#whites and nbs are unbearable man

[tariah23]

It’s been “lock in,” this, “crash out,” that for like the past two months now.

[the-dragongirl]

Hello tumblr. I have returned from a long period of inactivity, because I must bring the good word to the corner of the Star Wars fandom that used to be my main fannish home: there is a new era of Star Wars canon that was made just for our taste. It is called the High Republic.

WHAT IS THE HIGH REPUBLIC?

The High Republic is an giant multi-media project being carried out by the Lucasfilm story group to create a brand new era of Star Wars canon. It is set a few hundred years before the prequel era (so, a long time after the Old Republic era), in a period of peace and stability within the Republic. It currently includes several English language adult novels, a YA novel, two serialized comics, a manga, some short stories, and some short video blurbs published on facebook and youtube. A TV show for Disney+ has also been announced, but is a few years off. This project is unique in Star Wars, in that all of the different parts are being written together by one writing team, and are coordinated to tell a cohesive story. Also, what has been announced is just the beginning – they have stated that there will be three different sections of the High Republic, and everything we have had announced so far is just part one. As a note: this is an era for which there was NO pre-existing canon in Legends, so it is totally new territory.

OKAY, THAT’S NICE, BUT WHY SHOULD I BOTHER TO CHECK IT OUT?

There are SO many reasons why the High Republic is worth your time to explore. I will try to outline some of them here below the cut (without any significant spoilers).

IT IS A LOVE LETTER TO THE JEDI

This is the era for everyone who loves the Jedi and wants to understand how they got to the point they did in the prequel era. It shows Jedi at their best: saving people, working together, being completely in tune with the Force (in so many beautiful and original ways), demonstrating creativity and flexibility and being rewarded for it, actually thinking through the ethics of things like the mind trick, and DEALING with their emotions rather than repressing them. It shows us how the rigid Jedi culture was saw in the prequels was a corruption of something that was originally healthy and uplifting. Jedi in this era are allowed to be flawed, and to grow, and have a community that supports them in doing so. This is the Jedi culture so many of us created as fix it fic for the prequel era, but made canon.

IT IS AN ERA OF HOPE

There are some serious problems in the High Republic Era. Without spoilers, the era opens with a terrible humanitarian crisis, laid over the Republic equivalent of the New Deal from US history.  We see a lot of examples of people doing their best to be good to each other, and working for a more just and kind galaxy. They acknowledge that things are not perfect, but people from many different backgrounds (Jedi, politicians, farmers, pilots, business people) work together to try and make things better. I don’t know about you all, but with the darkness we see in the world today, I NEED some of that optimism in my escapist media. The High Republic provides that.

IT WILL GIVE YOU FEELINGS

The existing material so far is structured to really let you emotionally invest in the characters and their struggles. Unlike with many eras of Star Wars canon, characterization is not sacrificed for the sake of plot (though never fear, there is PLENTY of plot). That means there is huge scope for empathy. I’m not going to lie; I cried within the first three chapters of Light of the Jedi, as did several other people I know. It is POIGNANT in a way that feels truly genuine.

IT IS FUN

The writing team understands that, in the end, Star Wars is space fantasy. If your space fantasy is nothing but serious, gritty grimdark, it becomes pretentious and unbearable. So, for all that there is some heavy content in the High Republic (VERY heavy content – the Nihil should really have their own content warning), it has many moments of levity that keep it from taking itself too seriously. For example, the High Republic made Jedi bodice rippers canon. Also, characters like Geode exist (yes, that rock there is a CHARACTER). The result is something which honors the spirit of Star Wars, and keeps you engaged without being tedious or ridiculously depressing.

THE WRITING TEAM HAS DIVERSE PERSPECTIVES

The main writing team consists of five people: Justina Ireland, Claudia Gray, Charles Soule, Daniel José Older, and Cavan Scott. You will note that includes two people of color, two women, and one out Queer person (in fact, one of the writers is all three of those things). This is a far cry from the white-cis-straight-man-dominated writing teams we have seen in the past. And when they bring in other people to the project, they make a point of looking for perspectives that aren’t represented on their team – for example, the manga is being co-written between Justina Ireland and Japanese writer Shima Shinya, and Ireland has stated in interviews that Shinya is taking the lead on the writing.

IT VALUES MEANINGFUL REPRESENTATION

That diverse writing team means a cast that looks WAY more like the real world than any other era of Star Wars we’ve seen, in terms of representation. There are multiple characters of color, who are both heroes and central to the story. There are at least five canonical queer characters to date (a MLM couple, an Ace character, and two NB character).  [EDIT: Thank you @legok9​ for letting me know about the NB characters]. Among binary gendered characters, there is a very even balance of men and women. The writing team has also stated that they will be incorporating more representation of disability in the works to come. And the story is so much better for it – representation is included here BECAUSE it makes for more creative, believable, and original storytelling.

IT IS ACCESSIBLE

Because of the multiple formats, and the fact that it doesn’t rely on you knowing any prior lore, the High Republic offers many avenues to engage for people with all kinds of needs. Know nothing about Star Wars canon and feel intimidated about catching up? The canon is all new in this era anyway, so you’re fine. Can’t handle flashing lights? No problem – the little bit of video content that exists is totally free from the strobing effects that caused seizure and sensory issues. Need purely audio content? You can still have a full experience of the High Republic with the gorgeously sound-scaped audiobooks. Don’t have the attention span for books or long movies? Then the comics are your friend.

THERE IS SOMETHING FOR ALL

Between the books aimed towards adults and teens (and their respective audiobooks), the kids books, the comics, the manga, the short stories, AND the eventual TV show on Disney+, there is going to be content in the High Republic that suits most audiences. And that is just what has been announced so far – there is still more to come for phases II and III. This isn’t Star Wars written towards one group or demographic – it is Star Wars for everyone.

DID I MENTION THE FANCY JEDI UNIFORMS?

Because cosplayers and fanartists? This is the era for you. We are getting Jedi in silks with elaborate gold embroidery. Jedi with jewelry other decorative elements. Even the practical field uniforms have tooled and embossed leather. If you want to draw or make Jedi that have some of that that sweet LoTR-esque high fantasy aesthetic, the High Republic has your back. (Not going to lie – I am ALREADY imagining the time travel AUs. Put Obi-Wan in fancy clothes!)

OKAY, YOU’VE SOLD ME. WHERE SHOULD I START?

I strongly recommend everyone looking to get into the High Republic (who is old enough to be on Tumblr) start with Light of the Jedi by Charles Soule. I alternated between the physical book and the audio book, and found it delightful in both formats. After that, you have a lot of options. You can read or listen to the audio book of the YA novel A Test of Courage by Justina Ireland. You can check out the currently running Star Wars: The High Republic comic from Marvel, or the Star Wars: The High Republic Adventures comic from IDW. Or you can skip straight to Into the Dark by Claudia Gray. Honestly, there is no wrong order to try out most of the High Republic.

IN CONLUSION

The High Republic is Star Wars written for people who DON’T want Star Wars to be a good ‘ol boys club for salty white dudes who don’t want to see anything but more of Luke Skywalker. It offers broad representation, and optimistic narrative, and whole bunch of awesome Jedi content. If you are someone who fell in love with Jedi in the prequel era, the High Republic will give you more of what you loved. And if you are totally new to Star Wars? The High Republic is here for you too.

So, go check it. And then go write fic for it (please, there are only, like, 14 fics on AO3, I am dying).

[kookscrescent]

Aconite (pt.1)┊knj

❖ Pairing: Namjoon x f reader ❖ A bad summary: “Oh great! You will have to spend time with mister sour face over there during your down time as well.” ❖ Genre: angst, fluff, marriage!au ❖ Warnings: none in this chapter  ❖ Word count: 2.656 ❖ Parts: 2/??

⇥ Masterlist ⇥ Aconite Masterlist  NB! This is all fiction! Nothing mentioned/written are facts and/or real! So please just keep that in mind when reading and enjoy! Thank you ♡

⇦ PREVIOUS // NEXT ⇨

The silence in the room is almost unbearable. Roughly, thirty minutes have passed since you arrived, and during those Namjoon has managed not speak a single word to you, only greeting you with a short and curt bow when you got here, and you don’t even think he has looked at you for longer than a few seconds.

Seriously, what is up that man’s ass? None of this is your doing! You are both here, meaning that you have both agreed to this arrangement and the terms of the contract, so the least he could do is be somewhat polite and not act like a total asshole. You are minutes away from being fake engaged for god’s sake!  

You have been working your way through the stack of legal documents – or contracts, if you will – in front of you, the pen in your hand scribbling your signature on the underlined parts. You have already read every page of it twice before coming here, and you even sent it over to your lawyer for him to proofread everything beforehand.  

Moving the pen across the white paper for the last time, you close the contract neatly and place the pen on top. 

“All done.” You announce with a sigh of relief, your hand aching slightly from holding it so long.

Looking next to you, Namjoon has already finished and is now occupying himself with his phone, but he looks up briefly when you speak. You look away, you don’t want to waste your energy trying to be nice to him at the moment. There are still a lot of details that needs to be gone over, so if he wants to sulk then by all means he can go ahead, but you are not going to entertain his mood.

Haeun comes over, taking both you and Namjoon’s fully signed contracts before handing them over to Bang Si-Hyuk. He takes them gladly, not looking at them he passes them to one of the HR managers behind him.

“Okay,” Chinhae, the leading director of this whole affair, claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. Even Namjoon puts down his phone for once to pay attention. “You have now both read, understood and signed the contract, correct?” He asks you both.

“Yes,” you answer in unison.

“Perfect! But I would like to just go over the basics one more time so that everyone is clear and on the same page of what is going to happen in the months leading forward.”

The majority of the questions you had leading into to this have already been answered by reading the contract, but you like that everyone is very detailed orientated just like yourself. Not a corner is left untouched in this.  

“As of, well right now actually, you, ____ and you, Namjoon, are engaged,” a round of applause goes around the room and you look awkwardly at Namjoon, deciding to shoot him a polite smile, but he still has the same sour mine on as the last time you looked at him. You roll your eyes and focus back on Chinhae. So much for wanting to be civil. “so, let us start with just the basics. You are both clear on why this is happening, so we won’t touch too much on that anymore. As stated in the contract, the duration of the first part of the engagement is six months. During these months we will schedule a few quick meetings when it is possible. These meetings will be spent going over the progress.”

He turns the page of the notebook in front of him, carefully taking his time before he starts talking again. “During the six months we will either call for meetings if we feel like it is needed, but you can also call for a meeting if there is anything you feel like we should go over.” He makes a gesture towards Haeun and Namjoon’s manager Sejin. “Haeun and Sejin have been appointed as your direct managers for this because of your familiarity with them. So any minor problems or issues gets directed towards them like it would in any normal situation. Are you both following so far?”

“Yes,” You say.

And for the first time, Namjoon opens his mouth to say more than a three letter word, his tone sounding almost pleasant. “Yes, but I’m just more curious as to know what is going to happen when the meeting finishes.”

“Of course,” Chinhae says flipping another page. “As you already know from reading the contract, your living situation will change slightly from this day forward. You are both living separately right now, and of course Namjoon you are living with the rest of your members, they have of course already been informed of all this,” he pauses and Namjoon nods in confirmation. “We have already acquired an apartment for you both to stay at, and because you are both busy people, it has been decided that all the days where you are both in Seoul, you will stay together at the apartment. That way you have a chance to get to know each other a little better outside of the official outings and meetings.”

Oh great! You will have to spend time with mister sour face over there during your down time as well. “Are we going to have access to each other’s schedule then?” You ask because that was not mentioned in the contract.

Chinhae looks to Bang Si-hyuk and he nods. “We can make that happen.”

“Okay, because I think that will make it somewhat easier to navigate then.”

“Sure. Namjoon do you have any more questions?”

“One,” He says sitting up straighter in the chair. “I know that the contract stated that we will be in the public eye together, but it didn’t really go into detail. So, what exactly is expected of us regarding to that?”

You have to admit that you are a little amazed right now. In the last few minutes, Namjoon has spoken more than he has in the two weeks you have been acquaintances. And it feels like he is starting to warm up a little bit.

“Later today, at exactly four o’clock, we will release the press statement of your engagement,” someone behind him hands him two files and he hands them over to you and Namjoon. You have each gotten two files. On one its reads ‘Official Press Statement’ and on the other one does not have a title. “Here is a copy of the official statement that will be released. We have fabricated a timeframe of how long you would have been dating secretly had this all been real.”

Huh?

You flip open the statement file. “Kim Namjoon of BTS and ____ _______ are officially engaged. The couple, both being signed under Big Hit Entertainment, have been fond of each other since early February of 2019. They both agreed upon keeping their romance under wraps for the sake of their own privacy and getting to know each other on a deeper level, but they have now decided to take their relationship a step further and is set to marry late next year.”

Wow! This all makes it seems so legit and real, when in reality none of this is real or genuine. It is all a PR stunt, but had you been on the other side of this, reading this as a fan of either of you, you would have thought it was real. But that is also the whole point you guess.

“So we would have been dating for about 10 months.” You confirm.

“Yes,” Chinhae replies. “The other file is just a loose guide of what we need from you guys in the public eye.”

You flip to the other file, seeing Namjoon doing the same thing out of the corner of your eye. Quickly, you scan the first few lines. Public appearances, speaking fondly about the relationship/each other, hand holding, dates, kissing, social media posts.

You gulp as you read the word kissing. You really do not want to put your lips on someone so spiteful as Namjoon, but you already signed the contract and you guess a small chaste peck won’t do you any harm.

Or at least not a lot of harm.

Flipping a page again, a timetable comes into view. At the top is tomorrows date and next to it is a scheduled outing. Yours and Namjoon’s first appearance as an engaged couple in the public eye.

“I have a recording session at the studio tomorrow.” Namjoon comments upon seeing the timetable.

“They know,” you are surprised to hear Sejin speaking for the first time. His voice is much deeper than you would have thought, and he speaks in a very calm and collect way. “Your session is early in the morning at 10 am and your date isn’t scheduled until 4 or 5 pm.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” you cut in. “4 or 5 pm?”

“Yes, for now the time is put loosely depending on when Namjoon finishes tomorrow. Could be earlier than 4 but no later than 5.” Sejin explains. “Buy you will be meeting here before the date, and Namjoon, because of his scheduled session, will already be here, so there shouldn’t be too many delays.”

You really want to make a comment about how you don’t want to live your daily life around his schedule and how he should just show up on time, but you know how recording sessions work, how stressful they can be at times and how much work and how many hours that gets put into it. Also, you decide to be the bigger person in this case, smiling and nodding an understanding okay.

From the side, Haeun taps Chinhae and he leans towards her. She whispers something in his ear that no one else is able to hear, but you can see the smile she spots clear as day.  

“Oh right!” Chinhae exclaims immediately after. “I almost forgot!” He scoots away from the table, grabbing his briefcase from the floor and begins digging in it. He pulls out a small square box in black velvet and glides it across the table till it stops in front of you.

“Your engagement ring!” He says as if you need any clarification as to what is inside the small box.

Pulling it towards you, you silently open the lid.

Holy shit! You nearly curse out loud seeing the ring inside. You can feel Namjoon’s gaze on you, his eyes watching your reaction closely.

Inside the box sits the most beautiful silver ring you have probably ever seen in your entire life. No exaggeration! What immediately catches your attention is the big cushion cut diamond in the middle of the ring, being surrounded by a halo of smaller round cut diamonds, framing the bigger it in the most beautiful and vintage looking way. Cascading around the entire band of the ring is even more diamonds and when the light catches it in just the right way, it sparkles in the most breathtaking way.

You are overwhelmed with the amount of diamonds that are on this ring and you are almost afraid to take it out of the box and put it on. What if one of the diamonds falls out or gets lost? Now, you are not sure of the price of this thing or the general cost of an engagement ring, but you would bet your left arm on it not being on the cheap side of the scale.

Holy shit! Whoever picked out this ring is a winner at life!

“It’s… It’s beautiful! Wow…” You are speechless.

You didn’t grow up with a lot of money and having nice things – having expensive things – like this wasn’t ever something you thought of or wanted. And granted, the life you have been lucky enough to be blessed with now, could easily provide you with such things, it has just never been of that much importance. But wow!

“Put it on!” Haeun eagerly urges you from the other side of the table. Her eyes are twinkling like Christmas lights, focusing solely on the ring.

“I’m almost afraid to put it on. I’m afraid to break it.” You joke and gently pry it out of its place.

“It can be replaced if so.” Bang Si-hyuk says making you stop and look at him. He only nods towards your hand with a genuine smile urging you to continue.

Sliding the ring down your finger, you admire your hand. You never thought you would be wearing an engagement ring at the mere age of 23, but life works in strange and mysterious ways. The ring fits like a glove, hugging your finger perfectly almost like it was custom made just for you.  

It is perfect and your right hand now pales in comparison.

“It’s beautiful,” you repeat your previous words. You don’t feel like there are any words good enough to really describe just how beautiful it is.

Feeling Namjoon move beside you, you turn your eyes to him. To his hands to be specific. Both of them are bare.

You frown. “Doesn’t Namjoon get a ring?” Of course, you know that guys typically don’t wear a ring when they get engaged, but looking at the ring you have gotten, you suddenly feel bad and you don’t want him to feel left out… even if he is being an ass. “I mean, I get to wear this,” you flash the ring. “and… I mean, I just don’t think it would be fair…” Your words fade as you find it hard to explain what you mean.

“It’s okay,” Namjoon assures you, his gaze shifting from the ring to your eyes. “This is how it works in ��normal’ situations,” he air quotes. “you should get to wear the beautiful ring and feel special... Even if it is fake behind the scenes.”

For the first time, you hear him speak genuinely and it warms at your heart. Why could he not have been like this from the start? That would have made everything so much easier, and it sure as hell would have changed your first impression and opinion on him.

If only he continues to be like this everything will be fine and run smoothly. You just hope you haven’t spoken too soon.

“Alright perfect! Now that this is all in place, I think we can successfully wrap up the meeting, unless you have any last remarks sir?” Chinhae directs his last question towards Bang Si-Hyuk.

“I have no further remarks at the moment.” He says and stands from his chair.

Everyone else does the same, telling him goodbye as he leaves the room with the managers, leaving only you, Namjoon, Haeun, Sejin and Chinhae in the room.

You begin packing your stuff in your purse. Your copy of the contract, the statement and the ‘loose schedule’, and the black velvet box, but you halt with it in your hand, a thought suddenly occurs to you.

“Oh, should I wear this now?” You frown, referring to your ring.

“Uh…” Haeun hums, waiting for Chinhae to give you an answer.

“I mean, what if someone photographs me today wearing it?”

Chinhae checks his watch quickly. “No it’s okay, you can keep it on. It’s almost 4 o’clock anyways, so there should be no issues even if you are photographed wearing it.”

Silently, you nod, putting the velvet box in your purse carefully even though it is empty.

“I will see the both of you tomorrow between 4 and 5.” He chirps and leaves the room.

Now, only four people are left, but it seems that Namjoon is also in a hurry to leave, because as soon as Chinhae has disappeared though the door, he also makes a hasty retreat though it, Sejin right behind him.

So much for him starting to be nice and change his attitude…

“Happy engagement to me!” You jokingly scowl.

NEXT CHAPTER ⇨

This took me longer to get up than i initially wanted! But it’s here now, so i hope you enjoy! 

If you do, please remember to like and reblog!

[paradoxicalpondering]

There will be bluebirds

Nb. This piece was written as part of my final University submission.

The sickness is swirling in my stomach; it seems to roll over and over again as if I am falling thousands of feet from a plane but if that were the case, eventually I’d hit the ground. This feels like it will never end. All I hear is lethargic but still forceful retching; it highlights the cacophony of unsettling noises that monotonously reverberate around me. We all wear the same dark uniforms, united for the same cause but I don’t know these men. They may be friendly and some may still stretch a smile across their weary cheeks, but I don’t know them.

It surprises me how only now, only at this moment, have I begun to wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. It had sounded like the most exciting thing in the world when I was told about the opportunity. Pictures had been painted to me of how fantastic England was: the rolling hills, the vast green lands and, of course, the white cliffs of Dover. Life at home was just getting that little bit boring; I suppose I’d reached that age when the ache for freedom and independence becomes almost unbearable. My mother’s voice had become a massive irritation: ‘Don’t leave that there, Jade,’ ‘Make sure you are in safe by 8, Jade.’ Mighty irritating. I didn’t tell them that I was going to leave; it just hadn’t seemed like a grand idea. I knew that they would try to stop me, that they just wouldn’t, couldn’t, understand. At this moment in time, as the waters get ever more violent and the blanket of cold darkness seems to expand to become inescapable, I wish they would, could, try to stop me.

*

Training had been minimal; in fact practically non existent for what slowly I was appreciating was going to be an immense task. We were only informed of the basics and that this would be a pivotal moment in the grand scheme of things but not of what to expect, what we would see. They droned on a lot about the work and skill that had gone into the equipment, how effective it was going to be and how apparently, a decoy had been sent so we shouldn’t encounter too much resistance. It had all sounded very straightforward and we were all very excited, we were thrilled to travel, to see a new country. I didn’t have any cause for concern.

We spent the few days prior to today in a tiny little hamlet on the southern coast. It was a dream and left me completely satisfied by the beauty of England that I had hoped to see. All of us camped out on a big cricket field for those few nights; they were warm evenings which made me feel less far from home, although I couldn’t get much further. There was a disco on the Saturday night, in a little village hall and there were many beautiful English girls in bright dresses with big skirts. They seemed so happy to see us; I suppose the time had been hard for them too. I made friends with the girl I considered the most beautiful, her skin the colour of the sweetest cream and just as smooth, plump lips of a subtle crimson. Then, it felt like the hardest thing in the world to string a sentence together, getting the words in the right order, getting the right words at all.

I know if I stood in front of her now, I would have the fluency of a poet, the courage of a lion. Nothing seemed harder than what I was facing right at this moment and I consider that he who reads this may not understand just yet. It was simply the oppression; I had never felt a fear of such an overwhelming power. I felt as though I had a hugely overfed boa constrictor slowly caressing my entire body and then gradually gripping until there is no breath left in my lungs, no moisture on my lips. It was the noise too, the sound of sickness was now not overpowering but the sound of something heavy falling into water in the distance. Almost like someone was throwing stones at us, but not pebbles; boulders. I watched a few of the senior chaps huddle together, leaning on each other to keep upright and then chatting in hushed but urgent voices. Others lay lifeless on the floor, overcome by vomiting, fear and fatigue. I sensed that whatever we were to face was coming soon; it was still a little too dark to see to confirm that though. I crouched down and sat on my feet, curled as tightly as possible and cradled my head in my hands. This helped to steady my stomach and calm my buzzing nerves. The sounds surged but I was growing numb, numb until the first words were shouted of the long journey.

“Listen up, all of you. The time is near and you must prepare yourself. Do not lose any of your things. Under no circumstances should you part with them. We had come to understand that we were to encounter little trouble but I’m afraid it ain’t looking good, lads. Just do what you can and remember how important this is.”

At the conclusion of the speech, he turned away from us and although many ran to his back and begged for information, for reassurance, he refused to face them and with that his ears ignored their pleas. I felt something wasn’t right but it was only when the noise of things hitting the water came closer and the noises were accompanied by fire. I felt a rush in my stomach and emptied the minimal contents of it onto my sodden boots. Uncontrollable shivers racked my whole body and my eyes, slowly reacting to the light, saw the end for the first time. I scanned the cliff top and saw it swelling with the bodies of thousands of men, ready for us, waiting. Time vacated me as the torso of a man in front of me, fell back. I thought he must have fainted in fear until I felt the unnatural warmth on my hands and observed the gaping gun-shot wound in his back. I instinctively fell to the floor, arms over my head and my ears reverberated with screams, shots and thuds, no one sound pronounced in the deafening melee. The craft lodged in the sand and as I tried to run forward, I stood on something soft and looked down to see a man under foot. Men everywhere. Soulless corpses strewn across the sand. Bodies bobbing on the water. With another sound of a bullet soaring through the air, the red flooded my eyes and the noises finally stopped. If only they would, if only they could, help me now.

[snarksicleblog-blog]

Grimsby

Grimsby

By Danaë Brandt

Click.

A pale naked man looked up at the worn-out contraption.

Digital Board: 3 001 768 288 Served.

This naked man’s name is Carl if you must know. That however, is unimportant. He was but one, of countless “hopeful” (and just as naked) applicants, queuing up the narrow hallway to Mr. Grimsby’s door. He breathed a sigh of relief. I’m next. Bout’ fuckin time. He took a step forward toward the red tape on the floor, and stopped. He watched Frat Boy, the guy he had been standing behind, lower his head, clench his butt cheeks, and make his way towards the office door. He stopped just as he was close enough to smell the nauseating green lead paint. The only object around that was new enough to gleam. His left thumb went from tan, to red, to purple as the right pressed into it, suffocating the life out of his manicure.

Where the hell is the guard? Carl thought. He had gone on coffee break a while ago. He would have shoved this idiot in there already. He turned his head to glance over his shoulder, keeping his eyes levelled as to not catch anything below the belt. He could not see where the line ended anymore. The flickering lights were dying along the mile-long corridor, plunging the unfortunates at the end of line into complete darkness. One could be excused for thinking they were trying to gain entrance to the most in vogue underground club in the U.S. instead of a meeting with the terribly trivial Mr. Grimsby. One could also wonder why this place was so under-staffed, or why one man would be in charge of all the applicants in North America. After all, they were in the most notorious of places. Seems positively, unequivocally, really truly… Anticlimactic.

The people in line started sneering at the apparent cowardice of the Head of Gamma-Something-or-Other house.

“Gutless moron,” someone whispered at first.

“Yeah asshole? What happened to that smart-ass attitude?” asked a woman in a nasal voice.

“Not so tough without your polo shirt, huh?” said far way voice. Not the best heckler in the bunch.

“Where your bros at?” added another. Many applicants in line started joining in. The deluge of taunts made its eventual way to the folks so far back, they had never seen the front crowd. Soon enough, they were also mocking the pathetic guy at the door. Then, in a steady and decisive voice, Carl, the man right behind him, let out the last one Frat Boy wanted to hear.

“Pussy.”

The young boy turned around raising both his arms, like a priest during Acclamation… Or a frat boy after a keg stand.

“Oh yeah? Fuck you!”

He turned back swiftly and, in a hyperventilating fit, reminiscent of a child about to dive into glacial water, Frat Boy twisted the silver doorknob and stepped in. The line erupted in cheers. They were glad to be rid of the aggravating boy. Their long wait had been made even more unbearable by Gamma-Douche’s loud and incessant whining. From what Carl had gathered, Frat Boy had driven his Camaro into a minivan, killing a family of five. His parents had managed to bail him out. Clean record and all. Five months later, plastered Frat Boy got himself into yet another accident. Needless to say, a meeting with Mr. Grimsby was unavoidable. Mr. Grimsby could not be bought by daddy dearest. Or by Carl for that matter…

Click. Digital Board: 3 001 768 289 Served.

Carl’s head snapped back to the front. Already? The Digital Board had been so slow, Carl had found himself counting his eyelashes to cope with the painful wait. This time however, it had not been a minute before it was the next person’s turn. His turn. He slowly walked up to the office door and turned the heavy plain knob, inhaling longer than he would, hoping it would slow his frantic heartbeat. With a forceful exhale, he pushed the door.

Mr. Grimsby’s office reflected a life of bureaucratic exactitude. There was one desk in the centre of the room, opposing chairs, the white walls were bare, and the file cabinets neatly locked with the endless contracts he has drawn over the years.

“Take a seat,” said the little man, his attention fixated on the form in front of him. He scribbled with frantic movements of the wrist, his skeletal elbow anchored, steadying his writing arm with the precision of a printer. His green visor blocking his sure to be weasely face, framed his glossy bald head. Once he finished, he tossed the pen into the bin by his bare legs. Carl heard it hit the metal brim, then the floor. He got down to pick it up and toss it himself. He didn’t want to take any chances with the clerk, even if he looked like weakling. Surely he couldn’t be. The bin was already half filled with dried up ballpoints. Mr. Grimsby’s crossed his legs, giving Carl a front row seat to his— THUD.

“Ow! Mother-f—“ Carl cursed after slamming his head on the edge of the table.

“Shall we we proceed sir?” Mr. Grimsby suggested with an impassive expression. His spidery fingers twisted the form to face Carl. His beady eyes unwavering behind his Mat Steel Windsor eyeglasses, “You will need to sign these papers to be permitted passage. Sign on the first dotted line at the bottom of the first and last pages, and write your initials on the the others as you read.

“There must be thousands of pages,” Carl complained.

“Indeed. Isn’t convenient we have all the time in the World? Once you finish reading, and I do suggest you read every page carefully, we can then discuss your options.”

“My options?”

“As to how you shall be spending your time here.”

“I have a choice?”

“We all make choices don’t we? It is what has landed you here in the first place, sir,” his neatly filed fingernail tapped the dotted line. Mr. Grimsby reached for another ballpoint in his drawer, and started scribbling on another form. Carl looked down to the papers:

Nether World District - Perdition Application Admission (NB - 1318)

Permanent Resident (North American Damned)

Carl read through the numerous Hell Residency Situations. It all looked pretty standard. With escalating gravity, the road to purgatory would be lengthier and more torturous. To be expected. Carl identified with situation 329: You have lived a life of sin by committing fraud in the 2010 Synthetic CDO case, trading insider secrets with your competitors at Citigroup, causing your investors to lose their material possessions, emotional stability and in some cases, caused them to take their own lives. You have spent more time pursuing selfish pursuits, causing you to miss eight of your son’s baseball games, two of your other son’s dance recitals and all of your twelve anniversaries—

“I always sent Beth flowers!” Carl muttered.

“I’m sure she appreciated being sent flowers from your secretary. The one you were having an affair with.”

“So? She was a pill-popping washed-up socialite. I was done with her. She wasn’t a better parent anyway.”

“Very astute of you sir. She is scheduled to arrive here six years and two months from now. She still has quite a few wild oats to sow. Your children’s future is still to be decided.”

“Hmmph,” Carl rolled his eyes and signed before finishing the ten page long situation, “Nice first name… Barney,” he mocked as he signed he last page, noticing the small engraved name plate on the desk, “I have to say, I didn’t expect Hell to be so… civilized.”

“How so sir?” Mr. Grimsby asked going over the application and making sure he wouldn’t be cheated by a con-man. He had also worked as a clerk in law firm way back in the day. He had been the type dot all the “i”s, cross all his “t”s, measure the dots above both “i”s and “j”s, making sure they were always perfectly aligned. He also doubled-barred all his zeroes, because God forbid his unfaltering compulsion for order, could be perverted by simpletons. It’s that obsession for the penny-ante that had landed him there in the first place.

“Well look at us? You’d think we’re at the DMV.”

“I’m afraid the Department of Motor Vehicles was established after my time.”

“Where’s the fire? Where are the hook wielding demons? Where’s the big dog guarding the Gates of Hell? This is all I was supposed to be “afraid” of? A scrawny immigration officer in a shitty poker cap?”

“Shall we proceed to the options of residency available to you?”

“I was at least expecting some fucking second-rate James Earl Jones declaring “I am the Gate Keeper” or some shit,” Carl continued. He sat back comfortably in his chair. He had eaten bigger steaks than the pathetic paper pusher sitting opposite him.

“This is not about living up to your expectations of Hades sir. It’s about tailoring your punishment to your worst nightmare… You are now insignificant, and, for all intents and purposes, I am the Gate Keeper.”

“Sure thing sir. Whatever you say “boss”.”

“As you qualify for an extensive list of punishments, you must purge your soul through a minimum of 300 years process—“

“Say Barnster, what landed your sorry ass down here?” Carl interrupted.

“It is of no importance,” he answered, his face as stoic as ever. He had not lived a selfless life. His nit-picky attention to the insignificant, had poisoned his promising accounting career, his family life, and finally his soul. His death had been dramatic in its own pitiful way. His employer had found a mistake in the books. One Mr. Grimsby refused to admit. It had been a mere difference of a few dollars. Nothing worth offering a challenge for. Mr. Grimsby had often likened himself to the misunderstood Third Vice President, Aaron Burr. This would be a farfetched comparison, praising Mr. Grimsby all too much. One could argue for delusions of grandeur perhaps, but most would note an unmistakeable inferiority complex. His employer, his own Alexander Hamilton, had been a skilled marksman, and petty Mr. Grimsby well… He had been vain… And legally blind.

“So you are just some poor sap who died before confession. That explains it. I want to see your manager.” Now that was a new one.

“My manager? Sir?”

“Oh don’t play innocent Barnacle, I want to meet the the Top Dog.”

“I am not familiar with that title.”

“The Big Cheese.”

“Sir we need to sign—“ Mr. Grimsby started before flinching when the other man slammed his fist on the desk.

“Listen here Barnicus—“ Carl stood up fast, his large frame casting a shadow on the Gate Keeper.

“Was that meant to be an insult?”

“I want to meet Satan.”

“Satan?”

“Yes Satan! The Devil, Lucifer, the Morningstar, God’s whiny eternally grounded teenage son. He’s the one that runs this place right? I’m the man to run this dump back to its former glory.”

“Unless you know one of the original demons, you have no connection to Mr. Morningstar. No common damned soul meets with the Head of State here,” Mr. Grimsby explained. His expression static.

“And have you met him?”

“I have a key position in his administration now don’t I?”

“So who’s a guy gotta blow for a job down here? I saw some of the mandatory punishments I got to go through. I’m sure as hell not going through phase two. Phase seven and eight, I can manage. I draw the line at becoming anybody’s money shot.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t how it works, sir,” Mr. Grimsby spoke, with his straight lips starting to twitch at the corners. He was amused.

“Oh come on man, is there anything I can be of use to the Big Guy? I have a array of skills that should be more than useful down here. You need to slice up some bitches? I took anatomy in first year of College. You need to get people to talk? I’m a master extortioner. Just ask Chris Christie. That fat old blockhead stood like a whimpering idiot behind the T Man, all because I got him drunk enough to take pictures with a half naked Ru Paul. You need to teach a slut a lesson? I’ll—“ Mr. Grimsby held up his right hand, and rubbed his temples with the left.

“Please sir. You’re making this process needlessly long. I am behind with the line-up, and I would hate to underperform after turning in my best numbers to date.”

“Please Barney…”

“Mr. Grimsby, sir,” he said, grinning at the large man, cowering at the idea of losing his manhood. Idiot, he already had.

“Mr. Grimsby,” Carl repeated.

“Fine, I’ll show you the way to his office. Forgive me if I don’t follow you. I have no time.”

“Of course, of course. Thank you Mr. Grimsby.”

“Very well,” Mr. Grimsby snapped his fingers. A golden door, carved itself into the bare wall behind the desk. The carvings drew a modern man’s body, in a fitted suit, tossing a coin into the air. His head was that of a large bull. “Send my regards to Mr. Morningstar.”

“Is there anything I should know?”

“If I was welcomed in his administration, I’m sure a strong man like you would have no problem doing the same. Have at it.”

Carl entered the dark corridor, and closed the door at snail-like pace. As soon as it closed, the door disappeared, manifesting a new, and decidedly less ostentatious door in its stead. A horned red skinned demon wearing a security cap entered, holding a steaming white coffee mug with a powder blue logo saying “Jesus is my Bitch!” He looked back the the door, with a puzzled look.

“Did you open The Door?” the demon enquired.

“Indeed.”

“Who went in?”

“A new resident.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“He tried to show you up didn’t he?” the demon ventured, and Mr. Grimsby shrugged, “You’re a sick bastard you know that Grimsby?” he remarked in a matter-of-fact tone.

“After over a Century down here… I am loathed to finally admit. I am petty. Send in the next one.” Carl follows the long narrow corridor, plunged into blackness. He made his way slowly, weary of what would be at the end. His eyes adjusted slightly, spotting flickering lights somewhere ahead…

Silence. Digit Board: 3 001 768 289 Served