, and baseball player at the University of Colorado, Justice White was a runner up for the Heisman Trophy in 1937, a Rhodes Scholar, and a first round NFL draft pick.

Sports are an integral part of American culture and identity. Football is as much a staple of Thanksgiving in many households as are turkey and stuffing. Sports metaphors have even invaded our language. If you’ve ever used “ballpark” to mean a broad range within which a comparison is possible, “end around” to describe an evasive tactic, or “taking off the gloves” to mean attacking without mercy, know that you have used an idiomatic expression derived from baseball, football, and boxing, respectively.

The history of sports in America also reaffirms the idea that we are a nation of innovators. The country that invented some of the most successful and pioneering companies in the world also invented modern baseball, basketball, American football, and, of course, the newest sports phenomena, mixed martial arts, as made popular around the world by the Ultimate Fighting Championship.

Like antitrust policy, competition is the lifeblood of sports. In sports, as in antitrust policy, we don’t pick winners and losers, but provide rules designed to promote the competitive process and let competition determine the winner.

Let me speak now about the antitrust laws.

The Sherman Act has been a favorite vehicle for challenging conduct in sports. Enacted in 1890, Section 1 of the Sherman Act prohibits contracts, combinations, and conspiracies that unreasonably restrain trade or commerce. These prohibitions can be enforced by either the government or private litigants. U.S. courts are routinely asked to address antitrust challenges in sports precisely because organized sports require agreement to assure fair play, consistency, and organization.

Although antitrust can seem like an esoteric discipline, sports fans should care about antitrust and antitrust lawyers should care about sports for at least three reasons. First, sports teach us important lessons about the structure of our government. Second, antitrust challenges in sports reaffirm the flexible and resilient nature of antitrust law itself. And third, competition and its enforcement has helped sports improve and become a more enjoyable experience for the American consumer, fans like you and me, and for the athlete that makes it all happen.

Let me start with a lesson from antitrust and baseball. As many of you may know, baseball enjoys legal immunity from the antitrust laws. This was not granted to them by Congress but, in 1922, the Supreme Court famously decided in Federal Baseball Club v. National League of Professional Base Ball Clubs that the Sherman Act does not apply to the conduct of a professional baseball league because the business of baseball is not in interstate commerce. Writing for a unanimous Supreme Court, Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes opined that the business of baseball is not commerce but “giving exhibitions of baseball, which are purely state affairs.”

Although the late Justice had a narrow view of commerce, he astutely noted that “[t]he life of the law has not been logic; it has been experience.” That, of course, begs the question: what does contemporary experience teach about the business of baseball today? More specifically, what does the experience of generating $10 billion in annual revenue suggest about whether the business of exhibiting baseball is commerce?

Since the Federal Baseball Club decision 96 years ago, the Supreme Court heard at least two challenges to baseball’s exemption, the last one 45 years ago, and has declined to overturn it in both cases.

One of those challenges was brought by Curt Flood, a centerfielder who was traded from the Cardinals to the Phillies in 1969. Under baseball’s reserve system, the Cardinals retained the right to Flood’s services even when his contract expired. As a practical matter, the reserve clause prevented Flood from entering into a contract with another team, and allowed the Cardinals to reassign, trade, sell, or release him. Flood refused to report to the Phillies. On Christmas Eve 1969, Flood wrote a letter to Baseball Commissioner Bowie Kuhn:

After twelve years in the major leagues, I do not feel I am a piece of property to be bought and sold irrespective of my wishes. I believe that any system which produces that result violates my basic rights as a citizen and is inconsistent with the laws of the United States and of the several States.

It is my desire to play baseball in 1970, and I am capable of playing. I have received a contract offer from the Philadelphia club, but I believe I have the right to consider offers from other clubs before making any decision. I, therefore, request that you make known to all Major League clubs my feelings in this matter, and advise them of my availability for the 1970 season.

Kuhn denied the request, citing the reserve clause in Flood’s contract.

Flood then sued both the Commissioner and Major League Baseball for violations of the antitrust laws, specifically Section 1 of the Sherman Act. His lawyer, former Supreme Court Justice Arthur Goldberg, argued that baseball’s reserve clause depressed wages and limited players to one team for life. Despite Flood’s high salary for the time, he likened the reserve clause to slavery.

By 1972, Flood v. Kuhn was heard by the Supreme Court. Justice Blackmun, writing for the majority, described the antitrust exemption for professional baseball as an “exception and an anomaly” but one entitled to stare decisis. Despite its concerns about the baseball exemption, the Court’s majority opined that any inconsistency or illogic surrounding the baseball exemption is to be remedied by Congress and not by the Supreme Court.

In a blistering dissent, Justice Douglas described the baseball exemption as “a derelict in the stream of the law that [the Supreme Court], its creator should remove.” Of course, Justice Douglas also had some unusual legal views like giving trees standing to sue for their own protection, but in his Flood dissent, he was on to something. Justice Marshall, who also dissented, wrote:

The importance of the antitrust laws to every citizen must not be minimized. They are as important to baseball players as they are to football players, lawyers, doctors, or members of any other class of workers. […]

Had the Court been consistent and treated all sports in the same way baseball was treated, Congress might have become concerned enough to take action. But, the Court was inconsistent, and baseball was isolated and distinguished from all other sports.

Twenty-six years later, Congress passed the Curt Flood Act of 1998, whose purpose, as Congress stated it, is “to state that the major league baseball players are covered under the antitrust laws” and grant them the same antitrust rights as basketball and football players. The act repealed baseball’s antitrust exemption for issues directly relating to the terms and conditions of player employment. It does not, however, apply to minor leagues and minor league reserve clauses and several franchise ownership issues.

There is one additional lesson we can draw from the baseball exemption story: markets operate best when unencumbered by anticompetitive restraints. Five years after Curt Flood lost his case before the Supreme Court, arbitrator Peter Seitz awarded free agency status to two Major League Baseball pitchers. Eventually, baseball’s reserve system was abolished in favor of a negotiated free agency. In addition to ensuring player mobility, free agency allowed players to bargain for better wages and conditions of employment. According to retired professor Ed Edmonds, Notre Dame’s resident sports law expert, it also resulted in decades of phenomenal salary growth and an expansion of the Major League Baseball Players Association as a formidable force in bargaining with team owners.

Such is the power of the free market when unreasonable restraints give way to competition.

Now, lesson two.

Controversies surrounding the rules of the National Collegiate Athletic Association (“NCAA”) and its affiliates have been a hotbed of private antitrust litigation. For over a century, the NCAA has set rules governing the eligibility of athletes at more than 1,000 member colleges and universities. While it has an important role in maintaining academic standards and codes of conduct for student-athletes, it is unquestionably a substantial commercial enterprise that generates over $1 billion annually. This duality is often at the heart of antitrust challenges against the NCAA.

The NCAA is well known for its embrace of amateurism. It has implemented and defended limits on student-athlete compensation and interactions with professional sports leagues to try to promote and protect that amateurism. Athletes can lose amateur status by, among other things, signing a contract with a professional team or entering the draft of a professional league. They also cannot receive pay based on their athletic ability. That means that student-athletes cannot be paid from endorsements or boosters, or share in the revenue that they help generate for the NCAA and its affiliates each year. As one appellate court recently put it, these rules can “promote amateurism,” which may, in turn, help “increas[e] consumer demand for college sports.”

The tension between eligibility rules that promote amateurism and what some have challenged as an anticompetitive agreement to fix at zero a student-athlete’s compensation was central to the landmark O’Bannon v. NCAA case. In that case, former all-American UCLA basketball player Ed O’Bannon had learned that he was depicted in a college basketball video game without his consent or compensation, and he filed a class action lawsuit on behalf of himself and similarly situated college football and basketball players. The lawsuit alleged, among other things, that the NCAA’s rules preventing student-athletes from being compensated for the use of their name, image, and likeness violate Section 1 of the Sherman Act.

The district court held that the NCAA’s total ban on compensation for student-athletes is anticompetitive and found that a less restrictive alternative would be to allow member schools to grant scholarships up to the full cost of attendance and to hold up to $5,000 of their licensing revenues in trust for the student-athlete after college.

On appeal, the Ninth Circuit affirmed that NCAA regulations are subject to antitrust scrutiny, but struck down the deferred compensation trust framework. The Court of Appeals noted that the NCAA’s total ban on compensation was “more restrictive than necessary to maintain its tradition of amateurism in support of the college sports market.” In accordance with these principles, the Court held that the Sherman Act requires the NCAA to “permit its schools to provide up to the cost of attendance to their student athletes.”

Our antitrust laws promote vigorous competition and are flexible enough to take into account amateurism as one of many market characteristics that may drive demand for college sports. As the Supreme Court has observed, in some instances, college sports require some restraints on competition if the product is to be available at all. Such restraints, however, require a careful balancing of the proffered justification of the restraint against harm to competition. In other words, amateurism, although a laudable goal, in itself does not grant antitrust immunity, and rules designed to promote amateurism need to be carefully tailored so they don’t unreasonably limit competition.

I am encouraged that reinvigorated public debate and an evolving understanding of the college sports market have spurred positive changes at NCAA schools. For example, the NCAA’s transfer rules have been modified to give players more flexibility. Also, the NCAA recently announced reforms that will allow certain college basketball players to speak to agents and more actively consider the National Basketball Association draft without forfeiting their eligibility. In addition, the NCAA now permits scholarships up to the full cost of attendance, which can be awarded for a multi-year period covering the student’s full period of eligibility.

I applaud these procompetitive changes and am proud of the role the Antitrust Division has played in advocating for increased competition. I hope the NCAA will go further, as needed, to implement new rules or modify existing ones to promote increased competition for student-athletes. In the future, for example, I hope to see schools consider competing fully to fund student-athletes’ educational expenses, for example, by offering graduate education tuition incentives and job training as they compete for top student-athletes.

The last major lesson I wish to discuss is that competitive markets improve on-the-field competition and the consumer experience. In the late 1990s, some may recall that NBC was shut out of the opportunity to broadcast National Football League (“NFL”) games. In 2000, NBC announced the formation of the XFL, a joint venture with the World Wrestling Federation. The XFL’s opening game took place in February 2001, less than one week after the NFL Super Bowl. Although it only lasted one season, the XFL competed, to some degree, with the NFL by promoting entertainment value and individualism as a brand. The story behind the creation of the XFL is well documented in an ESPN 30 for 30 episode, “This Was the XFL,” directed, of course, by Notre Dame alumnus, Charlie Ebersol.

Nearly two decades later, the XFL announced it will be revived in 2020. As competition would have it, shortly thereafter, the Alliance of American Football (“AAF”) was announced as another upstart competitor to the XFL. Notably, the AAF is slated to beat the revamped XFL to market by a full year and already has a television distribution deal with a major network. That network has also agreed to sixty percent fewer commercial breaks and no television timeouts. While the ultimate success of the XFL and the AAF remains to be seen, the race to market and improved viewer experience reflect the hallmarks of competition that effective antitrust policy promotes to the benefit, ultimately, of the consumer.

Newcomers like the XFL may be unlikely to threaten the NFL’s position as the dominant professional football league in the United States. Nonetheless, some of the XFL’s production and broadcast innovations – like widespread use of Skycam and on-field microphones– are now used more regularly by the NFL, a demonstrated consumer benefit of competition.

And, of course, many may recall the United States Football League (“USFL”), which was created to compete with the NFL and lasted three seasons in the 1980s. When it tried to compete head on, they filed an antitrust lawsuit against the NFL. The USFL won part of the legal case, but was only awarded damages of one dollar. Four days later, the USFL owners voted to suspend operations. But the NFL ultimately had to pay $5.5 million in attorneys’ fees. The competitive impact of the USFL, nevertheless, is undisputed. From on-field innovations – two-point conversions, the instant replay, and expansion teams – to a multitude of greater players, the NFL product became better.

These examples demonstrate that antitrust is a forward-looking exercise that ultimately improves choice and quality for sports fans.

Today, organized sports are more than leisurely pastimes. The sports industry is a profitable one whose goals and unique attributes are complemented by sound antitrust policy. With limited exception, leagues, governing bodies, or teams can and should have their conduct tested against the crucible of the antitrust laws. That is why the Antitrust Division remains an active observer that is ready to investigate and enforce the antitrust laws where the evidence suggests that conduct or a transaction has resulted in, or is likely to result in, harm to competition.

Indeed, several recent enforcement actions have touched on competition in the sports industry. In June 2018, the Antitrust Division announced that it would require the Walt Disney Company to divest 22 Regional Sports Networks (“RSNs”) as a condition of its $71.3 billion acquisition of certain assets from Twenty-First Century Fox, Inc. Without the required divestitures, the transaction would likely result in higher prices for cable sports programming. Disney agreed to divest the 22 RSNs.

The Antitrust Division has also enforced the antitrust laws in conduct matters touching professional sports. In November 2016, the Antitrust Division filed a complaint to stop DIRECTV and its parent, AT&T, from orchestrating a series of unlawful information exchanges between DIRECTV and three of its pay television competitors during the companies’ negotiations to carry the Dodgers pay television channel. The companies settled that case with the Division in March 2017. The settlement enjoined the companies from sharing competitively-sensitive information with their rivals and required corporate monitoring, antitrust training, and corporate compliance programs.

As for my hopes regarding the sports antitrust litigation currently pending in federal courts across the country, I recognize that, in the words of Chief Justice John Roberts, the role of the courts is to call balls and strikes. But in so doing, they should, in Justice White’s parting words upon retirement, make those calls in a manner that is “clear, crisp, and leave[s] … as little room as possible for disagreement about their meaning.”

—–

SOURCE: news provided by JUSTICE.GOV on Friday, August 31, 2018.

[investmart007]

United States News: Assistant Attorney General Makan Delrahim Delivers Remarks at Notre Dame Law School

New Post has been published on https://is.gd/xaUSKC

United States News: Assistant Attorney General Makan Delrahim Delivers Remarks at Notre Dame Law School

Onward to Victory: Competition Policy in Collegiate and Professional Sports

United States – Good afternoon. Thank you to Dean Newton for inviting me to be with you today and discuss the intersection of organized sports and antitrust law. I first knew Dean Newton as my constitutional law professor in 1992. I arrived with a science background and relatively little sense of what to expect in a law school classroom. But I was instantly hooked by Dean Newton’s class. She is a wonderful scholar and academic, and a testament to the power of excellent teaching and administration. I am grateful to her for furthering my love of the Constitution and I’m honored to be here today.

Notre Dame is an ideal setting to talk about competition policy in collegiate and professional sports—and not just because we find ourselves on the eve of the storied Notre Dame-Michigan football game. As a highly respected academic institution, known for its success both on and off the field, Notre Dame has cultivated an enviable place in our national sports consciousness. The Fighting Irish played their inaugural football game in 1887. Since then, Notre Dame’s sports prowess has cemented its place in athletic history. Many people may not be aware, however, that for the past eleven years, Notre Dame has ranked first in the nation for its 98 percent student-athlete graduation rate, the highest for all universities with football programs, and I commend you for that.

I also would be remiss not to add that Notre Dame features prominently in my Front Office. My old friend and colleague, Roger Alford, is on leave from the law school faculty to serve as my deputy for international affairs. He is doing some groundbreaking work and I am grateful he agreed to serve. I am also grateful to Notre Dame for allowing him to do it. Also, my counsel, Bill Rinner, is a proud Notre Dame alumnus and an incredible legal mind, who just this week became a father to another potential Fighting Irish. One of our top litigators, Julie Elmer, is also an alum.

Today, I wish to share some lessons and observations about antitrust policy in collegiate and professional sports. The sports industry is fascinating for competition lawyers because it reflects a hydraulic tension between competition and necessary cooperation.

That is leagues, teams, and governing bodies require collaboration so that on-the-field competition can take place – but anything less than intense competition makes sports less attractive to players and fans alike. It’s not surprising then that U.S. courts are often tasked with distinguishing between necessary collaboration and anticompetitive conduct in an industry whose very essence is competition.

The realities of organized sports make the application of the antitrust laws to sports unique. Just as in music and other entertainment industries, however, the considerable evolution of the business of sports over the last century prompts us to take a fresh look at competition policy in an industry that’s as much a part of our national economy today as it is part of our culture.

Like so many of you, I have a deep love and admiration for sports. As a kid from Los Angeles and a devoted UCLA alumnus, I am proud of the fact that UCLA has the most team sport national championships of any college in the nation. Growing up, I cheered for only two college football teams: the Bruins and any team playing the Trojans. I know that we, in this room, share that last point in common.

Whether it’s Notre Dame versus Michigan, UCLA versus USC, or Duke basketball versus North Carolina, rivalries tell us something about why Americans love sports: for both athletes and sports fans, raw competition and love of the game offer lessons in perseverance, triumph, and teamwork.

To quote the late Byron White, the greatest athlete to serve on the Supreme Court, “[s]ports constantly make demands on the participant for top performance, and they develop integrity, self-reliance and initiative. They teach you a lot about working in groups, without being unduly submerged in the group.” Of course, the late Justice knew something about top performance. A talented football, basketball, and baseball player at the University of Colorado, Justice White was a runner up for the Heisman Trophy in 1937, a Rhodes Scholar, and a first round NFL draft pick.

Sports are an integral part of American culture and identity. Football is as much a staple of Thanksgiving in many households as are turkey and stuffing. Sports metaphors have even invaded our language. If you’ve ever used “ballpark” to mean a broad range within which a comparison is possible, “end around” to describe an evasive tactic, or “taking off the gloves” to mean attacking without mercy, know that you have used an idiomatic expression derived from baseball, football, and boxing, respectively.

The history of sports in America also reaffirms the idea that we are a nation of innovators. The country that invented some of the most successful and pioneering companies in the world also invented modern baseball, basketball, American football, and, of course, the newest sports phenomena, mixed martial arts, as made popular around the world by the Ultimate Fighting Championship.

Like antitrust policy, competition is the lifeblood of sports. In sports, as in antitrust policy, we don’t pick winners and losers, but provide rules designed to promote the competitive process and let competition determine the winner.

Let me speak now about the antitrust laws.

The Sherman Act has been a favorite vehicle for challenging conduct in sports. Enacted in 1890, Section 1 of the Sherman Act prohibits contracts, combinations, and conspiracies that unreasonably restrain trade or commerce. These prohibitions can be enforced by either the government or private litigants. U.S. courts are routinely asked to address antitrust challenges in sports precisely because organized sports require agreement to assure fair play, consistency, and organization.

Although antitrust can seem like an esoteric discipline, sports fans should care about antitrust and antitrust lawyers should care about sports for at least three reasons. First, sports teach us important lessons about the structure of our government. Second, antitrust challenges in sports reaffirm the flexible and resilient nature of antitrust law itself. And third, competition and its enforcement has helped sports improve and become a more enjoyable experience for the American consumer, fans like you and me, and for the athlete that makes it all happen.

Let me start with a lesson from antitrust and baseball. As many of you may know, baseball enjoys legal immunity from the antitrust laws. This was not granted to them by Congress but, in 1922, the Supreme Court famously decided in Federal Baseball Club v. National League of Professional Base Ball Clubs that the Sherman Act does not apply to the conduct of a professional baseball league because the business of baseball is not in interstate commerce. Writing for a unanimous Supreme Court, Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes opined that the business of baseball is not commerce but “giving exhibitions of baseball, which are purely state affairs.”

Although the late Justice had a narrow view of commerce, he astutely noted that “[t]he life of the law has not been logic; it has been experience.” That, of course, begs the question: what does contemporary experience teach about the business of baseball today? More specifically, what does the experience of generating $10 billion in annual revenue suggest about whether the business of exhibiting baseball is commerce?

Since the Federal Baseball Club decision 96 years ago, the Supreme Court heard at least two challenges to baseball’s exemption, the last one 45 years ago, and has declined to overturn it in both cases.

One of those challenges was brought by Curt Flood, a centerfielder who was traded from the Cardinals to the Phillies in 1969. Under baseball’s reserve system, the Cardinals retained the right to Flood’s services even when his contract expired. As a practical matter, the reserve clause prevented Flood from entering into a contract with another team, and allowed the Cardinals to reassign, trade, sell, or release him. Flood refused to report to the Phillies. On Christmas Eve 1969, Flood wrote a letter to Baseball Commissioner Bowie Kuhn:

After twelve years in the major leagues, I do not feel I am a piece of property to be bought and sold irrespective of my wishes. I believe that any system which produces that result violates my basic rights as a citizen and is inconsistent with the laws of the United States and of the several States.

It is my desire to play baseball in 1970, and I am capable of playing. I have received a contract offer from the Philadelphia club, but I believe I have the right to consider offers from other clubs before making any decision. I, therefore, request that you make known to all Major League clubs my feelings in this matter, and advise them of my availability for the 1970 season.

Kuhn denied the request, citing the reserve clause in Flood’s contract.

Flood then sued both the Commissioner and Major League Baseball for violations of the antitrust laws, specifically Section 1 of the Sherman Act. His lawyer, former Supreme Court Justice Arthur Goldberg, argued that baseball’s reserve clause depressed wages and limited players to one team for life. Despite Flood’s high salary for the time, he likened the reserve clause to slavery.

By 1972, Flood v. Kuhn was heard by the Supreme Court. Justice Blackmun, writing for the majority, described the antitrust exemption for professional baseball as an “exception and an anomaly” but one entitled to stare decisis. Despite its concerns about the baseball exemption, the Court’s majority opined that any inconsistency or illogic surrounding the baseball exemption is to be remedied by Congress and not by the Supreme Court.

In a blistering dissent, Justice Douglas described the baseball exemption as “a derelict in the stream of the law that [the Supreme Court], its creator should remove.” Of course, Justice Douglas also had some unusual legal views like giving trees standing to sue for their own protection, but in his Flood dissent, he was on to something. Justice Marshall, who also dissented, wrote:

The importance of the antitrust laws to every citizen must not be minimized. They are as important to baseball players as they are to football players, lawyers, doctors, or members of any other class of workers. […]

Had the Court been consistent and treated all sports in the same way baseball was treated, Congress might have become concerned enough to take action. But, the Court was inconsistent, and baseball was isolated and distinguished from all other sports.

Twenty-six years later, Congress passed the Curt Flood Act of 1998, whose purpose, as Congress stated it, is “to state that the major league baseball players are covered under the antitrust laws” and grant them the same antitrust rights as basketball and football players. The act repealed baseball’s antitrust exemption for issues directly relating to the terms and conditions of player employment. It does not, however, apply to minor leagues and minor league reserve clauses and several franchise ownership issues.

There is one additional lesson we can draw from the baseball exemption story: markets operate best when unencumbered by anticompetitive restraints. Five years after Curt Flood lost his case before the Supreme Court, arbitrator Peter Seitz awarded free agency status to two Major League Baseball pitchers. Eventually, baseball’s reserve system was abolished in favor of a negotiated free agency. In addition to ensuring player mobility, free agency allowed players to bargain for better wages and conditions of employment. According to retired professor Ed Edmonds, Notre Dame’s resident sports law expert, it also resulted in decades of phenomenal salary growth and an expansion of the Major League Baseball Players Association as a formidable force in bargaining with team owners.

Such is the power of the free market when unreasonable restraints give way to competition.

Now, lesson two.

Controversies surrounding the rules of the National Collegiate Athletic Association (“NCAA”) and its affiliates have been a hotbed of private antitrust litigation. For over a century, the NCAA has set rules governing the eligibility of athletes at more than 1,000 member colleges and universities. While it has an important role in maintaining academic standards and codes of conduct for student-athletes, it is unquestionably a substantial commercial enterprise that generates over $1 billion annually. This duality is often at the heart of antitrust challenges against the NCAA.

The NCAA is well known for its embrace of amateurism. It has implemented and defended limits on student-athlete compensation and interactions with professional sports leagues to try to promote and protect that amateurism. Athletes can lose amateur status by, among other things, signing a contract with a professional team or entering the draft of a professional league. They also cannot receive pay based on their athletic ability. That means that student-athletes cannot be paid from endorsements or boosters, or share in the revenue that they help generate for the NCAA and its affiliates each year. As one appellate court recently put it, these rules can “promote amateurism,” which may, in turn, help “increas[e] consumer demand for college sports.”

The tension between eligibility rules that promote amateurism and what some have challenged as an anticompetitive agreement to fix at zero a student-athlete’s compensation was central to the landmark O’Bannon v. NCAA case. In that case, former all-American UCLA basketball player Ed O’Bannon had learned that he was depicted in a college basketball video game without his consent or compensation, and he filed a class action lawsuit on behalf of himself and similarly situated college football and basketball players. The lawsuit alleged, among other things, that the NCAA’s rules preventing student-athletes from being compensated for the use of their name, image, and likeness violate Section 1 of the Sherman Act.

The district court held that the NCAA’s total ban on compensation for student-athletes is anticompetitive and found that a less restrictive alternative would be to allow member schools to grant scholarships up to the full cost of attendance and to hold up to $5,000 of their licensing revenues in trust for the student-athlete after college.

On appeal, the Ninth Circuit affirmed that NCAA regulations are subject to antitrust scrutiny, but struck down the deferred compensation trust framework. The Court of Appeals noted that the NCAA’s total ban on compensation was “more restrictive than necessary to maintain its tradition of amateurism in support of the college sports market.” In accordance with these principles, the Court held that the Sherman Act requires the NCAA to “permit its schools to provide up to the cost of attendance to their student athletes.”

Our antitrust laws promote vigorous competition and are flexible enough to take into account amateurism as one of many market characteristics that may drive demand for college sports. As the Supreme Court has observed, in some instances, college sports require some restraints on competition if the product is to be available at all. Such restraints, however, require a careful balancing of the proffered justification of the restraint against harm to competition. In other words, amateurism, although a laudable goal, in itself does not grant antitrust immunity, and rules designed to promote amateurism need to be carefully tailored so they don’t unreasonably limit competition.

I am encouraged that reinvigorated public debate and an evolving understanding of the college sports market have spurred positive changes at NCAA schools. For example, the NCAA’s transfer rules have been modified to give players more flexibility. Also, the NCAA recently announced reforms that will allow certain college basketball players to speak to agents and more actively consider the National Basketball Association draft without forfeiting their eligibility. In addition, the NCAA now permits scholarships up to the full cost of attendance, which can be awarded for a multi-year period covering the student’s full period of eligibility.

I applaud these procompetitive changes and am proud of the role the Antitrust Division has played in advocating for increased competition. I hope the NCAA will go further, as needed, to implement new rules or modify existing ones to promote increased competition for student-athletes. In the future, for example, I hope to see schools consider competing fully to fund student-athletes’ educational expenses, for example, by offering graduate education tuition incentives and job training as they compete for top student-athletes.

The last major lesson I wish to discuss is that competitive markets improve on-the-field competition and the consumer experience. In the late 1990s, some may recall that NBC was shut out of the opportunity to broadcast National Football League (“NFL”) games. In 2000, NBC announced the formation of the XFL, a joint venture with the World Wrestling Federation. The XFL’s opening game took place in February 2001, less than one week after the NFL Super Bowl. Although it only lasted one season, the XFL competed, to some degree, with the NFL by promoting entertainment value and individualism as a brand. The story behind the creation of the XFL is well documented in an ESPN 30 for 30 episode, “This Was the XFL,” directed, of course, by Notre Dame alumnus, Charlie Ebersol.

Nearly two decades later, the XFL announced it will be revived in 2020. As competition would have it, shortly thereafter, the Alliance of American Football (“AAF”) was announced as another upstart competitor to the XFL. Notably, the AAF is slated to beat the revamped XFL to market by a full year and already has a television distribution deal with a major network. That network has also agreed to sixty percent fewer commercial breaks and no television timeouts. While the ultimate success of the XFL and the AAF remains to be seen, the race to market and improved viewer experience reflect the hallmarks of competition that effective antitrust policy promotes to the benefit, ultimately, of the consumer.

Newcomers like the XFL may be unlikely to threaten the NFL’s position as the dominant professional football league in the United States. Nonetheless, some of the XFL’s production and broadcast innovations – like widespread use of Skycam and on-field microphones– are now used more regularly by the NFL, a demonstrated consumer benefit of competition.

And, of course, many may recall the United States Football League (“USFL”), which was created to compete with the NFL and lasted three seasons in the 1980s. When it tried to compete head on, they filed an antitrust lawsuit against the NFL. The USFL won part of the legal case, but was only awarded damages of one dollar. Four days later, the USFL owners voted to suspend operations. But the NFL ultimately had to pay $5.5 million in attorneys’ fees. The competitive impact of the USFL, nevertheless, is undisputed. From on-field innovations – two-point conversions, the instant replay, and expansion teams – to a multitude of greater players, the NFL product became better.

These examples demonstrate that antitrust is a forward-looking exercise that ultimately improves choice and quality for sports fans.

Today, organized sports are more than leisurely pastimes. The sports industry is a profitable one whose goals and unique attributes are complemented by sound antitrust policy. With limited exception, leagues, governing bodies, or teams can and should have their conduct tested against the crucible of the antitrust laws. That is why the Antitrust Division remains an active observer that is ready to investigate and enforce the antitrust laws where the evidence suggests that conduct or a transaction has resulted in, or is likely to result in, harm to competition.

Indeed, several recent enforcement actions have touched on competition in the sports industry. In June 2018, the Antitrust Division announced that it would require the Walt Disney Company to divest 22 Regional Sports Networks (“RSNs”) as a condition of its $71.3 billion acquisition of certain assets from Twenty-First Century Fox, Inc. Without the required divestitures, the transaction would likely result in higher prices for cable sports programming. Disney agreed to divest the 22 RSNs.

The Antitrust Division has also enforced the antitrust laws in conduct matters touching professional sports. In November 2016, the Antitrust Division filed a complaint to stop DIRECTV and its parent, AT&T, from orchestrating a series of unlawful information exchanges between DIRECTV and three of its pay television competitors during the companies’ negotiations to carry the Dodgers pay television channel. The companies settled that case with the Division in March 2017. The settlement enjoined the companies from sharing competitively-sensitive information with their rivals and required corporate monitoring, antitrust training, and corporate compliance programs.

As for my hopes regarding the sports antitrust litigation currently pending in federal courts across the country, I recognize that, in the words of Chief Justice John Roberts, the role of the courts is to call balls and strikes. But in so doing, they should, in Justice White’s parting words upon retirement, make those calls in a manner that is “clear, crisp, and leave[s] … as little room as possible for disagreement about their meaning.”

—–

SOURCE: news provided by JUSTICE.GOV on Friday, August 31, 2018.