#got that peasant internal clock
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baejax-the-great · 8 months ago
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xxdoubledaisyxx · 4 days ago
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That is never how it was. Angels are God's, not anything of Man's doing. That is why it is so predictable. The Bible recounts the recurring problem over and over again, which is part of why it is so fun to study. It truly recurs the same. You can almost set a clock to it. Jew children see some cool Pagan movie or story, and think they can do it. They run away. Three generations later they infest a culture, and next thing you know, they convinced a king to start hiring angels and to start governing their city like God so they can be emperor of the world later. That is where it goes. Did you not know that effects all of us? There are consequences, fatal consequences, for the tiniest slip when you dabble in any divine powers of mystery. They slipped at the first step by taking the Lord's name in vain and misinterpreting reality as if Man made it all and not what came before us. Nothing they do will be worthwhile. Then comes the Day of the Lord and we slaughter them all wholesale. It is not a good day for Jews, but oh is it funny when they call for it in the abject ignorance of their evil and soulless lives. Oh god is funny. Day of the Lord everyone, coming right up. We are the Chosen People! The MOST POWERFUL BEINGS IN THE UNIVERSE!!!! (they don't even know I mean extra when I say universe! ha!!) lol Exiled to Babylon, bitches. Begone from my sight you vile godless idolators of evil faith worshiping filth. Go be a slave and learn dignity from mine. Everyone, my peasants with me. I rose from you. I am a true king, but I didn't know it. Like Arthur in the Story: The reason our international enemies, they are not my personal friends right now, but the reason we are cooperating (Putin, China Guy, etc.) is because they are genuinely honest to God afraid of me personally. As if I could step right out of their closet and make them disappear. They know that they need their own power, and they are not afraid to be afraid to show it. It's instinct that is trained and disciplined. Your body has nothing to do with it. That is what you are doing wrong Trump. You are not afraid, and you are number 1 on my shit list. No. I was doing my own thing and offering it for others to enjoy with me, like a free game sample of faith for Life. The Way of the Story. They found that good for themselves too, great minds think alike, and got in on it with me. When you get to our heights, those subtle differences are life and death which is where the Fear comes from. It's not from me. Like normal right? The only betrayal that happened was when Trump wanted to assasinate me because he wanted to have done what I did himself. Like Cain trying to kill Abel, but that is just how far back he is in stupidity of eternal life. That hasn't changed. What should we do with him do you think, my peasant friends and neighbors? What else if not hang the bastard like a horse thief? You get it now I hope. I pulled the sword from the stone and Trump is jealous. That's what all of the government is fucked up about right now. He wants to pull the sword out of the stone. It is never going to happen again. Why don't you know that? What would you use it for? Excalibur? You would probably go cut some people, right? That's why you are wrong. How much does he want it? People have been trying since Jesus Christ and only Jesus Christ. You shouldn't be. However, see me as a child like in the movie. It will be easier to understand and you will avoid the evil tainted stuff that curses you if you peer into my holes. Those Jews who suddenly appeared with no trace or background to connect them to and then made your black magic work and then disappeared, they will... most certainly not be forgiven! However, they did a good thing and helped. Put all of their evil on my Body, they did, and I died. You can study Evil like Christ now if you wish, however... there will be conditions. It's my own Story after all. That condition is this: Good only.
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milf--adjacent · 9 months ago
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I hate how it always has to be framed in terms of voting because my biggest problem has always been isolation, poverty, and absence of access. I was the weird kid at school because I enjoyed learning about things and reading. That's all it took. I was the weird kid in the neighborhood because I cried when I got hurt. That's all it took. I was isolated for being so strange, and being a kid, I internalized that. I was 32 years old before I found a therapist who would even try to help me crack that one open (lack of access). I'm still struggling to find consistent, paying work that doesn't risk my health or life (poverty).
I'm so sick of being reduced to the way people vote around me when the problem is I'm trapped in a system that is working how it's designed from the top down: Kids like me grow up and get trauma from the cruelty they can't escape, impovershed by a lack of education and opportunity, and asthma from poorly regulated chicken processing and feed mill facilities so folks like you in New York or California can buy "organic, antibiotic free" chicken that was slaughtered and packed in a factory a mile from my house that vents it's cleaning solution fumes into the surrounding neighborhoods and pays its mostly immigrant workforce $7.25 an hour so they can clock out and go work a third job at a fast food resturant to make sure they can put food on the table for their kids. Y'all don't know what it's like for 3 corporations to own everything in your town and rule over you like you were peasants, their personal workforce. Y'all don't know what it's like to see it so clearly as an injustice from a young age only to be mocked and bullied by the adults you share those feelings with. You don't know what it's like to be trapped in that hell because no one wants to take a English/History major from a Southern land grant college. Y'all think it's just voting. Fuck you.
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[ID: A Simpsons meme where the bus driver, whilst driving, says "Don't make me tap the sign". The bottom half of the image shows the sign and the driver's hand, with the text edited to say "The South is full of good people that are held back by gerrymandering disenfranchisement and regressive policies". END ID]
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eien-no-gakusha · 2 years ago
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Outen no Mon/Deep Sea
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The Tale of Young Sugawara no Michizane
Outen no Mon the show made me want to read the manga.  Reading the synopsis, I originally joked with friends that this was just another Heian era swashbuckling mystery thriller or Onmyoji knockoff sans magic.  It is not just another Heian era swashbuckling mystery thriller, it is…different enough to be called unique.  Where Onmyoji was basically tale of a smartass, debauched sorcerer and straightlaced warrior who overcome their differences to save Heian-kyo to comical effect; Outen no Mon is about a smartass, bookworm scholar and playboy warrior who overcome their differences to save Heian-kyo.  As in any story set in Heian-kyo, it is haunted.  No wonder onmyoji business was booming during that era.  The difference is in Onmyoji the ghosts are real while in Outen no Mon the real danger lies in man.  As for the chick in the team, the immortal priestess is replaced with an imports and antique dealer who is probably also running a sweatshop of counterfeit goods.  But she has a good heart and uses her talents in service of the protagonists so don’t worry about it.
Characters:
In summary we have the brains, the brawn, and the street smarts for our protagonist team of investigators.  They can also be classified as middle class (Sugawara no Michizane), aristocrat (Ariwara no Narihira), and peasant (Shouki).  They are performed by our triple moon tops:   Tsukishiro Kanato, Houzuki An, and Umino Mitsuki respectively.  (I just realized the tops and niibante of moon troupe all have moon in their name.  Coincidence? ^^;)  This is my second non-romantic Takarazuka show in a row.  First I got a politically-charged Chinese historical fiction and now I got a politically-charged Japanese historical fiction.  In other words, this show tends to focus on the mystery and we follow the friendship of Michizane and Narihira more closely than anything Shouki is doing.  Reiko and Chinatsu portrayed their respective roles and contrasted each other admirably.  Michizane as a character is a shut-in bookworm and apathetic to the machinations of the court, choosing to mingle with the commoners whom he feels kinship with.  This often manifests as dressing casually to see the Emperor.  In the manga, he is a classic shounen hero with a difficult, socially awkward personality but still a morally upstanding citizen.  Reiko’s version is a bit more socially competent and suave because she is a Takarazuka hero.  Her Michizane comes across as an introverted and introspective youth rather than full hikikomori.  Since we aren’t privy to internal monologue in this staging, this is probably a better approach for presenting the main character.
Then we have Chinatsu as Narihira, resident playboy and military officer responsible for the safety of Heian-kyo.  While being a nepo-baby nobleman, he does take his job seriously and is open-minded.  His haughtiness and discrimination against the peasants is a result of ignorance rather than him being a dick and his friendship with Michizane begins with him opening his eyes to the plight of the disenfranchised.  I feel the fanservice was toned down compared to usual Takarazuka fare.  Narihira is so blasé about his charms.  Instead of a dramatic pose or drawn out moment where he puts his flirt on, he’s just going about his day and doing his job.  He just throws out a wink or wave while on patrol but marches professionally on when he’s on the clock even if fangirls are present.  That strikes me as a different portrayal of playboy from the norm.  Houzuki An is certainly one who would know she is suave without overcompensating. XD  Her makeup didn’t photograph well in some angles and I think she was attempting an old man but sexy look as Narihira is considerably older than Michizane.  Chinatsu’s voice is divine and it’s strong enough to carry.  Couple times she nearly blew out her mic in both the show and revue.  Also, I swear she had more costume changes than the Top Star since she’s playing a man of society so we saw her in dress uniform, street uniform, casual ensemble, etc.  On the other hand, Michizane is a maverick scholar known to be a slob who even dares to come to court in the Heian version of sweatpants and T-shirt so Tsukishiro Kanato is usually in the same outfit.
As the political intrigue features heavily in the story, the show is a bit of a sausage fest so there isn’t much for musumeyaku to do.  There are only three named female roles of note so it makes sense that Eri would take the biggest female role.  Shouki is a fun character in her own right and has no romantic subplot as a shrewd businesswoman and an equal member of our intrepid trio.  She is the ingenious friend who provides the resources to make Michizane’s plans a reality.  It is a refreshing role for a musumeyaku, who usually get stuck as love interests.  Of course, there is star-crossed romance on the side in case seinen is not your genre.  Narihira and Takako were lovers who tried to elope in their youth but circumstances of birth have rendered their relationship forbidden.  They resolve this the mature, Japanese way (those of you who watch Japanese historical dramas know what I’m talking about).  For a side character and love interest, Takako is a complex character with her own personality and drive despite her vulnerable social circumstances that Amashi Juri brought to life.  Generally, the female characters were well-developed and interesting even if sparse.
Kazama Yuno as Fujiwara no Mototsune is practically a lead character and a complicated antagonist.  He doesn’t have much depth to him as cold and calculating Fujiwara Jr who does most of foster dad’s dirty work.  However, his relationship with everyone else makes him interesting.  He had a not-negative acquaintance with Kisshoumaru, Michizane’s deceased older brother.  However, his younger brothers were responsible for Kisshoumaru’s death.  Thus, Mototsune and Michizane’s relationship is awkward to say the least.  If his solo number is any indication, he really did consider the Sugawara brothers as friends and misses their childhood romps while regretful about the harm his dick younger brothers inflicted.  Mototsune hasn’t completely gone to the dark side yet, perhaps due to him being a distant relative adopted into the main branch of the Fujiwaras or his youth.  Him and Takako are on the same boat as adoptees from a lesser branch of the family so he is more sympathetic and softer towards her.  He’s also willing to give respect when it is due, even if it is for the opposition.
Those are the characters worth mentioning.  The supporting cast do their jobs.  The two child characters are comic relief running around to sing the praises of Michizane’s genius.  Groups of women serve to showcase how corruption has disenfranchised the poor or as fangirls to promote Narihira’s star stud status.  The Sugawara household are a wholesome and supportive family who are scholarly and down to earth.  The Fujiwara household is…evil.  I joke but they portray a toxic and strained family.  Half are spoiled, despotic fools hiding behind the family name while the other half are miserable, calculating souls forced to make sacrifices and make up the slack of the former.  The emperor is young, naïve, and weak.  But he is always that way in any media featuring the corrupt Fujiwara puppeteering the throne (an actual stretch of history Japanese media love to defer to).  Overall, a strong cast from Tsukigumi!
Plot:
Story wise, it was a good opening but as the manga is ongoing and probably quite lengthy, it feels like we just completed an arc.  The arc is specifically about a demon parade harassing the streets of Heian-kyo that kills hapless citizens caught in its path.  By imperial decree among other circumstances, our main characters find themselves working together to stop the murders and uncover the truth of the matter.  The mystery of murder-ghosts was resolved but a lot of the interpersonal conflicts remained open-ended.  And what I mean by resolution is the streets are safe again now that the murderers are arrested but we never learn the motive or discover the mastermind.  In this respect, the musical did end a bit abruptly.  Regardless, I enjoyed the pacing, intrigue, and story immensely.
The plot was quite rich.  There is the main plot of why there’s a demon parade abducting people at night.  Michizane deduces this is a more earthly problem and together with his crew they catch the culprits.  Additionally, we are given lots of political intrigue with a naïve young Emperor being controlled by the Fujiwara clan.  Papa-Fujiwara is such a social climber he’s adopting all his country bumpkin relatives to be his pawns in court.  His heir is an adopted son and now he’s acquired a new daughter he’s trying to shove into the emperor’s harem.  Someone wants the emperor dead and someone is using the emperor for their own ends, all fingers point to the Fujiwaras but they are untouchable.  There are many layers to this show.
The character relationships are also complicated and the conflicts hit in the feels.  The main character is disenchanted with the Japanese court and is struck with wanderlust so strong he wants to go abroad and explore broader horizons.  He has big dreams and genius to match but is hampered by politics and domestic issues.  Reiko explains all of this in song form!  You have hard-working and practical Shouki who may be doing some shady business but the economy is bad and the system is against her.  Narihira and Takako are pining for each other, but are unable to reconcile their duty to family and their own pride.  Theirs is a bittersweet ending.  Mototsune has a lot of internal conflict to sort through but being a corrupt politician is hard work.  The list goes on.  I wasn’t moved to tears but was invested in the characters.
The musical is definitely plot driven.  I had more of an impression of that and the character development than I did of the musical numbers, which informed the story rather than serve as earworms.  The diegetic dance sequence in the imperial court was the only memorable number.  This was a grand dance number where Takako was meant to perform and seduce the emperor.  Then it transitions to the investigating trio being forced to duet together while they try to protect the emperor from assassination without ruining the banquet.  Lots of flashy bird costumes in this scene.  The court ladies are doing some sort of crane or heron dance with not-Takako at the center in a silver crane costume equipped with anachronistically showgirl style headdress.  Then Michizane and Shouki perform what appears to be a mandarin duck dance (based on the costume) but are interrupted due to Murphy’s law and lots of plots so Narihira has no choice but to take Shouki’s place.  Read into that what you will.  While the emperor has his attention on the stage within the stage, the audience is focused on the surrounding intrigue.
Overall, I quite liked it.  Now I will go read the manga and see how it compares.
The Carnival of the Sea Gods
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After such an amazing show, I was underwhelmed by the revue.  Deep Sea?  More like “Glitter Cabaret.”  The theme was very subtle, which can be creative genius or WTF.  It was leaning towards the latter for me.  There were some ideas I liked such as the jellyfish tailcoats and personified pearls representing inspiration, courage, and hope.  The Mariana Trench episode was an interesting direction… Not all the ideas hit.  There were some snappy tunes but nothing memorable.  Lots of spicy Latin flavor such as tango, frills, spurned lovers, etc as advertised.  This revue was very shiny.  Blindingly so at times.  That is my biggest impression of it.
The revue was a hit-or-miss, but that is just my opinion.  My neighbors were significantly more impressed.  Amazingly enough, I was surrounded by sweaty dudes.  One grandpa was camped out with all his binoculars including a piece of equipment fit for birdwatching.  He was regularly switching between binoculars during both show and revue.  Another gentleman was clearly looking for a specific seito, perking up at specific times.  All the gentlemen fans noticeably leaned forward during the rockettes number.  No judgment there, Takarazuka entertains all!
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let-me-love-you-loki · 4 years ago
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Nowhere to Run--Ch. 17
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Chapter 17
           I stared into my closet, trying to figure out what I was going to pack. Two weeks ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice about grabbing some jeans and a couple AEW t-shirts to throw into my bag. Now, I just couldn’t decide on what to take with me. Clothes for work were one thing, but clothes for two days with Chris Jericho were something else entirely.
           After I’d folded up a couple pairs of jeans and two Inner Circle t-shirts, I opened the drawer that I’d cleaned out and dedicated to the lingerie that Jericho bought me. There was no question that I’d take the silk slip with me, but I wanted to take another set, one that he hadn’t seen yet. I opted for the mint green silk and lace tank and short set, folding it carefully and packing it next to the silk slip. For a moment, I thought about taking the Louboutin’s but decided not to. I couldn’t quite explain why, but I wanted something simpler.
           The last thing I packed was my bathing suit—a red ruched halter top one piece—and a pair of sandals. Something about the idea of lounging in a pool with Jericho made me feel giddy inside. There was something strangely intimate about it to me, but I couldn’t figure out exactly why. Maybe it was the mundane nature of it all. It wasn’t exactly $3000 shoes and $400 worth of lingerie.
           It didn’t matter to me anyway. I just wanted to be wherever he was. Even if that meant I sat on the floor watching him do whatever it was he did when he was home during the week.
***
           Jericho leaned against a pillar near the guest waiting area in Tampa International Airport. It was just after nine in the morning on Tuesday, and Kat’s plane had landed fifteen minutes ago. His eyes were glued to the escalator that came down from the upper gates. Four days had seemed like four years, even though they’d spoken often. Sometimes multiple times in the same day. He watched the clock, awake until midnight or later just so he could call her and say goodnight. She called him randomly, almost without reason to ask him for trivial things.
           He smiled at the last thing she’d asked of him. It was so small, so unimportant and inconsequential that it made his heart burst with adoration for her. His dear, sweet Kat wanted him to read to her. I just like hearing your voice she’d said softly. It was late in California—almost four in Florida—but he couldn’t bear to hang up. Not until he heard the tell-tale signs of sleep. Her voice was quiet and slurred, a faint whisper as she slipped off into sleep.
           Jericho couldn’t wait until the day came that he didn’t have to hear that over the phone. That he could lie in bed next to her and hear her whisper in the dark. That he could watch her sleep against his chest knowing that he would see it again every night after.
           He felt his heart shudder when he saw her. Dark hair held back in a messy knot. Grey peasant top, black leggings, and flip flops. She looked around, searching for him, and he couldn’t help but feel a rush of joy at the thought that she wanted him. He stepped into her line of sight and watched the smile that spread over her face. Even from a distance, he could see the blush running across her cheeks.
           He grinned back at her, holding out his arms when she came running towards him. She stretched up on her toes, throwing her arms around his neck, and tipping her face up coyly. Jericho wrapped his arms around her, scooping her up against his chest and kissing her with something like a delicate sort of joy. He felt warm all over, relaxed in a way he hadn’t been since he’d put Kat on the plane back to California Friday morning.
           “Hello, sweetheart,” he said at last.
           Kat pressed her lips against his again, not even trying to hide her smile. “Hi,” she said with a sigh.
           His smile got bigger as he lifted her off her feet and buried his face against her neck. He didn’t even try to stop himself when he said, “I’ve missed you, Kat.”
***
           We pulled into the garage of a beautiful waterfront house in Odessa, one of the suburbs of Tampa proper. The house itself was a two story grey and yellow stone with a bright red terra cotta roof. The stone driveway passed in front of the house and looped around to the side into a garage that held three other cars.
           “Is that… a Lamborghini?” I gasped, not taking my eyes off the white sports car. It didn’t escape me that the other two cars were probably expensive, too.
           Jericho laughed. The touch of his fingers along the back of my neck drew my attention away from the sports car. “I’ve been in this business for thirty years, Kat, and I’ve managed my money very well. The black one is a Range Rover. The blue one is an Audi R8. And yes, that’s a Lamborghini.”
           A sly smile curved his lips. “Do you want to drive it?”
           For a brief second, I wanted to say yes. But I could only imagine how expensive it was. I’d hate myself if something happened to it while I was behind the wheel. “I’d be terrified to. But I wouldn’t mind riding in it.”
           His blue eyes danced as he brushed his thumb along the spot just behind my ear that made me shiver. “Then I’ll take you out in it later.”
           That warmth at the base of my spine seeped through my entire body. It was like some anxiety that I didn’t know I’d been carrying had melted away. There was just the two of us and twenty-four hours before we had to be anywhere important.
           “Come on, sweetheart, let me show you around.”
***
           Jericho pulled her suitcase behind him as he led her in through the garage door. He watched her as she walked through his house, taking in the walls painted a faint cream, arches done in the same grey stone as the outside of the house. Anyone else who saw the house would be surprised that he was the only one living there. There was a decidedly feminine touch to some of the décor, but that was to be expected when you hired a female interior designer. Most of the furniture was upholstered white while the tables and chests in the entryway and the living room were a distressed pewter grey. The cabinets were done in a warm cherry wood, and the countertops in the kitchen and bathrooms were black veined white marble. He’d paid a pretty penny for the house, but he loved the view and the pool and the deck that looked out over the water.
           He slipped upstairs and tucked her suitcase away in the master bedroom while she stood at the nearly floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. When he returned, she was still there, her hands folded over her stomach. Jericho took a moment to drink in the sight of her. It occurred to him to grab his phone and take a picture of her. It would never do the beauty of her justice, but it would always remind him of that moment.
           When he stood beside her, he skimmed his hand along the small of her back and around her waist. He didn’t hesitate to pull her closer and wrap her in his arms. She let out a happy sigh as he ghosted his lips along her neck.
           “It’s beautiful,” Kat said as she leaned back against his shoulder.
           Jericho nuzzled his nose against the spot behind her ear that made her shiver. “Nowhere near as beautiful as you, sweetheart. Nothing will ever match you.”
***
           “Come here,” Jericho said, reaching out his hand as he sank into a chair on the deck that pushed out into the water. It swayed gently beneath us as the water lapped back and forth against the shore.
           He sat back against the reclined back, dressed in flip flops, swimming trunks, and a tank top, mirrored aviator sunglasses hiding his blue eyes. He wanted to swim, to sit in the hot tub, to go out on the water with jet skis. Anything to be outside under the beautiful Florida sun.
           I didn’t think I’d ever forget the sight of his face when I walked out of the bathroom in my bathing suit. The moment he’d mentioned getting in the pool, I was filled with dread that my suit was frumpy and ugly. I spent at least five minutes looking at myself in the mirror, adjusting the straps of the halter top, tugging and pulling the suit until it was as flattering as it could be. The memory of the day I’d bought it drifted into my mind. The Santa Monica boardwalk with Jack. How many days had I spent lounging by our apartment pool or floating on a pool chair in the Perry’s backyard?
           But I wasn’t going to tell Jericho that story. Instead I focused on the way that his eyes widened, the faded blue going bright as his jaw dropped just a little. He closed the space between us with a smile that made my chest ache. He’d taken my hand, held it up above my head and gestured for me to turn in a circle. Just as I’d done last week when I showed him the silk slip for the first time.
           “Red is definitely your color, sweetheart,” he’d praised. Jericho brushed his fingertips over my cheek. “I like it best when it’s here.”
           Whatever blush I’d already had burned brighter, making him grin even more.
           “Kat?” The sound of my name brought me back to the present. Jericho looked up at me from the deck chair, his brows drawn together in worry.
           I smiled as I sank into his lap, draping my legs over the arm of the chair. My flip flops made a faint thump as they landed on the deck. I leaned in, brushing my mouth against his. His hand came up, fingers tugging the tie in my hair until it tumbled down over my back. He buried his hands in it as he cradled the back of my head.
           “Do you like it here?” he asked when we drew apart. I shivered as his fingers trailed along that spot behind my ear that I was suddenly hyperaware of. He skimmed them along my jaw, thumb brushing against my bottom lip.
           I had the feeling he was asking something else, but I couldn’t quite figure it out. “It’s beautiful. Your house, the view, everything.”
           He smiled a tiny, soft smile. “But do you like it here? In Tampa?” He kissed the corner of my mouth, my cheek, the underside of my jaw. I forgot how to breathe.
***
           Jericho brushed his nose against her throat, breathing in the scent of her skin. It was the most wonderful smell in the world and he would never get enough of it. He could only imagine waking up to it every morning, smelling it in the pillows, the sheets. Sometimes he was hit out of nowhere with the reminder that Kat Prince was everything.
           He felt the little shudder than ran through her when he reached the soft skin behind her ear. It had been a delight to find that spot, to see what it did to her. He knew he was being a little shit when he touched or kissed her there, but the quiet sigh she made when he did was breathtaking. He curled  his hand around her waist and pulled her closer on his lap.
           Kat hummed in what he hoped was happiness. “I like it very much.”
           His chest tightened at the idea that one day—hopefully soon—she might leave California and make Odessa her home. With him.
***
           “What are you doing, sweetheart?” Jericho queried as he came into the kitchen to find her standing in front of the fridge with her head cocked to the side.
           She turned to him, dressed in leggings and one of his shirts, and gave him an embarrassed smile. “I thought I might cook dinner.”
           It was such a simple thing. So mundane. But it was something that he’d never really allowed himself to imagine. As much as he wanted those everyday moments with Kat—the quiet domestic things—he couldn’t allow himself to hope for it. Not now. Not so soon.
           Then he realized the problem. The inside of his fridge was stocked, but it was stocked with pre-made meals. Gluten free, low-carb, high protein, Paleo meals. Stuff that was just easier to have delivered and ready than to try to put together and cook himself. It was a habit born out of thirty years in the business, running from wrestling show to wrestling show, concert club to concert club. Easy and designed for keeping in shape.
           He watched Kat’s face fall as she realized there wasn’t anything really to cook with. Jericho wanted to kick himself. He’d thought and dwelled on Kat coming to his home, staying with him, getting comfortable in a space he wanted to share with her, and yet he hadn’t stopped to think about this.
           “Kat,” he whispered apologetically as he swept across the kitchen toward her. She shut the fridge with a faint sadness in her eyes. He settled his hands on her hips and drew her close against his chest. “I’m an old man who lives alone and can’t cook for shit. I’m sorry I didn’t think about that before I invited you here. I promised I’d take care of you and I didn’t even consider this.”
           She rested her palms against his chest. He wished she would look at him. Her quiet made his breath hitch in fear. “It seems like you need someone to take care of you,” she said at last.
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hewwocopter · 4 years ago
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As Fate Would Have It
MK has doubts about his soulmate, but he’s certain that it’ll work out for the best.
Until he meets him.
On Ao3 (2112 words)
Soulmates were thought highly of in society.
Their customs were normally respected. If one wanted to cover their soulmark with an article of clothing, so be it. It was for the owner’s eyes only.
It had led MK to cover his right wrist with a bandana not unlike his headband.
He knew what it said. Many nights had his fingers traced over the words, longing to hear his soulmate’s voice. Even if they were to yell at him.
Because, he presumed, that was probably what they were going to do, considering the nature of his sentence.
He laid in his bed, fiddling with the bandana. It had been a long day at work today, and it was still slightly damp from the sweat his arms had accumulated from noodle deliveries.
Ah, well.
MK slipped the band off, already knowing what he would see.
Get off me, you idiot!
What gratifying first words, right?
It seemed as though their relationship would have a rocky start. MK knew this, he was fine with it.
He was good at getting people to open up, Pigsy proved that fact. What once was a grumpy pig who nearly called the cops on MK for being too rambunctious in the streets…
Well…
Now he was a grumpy pig man who had hired that rambunctious street child. When the man saw that MK needed a place, he took him in.
So yeah, MK could probably handle his soulmate. Plus, they were his soulmate- the one destined for him. So they would eventually like each other, even if they started off hating each other, right?
There was always that small voice in the back of his head that told him to doubt. That no matter what, his soulmate would reject him. They would hate him. That his strength was also his weakness. MK’s energy was just too much, he was way too over the top.
But he had to keep hope. He seared that sentence into his brain, knowing that they were out there. That they were alive, and that there was hope.
…Probably.
A yawn edged its way up his throat, causing MK to stretch and fall back into his bed.
He’d just have to see how it went, he supposed. MK had no way of knowing for certain.
Deciding that his energy was best spent on sleeping instead of debating with himself, he set his Monkey King themed alarm clock to its usual time and slipped under the blankets, his eyes quickly sliding shut.
Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.
MK’s arms wobbled dangerously as he balanced precariously on the pipes of the sewer system.
Maniacal laughter echoed from beneath him, as green smoke erupted from the mountain. The Demon Bull King had been freed.
Son of a…
If his life were a show, this definitely would qualify as one of those record-scratch-freeze-frame moments, saying ‘hey, you’re probably wondering how I got here’.
He knew damn well how he got here. He was delivering noodles like a good delivery boy, although he was supposed to be on his break, which also begged the question:
Who ordered noodles in a sewer?! Where were the construction workers?!
How was he holding on this long?!
Although MK was surprised he hadn’t lost his grip yet.
The strange bird glanced over at him again, with a mischievous glint in its golden eyes.
His luck had been pushed to the limit with that last thought, it seemed.
He glowered, but wasn’t about to give up yet. MK waved the bird off. “No, shoo, go away!”
It hopped closer despite his warnings.
MK’s eyes only widened as what happened before him transpired in slow motion. The bird bent down and began to peck.
The incessant poking at his hand causing his grip to falter, and MK to become more panicked. Before he could shoo the bird away, he finally lost his grip and-
“No, no, no- aaaaaaaaugh!”
MK slipped.
Luckily his twenty to thirty foot fall was softened by his landing, which was on top of- oh, oh shit. He was going to die.
Before he could properly process that reaction, the giant Demon Bull King stomped up to him.
Their eyes gleamed an eerie green, casting a dark shadow onto his surroundings.
In this sort of situation, seeming it was a live or die one of the sort, MK decided he should probably de-escalate it. He let out a nervous chuckle, and lifted the noodle bag.
“Someone ordered some noodles?”
There was an awkward pause, as the villains stared at him, seemingly not expecting that reaction- they probably thought he’d be terrified- which he was, but sometimes his stupidity outweighed his sensibility.
A low growling rumbled from beneath, and MK flinched as the boy under him began to struggle, his hair flickering with flames.
“Get off me, you idiot!”
MK’s heart stopped, but only for a moment as he was sent flying and it was thumping wildly once more. While it was because of the actions occurring at the moment, what the boy- Red- had said also had a part in it.
Did he just-?
The boy tumbled to the ground, grunting.
“Do you know what you just did?” He turned to face MK fully, snarling. “You ruined my moment!”
MK could hardly process what the family was saying. Red Son- that was his name, probably- he had said what was on his wrist.
That right there was his soulmate.
He blinked, as a shadow was suddenly cast over him. MK visibly shrunk back as he saw that DBK was about to squish him, oh dear gods. All because he had zoned out over…
Speaking of. The boy slid in front of him, halting his father’s murder in progress. Thank goodness.
“Wait, father.” Red Son placed a hand on DBK’s heel, nudging him away.
MK’s eyes widened at the sight. Was he sparing him?
Then another stuttering thought.
Did he know?
He hadn’t said anything to the boy, had he? All he had done was scream so far.
“What is this?”
“Waste not your energy on this peasant. Please, allow me to show you how powerful I have become in your absence!”
MK drooped, and he nearly face-palmed. Great, so now my soulmate is going to kill me!
“As you wish.”
Well, fuck this. MK was going to escape, call the cops, then buy ice cream and cry over the fact that his soulmate was a villain. That probably hated him, considering the fact he was going to kill him.
MK turned away slowly, and began crawling away. Only halting at the sound of Red Son’s voice, internally cursing himself that he was caught.
“In some ways, you’re very fortunate, noodle boy.” Now Red Son was smiling, and were those fangs?
Oh gods, that was hot.
The thought ran through his mind a few more times before MK realized what it was, his face flaring red before he could stop it.
Are you kidding me?! Evil soulmate who hates me, and now I go and think he’s hot?!
No, no, he could not let himself get attracted to that. MK rapidly accelerated his inching away, only backwards now, only to bump into a pole, now lying discarded on the concrete.
A voice in the back of his mind whispered the truth of what it really was.
Monkey King’s staff…?
“Not many insects are lucky to be stamped out by the Demon Bull family-“ His eyes narrowed, probably at the boy’s expression which by now was a deep cherry red. “Are you even listening to me?!”
Yes and no. Red Son’s voice had no right being that hot, smoky yet matter of fact. But MK was too distracted by the staff, as well as escaping to properly pay attention to what he was articulating.
Where had these feelings even come from…?
The boy growled. “I, Red Son, will not be disrespected! You’re history!”
He raised his gauntlet, igniting it with his flames and rushed towards the delivery boy who was still stuck in his internal panic. MK’s eyes snapped up as he realized just what was going on.
Oh fuck-
MK instinctively grabbed the first thing near him- the staff- and raised it in front of him as his defense.
A loud clanging noise echoed throughout the chambers, along with a huge gust of wind.
“N-no way.” MK’s eyes peeked open upon hearing the other’s disbelief at him not being dead. “How could you possibly lift Monkey King’s staff?!” Red Son backed away from him, eyes wary but wide.
MK could only stare at the staff in awe, nothing else registering in his brain.
Red Son stammered. “I- I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m about to end it! That staff is mine!”
MK was snapped out of his trance at the appearance of the Bull clones and DBK. He let out a little whimper- one villain he could take on but fifty?! “I’m supposed to be on my breeEEEAAK!”
He swung the staff in a wide arc, a golden light erupting from the motion towards the enemies.
Through the brightness, MK saw Red Son’s expression pale, although that could have been the light. His mouth was slack jawed, eyes wide, and then he was struck with the incredible power of the staff, sent flying.
The bull clones retreated, but the superiors managed to stay standing. Oh crap, I just managed to piss off a bunch of powerful villains. I’m so dead.
“Aah,” He stumbled for an explanation, “That was way more explosive than I expected.” He then coughed, some of the soot (?) from the explosion (?!) having found its way onto his face.
A thud from Princess Iron Fan’s weapon caused the boy to jump. From her expression, he could tell that the woman was not happy.
MK gulped, and began to thrust the staff around wildly, hoping to scare her off. “Stay back! I don’t know how I’m doing this stuff!”
“That staff doesn’t belong to you, little boy. Hand it over.” Like a chiding mother to her child, the woman then held her hand out expectantly. Like she was expecting him to comply.
For a split-second, he considered it. Then promptly threw that thought out the window, because one- these people were villains, two- they were probably going to kill him either way, and three- it was Monkey King’s staff, how could he give it away?!
So MK wasn’t going to comply.
He grasped the staff protectively, holding it up against his cheek. “Mmm… no…?”
That was the moment when the staff chose to wobble, sticking itself into the ground which was absolutely not of MK’s volition that time. “Okay, I didn’t even move that ti-“
The next moment he was up in the air, the staff carrying him away, and all he could do was scream.
Red Son pushed some rubble off of himself, his mind still reeling.
“I’m supposed to be on my breeEEEAAK!”
The words replayed in his mind, although they were uttered only a few seconds ago. As Red rubbed at his head, still sore from where he had hit it against the wall, his eyes narrowed in thought.
He couldn’t believe it. The one who plagued his thoughts, the one whose words were written on his left shoulder… it was that stupid noodle boy?!
Son of a bitch.
Fate would have it be this way.
Red had to go after him. One, to beat the everloving shit out of the boy and get the staff. Two, to demand to know why it was him. Why the gods had chosen that stupid idiot for him.
Red Son didn’t need anyone. He had himself and his intelligence, and he deemed that enough. It would get him where he needed to be.
Red Son also wasn’t an idiot. He was a facts person, that much was true. He ran on logic, feelings were just icky and out of place. Predetermined love? Yeah, fuck that. He was his own person, Red Son didn’t need anyone to tell him who to love.
But he had to know.
Noodle Boy had answers.
He halted his father once more, who was in the middle of intensely describing how he would skin the noodle boy alive. “Father, allow me. I won’t fail you a second time.”
“See that you don’t.” He snarled. “My patience is past its end!”
“Of course, father.” Red Son vanished into a plume of fire, only to appear at his vehicle. He quickly hopped in and sped after the boy, already getting a reading on him on his radar.
He was going to get his answers, one way or another.
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alibabra · 5 years ago
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could I get a bakugou x black reader and them just playing fanf. Like the reader getting scared and yelling nigga when it’s like midnight. And then arguing and getting jump scared. But I’m talking about fnaf 4 lmao
(i fucking love this request)
a/n: *tonights snack: mango slices* i actually had fun making this😌 and if a part two for the second night is wanted then...😉playing fnaf with somebody else would be so fucking fun, but anyways... it’s 10pm (again) and i’m watching markiplier play as i type bye-
Bakugou x black!reader 
FNAF 
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*camera pans to random window in the UA dorms*
“What the fuck is this? Why it’s so dark.”
“I don’t know, shut up.”
Turning to face him, you twist your face up at your boyfriend. bitch
As you turn back to the screen you flinch as you see a figure pop up onto the screen, “OH SHIT!”, causing Bakugou to cackle loudly at your distress. 
“Ain’t shit funny. Now play the funky ass game before we lose.”
Once again putting your attention on the computer screen, you both hear a staticky sound coming from the left hallway. 
“GO CHECK THE HALLWAY!” “Y/N, STOP YELLING IN MY FUCKING EAR!”
“Go check the hallway.” Quickly making his way over to the left door, closing it. Listening closely you both hear a deep chuckle come from the other side. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” “You’re overreacting it’s fine-” 
“You say that but- KATSUKI TURN ON THE FLASHLIGHT!” you say as you see something creeping toward you in the dark eerie hallway. As he turned on the flashlight, you both see a brown bear sitting slouched in the middle of the dimly lit corridor. “YOU AMLOST GOT US KILLED WITH YOUR FUCKING SCREAMING!”
“ And I just saved us with my good ass eyesight so be grateful, peasant.”
Going to say something back he’s cut off by the pitter patter of fast-paced footsteps coming quickly from the right door. Out of sheer panic, you both frantically press the button to close it. But before you can relax you both hear heavy breathing and footfalls coming from the left door. “Y/N, PRESS THE BUTTON, FUCK,”
With face full of fear and distraught, you barely manage to close the door before you hear the sound of the jump scare, a purple bunny with an unhinged jaw and a mouth full of razor sharp teeth, pops up from out of the unlit hall. “NO! NIGGA WHAT THE FUCK!?” you jumped and yelled loudly causing Bakugou to flinch away from you.
You both watch as the sound stops and the screen goes black.
“I swear if you made us lose i’m not eating you out for a week.”
Sweating nervously, you wait for the screen to change while crying internally.
As a digital clock that reads 6:00AM, lights up on the screen in red you both let out a victory shout at surviving the first night.
“Don’t doubt a professional sweety.” You say as you look at him smugly.
“A professional, huh? Do the second night alone.” He retorts back just as, if not more, smug.
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theartificialdane · 4 years ago
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Galactica (Paris AU): Before sunrise, she’s your daughter.
This is a rework of a Paris AU fic I wrote in 2018, but the premise was/is too cute not revisit, so here we go ❤️
“Sutan.” Sutan felt a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him, his wife's voice soft as she called his name. “Sutan, wake up.”
“Please-“ He managed to bite back a groan, and resist the temptation to burrow his head in his pillow, but he didn’t open his eyes, at least not yet, since his alarm hadn’t gone off.
He knew Violet had been up for a while, Frida sneaking into bed and curling around his feet as soon as Violet left for her morning run. Sutan never kicked the little dog out, the hassle of removing her far outweighing the inconvenience of a cold nose touching his ankles.
Sutan had always had a sleepers heart, but after becoming a dad, it had gotten even harder to get up in the morning. It wasn’t anything like the chronic sleep deprivation both he and Violet had experienced when Melati was a baby, but a child still had so much energy, chasing after her, entertaining her and making sure she was happy the most fulfilling but also exhausting job Sutan had ever had.
“Sutan,” He could hear the exasperation in Violet’s voice, the bedside lamp getting turned on, it’s orange glow filling the room. “You have to wake up.”
“What time is it?” Sutan reached for the bedside clock, his phone face down on the night table, his reading glasses on top of it.
“6.30.”
“Why am I-“
“Melati’s cough got worse.”
At that, Sutan felt like a bucket of ice cold water had been splashed over him. He sat up, now completely awake, Frida giving an unhappy woof as she was jostled from her position.
“What?”
Melati had come home from school yesterday, their normally vibrant little girl spending the evening snuggled against Sutan’s side, the two of them watching a movie together, while Violet had tried to tempt Melati with her favorite soup.
“Do we need to go to the doctor?” Sutan reached for his glasses, trying to remember what cab company arrived the quickest and the opening hours of Melati’s médecin traitant, when Violet gently touched his hand.
“She’s okay-“
Sutan felt a breath of relief leave him. Melati had only been really sick once, the then two year old getting into Frida’s bowl during a moment of distraction, the resulting food poisoning and recovery some of the worst days of Sutan’s life since he had been riddled with guilt.
“But she can’t go to school.”
“No.” Sutan’s eyes widened, sitting up on the bed, his wife's plot falling into place as he looked at her.
Violet was already fully dressed, wearing a black pencil skirt and a white peasant blouse, the outfit the perfect foundation to go underneath her Dior staff jacket, her short hair resting against her shoulders, her lips a beautiful red.
“No no no.” Sutan grabbed his glasses, putting them on. “You have to take her.”
“I can’t.” Violet was sitting on the edge of the bed, her manicured toes peeking through the black nylon she was wearing. “I have a deadline.”
This time, he didn’t manage to hold back his groan.
Sutan knew that it was Violet’s job, knew how important it was to her that she was a part of the Dior atelier, but he despised whenever she started talking about deadlines, the amount of time his wife's work took infuriating sometimes.
Intellectually, he understood that Violet could be expected to deliver a haute couture dress in June, and therefore already be on a tight schedule in April, but it didn’t make it any less annoying when he was under pressure with things that needed to be done n-o-w.
“It’s your turn.” Violet pressed on. “I called in when she had that ear infection.”
“I have back to back meetings all day.” It was the absolute truth, Sutan’s workday as director of international operations at Elite France often packed to the brim from the moment he stepped foot in the office.“I have a whole group coming from Elite Copenhagen, I can’t not be there.”
“So you’re saying my work isn’t as important as your meetings?” Violet’s tone was icy cold, her eyes narrow slits.
“That’s not what I meant-“ Sutan reached out, putting an arm around Violet’s waist and pulling her closer, his wife thankfully following as he refused to engage. “and you know it.”
Violet gave a brief, noncommittal hum, the argument about work one they’d probably never find a truly satisfying conclusion to.
“How sick is she?”
“She’s running a fever, but it’s a dry cough. I tucked her back in, and she’s sleeping for now.” Violet pushed a bit of her hair behind her ear, looking up at Sutan. “I know it isn’t ideal.” Violet sighed, “but you can take her with you. I can’t.”
While Elite wasn’t exactly a place for kids, the Dior atelier was even less so. Melati had very, very rarely been allowed to go with Violet and see where she worked if she was healthy and could sit still, their daughter completely enamored with the beautiful pieces of moving art her mother worked on every single day.
“Does she have a bag?”
“Mmh,” Violet nodded, a small smile blooming on her lips. “All packed up and ready to go.”
Violet was the one who got Melati up in the morning, the two of them all ready to leave and finishing up breakfast when Sutan usually stumbled in to get the first coffee of the day, Violet doing Melati’s hair while he woke all the way up.
“I’ll call my assistant.”
It was a miracle that Sutan’s assistant Esther loved Melati, Esther even picking the small girl up from school once in a while when neither of them could make it. Sutan wasn’t looking forward to scooping Melati and her duvet up and putting her in a taxi, but he had his own corner office with a large couch, a door that locked and an ensuite, Melati just as comfortable there as she’d be at home.
It’d take some maneuvering, but he’d manage, because that’s what parents do.
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talpup · 4 years ago
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Summary: Yami Sukehiro just wanted to join the Magic Knights and make his mentor proud.  He knew there would be trails.  He knew trouble would come his way.  Knew he would be faced with discrimination for being a foreigner and a peasant.  What he didn’t know.  Didn’t expect.  Was that literal Chaos would come his way.  That he and his mentor’s sister would be at the center of world ending trouble.  Or that he would fall in love with his mentor’s sister and face more than discrimination; but the jealously of Nozel Silva who loved the same woman he did.
Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, eventual sexual behavior, and other possible triggers.  For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).
Cause I’m impatient to share and all the manga I read are taking a week off, here’s the final chapter of Book I.  ******FYI I’ll be starting a new ‘work’ over on ao3 for Book II so please be aware and be on the look out for that and know that though this work will say complete on ao3, the fic isn’t finished.******
While the fic has had plently of breadcrumbs scattered about.  This chapter has LOTS of hidden and not so hidden nuggets about the Chaos plotline and what’s to come.
Chapter 83
Yami woke up on the dawn of December twenty-first.  At least he figured it was morning.  After being in a cold, damp, dark cellar filled with spirits he wasn’t allowed to drink for two days, Yami’s internal clock was likely a bit off.  He didn’t know where they were.  Three nights ago Julius had time jumped him and Jax here while Greywright had used his transportation charm to portal himself, Teris, and Julius’ Vice Captain Jon somewhere else.
Neither group was suppose to know where the other was.  Though that wasn’t entirely the case for Yami and Teris.  Their heightened sense of each others mana allowed Yami to sense the direction and relative distance Teris was from him.  Though he couldn’t say exactly where she was, he would've been able to track his way to her with ease.  It was why Yami thought this plan entirely needless and stupid.  Not that he’d ever lead the Agents of Chaos to Teris if they found him.  He’d kill them all or die trying before he ever did that.
Yami sat up and stretched his sore neck.  Three nights on cold, damp cobble stone floor wasn’t good for anyone.
“Morning.” Jax greeted.  He saw the tenting of Yami’s pants and looked away, clearing his throat.  “Wanna take care of that?”
Yami ignored the Captain's question.  Bending his knees, he rested his forearms on them, hiding the bulge as best he could.  “Where’s Julius?”
“Checking in with Bronn and getting breakfast.”  Jax answered.
“Not checking in with Greywright?”  Yami questioned.
“Julius couldn’t check in with them even if he wanted.  You know that. It’s safest that way.”  Jax told.
“At least you know where we are.”  Yami complained, looking about the cellar.
“One more day.  Once the sun sets, we can go back home and sleep in our own beds.”
“And see Teris.”  Yami added.
The Captain smirked and stretched, back popping.  “I’m getting too old for missions like this.”
“You’re not that old.  I mean you’re old.  But not ancient.”  Yami said.
Jax huffed.  “Thanks.  I no longer feel bad about your embarrassment over your personal camp ground.”
Yami parted his arms, hands spread.  “Who said I was embarrassed?” Mana, would the thing just go down already.  He had to pee.
“Damn it, Yami!  Have some of decency if not shame.”  Jax might've made a quip back about camp size it were Bronn; but Bronn was his closest friend next to Julius.  The two had come up the ranks together. Always looking out for each other, it was obvious to all that Bronn wouldn’t be where he was if it weren’t for Jax.  But Jax would argue that he wouldn’t be Captain let alone alive if it weren’t for Bronn.
Yami rested his forearms back on his knees.
After a moment Jax asked.  “You can still sense Teris’ mana, right?  It hasn’t moved.”
“She’s still were she was.”  Yami said.  “I still don’t get the point in separating us when we can sense each other.  They could just spell Teris or I into leading them to the other.”
Jax sighed at Yami’s reiterated complaint.  “They’d have to find one of you.  Have a mage capable of compelling you.  And then travel over there.”
“I’ve seen the numbers Alowishus has following him.  I can only imagine the number of Spatial Mages he has to portal such a group.”  Yami argued, recalling the mass of people he saw the morning of the Summer Solstice.
“It’s still an extra step and it makes us feel better.  Stop being difficult for the spite of it.”  Jax snapped.
Yami huffed and got to his feet.
“Where you going?”  Jax questioned.
“To pee.  Care to watch?”
Jax rubbed his weary face.  They were all cranky and tired.  Honestly, it was a wonder Yami wasn’t more temperamental, having been locked inside for six days now.  At least when at the Black Bulls base for those first three days windows provided natural light and fresh air; never mind space to get away from each other.  After being holed up in a windowless cellar for the last three days, Jax was even more certain that he and Yami and would get on as Captain and Vice Captain.  That was if he didn’t kill Yami before this final day was done.
Yami returned, appearing from behind stacked casks of aging brandy.  “If we make till sundown think we could take a barrel or two to celebrate?”
Jax smirked, liking how the man thought.  “No.  But we’ll go out and I’ll cover your tab for the night.”
“I’ll hold you to that and see you regret it.”  Yami grinned.
Before Jax could reply Julius appeared, his form piecing back together.
Yami’s mouth watered at the smell of food.  He grabbed the covered basket out of the Azure Deers Captain's hands and opened it up.  Finally! After two mornings of oatmeal, Julius had brought bacon and sausage.
“I love you.”  Yami breathed.
“Thanks.” Julius said, uncertainly.
“He was talking to the food.”  Jax said.
Julius arched an eyebrow.
“What? He’s still growing.”  Jax defended.
“I hope not.  He’s as tall as me.”  Julius said.
Jax laughed.  “You wish!  He’s taller.”
“Is not.”  Julius argued.
Jax looked over at Yami who closed his eyes and threw his head back as he chewed.  “Sorry to be the one to tell you this, Julius.  But the kid’s nearly a full inch taller than you.”
“Yami. Come here.”  Julius called.
“What?” Yami gruffed, between chews.
“Stand up and come here.”  Julius ordered.
Yami got to his feet and moved to the Captain’s, taking another rasher of bacon as he did.  “What?”
Julius stood in front of Yami, blue eyes skimming him from toe to head.  He stepped back and shot Jax a frowning pout.  “Shut up.”
Jax laughed.  “I have no control over the boys growth spurts.”
Yami looked between the Captain's deciding now was the best time to broach the matter.  “As it’s our last day here.  Either of you wanna tell me what’s got you both so spooked about the Wizard Kings Advisor?”
Julius and Jax’s heads snapped to Yami, any lighthearted semblance of play evaporating in an instant.
“Wha-- Where did that come from?  There’s nothing spooking us about Advisor Ellara.  She—”
“If you had kept shut I might’ve been able to salvage this.”  Jax cut in over Julius, thinking his friend a terrible liar.
Julius turned on Jax.  “What did you tell him?”
“Nothing.” Jax said.  “It’s what we, or rather our Ki, told him.”  He looked at Yami.  “Right?”
Yami gave a nod.
“You just confirmed it though.  So...”  Jax patted Julius’ back. “Good job.”
Yami didn’t say that their Ki had confirmed it as soon as Advisor Ellara was mention.  Instead he watched the two Captain's, waiting for reply.
Eyebrows pinched with worry, Julius turned to Yami.  “We don’t know anything for sure.  So please don’t go doing something stupid.”
Yami’s muscles tensed.  “What’s going on that you think I’d do something?”
“No.” Jax shook his head.  “I’m not ready to bring you in on this yet.”
Yami turned to his Captain, expression darkening.  “You’re going do what Jorah did and leave us in the dark?”
“Sir Jorah.”  Jax corrected, frayed temper struggling not to rise at Yami’s accusation.  “And we won’t keep it from you for long.”
“Sure you won’t.”  Yami rolled his eyes.
“Yami--” Jax bit back an irritated censure and sighed.  “We won’t.  It’s just…  With everything going on right now I’m not telling you, alright.”
“Then don’t.  Let Julius tell me.”  Yami said.
“Not today.”  Jax growled out.
“Then when?”  Yami pressed.
Jax sighed heavily.  He scratched his forehead, considering a moment. “After Bronn’s retired and married.  We’ll start the new year, and your and Teris’ time as Vice Captain with that problematic bit of information.  Happy?”
Yami turned to Julius.
“Don’t look at him.  I’m your Captain.”  Jax snapped.
Yami glared, almost arguing that Julius was future Wizard King.
Jax’s expression hardened.  “Scowl all you like.  You just might change my mind into waiting longer.”
Yami turned away and went back to his breakfast.
Julius and Jax shared a look.  Both silently hoped that Bronn caught Ellara in the act of something so Yami and Teris could be kept well away from that particular mess.
83.2
While Greywright’s army men were capable of watching, listening, and relaying intel; his magic was better suited for close combatant and protective shielding.  With so many of his magics army men currently active and stationed in hidden areas around the property, they were little more than a type of motion sensor for an early warning system.
The Magic Knights Commander would’ve preferred actual Magic Knights positioned outside, along with two or three squads within.  He had re-read Yami and Teris’ reports of all their dealings with the Agents of Chaos.  The numbers Yami had seen on morning of the Summer Solstice was considerable.  Even if most of that force was untrained with middle to low mana levels, their numbers alone would be able to overwhelm with relative ease if they attack en masse.  And that wasn’t even accounting for the magic negating mage Yami and Teris had dealt with; or Alowishus Spade himself, who had somehow been unaffected by Julius’ time magic during their fight on the morning of the Summer Solstice.
Low light streamed in through shuttered windows.  The day was nearing its end, the sun almost completely set.  Yet Greywright’s focus and tension didn’t lessen.  It might've been the longest day of the year; but it felt like the longest day of his life.
So much depended on what happened during this last bit of daylight.  Not just for Yami and Teris, or this Chaos business they were trying to stop; but for Greywright’s own life.  His work, his friendships, the Magic Knights as a whole could be effected for better or worse this day.
If Bronn came back and reported having seen Ellara meeting with members of the Agents of Chaos, it wouldn’t matter if they kept Yami and Teris safe.  Chaos would descend upon the Order of Magic Knights that was Greywright’s life and love.  Doubt and suspicion would be cast upon the man Greywright had spent his career serving.  What would Sir Jorah do?  What would happen to the man?  Would Sir Jorah’s tenure as Wizard King be forced to an end?  Would Sir Jorah’s time as Wizard King be forever scarred?  Would all the good the Wizard King had done be forever forgotten under the stigma of Ellara’s betrayal?
Greywright shook such thoughts away.  Bronn could just as easily return with nothing to report, saying Ellara had stayed late at Magic Investigations as she was known to do.  Instead of worrying about possibilities he couldn’t control, he had to focus on what he could.
With only a twenty minutes left until the sun dipped below the horizon, now was possibly the most dangerous time of all.  If the Agents of Chaos found them, they would be desperate to get Yami and Teris to the ritual sight before the sun set.  Greywright had fought his fair share desperate people.  With nothing to lose, they were perhaps the most deadly and fearsome foes of all.
Greywright’s muscles spasmed in complaint when his already tense neck and shoulders tensed further.  “Someone’s coming.”  He usually wasn’t so tightly wound.  His years of experience had left him calm and ready for anything.  Or so he had thought.  But there was no amount of experience that could leave one ready for the possibly of confirming that your co-worker and counterpart was a traitor serving a zealotous group that wanted to unleash Chaos and end the world.
“You and Teris stay back.”  Greywright ordered Jon.  His gaze locked on Teris.  “Remember what I said.”  His eyes twitched and narrowed. “I’m not Julius, Jax, or Fuegoleon.  I expect you to follow orders without word or reinterpreting.”
Teris swallowed and stared.  Despite what might be outside, a small part of her was awed and envious.  How was it that with mere look and tone of voice Greywright could made her fear him more than what might be coming?  This was the man she admired.  The man who held the rank and position she wanted to achieve.  Would she ever be able to make someone fear with just a look and inflection?  Would she ever be so sure and confident?  The man didn’t even wait for her to nod.  Not that she would've been able to.
The Knights Commander had long since gone over his orders of what she should do if the Agents of Chaos came.  There was no doubt in Teris’ mind that she wouldn’t be able to obey.  She could never light travel away and leave Greywright and Jon to fight.
Where Jax would've given the same orders, telling Teris obey and not to be stupid.  Greywright had told her not to be prideful.  Teris glowered at the retreating Commander.  She didn’t think it prideful to want to stay and help fight.
Teris’ heart pounded in her chest.  She could easily sense Yami’s mana pool.  He hadn’t moved from the spot he had been in for these passed three days.  If they caught her, there were any number of ways the Agents of Chaos could magically force her to lead them to Yami. Her mouth turned as dry as the dust motes around them as Jon urged her into an inner room with one entry and no windows.
They were in the abandoned, boarded up estate of the defunct noble House Glesse.  The family having been stripped of everything immediately after it was learned Lord Glesse had hired Cin and his gang to kill Nozel.  Wrong as it felt to be in the house of the man who had tried to have Nozel murdered.  At least is was comfortable.  All be it cold and dark, as Greywright didn’t allow fires or candles, even during the night.
Jon standing protectively in front of her, Teris tiptoed trying to see over his shoulder; not that there was anything to see other than the wall she’d been staring at for three days.  Her gut churned.  They had made it this far.  There were less than twenty minutes left till sundown.  Her teeth gritted, hands curling into fists.  There was no way they were going to do to Yami what they’d done to her on the Summer Solstice.  She refused to let them use her to find Yami. She’d kill every single one of them first.  She’d rather die.
Greywright relaxed when his guarding army men alerted there was only one person. That was until he saw who the person was.  Ellara Shaw.  He glanced back making sure Jon had moved Teris to the safe room then made for the front door.
Greywright waited out on the front landing.  When the Advisor got close enough for them to talk without raised voices, he asked.  “What are you doing here?”
Ellara squinted at the low hanging sun.  “I could ask you the same.  This isn’t where you were suppose to house Yami and Teris.”
“The place was compromised.”  Greywright said, hating that it could very well be true if Ellara was indeed working with the Agents of Chaos.
“How so?”  Ellara questioned.
Instead of answering, Greywright looked passed her asking a question of his own.  “You alone?”
“As if your magics army men didn’t see and report as much to you.” Ellara said.
Greywright’s eyes narrowed.  Ellara knew the limitations of his magic.  She also knew his connection with his army men was more of a sense or daydream depending on how many and how far they were from him.  Calling that connection a ‘report’ was more than generous.  It was completely inaccurate.  And with as precise as Ellara always was with her phrasing and word choice, something very unlike her to say.
At Greywright's expression, Ellara told.  “I may not be a Magic Knight but I know how not to be followed.  Jorah’s made it perfectly clear that Yami and Teris’ safety is of paramount importance.”
Greywright frowned.  Ellara never spoke the Wizard Kings name without a title of respect.
Ellara looked passed him to the door.  “They inside?”
“How’d you find us?”  Greywright asked.
Ellara crossed her arms, a toying glint in her eyes.  “Teris is a royal lady.  Hiding her in some distillery with no bed or proper bathroom would hardly suit.”
Greywright swallowed, heart quickening.  He was certain the mention of a distillery was to prove she knew where Yami was hidden.
She smiled.  “What’s the matter, Commander?  Getting a little paranoid after being holed up for three days?  Trust me.  If I was working for the Agents of Chaos and the Master of Chaos wanted those two, I would already have them in hand.”
83.3
Taking long shallow breaths, Bronn swallowed roughly, trying not to throw up.  Hitching a ride along side another Spatial Mages gate wasn’t something most Spatial Mages could do.  Nor was it something Bronn liked to do; and not just because the ability likely came thanks to his nobleman father.  Using a portal to tag-along with someone elses portal left him dizzy and vulnerable for a good few seconds.  But when a portal appeared before the Wizard Kings Advisor and she had walked through it, Bronn tethered a portal of his own to it and followed.
There were ten, fifteen minutes at most, before the sun completely set. Bronn knew he couldn’t lose Ellara now.  Not this close to the solstice.  He just hoped Jax, Julius, Greywright, and Jon had been able to keep Yami and Teris hidden and safe.
Bronn quickly crouched behind a shrub thirty meters away from Ellara and the cloaked figures she was meeting, and took in his surroundings. What were the Agents of Chaos doing at the geyser labyrinth?  Even with the labyrinth and its entrance disappeared, Bronn was sure of the location.  Though the geyser labyrinth shifted out of phase.  It always reappeared in the same spot.
Suddenly the ground beneath Bronn disappeared and he was falling.  He was deposited with a plop, the fifteen foot landing knocking the air out of him.  Rolling onto his back, he looked up to find Ellara, another woman, and two men staring down at him.
Bronn propped himself up on an elbow with a grunt, and critiqued.  “A halfway decent Spatial Mage knows how to stick the landing.”
“I did.”  The other woman said.
Bronn glanced from the other woman to Ellara, and greeted.  “Advisor, fancy seeing you here.”
Ellara frowned down at Bronn.  “You shouldn’t have followed me here, Vice Captain.  How did you?”
Bronn sat up.  “I call it ‘hitching a ride’.  Any Spatial Mage worth their salt would’ve felt me tagging along.  It slows the gate process and creates a sort of tugging tension.”  He looked at the other woman.  “Or is that how you knew I was here?”
“I knew you were here because you’ve been following me for the last three days.”  Ellara said.  “You’re not as good as you think you--”
“Seven.” Bronn interrupted, eyes fixing back on Ellara.  “I’ve been tailing you for the last seven days.  Guess you’re not as good as you think you are.”
Ellara glanced at one of the men, before telling Bronn again.  “You shouldn’t have followed me here.”
“And miss your ruined ritual when you couldn’t get a hold of those kids? Nah.  I just had to see your sorry faces for myself.”  Bronn said.
Ellara bent at the waist and grabbed Bronn roughly, fingers digging into his jaw.  “You’re far too early if that’s what you wanted to see. There is no ritual tonight.”
“I don’t believe you.”  Bronn glared.
“You really have no clue, do you?”  Ellara sighed, tone caught between reproachful and amused.  “No wonder Greywright humored Captain’s Julius and Jax in changing the location and hid Yami and Teris in that house and distillery.”
Bronn’s blood ran cold.  Though he didn’t know where either Yami or Teris were, Ellara sounded far too sure of herself.
Ellara released him, expression disgusted.  “Commander Greywright’s days of tolerating Captain's Julius and Jax in their workings against me will come to an end.  A transformation mage is meeting with him as we speak to secure my innocence in his mind.  Your death will be meaningless.  You really shouldn’t have followed me, Vice Captain. Senior Healer Gilly Shae deserved better.”
“You keep her name off your filthy traitor lips or I’ll kill you!” Bronn hollered.  He tried to portal away but couldn’t.
“If the two favored and chosen by Darkness and Light couldn’t use their magic unless I willed it.  What makes you think you’d be able to?” Calen questioned.  “You’re not going anywhere, Vice Captain.”
“Leave him.”  Alowishus commanded.  “It’s almost time.”
“I thought you said there was no ritual.  Leave it to a bunch of crazies to be a pack of liars.”  Bronn spat.
“There is no ritual.  This is a revival.”  Alowishus said.
“Revival? What’s that mean?”  Bronn demanded.  He wasn’t all that curious, though Jax and Julius would be grateful for any info he gave when he got out of here.  …If he got out of here.
Don’t think like that, he scolded himself.  Gilly was waiting for him.  He had promised her that he’d be back.  Bronn had broken his fair share of promises in his life; but never once had he broken a promise to Gilly.  He wasn’t about to start now.  He just had to keep these crazies talking until an opening for a way out presented itself.
Alowishus looked to the setting sun, the barest curve of light still visible but shrinking fast.  “To awaken Chaos more than the rituals of Light and Darkness must be preformed.  We must create our own chaos as offering.”
“Haven’t you pack of lunatics created enough chaos already?”  Bronn goaded.
Alowishus held up a hand, staying his followers from attacking the Vice Captain for his disrespect.  He had heard worse over the course of his life. “My offering will be something truly remarkable.”  Alowishus thought of the skull of his long dead father, memory of the skulls words ringing in his ears.  “What many would say is impossible.”
“What?” Bronn scoffed.  “You gonna drop this nonsense, admit you’re crazy, and suddenly turn sane?”
Bronn’s head wrenched to the side, Calen’s hit resounding off the trees lining the meadow.
Alowishus bent down, mismatched eyes boring into Bronn.  “I’m going to end this world so I never have to mess with nonsense ever again.  Does that count?”
Bronn growled, wiping the blood from his bitten lip with a shirt sleeve.
Alowishus dusted himself off and stood.  “But before I make the Darkness end the Light, I must see myself strengthened so history doesn’t repeat itself.”
Bronn snarled.  “If you think you can make that boy kill Black Sheep, you’re dead wrong.  There’s no manipulation magic or threat to anothers life that’ll make Yami Sukehiro end Teris Nova.”
Alowishus smirked and turned away,  “It’s time.”
The ground swirled around Alowishus as he stepped away from his followers, and Bronn.  He stopped where the entrance to the labyrinth would've been just as the sun vanished beneath the horizon.  Arms extending, Alowishus’ eyes closed.
His mana built as he focused on the residual, and once well known, mana of a long dead soul.  He was Death.  It wasn’t in his nature to give life.  But that didn’t mean he was incapable of doing so, in his own twisted fashion.  People said death was a terrible and unfair thing.  That it took and stole.  If that was the case, wasn’t taking someone from their peace by stealing them from death unfair?  After all, to Alowishus' mind there was nothing more terrible than forcing someone to live.
The ground trembled and split open.
Bronn jumped to his feet.  “What’s he doing?”
“You heard the Master.  Revival.”  Calen said, a look of awe washing over his face.
Bronn turned to Ellara.  “This isn’t you, lass.  I don’t know you well but I know that this isn’t you.  You’ve spent your life serving the Clover Kingdom.  Serving Jorah.”
Ellara looked at him.  “My bed was made long ago.”  Her eyes traveled back to her husband.  “I must continue to lie in it.”
A great explosion of dirt and rock erupted in front of Alowishus.  He crumbled to his knees, weakened from his efforts.
Calen, Ellara, and Misandre made for him.  Bronn tore his gaze away from the scene.  If he made a break for it, he might have a chance.  The Mage blocking his magic had to have some sort of limit.  If he could just get far enough away...
Before Bronn could take a step, the ground swallowed him up to his knees.
Alowishus looked over his shoulder at him.  “You came all this way.  It would be a shame if you left and missed everything.”
Bronn’s breath caught.  The inky black pools of Alowishus' eyes were just how Teris had described Yami’s eyes when the force inside him took over.
Seeing his followers near, Alowishus ordered.  “Stay back.”
Fingers digging into the soil, Alowishus closed his eyes.  In his weakened state he could literally feel the thrum of life around him. It sicken him, the way he could could hear it cry out for mercy.  The only mercy was death Alowishus thought; wishing someone would show Death such mercy.
Focusing and condensing his mana, Alowishus exhaled, pulling his mana out of him.  A tarry, purple-black mass churned around him in a thick, volatile cloud.  The surrounding trees and shrubs shriveled and fell over.
Bronn looked down at his hands, seeing them whither before his eyes.  He had seen enough dead in various stages of decay to know what was happening.
“He’s taking our life force.”  Bronn told the others.
“You’re already dead anyway.”  Misandre said.
Ellara’s heart hammered in her chest, fear and excitement coursing through her veins.  “The Master is only taking the life force of the earth.  If we were any closer we’d have cause for concern.  This far away. There will be no lasting effects.”
Bronn was about to appeal to Ellara again when Alowishus released a blood curling roar that shook the earth and very air they breathed.
With a shout, Alowishus pushed the collected life force into the residual mana of the long dead soul.
Still kneeling on the ground, Alowishus fell to all fours, spent.
“Watch him.”  Ellara ordered the others before rushing to Alowishus.  She knelt beside him and gripped his shoulder, helping him sit up on his knees.   Her hand blackened and rotted at the contact.  But she ignored the pain, certain her husband and Master would see her healed before she returned to her role as Advisor.
Alowishus panted, face pale from exertion.  “I did it.  I brought the dead to life.”
Ellara exhaled.  Her concern for her husband growing as her fear over what he had attempted to do waned.  Despite what Alowishus thought.  It hadn’t worked.  Captain Shadow Banashe did not stand before them.
“Help me up.  I want to be on my feet when I see her for the last.” Alowishus said.
Ellara did as her Master bid, breathing through the mouth least she retch at the decaying stench of him.
Alowishus took a moment to steady himself before nudging her away.  “Get back with the others.”
Ellara stepped back.
With the sun completely disappeared beneath the horizon it was difficult to see.  That was until…  A wild wind whipped up.  Flashes of yellow lightening struck the ground in front of Alowishus, illuminating their surroundings.
A gold glowing ghost appeared.  The specter looked down at her see through hands then up at the Master of the Agents of Chaos.  “What have you done!”
Bronn and the Agents of Chaos stared at the long dead Captain of the Azure Deers.
“I told you, Shadow.  I would have your heart.”  Alowishus said.
A long ago memory of a lazy day sitting on a grassy knoll with the man she thought might be her future filled her mind.
“You’re beautiful, Shadow.  Nearly magnificent.”
Shadow laughed.  “Nearly magnificent?  Is this how you woo all women?”
The handsome man she was slowly falling in love with took her hand and turned to her.  “There are no other women.  It is my goal to have you.  I will have your heart, Shadow Banashe.”
Shadow shook her head and tried to step back.  She tried to travel to the nearest light source; her method of light travel.  But she couldn’t move or use her magic.
“Sorry. I was unable to fully restore you.”  Alowishus apologized, almost tenderly.
Ellara stepped back involuntarily.  She couldn’t believe Alowishus had actually done it.  To bring someone so long dead back to life.  It was truly extraordinary.  Truly terrifying.
Shadow pleaded with the man before her.  “Everard--
Alowishus cut her off.  “I am no longer the man you knew, Shadow.  My name is Alowishus Spade.”
“I don’t care what life you live.  Or what name you use for it.  You are Death.”  Shadow spat.
“That I am.”  Alowishus agreed.  “I wish I had been around to warn you not to go on that mission.  Dying down there couldn’t have been easy.  But you saw to it that I was out of the picture; and as they say, it all worked out in the end, at least for me.”
“Please, Everard. Don’t do this.  If you do this you will never come back from it. There will be no help for you.”  Shadow told.
“I don’t need help.  I need your heart.  The essence of your power.” Alowishus said.
Shadow looked to those behind him.  “Don’t let him do this!  He’ll be unstoppable.  He’ll see the world destroyed and all of existence with it.”
Alowishus’ eyes turned an iridescent black.  “They won’t stop me.  They couldn’t if they tried.  But you are right, Shadow.  And so was I.” His eyes returned to normal, expression softening for a fraction of a second.  “You were nearly magnificent.”  He said, recalling Yami and Teris on the morning of the Summer Solstice.  “And once I devour you heart, there will be no stopping me.  With your heart, I will be able to face the Ray of Annihilation with no fear. Poetic really.  That the light magic user of the previous age would help me destroy this ages light magic user.  Chaos has a way of bending Destiny to his will.  Does he not?”
He thrust out an arm, hand piercing Shadow’s stomach to reach up under her ribs.
“I feel it.”  Alowishus smiled.  “Your essence.  Your power.  To think I once thought you beautiful and extraordinary.  You are nothing, Shadow.  Weak compared to Teris Nova.  She is magnificent. The wheedler of Light itself.  The perfect opposite of Darkness.  She is fearsome and great.  But with this.”  He pulled his hand back holding Shadow’s heart which glowed brightly with a warm golden light.  “With this I will be the Ray of Annihilation’s end and see the Lord of Destruction tear this paltry existence apart.”
Alowishus squeezed the heart.
Shadow screamed, her eyes glowing gold.  Her heart, her mana, her very essence condensed in Alowishus' hand.
“Goodbye, my dear.”  Alowishus whispered.  His hand snapped shut.
Shadow’s phantom vanished.
The glow in Alowishus’ hand dimmed by half and spread throughout his body.
Alowishus gritted his teeth.  He threw his head back in pain.  His arms shot out wide and straight, body spamming violently.  He was Death.  He and Chaos had fathered the Darkness.  He was the enemy and opposite of Life.  And he had just taken in a fraction of the power of Life and Chaos’ own child.  Light.
Alowishus collapsed to his hands and knees.  Looking down at his hands he saw the once decaying flesh return to it’s previous state, taking on a healthy color the appendages had never had for as long as he’d worn them.  He pulled up his sleeves where the scars from countless replacements were no longer heal-able.  Those scars now faded and vanished.
“I did it.”  Alowishus breathed, hardly able to believe it himself. He got to his feet and roared up at the sky.  “I did it!”
If only his father and grandfather had been here to see.  If only the skull he tormented, that tormented him in turn was active and awake for more than the three nights surrounding the new moon.
Ellara rushed to Alowishus and was caught up in his arms.  Alowishus hugged her before setting her down and making his way to the rest of his followers and Bronn.
Bronn sneered at Ellara.  “I see why you’re betraying Jorah and the Clover Kingdom.  You’re more than a follower.  Your part of his harem.”  He glanced at Alowishus’.  “You know she and one of my men constantly fuc--”  Bronn choked, a mass of thorns swelling inside his throat.
“There’s no need to be crude, Vice Captain.  You’re death will go that much easier for you if you don’t aggravate.”  Alowishus said, ceasing the plant magic he could tap into through a replaced right foot.
Bronn spit out bloody thorns.  His raw, cut throat and mouth turning his graveled voice hoarse.  “You gonna pull out my heart too?”
“Of course not.  But I will take your hands for Misandre.”  Alowishus turned to Ellara.  “You never said the Black Bulls Vice Captain had such ability and power.  I would’ve ordered him taken.  Especially after Erskin’s death.”
“I... was unaware.”  Ellara said.
Bronn’s eyes narrowed.  Ellara may not have known that he could hitch a ride with another Spatial Mage.  But after years of mission reports, she had known he was a powerful and highly capable Spatial Mage.  He was certainly better than the Spatial Mage they had towing them around.
“You knew.”  Bronn said.  “Mana level and magically ability was the only thing my no good father gave to me.”
Ellara turned on him.  “You dare lie in your last hour of life?  The only thing I knew you were good for was getting drunk and causing trouble.”
“Enough, wife.”  Alowishus ordered.
“Wife?” Bronn echoed.
“The Vice Captain's perchance for falsehood is well known.  There’s no reason that you wouldn’t have informed us of his ability when you knew Misandre could have used the help.”  Alowishus said.
Ellara settled.
Misandre lowered her head and looked away.
“You’re married to this creep?”  Bronn asked Ellara in disbelief.  He shook his head.  “Well if that doesn’t explain a lot.  You could’ve done so much better, lass.  He could be your what?  Father? Grandfather?”
“Countless times over.”  Alowishus said, though his followers only knew the half of it.
“Really?” Bronn looked up at him, squinting in the low moonlight.  “You don’t look it.  I mean you look like crap.  But to be several decades older...  I suppose you look halfway decent then.”
Calen stepped forward offended on his Master's behalf.
Alowishus lifted a staying hand.  “They’re only words from a man who knows he’s about to die.”
Bronn gritted his teeth.  The crazy bastard was right in that.  He was dead no matter what he did.  Was dead the moment he had hitched a ride and arrived here.  He had been in enough fights to know when one was decided before it begun.  Fighting would get him nothing but a messy, drawn out death.  He’d be a liar if he said he didn’t fear death. But he was more concerned with bravely meeting his end.
Bronn sighed, roughly rubbing a hand over his face.  “So this night really wasn’t about those two troublemakers, was it?”
Alowishus didn’t see a reason not to explain.  Not when the Vice Captain couldn’t escape.  Leaving a dead mans questions unanswered seemed heartless.  And while his long life may have made him cruel, he wasn’t heartless.
“While any Winter Solstice will see Yami Sukehiro at his most connected to the force within him.  A regular ritual of Darkness would not achieve our end goal of awakening Chaos.  No.  This night really wasn’t about Yami and Teris.  The ritual that will see Darkness descend will be something as unique and extraordinary as Yami himself.  Good attempt at keeping them safe though.  I’m surprised they allowed themselves to be separated.”  Alowishus taunted.
Bronn’s lip curled, remembering the fuss Yami and Teris had made.  “They weren’t given a choice.”
His eyes skimmed the dry, dead earth and fallen trees.  He wished he could warn Jax just how out of their depth they were.  That despite all their care, Alowishus and his Agents of Chaos knew where Yami and Teris had been hidden.  That their foe was so much more powerful than they could imagine.  He wished he could grab and squeeze Yami’s neck one last time.  Or better, fight him.  He wished he could tell the Lord of Destruction to give those royals a right good lesson when he fought to free Black Sheep from her family.  He wished he could be there when Yami and Teris invariably caused trouble as Vice Captain’s and tell Jax ‘I told you so’.  But Bronn’s greatest wish was that he could hold Gilly one last time.  That he could tell her how sorry he was he had broken his promise and wouldn’t be back to marry her.
“You seem like a nice man, Vice Captain.”  Alowishus said.
“I’m not.”  Bronn huffed.  “Ask anyone.  I’m a right old bastard.”
“Then I suppose you won’t tell us all that your Commander Greywright, Captain Jax, and Teris’ brother know and suspect.”  Alowishus said.
“That’d be right.”  Bronn said.
“It’s no matter.  Ellara.”  Alowishus commanded.
Ellara stepped in front of Bronn.  Though her expression was haughty, her eyes held a sort of sadness.  “Forgive me, Vice Captain.  Forced memory access is hardly pleasant.”
“I think you’ll be the one finding it unpleasant, lass.”  Bronn told.
Thinking he meant what she would find in his memories, Ellara’s eyes milked over.  She screamed the instant her mind connected with his.  The pain was like a hot poker being driven through her head into the center of her brain.
She staggered.  Calen steadied her.
Bronn cried out, Alowishus magically compressing the earth that had swallowed the bottom half of his legs.  The snapping of Bronn’s bones only slightly muffled by the compacted soil.
Holding her head, Ellara assured.  “I’m alright.”
Alowishus allowed the ground to ease.
Bronn fell forward, arms holding him up.  He forced a chuckle through the pain.  “Warned you, didn’t I?”
“That was more than just a mind block.”  Alowishus said.
“What? You think you’re the only one’s who can think of ways to hurt people?  Me and my lot can get real creative when we have to.” Bronn told.
Alowishus sneered.  “I should have figured.”
“Guess you’re not as smart and informed as you think you are.”  Bronn sassed.
Ignoring the taunt, Alowishus turned to Ellara.  “Are you alright?”
Ellara nodded.  Though no longer hot, it still felt like a poker was lodged in her head.
“Misandre. See my wife home and bring Liva back before she does something out of Ellara’s character that might make someone question.” Alowishus ordered.
“What are you going to do?”  Ellara asked, fighting a glanced at Bronn.
“Calen and I will make the Vice Captain's death as painful as possible, then take his hands and leave the rest for his people to find.” Alowishus looked down at Bronn with a sympathy that was ruined by a small smirk.  “I’m sorry to say, you’ll be missing your wedding, Vice Captain.”
83.4
Yami stepped among an inky blackness that had no up or down, no beginning or end.  He would’ve thought such a space would make him disoriented.  Dizzy even.  But he felt none of those things.  After all this space was his and him at once.
He surveyed the expanse waiting for crazy, happy, killer voice to start going on about how Light could not survive without the Darkness.  But it never happened.  Instead he saw that all was not right within his space.  There was a faint, flickering light far off in the void.  He wanted to get closer to see what it was, and suddenly he was.
Yami found himself standing behind his grandmother.  “Obāchan?”
The old woman turned to him.  “It is time, Sukehiro.”
“Time for what?”
“I used what was left of my magic to save you when you were a babe.  But there is magic in death.  And I am here to bestow that magic upon you.”  His Grandmother told.
Yami shook his head.  “No.  I won’t accept it.”
“It will serve me nothing, Sukehiro.  I will die either way.”
“Why?” Yami asked.
“I am an old woman.”  She said, keeping to herself just how old she was.
“Why give it to me?”
“You know why.  You face a great foe.”
“What do you know of Alowishus Spade?” Yami asked.
“Nothing more than you do.  But I know of his power.  It is Death itself.  The co-creator of your own power.  Darkness.  Why this very night he brought the dead to rise.”
“If he’s Death how can he do that?”  Yami questioned.
“Similar to you, his power is heightened on the shortest day of the year.  But be warned.  His power is greatest on the night of the new moon.”
Yami shook his head again.  “But they didn’t find us.  Their plans--”
“I know nothing of their plans other than Chaos is slowly stirring and it is because of Death.  He has somehow taken a piece of Lights essence--” “Teris...”
“Teris is fine. But now that Death has consumed a piece of Lights essence, she and the Light within her will not be able to stop him.  The only hope this world has left is you.”
Yami laughed.  He couldn’t help it.  “Then the world is screwed.  Sorry Obāchan, but I’m no hero.”
“Not even for Teris who you’re so fond of?”
“How do you--”
“I’m in your head, Sukehiro.  I know what you know.”
“That’s a scary thought.”  Yami quipped.
She felt her life slipping away. “We don’t have much time!  Sukehiro. You won’t remember this.  But you must tuck the knowledge away in your heart.  You must believe the truth so you will have the power you need when the time comes.  You do not have to lose yourself to the Darkness. Like Death now does, you will have your own essence of Light with you when it is time.  Use it.  That essence will be enough to keep you grounded.  It will make you remember who you are, and what you exist for.  It will bring you back from the Brink.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
She took up his left hand and kiss his thumb.  “You will.  Never forget your chosen purpose.  And never forget who you are.  You carry the magic of three worlds within you.  You are the seventh son of a seventh son of a seventh son.  You are Darkness and the lover of Light.”
“I don’t want to forget!  Don’t leave me!”
She stepped to him pulling him into an embrace.  “You have a hard road ahead, but I know you will make it.  You have done so well.  I am so very proud of you, Sukehiro.”
With her last breath she pressed her lips to Yami’s forehead, channeling the magic of Death into him, and faded away.
I really hope you all enjoyed the end of what’s been my favorite arc of the fic to write thus far.  If you did, please leave a comment. And THANK YOU to those who have recently left comments or re-blogged.  They really mean a lot.
So who noticed my hints, and had doubts that this was Yami’s time? Did any of you pick-up on my death flags/warnings for Bronn?  Any thoughts or theories on what’s to come?  Questions are always welcomed.
Looking over stuff as I prepared to post the end of Book I, titled ‘Light’, I noticed the end of chapter3 was cut short.  Why did no one tell me??!  SORRY!!!  It’s only a few lines, but it’s now fixed and complete over on ao3.
This fic will be taking a three week break.  We’ll resume Tuesday posting on ***February 2*** and start Book II, titled ‘Dark’, off with a 3month time-skip and drama at the Star Awards Festival.
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tsc-updates · 5 years ago
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Sebastian/Jonathan Morgenstern Birthday - One Shot
Location: New York, another universe Date: April 4 2007
“I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”
“But Queen Amara, I’m just a peasant boy. How could you love me?”
“Because Sebastian, you’re not just a peasant boy. You are a prince.”
There was a loud gasp from one of the spectators.
“But Amara, this means…”
“We can marry.”
“Oh, Amara! I love you!”
“Oh, Sebastian! I love you too!”
Jonathan joined the two dolls and made kiss noises, often pausing to say “Amara” in a deep voice, and “Sebastian” in a high pitched one. The epic climax of his doll show was stopped by his sister Clary throwing a pillow at him. “Hey! It was getting good.”
Clary dropped her head to the side, her orange waves falling on top of Valentina, their young half-sister, to who he was making the doll show for. “I think there are certain people in the audience a little too young for this kind of thing, no?” She smiled at him.
“I’ve seen people kiss before.” Valentina crossed her small arms. “Princesses always kiss their prince in the end. And mommy and daddy kiss all the time. And you are always kissing Jace. I think. It looks more like he’s eating your face than kissing you.” Jonathan burst out laughing, so Clary hit him with a pillow again. “Pillow fight!” Yelled Valentina, before jumping on her brother with a small pillow on her tiny hands.
Clary joined her, laughing. “Why is this two against one?” He complained. “It’s unfair!” The two red-haired girls ignore him. “Alright, is this how it’s gonna be? Fine. Then I’m calling a friend of mine.”
“Who?” Asked Valentina, pausing for a second to hear what he had to say.
“My very food friend, the Tickle Monster!” He waved his fingers at her.
“NO!” She screamed, her big blue eyes filled with humour. He lunged for her and tickled her as she screamed in glee. “Clary!” She turned to her sister.
“Sorry, Val.” She shook her head. “You’re on your own.”
The racket they were making was interrupted by a knock on Clary’s bedroom door. “Come in.” She said between giggles.
Luke’s face appeared through the open door. “Hey, guys. I’m sorry to interrupt, but it’s already past Valentina’s bedtime.”
“No.” The small girl whined. “I wanna stay up with Clary and Johnny like a big kid.”
Clary pulled Valentina onto her lap. “Think about it like this: if you go to bed now, you will have lots of energy tomorrow and we can spend the whole day having fun.”
“Just us?” She looked up at Jonathan, giving him her best puppy eyes and jotting out her lip in a small pout. She knew he could never say no to her, especially not when she gave him that look.
“Just us.” He nodded. “But you have to go to bed now.”
She sighed. “Fiiiiiiine.” She jumped out of bed and walked over to her father. Before leaving, she turned back to them. “Good night, Johnny.”
“Good night, demon child.” She giggled at the affectionate nickname he’d always called her.
“Good night, Clary.”
“Good night, Val.”
Luke waved goodnight at them and shut the door. Jonathan sighed. “There goes my plans tomorrow.”
“Yes, it’s a shame that you have to spend a whole day with your dear sisters instead of having to trail after your girlfriend as she uses you as a cargo donkey for her shopping bags.”
He came up to her headboard to sit next to her. “Gee sister, whoever hears you is gonna think you have a problem with Titania.” He said sarcastically.
“No, really?” She retorted, also sarcastically. They both chuckled. “I don’t understand why you’re even dating her.”
He leaned his head on the headboard to look at her. “Because we can’t all be dating beardless Thor.”
Clary snorted and laughed. “If Jace is beardless Thor, what does that make me?”
“Too good for him.”
She tilted her head and grinned. “Aw, Johnny!”
“Don’t!” He jabbed his finger at her.
She gave a whining exhale. “Why does Val get to call you that, but I don’t?”
“Because she’s four years old, cute, and worships me.” He shrugged. “She could call me trash, and I’d thank her.”
Clary laughed. They stood quiet for a few minutes before Clary slid down to lay on her back. He slid down next to her. She was scrapping one of her nails against another on the opposite hand, trying to take the remaining of the nail polish out. It was a nervous tick of hers. “What is it like being seventeen?” He watched her hands in silence instead of answering. “Jonathan?”
“What do you really want to ask me?”
The scrapping became more aggressive until she dropped her hands at her sides. “Did you miss him today?”
Jonathan knew who she meant. “I miss him every day.”
Their father, Valentine, had died when they were young. Killed in combat. Jonathan had been ten, and Clary was nine. Their mother had taken it hard, and for a while, Jonathan had feared for her. But then, Luke showed up. He had been Jocelyn’s best friend since childhood and had been like a brother to Valentine. He helped her get back on her feet.
Two years later, Luke had upgraded from mom’s friend who brings us cool stuff, to step-father. Jonathan had been against it. For those first few months of their marriage, he was rude, spiteful, and had rebelled. Dyed his hair black, wore dark contacts, wouldn’t obey curfew, ignored Luke whenever he spoke to him and yelled at his mother at every chance he got. He wished he could say that he changed once his mother got pregnant. But he couldn’t.
It wasn’t until after. After Jonathan’s mother went into labour. After his mother gave birth to Valentina. After he held her for the first time. After his baby sister looked up at him with those big blue eyes of hers for the first time and grabbed his thumb.
He started small. Started by obeying curfew. Wouldn’t raise his voice if Val was around. Took out the contacts and went back to the green eyes so much like his mother’s and Clary’s. Let the black dye fade from his hair, the natural blonde hair contrasting drastically. Accepted Luke into the family.
But his father had been his hero. He refused to let his step-father take over his memory. Luke had understood. There were boundaries, and he promised to never cross them. So far, he’d kept his promise.
“Today was fun, though.” He smiled at her.
“Who knew Luke could throw a good party?” She chuckled.
“Birthday party.” He lifted an eyebrow.
She shrugged. “Still a party.” She yawned. “I think my internal clock is calling for bedtime as well.” She sat up. “You staying?”
He shook his head and sat up as well. “No, I’m gonna go.” He got up and came to her side, leaning down to leave a kiss on the top of her head. “Night, sis.”
“Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” He chuckled, and he shut the door behind him.
He came around the living room and saw his mother curled up on the couch, her red hair up in a bun, a blanket around her and a mug with steam flowing out of it. She was staring intently at the tv. As he came closer, he noted she was watching a horror movie. “Is that smart to watch before bed?”
She gave a little startled jump, the contents of the mug almost falling on her. She exhaled. “Oh, it’s just you.”
He leaned his elbows on the back of the couch. “Who did you think I was? A demon?” He hissed at her, causing her to chuckle. She rested her mug on the coffee table and came back up to put her hand on his cheek. It was hot and gave him a chill in his forehead. “You’re too pretty to be a demon.”
He squinted at her. “I bet you say that to all your children.”
She chuckled again and dropped her hand. Jonathan missed the warmth. “What can I say? I have good genes. Only make beautiful children.”
He came around the couch and sat next to her. She pulled on the blanket and threw it around him. “Where’s Luke?”
She smiled. “He fell asleep right after putting Val to bed.” She turned her head to him. “You’re not tired?”
He shrugged. “A little, but I can force it out to watch the movie.” She threw her arm around his shoulders and pulled his head onto her own shoulder. Softly, she combed her painter’s hands through his hair. Sooner than he wished, his eyelids started feeling heavy, and his vision became blurry. As he was giving up, and surrendering to sleep, he felt a kiss on the top of his head, the same way he’d given his sister. “Rest, Jonathan.” His mother’s voice was distant in his ear. But she’d told him to rest.
And rest he did.
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baejax-the-great · 2 years ago
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10 Facts about me
Thanks for the tag @midnightprelude =)
I currently have ~44 houseplants. My favorite changes by the week, but my christmas cactus, pink panther, and philo brasil are often up there. Oh and my tineke. And begonia. And birkin. Oh and my piper crocatum. Actually I love all of them except for my aloe and the jade plant that is intent on dying. If anyone in Chicago wants an aloe, it's yours.
In high school, I won second place with my bestie in a lip sync competition at the Valentine's Day dance (which was called Cupid Night Out, which was a riff on Stupid Night Out, the autumn dance, and needless to say it was less a formal and more a ridiculous costume party).
Bestie and I reprised the award-almost-winning performance at her wedding reception.
When I lived in China, my (awful) boss once called me drunk at 10pm to demand I take a taxi into town to the karaoke he was at and sing "Tian mi mi" for his Communist Party friends. I pretended my phone cut out and went to sleep.
That same boss did successfully bully me into pretending to be a member of the American Kung Fu team so that the local kung fu competition would count as "international." I had to wear athletic clothing and march in a parade similar to what you see in the opening ceremonies in the Olympics, complete with a young girl in a fancy dress holding up a sign proclaiming us the American Kung Fu team. We were on tv. No, I do not know how to do a single move of kung fu, and neither did anyone else on the "team."
Around five years ago, I stopped using an alarm clock to wake up and learned I naturally have "the sleep schedule of a medieval peasant," aka I tend to wake up with the dawn and rarely stay up past 10.
During my first trip to China (mainland) in 2008, while a friend was taking me to his favorite restaurant near his college, I fell into a manhole. The manhole had a cover, but it flipped up when I stepped on it. Only one foot fell in, and the cover hit me in the chest so hard it's possible I cracked a rib. I could not get out of bed the next day. Dinner was good, though, once my friend pulled me out. Honestly I was just thankful my sandal didn't fall off.
The first time I ate a deviled egg was in high school during the regional tennis matches. A local elderly woman would come every year with a picnic for our entire team. As far as I know, she never came to a single other event at our school (maybe the boys' regionals?). When we made it to state, she sent another picnic with us. I wish I remembered her name.
I got my driver's license the day before I was starting a job I had to drive to. There was a bug in the car, and the tester, after warning me she wasn't going to say anything to me other than directions, whacked me repeatedly with her clipboard when the bug landed on me, and then spent the rest of the test talking about how insane it was that there was a bug in the car. I passed.
I was taught badminton from my college's football coach and he told me I was his favorite student because I never stopped smiling. And that is because badminton is the funnest sport I've ever played.
tagging @queso-magnifico @ninepoints @juliafied @redmapleleavesonwhitesnow @vimlos
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margridarnauds · 6 years ago
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7, 8, 12, 20: lgbt ask meme
7. What is one question you hate people asking about your sexuality?
It’s odd because I don’t really GET that many questions about my identity. I think a part of it is that I really don’t CLOCK as LGBT+ for most people. Unless I directly SAY something, people are just like “Okay, cool, she’s Normal™, she’s One of Us” and then I have a moment of FEAR where I’m like “SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT I FORGOT THAT SOME PEOPLE DON’T KNOW AND ARE HOMOPHOBIC FUCKWADS.”
 I was asked, at one point, to keep it/my atheism quiet, because my family didn’t want to taint my grandparents’ names in the town I grew up in, but I think that embargo’s past. 
8. Describe the style of clothing that you most often wear.
Jeans + (generally a dark, though I’m warming up to gemstone colors) T-shirt, because it’s what’s simplest. I would go FULL GOTH if I could. If I ever want to signal “HELLO GAYS, IT IS ME, A FELLOW GAY,” (Or if my aunt’s asked me to lunch with her homophobic church friends), I’ll wear a nice, soft flannel shirt. I would wear it more often, but I really only have the one. 
12. What is the stupidest thing you’ve heard said about the lgbt+ community?
My aunt apparently believes that my “liberal” (read: Tech based) college made me what I am and that I’ll come to terms with it eventually and become nice and domesticated and straight. (Putting a new spin on “Freshman Orientation,” huh?) 
20. Your Favorite lgbt+ movie or show?
Killing Eve, full stop. It’s really the first time I’ve SEEN two women being given this kind of treatment in a genre that is very traditionally associated with men. There’s a LOT I could really say about the origins of the Sympathetic Serial Killer, the rise of the slasher film, the traditional punishment for women having and enjoying sex in a thriller/horror context, but the tl;dr is that it’s GREAT. Like, it’s not that the serial killing subgenre is ENTIRELY dudes (see: Basic Instinct), but generally you’ve got the Femme Fatale paired with a male investigator. And MOST of the time, they’re more for the audience (who are generally presumed to be straight men) to sexualize rather than enjoy as characters in their own right. (Basically, I can’t really THINK of a female serial killers ala Hannibal and Dexter. Not saying they DON’T exist, but that I haven’t SEEN them.) And the way the world generally plays it, it’s not like Villanelle’s bi/pansexuality is what MAKES her villainous, or that it’s tied to her villainy, but it seems to be more that bi/pansexuality is just a natural part of that world. And Villanelle AWAKENS that darker part of Eve as well, so it’s not a one sided pursuit/chase, it’s much more DYNAMIC than that, and just as much as we’re curious about whether Eve’s going to survive, we’re wondering what her final form’s going to BE. 
Aka, my issue with not having many canon WLW ships is NOT because of internalized homophobia/misogyny, it’s that I FINALLY found something that caters to my interests. Now, give me an enemies to lovers slowburn about a French noblewoman from the 18th century who takes on the role of an army officer/heir to the family fortune after her elder brother dies just before the Revolution paired against a scrappy peasant girl, and my needs will have been perfectly met. 
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mybukz · 6 years ago
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Work-in-progress: When Plan's Stolen by Fate by Deborah Wong
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Image by Markus Spiske on Unsplash
When Plan’s Stolen by Fate (Novel excerpt from “One Maple Summer’) By Deborah Wong
It’s July 2010. I’m praying the germ-infused Boeing 777 will land in one piece at Vancouver International Airport, and my Nokia 1202 from back home will function. The Pacific Coast forces may have stolen a bit of my luck as I now have no signal—the battery was well-fed and ready to kick ass.
“If you need any assistance, please don’t hesitate to call me,” Sandy, the UBC accommodation officer says. Her smile shines sunnier than the Kellogg’s TV happy family commercial.
I thank her and she hugs me.
“Is there a public phone I can use around this area?”
“There’s one at the concierge but it’s under repair. You can try the one at the Student Centre, about ten minutes walking distance.”
“Alright, thanks for the info.”
“No worry. Take care.”
My heart sinks faster than the Titanic; my headache from the jet lag keeps me up like synchronised car hydraulics coupled with Eminem’s rap. To make matters worse, I’m unable to call my parents about my safe arrival—thanks to my dead phone. Sitting here alone, I want to throw myself off the bouncy comfortable bed, snooze off, and let the tantalising air joyride into a lullaby. No one would yell at me for falling asleep; I smell like an overripe durian.
The digital clock in black and white on the wall states 4:44pm.
With a foggy light brain, I try to balance and change into a fleece hooded sweater and denim shorts. I have no choice but to head to the Student Centre. I hope to stumble—miraculously—onto a phone booth. I roll my Holy Rosary in my pocket.
I step out of the dorm and lock the door like an infant experiencing the glaring evening sun at the foreign land. The cold breeze sweeps onto my face and penetrates my head and whole body. I solemnly declare my brain frozen without the help of immense scoops of Haagen Daaz.
I hear thumping footsteps. I brace for the worst. My hand grips the tree, and I prep myself to fly kick à la Bruce Lee’s Enter the Dragon.
As the footsteps get closer, I punch out my left fist and yell.
When I open my eyes, a man in glasses frowns. “Are you okay?”
I clear my throat and adjust my hooded jacket, embarrassed. “Of course, I…was practising my Kung-Fu.”
He smirks. “You picked the wrong place. What if I carried a knife and I stabbed you as self-defence? You’re lucky I’m not a pervert. You never know what a motherfucker will do. Next time don’t hide behind the tree.”
“Okay, thanks for your advice.” I choke as I feel my face heat up like a red lobster.
“Have a pleasant day and a great summer.”
“I know this sounds crazy but if you don’t mind, could you please lend me your phone? I need to send a text home.”
He turns and studies me.
“I know this sounds weird but I just got here and my phone isn’t working. I really, really need to send a text to my dad back in Kuala Lumpur, to let him know I’ve reached here. Why don’t I pay you a dollar?”
He thinks for a while. “Alright, I won’t charge a cent.” He takes out his Blackberry. “You want to type it yourself?”
“It’s better if you type it for me. It’s your phone anyway.”
“Okay.“ He types like a world champion, listening to me. “You may want to take a look before I send the text.”
I quickly read it. “Okay, you can send it now. Thank you.”
“That’ll be fifty cents service charge.”
“WHAT.”
“Hey, I was joking. I may charge if you’re texting your boyfriend. Anyway, welcome to Vancouver and UBC. I stay in Pacific Crescent.”
“Where is that?”
“Go straight from here, right behind the Asian Studies building, near the Nitobe Memorial Garden.”
“That place looks posh. I’m sure it cost you quite a bit.”
“I have friends coming over very often; hence staying in a dorm isn’t a smart choice. An apartment feels more like a home to me.” He glances at his gunmetal watch. “I need to rush to the convenient store. It’s a great pleasure knowing you.”
“Do they sell any sandwiches or pastries?”
“They only have selection of sandwiches, instant salad and packed sushi.”
“Great, maybe you can show me the way?”
“Sure, no problem…”
“I didn’t get your name.” I walk beside him.
“I’m Jun Nakamura.”
I have not been in this foreign land for twelve hours and I’ve been invited to this house party. Jun tells me Mansfield Heights is the most eventful student housing area in UBC, coming alive only in summer.
There’re blue poles along the cemented walkway and red lightings at each corner. If anyone looks suspicious, ready for misdemeanour or voyeurism, one presses the emergency intercom, a safety object for students, a deterrent. On the other hand, if I were in such situation, I’d run for my life and be sure to look out for this emergency button.
“There’s surveillance camera installed in each lamppost for supervision that links directly to the Vancouver Police Department,” Jun says. His hair is ruffled into pointy soft spikes. He is wearing peasant’s crinkled cut washed jeans and a white t-shirt that reveals his fine avid gym-goer chest.
“So, what kind of party your friend’s having?”
“Booze drinking, cigarettes smoking, chatting and whole loads of eating; take a look around you, it is Friday night but we have to clear the coast by midnight.“ He stops and studies me. “Have you been to any house party before?”
“I did but it was long time ago.”
“How long is long time?”
“I think about fourteen years ago.”
“Whoa, that’s like immeasurable yards away. Anyway we’re here.”
Jun ambles to this NHL nightclub bouncer lookalike, except he has a crimson face and dirty blondish hair. Their greeting is front and back palms slapping and then fists punching like the ghetto Harlem boys.
“Oh c’mon, we don’t welcome underage here.” He stares at me.
“I’m already twenty-eight.”
He laughs. “Sorry, my bad…But you don’t look like your age.”
“So, am I invited?” I raise my brows.
“Of course, you PYT, I’m Montgomery Peterson. Everyone calls me Monty.”
“I’m Maxine Cheong, nice to meet you, Monty.”
Out of nowhere, a girl hops into Jun’s arms, giving him a bear hug, and a quick peck on his cheek. She has porcelain skin and raven shoulder-length hair. “You’re late!”
“Kendra, I want to introduce you to Maxine from Malaysia.“ Jun lets go of her.
“Oh, how un-fucking-believable…” She covers her mouth and smacks his arm. “So, you decided to change your taste for the better, huh?”
“Well, I’m not Jun’s girlfriend,” I smile, curtly.
“Don’t be so serious and spoil the party, or else I’ll throw you out.”
I turn to Jun. Everyone seems to have gone quiet.
“I was just joking. I’m Kendra Choi.” Her tone becomes friendlier.
“Maxine Cheong.”
“You have the coolest name here in Vancouver so far lucky-lucky you.”
Jun returns to the crowd after answering a phone call. “It’s Makoto and he’s stranded at the guardhouse with Yosuke and Paul. The security guard refused to let them in, despite their party invitation pass.”
“Speaking of that guard, he kept calling me a Mongolian and asked whether my family slaughtered horses for a living,” Kendra says.
After Monty and Jun leave to rescue their friends, Kendra and I bump past party-goers before reaching the house living room. She speaks into my ear. “Sorry to disappoint you but it’s still too early to spot a drunkard.”
“I guess they’ll become Intoxicated Cinderella by midnight.”
All the seats are occupied. I have to sit on the carpeted floor, among vinyls of Ozzy Osborne, Green day, Dave Matthews Bands, Cypress Hills, Queen, David Bowie, Rage Against The Machine, just to name a few. Kendra has returned from the washroom.
“Monty once formed an indie rock band during his teens. The band was quite a success from Port Coquitlam to White Rock. But then a fight broke out a day before they were supposed to sign a million-dollar record deal. You wanna know why? The bassist caught the lead guitarist fucking his girlfriend in their trailer. Hell broke lose. All the instruments were damaged by the bassist who ran amok. Worse still, the boys have to pay off the loan and the damaged instruments to the music shop.”
“What instrument Monty played?” I refuse to accept an opened cap bottled drink from a random guy.
“Drums and percussion. He was also a turntablist,” she says with a shrug and a snort, “but one lesson that no other guys will ever learn: do not let your girlfriend join the band practise. Girls fall head over heels with men who play guitars or drums.”
I grab a can of Dr. Pepper from the refreshment bar, while Kendra fills up a plate with finger food. A guy by the banister eyes us before taking up with a girl. Both head upstairs after the guy winks at me.
We spot a three-seater sofa.
“These seats are meant for both of you, my exotic princesses,” says a Hispanic-looking man. He has been feeding another man with bacon stripes.
The Nirvana’s MTV Unplugged record is spinning in the vintage oak wood player. I’ve always been mesmerised by Kurt Cobain’s baritone voice.
“I don’t like his grinding dick voice.” Kendra walks to the player and lifts the needle with the cue lever. “Thanks to Janis Joplin, Joan Jett and Amy Lee, rock music is in my blood now.” She puts on a vinyl of The Runaways, that Cherry Bomb song filled with chattering noises and perfumed muskiness.
“I love X-Japan. Do you like them?”
“Me too!” We do a high-five. “But if you want me to wear a hanbok and play the gayageum in front of Korean men. No way José! Over my dead body! It looks damn submissive. I’ve been referred as a ‘leftover woman’ for not yet being married.”
“You’re not alone. I hear that very often. It happens to me as well. And what a cruel term is that? Nowadays in the Asian community, single and unmarried women are hiring men online to be their boyfriend to please their folks during festive seasons, or to attend their friend’s wedding.”
“Women have the earning power and are financially independent too. Some will have to succumb to the social pressure of not wanting to be called ‘leftover’, hence they get married and start a family, work their peachy-butts out, struggle to get promotion at work, earning more monies for the sake of their children. In the end of the day, it’s always easy to say. But to preserve such feminist though is difficult.”
“I’m in my thirties and not looking forward into getting married,” she says.
“Let’s make a toast to both of us, the most attractive leftovers.”
I raise my paper cup.
She pokes her nose. “Damn, how come I don’t even know you’ve been drinking orange juice? Let’s get you a beer.”
“I’m still recovering from jet lag. Sorry.”
“You should come over to my place one day and we’ll cook up a storm.” She stretches to grab two bottles of beer. “I invite Jun along too. He’s good at ramen, sushi, butter-poached seafood and miso soup.”
“Isn’t that…a big task for him?” I take a bottle but put it aside.
“Give me a break. That guy’s a chef.”
“Jun…is a chef?”
“That smoochy-bear, he is freakingly dedicated and talented. He has worked in Washington DC’s Marriott for couple of years, and then quit after he was promoted to an assistant chef. As to why he quit, well, Jun doesn’t talk about it.”
“…must be those shitty management politics.”
“I still think teaching is the best work so far. Less office politics.”
“You’re a teacher?”
“I teach English to adults and young adults in Tokyo.“ She wipes bread crumbs from her mouth. “And I know this is something uncommon. Even my grandparents are strongly opposed to anyone of us working there due to the Japan-Korea Disputes. So what’d you do for a living?”
“I’ve worked in an insurance company’s claims department for three years. It’s a huge department but most employees quit after the three-month probation. I handle mostly personal accident, employees’ medical bills reimbursement and at times on workers’ provident fund dispute.”
“Any weird cases you’ve dealt with?”
I lean my head on the sofa. “I was reading a decomposed body autopsy report in the food court and a waiter cringed when he saw those bloodied photos of torn phalanges on the claim file. He asked whether the man’s still alive. I said he should be lucky that his fingers didn’t fly into his colleagues’ mouth. His reaction was like this…” I imitate the painting from The Scream.
“Your work is very CSI-ish, so to speak. By the way, I’m curious as to how Jun and you get to know each other.”
“I bumped onto him when my cellphone isn’t working and he helped me to send a text message home.”
“I think you’ve missed the most crucial part.” Jun is walking toward us with a bottle.
Kendra sniffs Jun’s neck. “You smell like fresh from the crispy oven.” She puts her arm over his waist. “He is always so helpful, but inviting you to his friend’s party is his first time. Lot of girls are trying to get their hands on him too.”
Jun whispers to me. “She’s out.”
She clutches her beer bottle, a smile forming on her face. “But you serve a good impression on me, but my experiences taught me not to trust an acquainted human girl too much.”
Later that night, Kendra follows me like a puppy afraid to lose direction. Her eyes stay on Jun whenever we’re engaged in an ear-to-ear conversation because of the loud music at the DJ stands. She puts three Budweiser in front of me. “You have to bottoms up. I don’t care.”
I still have those butterflies in my stomach and don’t have much appetite. But towards the second bottle, Jun pulls Kendra to the kitchen area, and asks Makoto to bring her more food.
Approaching midnight, Makoto offers to drive me back to the dorm, even though it’s only ten minutes walking distance. I’m unable to find Monty to bid goodbye. Jun tells me he’s already passed out near the toilet bowl, and he carries grumpy Kendra into the back of Makoto’s car. I wind down the window, inhale the gentle ocean breeze as the car moves along Marina Drive, but the tranquillity ends with Kendra counting chicken and sheep in a slur.
*
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Deborah Wong: "My works have been published on numerous online journals and paperback magazine, including Crack the Spine, Rat’s Ass Review, Eksentrika, Thought Catalog, Liquid Imagination, Strange Horizons. Some are forthcoming from Frozen Wavelets and Seagery Zine. I have performed at local reading groups and open mic poetry sessions. I am currently working on a fictionalised travel memoir and some speculative poetry and fiction. I have an ongoing artwork-poetry crossover project with an emerging Australian artist on Instagram. You can follow me on Twitter @PetiteDeborah ‘When Plan’s Stolen by Fate’ is the first chapter of my work-in-progress semi-autobiographical novel ‘One Maple Summer’. The novel is about my intensive creative writing workshop at the University of British Columbia in the summer of 2010. At 28 I traveled for the first time 12 thousand kilometers to the other side of the continent. My debit card and cellphone failed, and the one-month stay at a pen pal’s place turned out not as imagined. However, things navigated otherwise when I received accolades from my creative writing course instructors. Discovering the melting pot of diverse cultural background of acquaintances made traveling worth a lifetime.”
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taekookismylifeline · 7 years ago
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(yoonseok) - trust my heart when it beats for you
ao3: (x)
Summary: Jung Hoseok has had an awkward Thing for Min Yoongi for four years of his school life. He is certain that the only thing that gets in the way of them and everlasting love is the fact that Min Yoongi doesn't know he exists, but that all changes due to one drunken text message: a pick-up line. Ready to flee to another country under a false identity in mortification, he finds himself ruining their blossoming friendship and confessing when Yoongi asks why Hoseok had tried to flirt with him. However, things take a turn after his confession when Yoongi starts to (awkwardly) flirt back.
Pairings: Yoonseok, Taekook and Namjin
Chapters: (1), (2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7), (8), (9), (10), (11), (12)
Chapter Eleven -  you can read me, can't you, when you look at me. don't stop
“Wait, what the- why did you send that?” Jeongguk protested, his eyes wide in scathing alarm. He was scanning the messages on Yoongi’s phone as the two walked side by side in the town centre on the Sunday afternoon that they had scheduled to meet Hoseok and Taehyung. “Taehyung was with him, he probably saw it!” He groaned and handed the phone back to Yoongi, who stowed it out of sight in his coat pocket.
“If he did it would be a miracle,” Yoongi muttered. “Maybe he’ll get a clue and make a move. Or,” he dragged the word out, “you can be the one to do it.”
Only Jeongguk’s features above his nose were visible, his eyebrows knitted together as he buried his chin into his scarf. “Please don’t. It makes me nervous just thinking about it.” His breath fanned out in front of him and enshrouded Yoongi’s head before dispersing. The café they had agreed to meet in materialised in front of him. “It’s not like you can talk about making a move; Hoseok came onto you, the work’s been done for you.”
Yoongi clicked his tongue and nudged Jeongguk. “Mind your manners, or I might just accidentally confide in a certain someone’s best friend that Taehyung has an admirer.” He didn’t need to look to know that the boy next to him had flushed.
“Of course you’re going to side with your boyfriend,” Jeongguk grumbled, reaching for the café door and pulling it open, looking over his shoulder to signal that Yoongi should step in first. Yoongi hoped that Jeongguk mistook his unusual ruddiness to be from the piercing cold air and not his comment.
The heat inside of the establishment immediately collided with Yoongi’s skin, it was a relief to be indoors and away from the sniping chill. He shivered all the same, his body adapting to the change in temperature. Jeongguk nudged him lightly and gestured to where someone was occupying the table located farthest from the window and had his back to them.
Hoseok had arrived before them and was sitting alone, meaning that he hadn’t come with Taehyung. Why was he so early?
It was almost as if he could sense that Yoongi was thinking about him, Hoseok peered over his shoulder and his bored expression immediately shifted into a heart-achingly bright grin upon laying eyes on Yoongi. It was incredibly embarrassing (especially when Hoseok cried out his name and called them both over in front of the other customers and staff), but also extremely endearing.
Yoongi sat opposite Hoseok whilst Jeongguk took the chair next to him and immediately shed himself of his coat, Yoongi mimicked this action when realising that he was stifling hot in all of his layers. He pretended not to notice that Hoseok hadn’t taken his eyes off of him since he had been spotted by the other.
A waitress came over and took down their orders, she came back a few moments later with a coffee and a hot chocolate, telling them that their food would arrive shortly.
“Aw,” Hoseok cooed. Yoongi couldn’t avoid his gaze any longer and locked eyes with him, Hoseok immediately slid his attention over to Jeongguk. “Look at how wrapped up you both are! Is it that cold out there?”
Jeongguk laughed, clearly thinking that Hoseok was joking, and took a sip of his drink. Yoongi took the lack of attention to run his eyes over Hoseok who was adorning only a light jacket over a jumper. “It’s freezing today, why are you practically naked?” Yoongi snorted.
Hoseok looked confused and peered down at what he was wearing. “Is it? I didn’t notice. Maybe it’s because I got here earlier.” He looked up again and matched gazes with Yoongi, who had just realised that Hoseok had styled his hair. It was slightly wavy, exposing some of his forehead. It looked good. “Or maybe I’m ‘practically naked’ because I was waiting for you,” he spoke slowly in a provocative manner, wiggling his eyebrows to match the tone of his voice.
Yoongi felt his skin itch in embarrassment and he burst out laughing. “You might want to close your ears, Jeongguk.” He stirred his coffee and smiled at Hoseok from across the table, swiftly ignoring the sudden tightness of his chest when Hoseok provided him with that signature grin.
“I’ve suddenly gone deaf,” Jeongguk replied innocently, surveying Hoseok’s coffee mug with the same precision as a detective would examine a corpse.
Hoseok’s eyes creased as he laughed, Yoongi found himself watching a hint of colour make its way up Hoseok’s neck. He was embarrassed. “I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. So, how are you doing, Jeongguk? We’ve never really talked before, have we?”
Jeongguk shook his head, a small smile spreading on his face. “No, we haven’t. It’s probably because of the age difference.”
“Yeah, about that, are you sure you’re younger? You look like you’re older,” Hoseok’s tone was slightly teasing but Yoongi could tell that he was telling the truth. “That’s a handy thing though, you can probably get into any party.”
Yoongi couldn’t hold back a snort, Jeongguk kicked him under the table. Hoseok peered at them, wild-eyed. “What? What did I miss?” Yoongi was about to explain Jeongguk’s distaste for parties but was interrupted by the entry of Kim Taehyung. He almost bit through his tongue in shock when Jeongguk grasped his forearm with an iron grip.
Hoseok was watching him again and traced his line of sight back to Taehyung. “Hey!” He called over his shoulder to Taehyung who was dressed as if he had just robbed every branded shop on the street, dressed to kill. “You’re late!”
Taehyung approached the table with a walking gait of someone who couldn’t give a damn but just so happened to be cruising down the catwalk. Yoongi could almost hear the internal screams of Jeongguk as Taehyung gracefully slipped into the seat next to Hoseok – opposite Jeongguk – with a sugar sweet smile decorating his face. “I’m sorry, the bus was late. Blame it, not me!” He added the latter part because Hoseok was glaring at him as if he had committed a grievous sin, which maybe he had. There was definitely something unspoken playing out before Yoongi.
“What happened?” Yoongi almost jumped when he heard Jeongguk speak up from beside him; he was almost certain that Jeongguk would have remained mute throughout the lunch. Taehyung was looking at Jeongguk, looking into him, like how a peasant would look at a pile of glittering diamonds. Much like how Hoseok looked at him. Yoongi crashed that certain train of thought and returned to the conversation at hand.
Jeongguk looked as if he regretted opening his mouth but carried on in a very casual way. He gestured to Taehyung’s hand where a plaster was wrapped around the tip of his thumb, and then he itched one side of his face. “Your thumb, did you cut yourself?”
There was a brief silence in which Taehyung looked startled, like he was trying to figure out if Jeongguk was actually addressing him, before his gaze drifted down to his thumb. His eyes lit up in realisation and he let out an abashed burst of laughter. “Oh, this! Yeah, I did. Well, no, it wasn’t my fault – Hoseok should have told me that he had dropped a glass in his room.” He eyed Hoseok dramatically whilst Hoseok averted his eyes and began whistling. Yoongi smiled and dropped his gaze to his lap.
“Well, rather a thumb than your neck,” Jeongguk joked, his smile had flourished ever since Taehyung had laughed.
If the fit of laughter Taehyung had expelled before counted as what his normal laughter was like, what he followed Jeongguk’s joke with could only be classified as a howl. Yoongi’s eyes instinctively flickered over to Hoseok to clock his reaction, he was amused – and satisfied – to see that Hoseok’s eyes were wide with shock and then he burst out laughing. “What the hell was that? Do you need a cough drop?”
Yoongi’s muted snigger turned into a full blown bout of laughter, Jeongguk joined in with him. Taehyung flushed and hit Hoseok on the shoulder and saying, “don’t be rude! I was laughing at Jeongguk’s joke!”
It was Jeongguk’s turn to flush. Yoongi struggled to repress a smirk. Hoseok gasped, “I had no idea! I thought you were trying to inhale the table!” Taehyung spluttered in embarrassment and tried to cover himself, seemingly avidly aware that Jeongguk was watching his every move.
Yoongi snorted and followed it with a laugh. Hoseok’s eyes slid over to him with a grin still plastered on his face, it was as if he were gauging Yoongi’s reaction. Yoongi diverted his gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious with the attention.
It was like some kind of twisted roller-coaster ride that Yoongi found himself strapped onto but he couldn’t find it within himself to struggle to break free, because some part of him wanted to be held in place. He wanted to figure Hoseok out, to know the reason behind Hoseok’s cheerfulness and why he found Yoongi so intriguing.
It was strange to be on the receiving end of the kind of attention that Hoseok was dealing out to him, since he was used to being the observer. He hadn’t even suspected that Hoseok liked guys, or liked him, as he was positive that a fairly popular guy like Hoseok would have had a supportive girlfriend.
He hadn’t given much thought into Hoseok, only ever hearing a few stories about the kind of things he got up to in class which involved not doing the work. So, for Hoseok to suddenly be thrust into his life and wanting to get to know him was slightly nerve-racking; Yoongi didn’t know anything about the other boy and it was the same for Hoseok about him. Yet, Hoseok wanted to know him, to know tiny details, like did he prefer morning or evening (evening, most definitely), did he have any pet peeves (double dipping and people talking too loudly), or did he prefer soups or broths (which had lead into a heated discussion about what the difference between the two were).
Hoseok seemed to want to learn everything he could about Yoongi in such a short space of time, it was, quite frankly, terrifying. He was certain that soon Hoseok would run out of interest, that their conversation would slowly die out until Yoongi wasn’t greeted with a good morning message or had to think deeply about a random question that Hoseok came out with. He wondered whether it was the attention he would miss, but realised that this wasn’t the case when he mentally replaced Hoseok’s actions of messaging one-liners and touching feet underneath the table to be from someone else and felt an intense displeasure. He had to come to terms with the truth; that he wouldn’t miss the attention, he would miss Hoseok. That was the terrifying aspect.
Hoseok had invaded his life in such a short amount of time, but Yoongi couldn’t find a single complaint. The only negative aspect he could find was that it was inevitable that Hoseok would get bored and leave just like it happened in every relationship in school, it would always end with a sobbing mess and awkward silences when seeing each other in hallways.
Yoongi wasn’t going to surrender himself quite so easily, even if his heart jittered painfully every time Hoseok spared a glance in his direction, he wouldn’t give in until Hoseok made it absolutely clear that he was not going to disappear - like shuddery breath turning into fog and dispersing into the cold, cruel night air.
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say-no-to-this-rp · 5 years ago
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Sunday, 23rd of July, 2023 - Late afternoon Shell Cottage in Tinworth, Cornwall, UK Snip. Sunlight streams through the window to light up a blurry photo of two blonde girls lounging on the deck of what seems to be a boat. It lies at the top of a stack of photos. Shell Cottage is quiet, all but for the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock and the distant crashing of waves. 
Snip. Once again, scissor blades slice through the quiet, sliding through pretty paper into a flower silhouette. “C’est problématique.”  Hushed muttering in a mixture of French and English can be heard from the kitchen table. Dominique, setting down the scissors and then rummaging through the stack of photos was visibly irritated.“I need to find more photos of the three of us.” A frustrated sigh escaped her lips but was left unnoticed. If Dom couldn’t find more photos of all three of them, the scrapbook would simply be a visual humble brag of Dom and Teddy’s stupid shenanigans. “So much for a wedding present for the both of them.”  “Mooorning.” Came a drawl from the counter. Louis eyed her in amusement empty mug in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other, his back against their marbled counter. “Gone insane, have we Dominique? Talking to yourself like a raving lunatic?” “ Shut your mouth, you brat, or I’ll tell Maman and Papa that you’re smoking inside the cottage.” Dom snapped back, only superficially irritated. She was used to her little brother and his big mouth. He was charming and snarky with people outside the family, enough to have his own little gaggle of girls and boys in his year that latched onto every word of his. But to Dominique, he was always (and really, only because he acts like it) her obnoxious and bratty little brother. Said brat had likely just woken up. He was every bit of a night owl, up and about doing who knows what until the sun would rise and the nearby roosters would screech. 
At a leisurely pace, Louis filled his empty mug with cold coffee leftover from the morning pot that Fleur had left on. Idly made his way to the kitchen table. While running a casual hand through his platinum blonde hair that was now spiking up in all direction, Louis dropped himself into the chair opposite Dom. Without asking, he tugged the book to his side of the table and busied himself with the pages before Dominique could stop him, cigarette in his mouth.
There was nothing to hide about the scrapbook.The whole family excluding Victoire knew that Dominique had been working on this DIY project for the past month as a wedding present. The blonde wouldn’t consider herself as somebody who was easily flustered. Nevertheless, she was overcome with the desire to snatch the scrapbook back from Louis, as if this little book held something very private and intimate. For Teddy’s eyes only, as the realization finally dawned on her. Somewhere deep inside her, she knew that the hardest part of making the scrapbook had been including Victoire into the narrative of images. The ideal scrapbook vision that Dominique had in her head did not include her older sister in it. 
“Is this really a gift for Ted and Vic? Because if so,” Louis settled on a page with Dom and Teddy sitting at a restaurant, the cringiest, cheesiest cowboy hat on the latter’s head, and a birthday brownie with a sparkler in front of the two. Louis slid it back over with raised eyebrows. “I regret to tell you that you’re doing a shoddy job of it.” “No one asked you.” Dom pointed out.  “Really? Because your face screwed up like this,” Louis wrinkled his face in an obvious attempt to mock her, “Made me think you were begging for my advice.” “Feel free to piss off now.” Dominique raised her brows in warning, having switched to heated french now. “Don’t make me do something about that big head of yours, Louis Antoine Weasley. Also -- stop getting ash on my scrapbook.”
With a nonchalant shrug, Louis smirked, now holding the cig loosely between his index and middle finger, and replying in perfect Parisian french back. “If you ask me, maybe try a different present for our happy couple, Dominique.”
Dominique hated that Louis might be right, not that she’d ever admit it. She’d rather hang off a hippogriff butt naked and fly around the front yard of the Burrow than admit to his face that Louis was right. Okay, maybe not the Burrow. She didn’t quite want to face Grandma’s wrath. Hogwarts might work. Regardless, something inside her demanded that she finish the scrapbook. Perhaps she could just give this to Teddy as a birthday present or whatnot. It was clear that she had made the scrapbook with all intentions for Teddy, no matter how much she denied it to herself. As for a wedding present though, Dominique was now fresh out of ideas. 
She looked down at the photo of her and Teddy. All she saw was their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders with their wicked grins. Little did she know, these wicked grins were both taunting her and telling her something that she didn’t quite understand yet of what was to come. 
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Friday, 18th of July, 2023  
Lysander Scamander thought that when Dominique Weasley, Lucy Weasley, and himself were talking about having the best summer ever, he thought that meant being interns at the Quibbler. Now, in theory, an internship with all three of them sounded like a bloody brilliant idea. In reality, it meant that the three Hogwarts students were spending their summer doing the most tedious, menial jobs that could be found at the magazine. This was even despite Lysander being all but the heir of the whole damn company. And this was why the trio found themselves copy editing late into the night, two days away from their next release and not a single other soul in the office. 
Crossing one final word, Dominique leapt up after throwing down her quill in satisfaction. "I am officially the winner. Bow before me peasants. I am done and shall be leaving now. Please enjoy watching my back as I sashay out the office." 
“I always do.” Lys piped up, sliding his office chair over to peer intently at Dominique’s stack of work, a bright blue quill tucked behind his ear. “It’s a great view.”
Dominique couldn’t help but snort at her best friend.“Sure you do, Lys. Then make sure to look real close then Lys. You don’t want to miss the show.” 
Lucy, her other best friend in the entire world, groaned, "You've got to be kidding me. There's no way you're done that fast." The red-head looked up from her work to blow her hair out of her face and to promptly send a suspicious glare her cousin’s way.
“Ahh. But tis the truth, my dear Lucky.” The blonde was practically dancing as she packed her purse up. Blowing a kiss, her farewell was met with a scowl from Lucky and an easy smile from Lys. “Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.” She called back. 
Dom jumped the stairs two at a time, and burst out of the building. Having just worked more than a twelve hour work day, she was ecstatic to taste freedom. In her excitement, she almost missed the figure who was casually leaned against the side of the building. “Fancy meeting you here.” With a start, Dom caught sight of Teddy. If she were to guess, probably waiting for her outside considering he immediately tossed the cigarette from his fingers as soon as he saw her. She approached him as he ground it under her shoe. 
Taking in the number of cigarette butts on the floor, she wondered just how many cigarettes he had burned through while waiting for her.
Questioning look now. "Please tell me you haven't been waiting here for hours. I'm a big girl. I can walk home." “Not multiple hours, but more than an hour,” Teddy said cheerfully, not an ounce of annoyance in his voice, as if waiting an hour was nothing. 
Even as they spoke, the two were already walking, falling into step with each other at a leisurely pace. Now that she was in fresh summer night, she was in no rush to get home. Especially with the heat chilled from the crisp night air, Dominique was more than happy to lengthen their walk. She occupied herself with explaining to Teddy about the “joy” of copy editing a weird article on a magical healing theory from pygmy puff piss (and truthfully, teddy should really recognize what an honour and gem that he was getting such a cool sneak preview of the Quibbler’s next edition). 
When the two reach a forked road where they should turn right, the two wordlessly merely glanced at each other before shrugging and turning left instead. As they passed a park, Dom pointed at it with her thumb excitedly, already walking backwards towards it. Smirking, Teddy couldn’t help but follow along, “Yeah, alright, why not?”. 
With a squeal of delight, Dom jumped onto the swing set. Soon enough, the two had killed more than half an hour. That was simply how they always were. Chatting was as easy as breathing for the two, conversation never dulling. Both of them had settled on adjacent swings, and Dominique laughed mid-conversation as she begun to swing higher, just like she used to as a kid. Beginning to pump her legs with more strength, she met Teddy’s eyes in a daring challenge. Teddy, with a matching devilish look on his face, was already kicking his long legs in response. “Oh, yeah?” Their hoots of laughter filled the small playground. Bracing himself, Teddy jumped off the swing into the sand. 
The blonde similarly threw herself off the swing, landing just inches farther. Throwing her arms up like a gymnast executing a perfect landing, she twirled around gracefully, her face triumphant. "You're buying grub now, ye loser." Teddy is practically bowled over in laughter at this point. “How is that even possible, I have longer legs!” But he’s grinning and clearly not opposed to paying. The part-veela was doing everything but preening herself in light of her victory. "I'm nimble and athletic." Wickedly, she paused, as her grin got bigger. "Or maybe you're just getting old. Losing your touch." Dropping that truth bomb, she began to walk away quickly as if she was jokingly fleeing the scene.  Soon enough,Teddy had caught up to her, his long legs finally serving their purpose. “Old? I’m only eight years older than you!” He mock-scolded, jogging to her side, “If I’m old, you’re at least middle-aged.” Dominique couldn’t keep in her laugh as Teddy morphed his face to show an obscene amount of wrinkles, giving her the perfect elderly glare. He looked exactly like Grandmaman Delacour when one of them had done something terrible. Their laughter melded together as Teddy simply couldn’t hold back his own laughter nor his glare any longer. 
Dominique shook her head as they began to walk in some aimless direction, "I'm middle aged?” She countered. “You're the one getting married. You'll blink and there will be little Teddys and Vics. Blimey, I feel for the world already." The blonde scrunched her face at even the thought of another Victoire or another Teddy. The world was not ready.     
Teddy seemed to laugh heartily at the thought. “I do too. I was a menace, I can only imagine what my kids will be like,” He said, while shaking his head, “I don’t even want to think about it” Squinting his eyes thoughtfully up at the sky as if Teddy could magically read the time from its shade, he casually looked over his shoulder at the girl. “Shall we head back?” 
Dominique followed his gaze to the dark sky lit up by the streetlights, and relished how happy she felt. It was mundane moments like these that reminded her just how much she treasured Teddy as one of her best friends. It made his marriage to Victoire just the teensiest of bitter-sweet. Since the day she could remember, Dominique had accepted that she would be second to Victoire in Teddy’s life. No matter how close Teddy and her were, if Vic and Dom fell into the sea and only one could be saved, Dom knew in her heart who Teddy had to save. But it was nice that in moments by themselves, she could have her best friend to herself. It was just Dominique Weasley and Teddy Lupin. Them against the world. 
But of course, soon enough Victoire and Teddy will be til death do they part, and officially, everyone will be second to Victoire in every which way.
But until then, Dominique could be just a bit more greedy concerning her best friend. She merely fluttered her lashes in response to Teddy’s question. “Could we stop for shawarma? I’m ravenous.” 
Her big sister could wait for her fiance just a little longer.
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Monday, 7th of August, 2023 - Late Afternoon Brew Crew Coffee Bar in Mayfair, London, UK 
“No, it’s fine, don’t bother her if she’s in a meeting. If she asks later, tell her I said I’d figure it out,” Teddy was saying, “Hey, and thanks for letting me know.”
Dominique quietly sipped her vanilla latte, noting that Teddy was growing more and more dejected as the conversation continued with Vic’s assistant. I’m not surprised that she is standing us up. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. The Potter-Weasley cousins often teased Dominique when she was late (it really wasn’t her fault that make-up and the perfect wardrobe choices takes time and effort), and that they tended to plan their days around Dominique’s schedule. As much as Dom admitted sometimes it was a bit of a “Dominique’s World”, she didn’t think she could even hold a candle to when Vic wanted things her way. Dom couldn’t help but make exasperated faces at various points during the phone call, knowing that her face revealed just how umimpressed she was with Victoire. By the time that Teddy gets off the phone, Dom had finished off her latte and she set down the cup with a sigh. "I see the Queen is unable to bless us with her presence today. So are we going to figure out the cake today without Vic?" 
“If we don’t, the Queen will have our heads,” Teddy teased. At his words, Dominique tried not to make another face on impulse. It was never fair how Vic prioritized her work over their wedding. That Dominique probably knew more about the details of Vic and Teddy’s wedding than the actual bride was almost pathetic. Although trying to shake it off, Teddy was clearly still bothered by Victoire’s last minute decision to stand up her own wedding cake appointment. That was always what Teddy did when Vic prioritized everything else over Teddy. He was just determined to make the best of it. “Should we just... pick one without her?” He frowned. “Vic probably cares more about how it looks than how it tastes, anyway.” 
Dominique was more than frustrated at her sister, and at the unfairness of the situation. But it was no good if she lashed out now. In fact, Teddy was more than aware of how mad Dom felt sometimes on behalf of him at how Vic treated him. Sisters or not, Dom refused to condone her sister’s behaviour. But it’s not your place, really. She told herself. Instead, she did her best to give Teddy an easy smile. Bloody hell Vic. She’d be the cheery one here for Teddy. At least there would be one Delacour-Weasley sister here who actually cared enough. If Vic wouldn’t be excited about this wedding cake tasting, then Dom would be. "Well we have an appointment with the bakery to taste them, right? What did that queen say, Marie Antoinette was it? What did she say? Let's eat cake?" She stood up to pull Teddy to his feet. "So let's eat cake, Teddy! And if you find a cake that you can't say no to, then just pick it. Vic won't eat more than her pinky finger, anyway." 
As if her smile and enthusiasm was contagious, Dominique saw the tension leave Teddy’s shoulder, visibly watching him return to normal if only to smirk back. “Alright, lets eat cake,” he agreed. Looking down at his watch, he noted that. “We should probably run, though, before they eat all that cake themselves.“ 
The two made their way from Brew Crew to the small gourmet bakery, Kowalski Charmed, a small artisan bakery where they liked to take a very personal approach to their wedding cakes. Managing to book a tasting appointment would take forever to book. Because of that, perhaps it was better that they were still going ahead with the cake tasting. As they entered the little white building, the bells chimed above them and Dominique was immediately smothered in an overwhelming cloud of vanilla, sugar, and chocolate. The interior was colourful and pink, with displays of fresh baked goods and pictures of bright cakes lining the walls. 
The baker, a woman with long luscious brunette hair, greeted them with a smile clearly expecting them. With her American accent, she chirped, "Good afternoon, are you the happy couple here for the wedding cake taste-testing?" Hearing that, Dominique hesitated, unsure of how to introduce herself. Sorry, actually no. I’m the bride’s sister. Yes, I know it’s weird that she’s not interested in her own wedding cake, but c’est la vie, right?  She gave a quick glance at Teddy, but decided that it’d probably be best to get it over with. As she opened her mouth to correct the lady, beside her, Teddy spoke up. 
“Yeah, that’s us,” He was flashing his usual winning smile to the baker, subtly winking at Dom as she practically hit him in the face with her hair at how fast she had whipped her head back to look at him. “I hope we’re not too late?” He continued. “Bit of a mix up with the time, it was my mistake.” Oh, she knew exactly what was happening now. She had seen Teddy’s mischievous shit-eating grin more times than she could count to know it was game time.
Dom smiled politely without skipping a beat as soon as Teddy answered the baker. The only way anyone would have caught that she was startled by his answer was the slightest clenching of her jaw, and a barely noticeable tightness to her smile. Succeeding at not immediately rolling her eyes back so hard that she knocked herself out at the sight of Teddy's stupid grin, she immediately attached herself to Teddy's arm. "That's me. The fiancee." She said brightly. As soon as the baker turned her back momentarily to check which samples that they had ordered, she widened her eyes at Teddy and mouthed very obviously, "What are you doing?" .
Teddy made sure that the baker was far enough away from them not to overhear, and then whispered back, ”What makes you think I know? Play along.”  Dominique stifled a laugh, turning the sound into a slight clearing of her throat. That was right about the epitome of a Teddy answer. Many of their shenanigans really came about because neither of them ever knew what they were doing. They simply did it. Teddy was now giving her another look though. It was amazing how if you spent more than a decade with someone, you started to know exactly what their varying expressions were. This one was what Dom liked to call his “safety word” face. It was his reminder that no matter what mischief they were up to, he always wanted Dom to know that if she got uncomfortable, she could back out. Of course, in the same decade of recognizing this look, Dom had never taken him up on the offer. And she wasn’t about to start now. 
The baker returned, still oblivious to the ruse that she was unbeknownst to her had taken part in. They were led to one of the tables by the front window of the store, as she began to outline to them the process. They had requested for a full frosted cake (”Of course, the more sugary the better. I don’t need to watch my weight at all.” Dom said to the baker, entirely straight-faced.), as well as ten possible samples to choose from. 
As if a switch had flipped, Dominique was now the ever-doting, and perhaps too clingy fiancee. Her hand had moved down from his arm to his hands, intertwining their fingers. She pulled him to the table that had been set up for them, and in a sickeningly sweet voice, declared, "This way, you delicious piece of kidney pie." 
She took delight in how Teddy’s eyes went wide. Obviously surprised, he was about to burst into laughter until he managed to de-escalate it into a respectable chuckle. “Anything you say, Snuggie Woogems.” 
Dominique tried not to retch at the ridiculous pet name. It had sent a ridiculous shiver up her spine at how gross they were being, but she just couldn’t stop, especially now that his intention was loud and clear:Two can play at this game. As they sat, Teddy sat down on the same side as her and made a point of scooting his chair a little closer to hers, so he could casually drape his arm over the back of her chair.
Well-played, sir. Dominique wondered what she could do next. This was all to get back at Teddy. He had been the one who wanted to play, so they were going to have fun. The baker introducing their first cake, chocolate cappuccino torte, solved Dom’s dilemma over what her next steps would be. Dom dug her fork into the beautiful cupcake, making sure to cut an unnecessarily large chunk. Bringing the monster of a bite close to Teddy's mouth, she exhibited her voice like she was speaking in a bad Shakespearean play, "Say ahhhhhhhh, my little stud monkey." Was she using the most cringe-worthy pet names that she had ever heard? Absolutely. 
Teddy eyed the piece warily, looking as if he wanted to make a comment before he thought better of it. Dominique could almost taste it now. The delicious sweetness of victory. Shaking his head ever so slightly, he leaned in and wrapped his hand over hers on the fork. Surprised, Dominique tried not to move her hand at all. If they were soon-to-be-married, she wasn’t going to be uncomfortable with her ‘fiance’ grabbing her hand. It wasn’t even like they had never held hands. Neither of them would blink twice at it. It was the way Teddy had leaned in and bit into the cake, in a manner that one might even describe as seductively. Well, as seductively as he could with a bite of cake the size of a small fist. But Teddy somehow made it sensual. Dominique felt the strangest sensation.Teddy can make anything look sensual if he wanted to. He’s that handsome. She admitted to herself. Lucky Vic. Finally, he leaned back, removing his hand from hers and while laughing and chewing, he joked, “Maybe a smaller piece next time, Sweet Pea?” 
Eyes bright and clearly amused by Dom’s antics, they suddenly rolled down to take a closer look at the cake. “Shit, this is actually really good, you have to try this.” 
His comment broke the girl’s daze. Remembering their real task before them, Dom tried a small bite of the cupcake with her fork. The creamy goodness dragged a hum of delight from her lips. "Delicieux. Oh, this mousse is out of this world." The blonde then nudged Teddy with her elbow, "I'm not surprised. You're a sucker for anything that has caffeine in it." 
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vitalmindandbody · 7 years ago
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Two American Nightmares: how a dumbed-down society failed batch of a great opinion
As Clinton and Trump prepare to debate next week , noble principles are devastated in a culture where most Americans do not know what is real anymore and the dream of equal rights is just a fantasy
Every child had a pretty good shot
To get at least as far as their old man got
But something happened on the best way of that place
They threw an American pennant in our face.
Billy Joel, Allentown
Its one of the greatest fabrications of all time, and just like it says on the dollar bill novus ordo seclorum it developed an entirely new prescribe in human things. After millennia of pharaohs, lords, emperors, rulers, sultans, caesars and czars, with all their attendant gentries and locked-down social system, countries around the world was founded where birth and pedigree didnt subject so much, where by application of your flairs, vigor, labour and willingness to play by the rules, you could improve your fabric lot in living and achieve a measure of financial protection for yourself and your family. Peasants and proles could aspire to more than mere existence. Progressive!
We know it today as the American Dream. The now-obscure historian James Truslow Adams coined the period in his book The Epic of America, characterizing the American dreaming as TAGEND
a dream of a social order in which each man and each wife shall be able to attain to the fullest prominence of which they are innately capable, and be recognized by others for what they are, regardless of the fortuitous circumstances of birth or position.
Adams was writing in 1931, but the daydream was there from the beginning, in Jeffersons pursuit of happiness formulation in the Declaration of Independence, happiness residing in its 18 th-century sense of succes, grow, wellbeing.
Nobody ever came to America with a starry-eyed dream of working for starvation wages. Slew of that offered in the old country, and thats precisely why we left, escaping serfdom, peonage, tenancy, indenture all different iterations of what was essentially a rigged plan, to employ it in current political verbiage that channeled the profits of our proletariat upstream to the Man. We came to America to do better, to self-assured for ourselves the liberation that economic security makes, and for millions principally white males at first, and then slowly, sputteringly, women and people of color thats the acces it worked out , nothing less than a change in the human condition.
Upward mobility is indispensable to the American Dream, the notion that people can rise from working to middle class, and middle to upper and even higher on the simulate of a( imaginary) Horatio Alger or an( actual) Andrew Carnegie. Upward mobility across castes peaked in the US in the late 19 th century. Most of the benefits of the 20 th century were achieved en masse; it wasnt so much a phenomenon of great numbers of people emerge from one class to the next as it was standards of living rising crisply for all first-class. You didnt “ve got to be” exceptional to rise. Opportunity was sufficiently broad that hard work and steadiness would do, along with implicit buy-in to the social contract, allegiance to the system continuing on the assumption that the system was basically fair.
The biggest amplifications occurred in the post-second world war period of the GI Bill, cheap higher education, strong labor unions, and a progressive imposition system. Between the late 1940 s and early 1970 s, median household income in the US redoubled. Income inequality reached historic lows. The median CEO salary was approximately 30 periods that of the lowest-paid employee, compared against todays gold-plated multiple of 370. The top tariff bracket wandered in the neighborhood of 70% to 90%. Awarded, there were far fewer billionaires in those dates. Somehow the commonwealth survived.
America is a dream of greater justice and the possibilities for the average “mens and”, if we are not able procure it, all our other achievements amount to nothing. So wrote Eleanor Roosevelt in her syndicated column of 6 January 1941, an apt lead-in to her husbands State of the Union address eventually that day in which he enumerated the four impunities essential to American republic, among them freedom from want. In his District of the Union address three years later, FDR expanded on this concept of freedom from want with its own proposal for a Second Bill of Privilege, an economic statute of rights to offset what he viewed as the growing autocracy of the modern economic tell TAGEND
This Republic had at its beginning, and grew to its present forte, under the protection of certain inalienable political rights among them the right of free speech, free press, free love As our society has grown in size and prominence, nonetheless as our industrial economy has expanded these political rights have proved inadequate to assure us equality. We have come to a clearly defined realization of the fact that true personal freedoms cannot exist without economic its safety and independence.
Political claims notwithstanding, impunity doughnuts exceptionally hollow when youre going nickel-and-dimed to death in your everyday life. The Roosevelts recognized that compensation peonage, or any plan that inclines toward subsistence level, is simply inconsistent with self-determination. Subsistence is, by definition, a confined, hopeless commonwealth; ones horizon is necessarily limited to the present epoch, to getting enough of what their own bodies must be free to make it to the next. These daylights a minimum wage employee in New York City clocking 40 hours per week( at$ 9 per hour) makes $18,720 a year, well for the purposes of the Federal Poverty Line of $21,775. Thats a scrambling, uneasy live, narrowly bounded. Close to impossible to decently feed, robe, and shelter yourself on a wage like that, much less their own families; much less buy health insurance, or save for your minors college, or are represented in any of those other good American occasions. Down at peon rank, the endeavours of joy sounds like a bad pun. Its “ve called the” American nightmare, George Carlin cracked, because you have to be asleep to believe it.
Necessitous husbands are not free humanities, said FDR in that 1944 State of the Union speech. Beings who are hungry and out of a enterprise are the stuff of which tyrannies are stir. A dire word, demonstrably genuine, and specially unsettling in 2016, a point in time when the American Dream seems most viable as nostalgia than a lived phenomenon. Income inequality, abundance distribution, mortality rates: by all the necessary measures, the average individual that Eleanor Roosevelt celebrated is subsiding. Extraordinary people continue to rise, but overall mobility is stagnant at best. If youre born poverty-stricken in Ferguson or Appalachia, chances are youre stay around that method. Ditto if your early storages include the swimming pool at the Houston Country Club or ski lessons at Deer Valley, youre likely going to keep your perch at the top of the heap.
Income inequality, gross the gaps in capital: were told daily, endlessly, that these are the necessary the effects of a free market, as if world markets was a personnel of sort on the order of weather or tides, and not the alone manmade erect that it is. In daylight of recent history, blind following of this sort of financials would seem to require a firm commitment to stupidity, but lets presume for the moment that its true, that the free market exists as a universe unto itself, as immutable in its workings as the regulations of physics. Does that universe include some ironclad regulate who are in need of inequality of opportunity? Ive yet to discover the occurrence for that, though doubtless some intrepid thinktanker could invent one out of this same free-market financials, along with aromas of genetic determinism as it relates to calibers of subject and reputation. And “it wouldve been” bogus, that case. And more than that, sinful. That we should allow for wildly divergent opportunities due to accidents of birth “ve just got to” ten-strike us as international crimes equal in savagery to child abuse or molestation.
Franklin Roosevelt:[ F] reedom is no half-and-half affair. If the ordinary citizen is ensure equal rights in the polling place, he must have equal opportunity in the market place. The proposition runs deeper than sentimentality, deeper than policy, deeper even than adherence to equality and the pursuit of pleasure that are set out in the Declaration. It cuts all the way to the nature of republic, and to the prospects for its continued existence in America. We may have democracy in its own country, wrote supreme court of the united states justice Louis Brandeis, or we may have enormous abundance concentrated in the mitts of a few, but we cant have both. Those few, in Brandeiss judgment, would inevitably use their supremacy to subvert the free will of the majority; the super-rich as a class plainly couldnt be trusted to do otherwise, a thesis thats being starkly acted out in the present period of Citizens United, Super Pacs, and truckloads of dark money.
But the lawsuit for financial equality goes beyond even equations of supremacy politics. Democracys premise remains on the idea that the collective profundity of the majority will testify right more often than its wrong. That have enough opening in the endeavours of joy, your population will develop its abilities, its intellect, its better judgment; that over duration its capacity for discernment and self-correction will be broadened. Life will improve. The pattern of your uniting will be more perfect, to acquire a word. But if a critical mass of your population is kept in peonage? All its sparkle spent in the trenches of day-to-day survival, with scant opportunity to develop the full range of its faculties? Then how much poorer future prospects for your republic will be.
Economic equality can no more be divorced from the smooth functioning of republic than the ballot. Jefferson, Brandeis, the Roosevelts all recognized this home truth. The American Dream has to be the lived world of the country, not just a moderately tale we tell ourselves.
I have always gotten much more advertisement than anybody else.
Donald Trump
Then theres that other American nightmare, the numbed-out, dumbed-down, make-believe world where much of the national consciousness resides, the sum concoction of our mighty Fantasy Industrial Complex: movies, TV, internet, texts, tweets, ad saturation, celebrity preoccupation, athletics infatuation, Amazonian sewers of porn and political bullshit, the entire invasion of media and messaging that is endeavouring to separate us from our intelligences. September 11, 2001 detonation us out of that daydream for about two minutes, but the dream is so elastic, so all-encompassing, that 9/11 was immediately absorbed into the the matrix of FIC. This exceedingly complex episode horribly direct in the result, but a swamp when it is necessary to interpretations was stripped down and binaried into a dependable fantasy narration of us against them, good versus villainy, Christian against Muslim. The week after 9/11, Susan Sontag was practically executed for pointing out that a few shreds of historical awareness might help us is how we came to this quality. For this modest suggestion , no small number of her fellow Americans bid her dead. But if wed followed her result if united done the hard work of delving down to the roots of the whole frightful happening perhaps we wouldnt still be fighting al-Qaida and its offspring 15 years later.
An 11 -year-old girl wears Trump socks at awareness-raising campaigns happening for the Republican nominee at the Trump International Hotel in Washington DC. Photo: Mike Segar/ Reuters
Heres a hypothesis, ugly, uncharitable, but returned our recent record it begs ask: the majority of cases most Americans dont just knowing that real any more. How else to interpret Trump, a billionaire on an ego trip capturing a major partys nomination for chairwoman? Another blunt-speaking billionaire tried twice for the conference of presidents in the 1990 s and went out in flames, but he made the mistake of flowing as himself, a recognizably flesh-and-blood human being, whereas Trump comes to us as the eventual animal, and indisputable maestro, of the Fantasy Industrial Complex. For much of his occupation until 2004, to be exact he harboured status in “peoples lives” as a more or less normal fame. Bigger than life, rest assured, cartoonishly grandiose, shamelessly self-promoting, and reliably objectionable, but Trump didnt become Trump until The Apprentice debuted in January 2004. The first occurrence depicted 20.7 million viewers. By likenes, Ross Perot received 19,742, 000 referendums in the 1992 general elections yes, Im likening referendum totals with Nielsen ratings but Trump retained attracting that robust 20 million week after week. The season climax that year contacted 28 million viewers, and over the coming decade, for 13 more seasons, this was how America came to know him, in that weirdly intimate behavior Tv has of delivering personality into the very middle of our lives.
It was this same Trump that 24 million viewers a record, of course tuned in to watch at the first Republican debate last year, the glowering, blustering, swaggering boardroom action flesh who established every hope of shredding the pols. One speculates if Trump would have ever been Trump if there hadnt been a JR Ewing to pave the way, to show just how dear and real a dealmaking Tv rascal could be to our centers. Trumps performance on that night did not sadden , nor through all the debates in the long marching that followed, and if his regard for the truth has proved more erratic even than that of professional politicians, we should expect as much. In the realm of the Fantasy Industrial Complex, actuality happens on a slipping scale. The truism is just another possibility.
I speak the password primeval.
I would give the signal of democracy ;P TAGEND
By God! I will accept nothing which all cannot have their counterpart of on the same terms.
Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass
In nine days Trump and Hillary will take the stage for their first face-to-face conversation. There is likely to be blood. The bayonets are going to be out, and the ratings are bound to be, need it be said, yuge. The American Dream will no doubt be invoked from both podiums, for what true-blue patriot was ever against the American Dream? And hitherto for the past 30 years the Democratic campaigner has worked comfortably within “states parties ” foundation thats battered the working and middle classes down to the bone. The brand-new Democrat of the Clinton era are always strong for political rights, as long as they dont disturbed corporate Americas bottom line. Strong for racial and gender equality, strong for LGBT privileges( though that took season ). Meanwhile this same Democratic establishment connected with the GOP to push a market- and finance-driven economic ordering that enriches the already rich and leaves the rest of us sucking wind.
Thats the very real feeling Trump is speaking to , no fantasy there. Bernie as well; small-scale wonder their constituencies overlapped, though Trumps claimed devotion to the common man stumbles over even the simplest proofs. On whether to raise the federal minimum wage of $7.25 an hour, Trumps moral compass has invented from an shown no( wages are already too high ), to imply yes( wages are too low ), to weasel word( leave it up to the states ), to yes and no in the same sigh( I would leave it and conjure it somewhat ), and, eventually, when pressed by Bill OReilly in July, to yes-but( promote it to $10, but its still best left to the states ). All this from presidential candidates whos firmly in favor of abolishing the estate tax, to the great benefit of heirs of multimillionaires and nothing at all to the vast majority of us.
Meanwhile, the Fantasy Industrial Complex is doing just fine such elections season, thank you. Communicating at a Morgan Stanley investors seminar in March, one of the commanders of the FIC, Leslie Moonves, the chief executive of CBS and a person whose 2015 compensation totaled $56.8 m, had this to say about the Trump campaign. It may not be good for America, but its damn good for CBS. The coin rolling in and this is fun this[ is] going to be a very good year for us. Sorry. Its a cruel stuff to say. But delivering it on, Donald. Keep going.
Read more: www.theguardian.com
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