#and has never ever stopped gloating about his position and relative power

[notablogto]

Personal Good Omens Headcanon...

Just something I think about...a lot...along with the rest of my GO brain rot. The Metatron and Crowley have some kind of history. Some kind of ancient, old, petty beef that stinks to high heaven.

And the Metatron was directly responsible for Crowley's fall.

I also have a personal headcanon that the Metatron’s real name is Bruce.

[giveemhales]

Moodboards for Sterek AUs: 22/?

For @sterekvalentineweek Day 3

Secret Crush

4 times Stiles gave Derek a valentine, and 1 time Derek decided to return the favor.

The story can be read under the cut or on AO3!

1st grade

Derek was new, and that’s what causes the whole fiasco.

Well, not exactly new. He had been at the school since the school year had started back in August, and it was now February. But he was new in that it’s the first year anyone in his family has ever attended public school. Born into a powerful pack of werewolves with a history spanning back centuries, he had been raised surrounded only by werewolves and humans who knew about the supernatural. None of his relatives had ever gone to public school, as the risk was deemed too great to send children out in public where they may accidentally reveal their true nature. Derek and his siblings were supposed to be home-schooled, as was tradition.

However, times were changing, and their emissary had suggested the children should start attending public school. Not only was it to help the children learn how to handle being around humans and in public, but also the hunters were becoming more aggressive, and it was advised that they act as much like normal humans as possible so as not to raise suspicion.

So Derek and his older sister, Laura, were the first werewolves in the Hale pack history to go to public school. It was their first year for both of them, Derek in first grade and Laura in second. They had spent the years before learning how to control their shift under the guise of home-schooling, and the family was confident they would blend right in. 

They did blend in, for the most part, never letting their eyes change color and holding back growls no matter how angry they became. But apparently, there was more to being human than just looking the part. There were all these rules and customs that everyone seemed to know except them. Derek rarely minded his family’s social faux pas, honestly never really noticing them. But on this one occasion, everyone noticed, and he was particularly upset.

It was Valentine’s Day, a holiday which his family never celebrated (why did humans need a holiday to show their adoration for their mates? How strange). The lack of experience with the holiday is why nobody in the family realized it was customary to bring “valentines” to school to share with classmates, and that’s why he arrived empty-handed. 

When all the other students set up their boxes in which to receive treats, he watched in confusion, which morphed into dawning horror when he realized everyone had gifts to hand out except for him.

Derek had hoped he could slip under the radar, receive the gifts like everyone else and then maybe bring double the treats next year to make up for it. 

The teacher had a different idea. The teacher scolded him in front of the whole class for being irresponsible and inconsiderate, and told him that if he had nothing to share, then nobody could share with him. He had to sit in the corner by himself and think about what he had done wrong (he was 6 years old, he didn’t have money or a calendar, this hardly seemed like his fault).

So Derek sat in the corner by himself, not only having to hear all of the other kids laugh and have a great time, but also smell the delicious treats thanks to his werewolf nose. He was used to being on his own at school, not having made any real friends, but it hurt so much more knowing he was being purposefully excluded. He had to fight hard to hold back his claws, and even harder to fight back tears. He hated this stupid school and the stupid humans in it and their stupid rules and traditions and just wanted to go home. 

When the school day was finally, blessedly over, Derek shuffled out of the room with his head bowed and shoulders hunched, not wanting to see the smiles on all of the other kids’ faces and not wanting them to see the frown on his, unable to help feeling like they were mocking him.

He made it out the front doors of the school, and thought he was finally free, but stopped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He turned with a scowl. It was a student in his class named Stiles. Derek wasn’t really friends with him. They had played together at recess a couple of times and he seemed funny and nice, but it wasn’t like they had ever spoken outside of school.

Derek began to wonder if he was wrong in his categorization of Stiles as nice, because he could think of no reason for any of his classmates to stop him except to gloat. Before Stiles had even said anything, Derek was already seething, thinking about the treat Stiles had brought that everyone had gotten to try except for him. While most of the students had just brought candy, Stiles had brought clearly homemade sugar cookies, and the scent had had Derek salivating in his isolation. 

Before he could snap at Stiles in anger, however, Stiles thrust his hands forward in an offering. Derek looked down and was surprised to see he was holding two cookies, each partially covered by a napkin.

“Sorry Mrs. Johnson was so mean to you today. She said that we weren’t allowed to give you any valentines but I think that’s mean and dumb and I don’t follow mean and dumb rules. So I saved you a cookie. Actually, I saved you two cookies, one of them is for your sister because I figure if you didn’t bring any valentines then she probably didn’t either and might have also not been allowed any treats, which would be so sad because what’s the point of Valentine’s day besides the treats. If you eat them both, though, that’s okay because you didn���t get any candy or anything so I think you probably deserve two cookies. I would give you even more cookies but I only had the one that was already for you, and then the extra one my mom packed in my lunch box. I wanted to eat that one and then I also wanted to eat yours but I realized I shouldn’t because my mom already gave me a cookie last night so I really don’t need another and also my mom bakes all the time and most people don’t get to try the greatness of her cookies and so I have a respons- responsabl- responsibit- it’s my job to share the cookies.” 

Stiles finally quit his rambling to stare expectantly at Derek, who was staring back in shock. He shoved his hands forward again, until Derek finally took the offered cookies.

Derek didn’t even get the chance to say thank you before Stiles was talking again, telling some story about a time he forgot his shoes at home and how that was way worse than forgetting some valentines. He kept talking before he noticed the bus was beginning to leave, and sprinted off without so much as a goodbye. 

Derek looked down once again at the cookies, and saw there was a note included. Written on a sticky note in first-grader scrawl, it said Sorry the teacher is so mean. You can be my BVF (best valentine forever). Valentine was written three different times, the first two times crossed out as he clearly wasn’t positive how the word was spelled.

Derek did end up giving the second cookie to Laura, and he found he didn’t mind because he knew the note was all his.  

4th grade

Derek still didn’t particularly care for Valentine’s Day, his introduction to the holiday forever tainting his opinion, but he had still come to find himself excited about the impending sugar. 

There was a storm cloud over this Valentine’s Day, though, at least for Derek and definitely for Stiles. Ever since first grade, Derek had looked forward to the homemade treats Stiles would bring, baked with love by his mother.

Derek knew that wouldn’t be the case on this day, though, because Stiles’ mother had passed away a couple of months before.

Everyone in the small town knew about it, rumors constantly spreading about the sheriff’s new drinking habits. Nobody seemed to notice the effect it had on the young boy. But Derek did.

Stiles had become more withdrawn in the months leading up to his mother’s death, presumably having to deal with her illness, but it was like he shut down once she was gone. The boy who once talked a mile a minute now was silent, except for the occasional whispers to his best friend. His absences became more frequent, and he stopped bringing a lunch to school, instead having to buy cafeteria food he would rarely eat. The worst part though was the scent of grief that constantly clung to him.

Derek saw how badly he was affected and could only hope that he would heal with time. Derek wished he knew how to help, but he still hadn’t even figured out how to make friends, let alone how to help someone cope with the loss of a parent.

So Derek knew he wouldn’t be getting any baked goods on this day, that he probably wouldn’t be receiving anything from Stiles. He just hoped that the teacher wasn’t as rude about it as his first-grade teacher had been.

Derek was proven wrong though. Stiles hadn’t brought cookies or anything of the like, but he had brought valentines. For every classmate, he had a red piece of paper which he had folded into a heart and marked with their names. They weren’t perfect, but they were definitely better than most nine-year-olds could do. 

Derek was so touched at the small gift, and seethed when he saw none of the other students saw it for what it was. He even saw one student throw their heart in the trash (which Derek made a point to dig out and keep for himself because that heart was something Stiles had spent time on and deserved to be cherished). None of the students realized how kind Stiles was. That while dealing with grief, which was probably made even worse with the holiday bringing on a reminder of a tradition he could no longer partake in, and a father who himself was probably still grieving and didn’t remember he was supposed to get valentines for his son, Stiles had still made sure he had something to give to his classmates. This gift was far more valuable than anything any other student had brought. 

Derek was even more touched when he realized that there was a note written inside of the heart, too. He carefully unfolded it, making sure to keep track of how he did it so he would be able to refold it, and read what was inside.

Don’t tell Scott, but you’re still my favorite Valentine.

It was made even better when he realized the other heart he had, the one from the trash, had no note, meaning Stiles had written a note especially for Derek. 

Derek gave Stiles the warmest smile he could from across the room and vowed to keep that note forever. 

6th grade

Derek was quick to realize Valentine’s Day was not the same in middle school as in elementary. For one, there was no making mailboxes or handing out valentines. If you wanted to celebrate the holiday, you had to do it on your own time. 

The second major difference was that “like-liking” someone was a thing, and lots of girls “like-liked” Derek. Derek was apparently one of the cutest guys in the grade, and that helped immensely with his popularity. He had finally been able to make some friends, which was nice. 

Derek wasn’t really a fan of all of the attention he got at school, though. He would have preferred to just spend time with the couple of best friends he had made, and ignore all of the people who wanted to be his friend solely for his status.

He knew Valentine’s Day would give some girls the perfect opportunity to confess their “feelings” for him (they didn’t even know him!) and Derek was not looking forward to it.

Derek had been correct in his assumption, and by the end of the day, three different girls had asked to be his Valentine, and he had to kindly reject them all. It was far too much for him, and he was exhausted by the end of the day. 

Before he could go home, though, he had to stop at his locker to grab a textbook he needed for class.

He was surprised, and a little bit disturbed, to find a box of chocolates in his locker. It was definitely too big for someone to just slip through the slots, so someone would have had to break into his locker to get it there. 

Derek immediately felt all of his annoyance of the day growing. Why could these girls not leave him alone?

However, when he leaned in to grab the box, he caught a whiff of a scent that had him calming down.

Stiles.

Suddenly, Derek found he wasn’t too upset. It wasn’t at all surprising that the boy knew how to break into lockers, and Derek found himself inexplicably preening at the thought that the boy still wanted to be his Valentine.

Taped to the bottom of the box was a typed note with no signature, clearly meant to anonymous. Derek likely never would have known who it was if it wasn’t for his werewolf senses.

The note simply read “Why don’t they let us hand out candy anymore? Middle school is lame. Don’t worry, I won’t let them ruin the holiday for you (everyone knows the sweets are the whole point). Hope you enjoy the chocolates, valentine.”

On second thought, Derek realized he probably would have been able to figure out it was Stiles, just based on the note. He could practically hear the words in Stiles’ voice. He would still let him think he got away with being anonymous, though.    

Maybe middle school Valentine’s Days weren’t so bad, after all. 

10th grade

Derek just knew this was going to be the worst Valentine’s Day ever, and he wished that he could just skip the whole day. He would totally pretend to be sick so he could stay home except that werewolves can’t get sick so he doubted that would fly with his parents.

Derek had broken up with his girlfriend, Paige, just a couple of weeks before. He knew that in the grand scheme of things they weren’t that serious, they hadn’t even been together for a whole year, but he had felt like he was madly in love with her. 

He was healing, of course, and, for the most part, had moved on. But Valentine’s Day would just be a reminder of what he was missing (it stung every time he remembered he never got the chance to celebrate Valentine’s Day with her, he had been secretly excited to finally have a real significant other to be romantic with). That, and due to his popular status, the day would either bring on pitying looks from all of the students who thought his relationship was somehow their business, or flirting from girls who thought they now had a chance. Knowing his luck, probably a combination of both. 

Derek groaned when he walked into his first-period history class and saw a heart-shaped balloon tied to the back of the desk he usually sat at. This was absolutely the last thing he wanted to deal with. He thought about just sitting at a different desk but figured it was better to go ahead and throw away the balloon before class started so as to avoid drawing any attention. 

When he got to his desk, he saw a note tied to the string of the balloon. He opened it and a smile bloomed on his face when he was met with typed words.

Of course! He had been so focused on Paige that he forgot about the annual tradition Stiles had begun in the sixth grade of leaving secret gifts with notes for Derek. 

Stiles wasn’t even in the class so Derek didn’t even know how he had known which desk was his, but at this point, nothing Stiles did could really surprise him. 

I know they may not be the usual sweets, but I figure with this, you can tell anyone who bothers you that you already have a valentine. You know I’ve always got your back, Valentine.

The note just reconfirmed for Derek that it was from Stiles.

The gift cheered him up immensely, and he felt his qualms about the day beginning to melt away.

~~~

The day dragged on until lunch, made better by the balloon Derek carted around, which actually did help keep people away.

Derek was sitting at his usual spot with his friends when he hears a commotion from the other side of the cafeteria, and turned to see what was going on.

It seemed everyone turned to look, although he’s not sure if they can all hear. It was easy enough with his enhanced senses, though.

Derek could make out Stiles standing up on a table, looking down at a girl with strawberry blonde hair. The rest of the people at the table had faces ranging from shock to embarrassment, except for one guy who looked like he was fuming. Derek honestly didn’t know if that table was where Stiles usually sat, or if he had just decided to crash.

“Lydia, today, on the most romantic day of the year, I must make my feelings known. I know you are a goddess and I am a mere mortal, but my heart sings for you and I can no longer hide it. Reject your other suitors, for none see how brightly you shine like I do. Please accept this token of my affection, and be my Valentine.” Stiles opened up a thin box he had been holding to reveal a heart-shaped cookie cake.

Derek cringed in second-hand embarrassment, especially when he saw people giggling and filming the whole thing.

“I’ll think about it,” the girl responded in an airy voice. She was too far away that Derek couldn’t tell if she was being mocking or serious.

Stiles’ grin didn’t leave his face as he stepped down from the table. Derek saw him offer Lydia the cookie cake, but she held her hand up in rejection. Stiles shrugged and held the box closer, then grabbed his friend, who Derek recognized as his best friend Scott, by the shoulder and rushed out of the cafeteria.

Derek found himself fuming. At first, he thought it was at the way everyone was laughing at Stiles after he put himself out there, and the way the girl didn’t even appreciate what he had done. But he realized that wasn’t what it was, not really.

It was jealousy.

Derek had always cherished the tradition he had going on with Stiles (although he supposed it was mostly one-sided and it was secret), and it had made him feel special. Now he felt like it meant nothing. It was nothing more than Stiles feeling bad for the kid who once had a bad Valentine’s Day.

Derek abruptly shoved away from his table and stood up. He grumbled an excuse about having to be somewhere and stomped out of the cafeteria, annoyed he had to drag the balloon from Stiles with him. All he wanted was to pop the dumb balloon and shove it in a trash can, but knew he would regret it if he decided to do that in front of a cafeteria full of people.

As Derek stormed down the, thankfully empty, hallway, he heard a voice. He froze when he recognized that it was Stiles’ voice. He immediately hid himself against the wall, then rolled his eyes when he realized Stiles wasn’t even coming toward him, but seemed to be having a conversation in the hallway perpendicular to the one Derek was in. Derek knew there was no reason to, but he couldn’t help but eavesdrop.

“I just don’t understand why you did that! You know Lydia would never go for you!” That was Scott’s voice, and Derek couldn’t help but feel offended on Stiles’ behalf. 

“Thank you for your vote of confidence, Scott. I feel like the more pressing issue that you could have mentioned is the fact that I don’t even swing that way, which would have been a much less hurtful thing to say.” 

Derek froze. Had he heard that correctly? He felt guilty realizing he had listened to Stiles out himself, but felt frozen in his spot.

Scott sighed explosively. “Okay, so then why did you do it?”

Stiles gave an equally dramatic sigh. “Because Lydia asked me to, duh. Besides the fact I’m too afraid of her to say no, she gave a compelling argument. She’s currently fighting with Jackson and wanted to piss him off and make him jealous, and you know I’m always down to piss Jackson off. Plus, she said she would get a cookie cake and let me keep it, which, as you can see, she did. Plus, it’s not like I have a reputation to uphold. This isn’t even the most embarrassing thing I’ve done this year.”

Scott laughed. “Oh yeah, you mean like wooing the same person for years but not even telling them it’s you? Or talking to them?”

Stiles hissed out a “shut up” in anger, but Derek tuned out the rest of the conversation, feeling like he was on cloud nine. 

Scott must have been talking about all of the gifts Stiles had been giving to Derek. Which meant it did mean something, and that Stiles actually had feelings for Derek. Not for Lydia, who didn’t even appreciate Stiles.

Derek spent the rest of the day feeling like he was floating, proudly holding his balloon through the hallways. It wasn’t until the end of the day that Derek that the way he was reacting was a bit over the top unless…

Did Derek also have feelings for Stiles?

12th grade

Derek felt like his heart was about to pound out of his chest, and he was certain he had already sweat through his shirt. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this nervous. 

It was Valentine’s Day, his last one before he went to college. He knew if he didn’t do anything, it would be fine. Stiles would probably give him an anonymous gift like every year, and it would be a nice thing to reminisce about one day. It would be the same as always.

But Derek decided he couldn’t let things stay the same, and he was about to throw a wrench in Stiles’ plans. 

He wasn’t sure at what point he had begun to develop feelings for Stiles, but he had realized in tenth grade after he heard about Stiles’ feelings that they were definitely there, and at this point they had become too deep to ignore. He wanted to be Stiles’ valentine but he wanted it to be for real this time, and the only way to make that happen was by telling him. And desperately hoping that he hadn’t completely misinterpreted everything.

Derek had arrived to school over half an hour early, parking right next to Stiles’ usual spot to make sure he didn’t miss him. He wanted to catch him in the parking lot, to hopefully stay out of the way of prying eyes. 

It had seemed like a good idea, but now he was left stewing in his own anxiety, thinking about everything that could go wrong and wondering if he should back out now before it was too late. He even wondered if he shouldn’t have made his younger sister hitch a ride with someone else so that at the very least he would have company, but he knew she would only make him more stressed. Sisters were evil like that.

Fifteen minutes before school began and Stiles finally arrived.

It was now or never. 

Derek got out of his car just as Stiles did, and called his name. Stiles jumped in shock and turned to face Derek. Derek caught a whiff of nerves off of him, but he didn’t run, so at least that was a good start.

“Can I talk to you real quick?”

Stiles looked surprised, but he nodded and approached Derek. “Uh, sure. Did you want to go inside, or…”

“No, we can talk out here. Actually, it’s better out here, because I have some stuff. In my car, I mean. So it’s easier if it’s here and I don’t have to carry it and we can just talk here now.” Derek realized none of what he was saying was making sense, and felt dread pool in his stomach when he saw the confusion growing on Stiles’ face. God, why was this so hard?

“I just wanted to say- uh- Happy Valentine’s Day. Well, that wasn’t all I wanted to say, but- One sec.” Derek ducked into the back of his car, glad he had an excuse to collect himself for a moment.

When he reemerged, it was with a box which he placed on top of his trunk. He was grateful to see that Stiles hadn’t fled.

Derek looked down at the box, avoiding eye contact with Stiles to the best of his ability, and began pulling out items one by one. “In second grade, you brought me a brownie, one that had heart-shaped sprinkles that your mother had baked. In third grade, it was an equally delicious cupcake.” He pulled out a brownie and cupcake (both store-bought and certainly not as good as Stiles’ mother’s baked goods, but baking was not his strong suit) and shoved both into Stiles’ hands, continuing on before Stiles could interrupt him. “In fourth grade, it was a folded heart, which I now realize was very impressive, since I’m about double the age you were when you made ones for the whole class and just this one took me about 20 tries.” He gave out a self-deprecating laugh, and once again handed the item to Stiles. “In fifth grade, it was a heart-shaped lollipop. In sixth, a box of chocolates. Seventh, conversation hearts.” He realized Stiles’ hands were too full to hold anything else, and began placing the items onto the trunk next to the box instead. “In eighth grade, it was a teddy bear. Freshman year, it was chocolate covered strawberries. Sophomore year, you gave me a heart-shaped balloon, which was actually quite useful.” He had to lean back into his car to grab the balloon, since it had been too big for the box. “Last year, it was roses. And all of it began in first grade, when you decided the nobody kid in the class with no friends deserved to have something nice, no matter what the teacher said, when you gave me the best cookie I have, to this day, ever had. You told me then, and for years to come, that I was your valentine. And as much as I loved that, I want something more. Will you be my real valentine? Will you be mine?” Finally, he pulled out a heart-shaped cookie, covered with pink icing and the words Be Mine written on top.

Derek finally looked up at Stiles, who had his mouth open in shock. He smelled like a myriad of emotions, and Derek was having difficulty getting a read on him. As the seconds passed, he began to get the sinking feeling he had royally fucked up.

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles finally burst out, and barrelled on before Derek could even figure out what part he was reacting to. “You’ve ruined my ten-year plan! I have been secretly wooing you- or at least I thought it was secret- for years, and today was going to be the grand finale! I was going to confess that it was me all along and then I was going to offer you a kiss and if it was weird and you weren’t interested I had some chocolate kisses to give you so I could play it off all cool, but then if you were interested we were going to have a great, romantic first kiss. But you have out-romanced me in one fell swoop! How dare you!”

Derek stared back in shock. He felt.. actually he had no idea how he felt and wasn’t even sure what part of that he was supposed to react to first.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” Stiles demanded, although Derek could see the smile hidden on his face.

“Uh… is a kiss still on the table?”

“Chocolate or real?”

“What do you think?”

Stiles pretended to think about it for a moment. “Well, after that grand romantic gesture, I would say a real kiss. But I do know you have a sweet tooth, so it’s hard to say for sure…”

“How about this? You kiss me now, and then after school we go on a date and finish that whole bag of kisses together. And all this store-bought shit I got you. Sound like a good compromise to you?”

Stiles smirked. “Sounds perfect, Valentine.”

After that, Derek helped Stiles put all of the gifts into his Jeep, and then they walked hand and hand to the school, not even caring they were probably late at this point.

Suddenly, a thought hit Derek, and he froze, causing Stiles to stumble and then turn to him with an expectant eyebrow raised.

“Wait, you said ten-year plan. Have you actually been wooing me this whole time?”

Stiles blushed, and it was the prettiest thing Derek had ever seen. “Well, not exactly. But after I gave you that cookie in first grade, I saw the way your eyes lit up, and when you smiled at me, well, my little 6-year-old heart knew you were going to be the only Valentine I’d ever need.”

[solalunar-eclipse]

Team Dark: A Holiday Special

Chapter One: Omega

Two | Three

Word count: about 5800 words

WARNING: this chapter contains entomophagy (eating insects)

Author's Note: I'm finally back! Sorry to make you all wait so long, but I really wanted to get this project out by December, so...here it is. I hope you all enjoy! (Also, apologies in advance for any bad formatting: Tumblr is being very uncooperative right now.)

...

It was, officially, a ‘lazy day’.

Team Dark was spending time at home, resting after the holiday frenzy of yesterday. Rouge had suddenly realized that they hadn’t decorated yet and that they all still needed to come up with present ideas for Team Sonic, so she and Shadow had spent the entire time in a sort of constant state of panic. Omega tried his best to help them, intermixed with a lot of gloating about his perfect memory and how he’d remembered to get a gift already.

He’d gotten punched halfway across the room for that one.

Now, a certain striped hedgehog was relaxing in his room, reading a book quietly. Until (of course) the peaceful silence was shattered by a loud blaring noise that sent him racing out the door and halfway down the stairs to their common area. Rouge was standing in the middle of the room, and shouted out to him, “Shadow! Come down here, I’m calling a group meeting!” Shadow winced and massaged one of his ears, his quills relaxing from their startled position as he walked over and sat down on the couch. He glowered at Rouge, who stood in front of him with the ‘team meeting airhorn’ still in hand. Despite his stare, she was still poised to blast again if Omega didn’t show up soon. Thankfully for Shadow’s hearing, Omega appeared quickly, albeit with much complaining about being dragged away from his targeting system calibrations. “Alright, Rouge, what’s all this about?” the hedgehog sighed, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees. She smiled cautiously at the two of them. “Before I say anything, I want you guys to know that this offer is optional. If it’s too much for you, you don’t have to say yes.” Omega spun one of his hands around, making a slight whirring noise. “Please continue.” Rouge sat down on one end of the aforementioned couch, sinking into the cushions with a sigh. “Okay. Let’s see. I haven’t...ever talked to you guys about my family before, have I?” “I do not recall you initiating any such conversation.” Omega answered, at the same time as Shadow replied, “No….?” “Well. Considering everything...I kind of figured it’s about time I told you all my story.” She smiled again, but it was a little bittersweet. Shadow inched closer, caution sparking in his eyes. “Where to start...I mean, I have a mom, two sisters, a stepsister, a stepbrother, and a stepmom. And a dad too, I guess?” “You guess?” Omega asked skeptically, before being shot a fierce ‘no questions‘ look by Shadow. “It’s alright, hon.” Rouge said, putting a hand on the hedgehog’s shoulder. “I guess I should really start at the beginning.” “My dad was a cat and my mom is a bat- obviously, hah. My two officially related sisters are twins, three years younger than me. Right before they were born, though...my dad left. He took all the cash with him when he did. And, well. Left Mom with a barely-paid-for apartment and without a job. “We, uh. Heard later that he ran off with some lady from his job. Mom...didn’t take it too well.” Shadow’s eyes widened and Omega smacked a fist into one hand. “Rouge. Is your father, hypothetically, good at withstanding high-powered attacks from a hypothetical extremely destructive robot?” She snickered. “No, he’s not. But please don’t actually fight him, alright?” His hands crackling with chaos energy, Shadow hissed, “Rouge...I think I like his plan.” He bared his fangs as he spoke, looking furious. Rouge smiled gratefully at the both of them. “Thanks, guys, but he’s really not even worth your time. Let me keep going, okay?” Omega sat back, irritated at the lack of pulverizing Rouge’s father going on, and Shadow, reluctantly, allowed his chaos energy to dissipate. “Yeah, so he left, and that was a whole thing. Mom worked hard for us, but it just...wasn’t enough to make ends meet. I started my career of...relieving people of their fancy objects-” here she winked- “at the age of eleven to help out. Dropped out of school after eighth grade to start full-time thievery once I turned fourteen, and, yeah. I had to leave home, otherwise Mom and the twins would’ve been in real trouble. “I got busted after two whole years by the one and only Guardian Units of Nations- not a bad streak, if I do say so myself. Then, I started working for G.U.N. to pay my dues to society, and...you all know the rest after that. I still kept sending checks back to the family, though.” Shadow and Omega were both looking at her with unreadable expressions at this point. “I’ve stopped doing that now, actually, since Mom’s been with her girlfriend for like a year now. She’s dating this super sweet cardinal who gives her basically everything my dad never did- her name’s Camellia and she has two little kids from her last marriage. She’s been so good for Mom, honestly.

“I know it’s usually supposed to be this whole thing where the stepdaughter hates the stepmom, but that’s not for me. When I got the news, I was just like ‘Oh, so that’s why I’m pan’ - yeah, really- and now I’m cool with it. Plus, I’ve got two new little sibs, so it’s all fine.

“So...yeah. That’s my family.”

Shadow sat there in deep thought for a minute. “Your family sounds nice...I’m just sorry you had to go through all of that.” he said, when he finally spoke up.

“Yeah, they’re great- and it’s okay. I mean, if it wasn’t for all that, I never would’ve found you guys!” she said, looking much brighter now. “Now that you know about them, you wanna see some pictures?”

“Certainly.” Omega said, curious to see these people that Rouge cared for so deeply.

“Okay, so...these are my twin sisters, Midori and Neela.” she said, showing a social media post of two identical coffee-colored cats posing for a selfie. Even their fur markings were exactly the same, as well as the shade of their golden eyes. Despite the fact that they were felines, something about them looked an awful lot like Rouge. The shape of their faces, perhaps?

“And here’s Camellia and Mom.” A picture came up of a beaming, moderately curvy white bat and an equally overjoyed cardinal with their arms around each other in front of a beautiful sunset.

“This is Jade, my stepsister, she’s ten-” Rouge showed an image of a young goldfinch playing soccer, kicking the ball fiercely. “-and that’s Spark, my stepbrother.” A small cardinal with a grin as broad as his mother’s was swinging on a swing at a playground, his eyes bright with the excitement of childhood.

Shadow smiled, looking as though he were a mixture of genuine happiness and a little ever-present pain. “They all look wonderful, Rouge. I’m...honored...that you felt like you could show us this.”

“That wasn’t so bad, honestly- I’ve been wanting to figure out how to do that for a while.” the bat said. “This is going to be the hard part.”

Two pairs of eyes watched her expectantly.

She exhaled. “Every year...my family has this big, three-day Wintersweek party. And when I say big, I mean seven out of my mom’s nine siblings and their spouses and kids. Like, more than twenty guests big.”

Omega interrupted her there. “If your mother has nine siblings, why did none of them bother to help her when she needed them?”

Rouge looked at the floor, a little sad. “Four of them were in debt themselves, two live in crazy places around the world and didn’t really know, and...the other three tried to help. Mom refused to take more than she could pay back. They still helped do other stuff like watch us while Mom was working, though.”

“Understood. You may continue.” Omega replied, shifting into a slightly less confrontational pose.

“So. I always go to this party, except for those two years when I was on the run. This is going to be my third year back. And…

“I really, really, reallyreally want to introduce my family to my two best friends. You know, the ones who live with me and always have my back and mean the world to me.” she said, looking straight at Shadow and Omega. The former blushed a faint green at the praise, while the latter scoffed.

“Of course you wish to do so. Our excellence is unparalleled.”

Rouge smiled hopefully at them. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you guys, but...will you come to the party this year?”

Omega processed this for a minute. “How amenable is your family towards weapons of incredible destructive power being present in their home?”

“Well, see, about that….” Rouge muttered. “...you might have to empty your weapons cartridges before we go.”

“I am unsure if this is an acceptable outcome. I will respect your wishes to an extent, but I refuse to be without weaponry at my disposal.”

The bat thought for a moment. “...you can bring the flamethrower, but only if you put a PIN lock on it.”

“...”

“...”

Rouge stared him down. “There’s going to be kids there. Kids.”

“Accepted.” Omega said finally. His tone switched to a more triumphant note as he added, “I shall come and impress all of your relatives with my power.”

Shadow had reservations, too. “Won’t it be weird, having people who aren’t really your family there?”

“Shadow…” she said gently. “...you two are as close to me as my ‘real family’, and I want you to be there.”

Omega noted that Shadow was behaving in a manner that suggested he was ‘flustered’. He folded his arms tightly, lowered his head, and his mouth was pressed tightly into a line- an attempt to hide a smile. “...but won’t I take up too much space? An extra bed is more difficult to manage than an outlet.”

Rouge sighed sharply, becoming frustrated with his hesitance. “Mom has air mattresses up to her ears specifically for this, and she lives in Camellia’s house now, which has like ten bedrooms anyway. And you’re totally not going to be ‘a bother’ or anything, so don’t even say that. Mom basically screamed when she found out I was bringing people, and I mean that in a good way. She didn’t stop asking me questions for half an hour.”

“I…” Shadow said tentatively, close to giving in.

“If they’re ever too much for you, though, just feel free to hide in one of the back rooms. There’s plenty of places where you won’t be disturbed.”

The hedgehog sighed, but he didn’t look upset. “I suppose I can try, for you.”

“Yes!” Rouge shouted, kicking her legs before getting up and bouncing up and down. “Heck yeah! This is gonna be great!”

…

Over the next week, they discussed the party numerous times, and Rouge spent a lot of time sitting in the middle of mountains of wrapping paper, packaging presents for her family. Omega and Shadow had tried to help her, but she’d insisted that they not worry about it. “It’s my family,” she had said, waving them away. “You being there is already more than enough. I’d never ask anything else of you.”

Shadow had still made cupcakes, though. Omega helped with the icing.

On the first day of the event, they set off early, making the several hours’ drive from Central City up to Rouge’s family’s house (north of Empire City) so that they’d arrive just before lunch. Thinking of Shadow, Rouge didn’t want him in particular to get caught up in the early (and supposedly quite intense) greetings that her family usually participated in. Omega resolved to turn his force output down just a little- he didn’t want to accidentally break someone’s hand instead of merely shaking it in introduction.

Of course, this all meant they had to endure a four-hour car ride together, involving lots of fights over what music was playing, several different long-distance driving games, and multiple threats to toss one another out the window while moving at 80 mph or more.

So, generally uneventful for them.

...

When they arrived at the family’s house, the E-series robot decreased his optic zoom to 85% just to take the entire place in. It was truly an enormous building, built from what appeared to be stone but on closer inspection was...actually stone. Unexpected, yet impressive.

Omega was mildly uncertain about the heating capabilities of such a house, but at least it was structurally sound. He would have to decide on its defensibility later.

“Wow.” Shadow muttered, his eyes wide. “I know you said it had ten bedrooms, but...wow.”

“I said I wasn’t messing around with you!” Rouge laughed brightly. “This place is crazy big.”

As soon as they opened the door and the bat stepped inside, the team was greeted by a loud shout of “Rouge!” from various delighted family members.

Her immediate family rushed over first, giving her lots of hugs (while her parents relieved Omega of the numerous presents she’d had him carry). Her stepbrother jumped up and down, asking, “Did you bring a present for me? Do I get one? Do I?”

Rouge smiled at him, picking the little cardinal up and giving him a hug. “Of course you do. There’s one right over there!” she said, pointing towards the giant pile of presents.

Rouge’s mother came rushing back over at that, greeting her daughter with a tight embrace. “Oh!” she exclaimed, noticing Omega and Shadow standing by the door. “Are these your friends, Rouge? Come on, introduce us!”

The younger bat grinned. “Alright, so this is my partner-in-crime and our resident edgy goth, Shadow,” she said, gesturing towards the hedgehog. He responded with a glower at Rouge for the latter remark and a polite “Nice to meet you.” to the family.

“And this is my personal palanquin (just kidding, just kidding) and awesome destroyer of enemies, Omega.”

“Greetings, Rouge’s relatives.” Omega said, turning his volume down to a level that Rouge had termed ‘inside voice’. First impressions and all that.

After making their way through many, many more greetings- which Omega recorded to play back for name storage later- the team were finally seated at one of the large couches in the living room. Rouge, being Rouge, began to chat cheerfully with a couple of her family members, describing her latest escapades with the other two team members as well as her general social life.

Shadow and Omega didn’t speak much at first, but the latter in particular soon began to interrupt her stories to point out multiple inaccuracies (mostly Rouge underplaying how utterly awesome he was). He found that he quite enjoyed talking about their various adventures, in fact.

However, the three quickly discovered that some of Rouge’s relatives had...misunderstood her stories.

One of the many aunts- whose name Omega had not yet stored- spoke up. “Rouge, I know you said you were bringing friends, but you don’t have to be shy with us, sweetie. Shadow here seems like a very thoughtful boyfriend.”

Chaos ensued. Rouge choked on her water and Omega had to pound her on the back to help her breathe again. Meanwhile, Shadow seemed to have reflexively assumed a defensive, curled-up position, yet Omega could still make out a faint glow of green from within the black and red ball.

“No!” the bat shouted, once she’d regained her breath. “No, no, we’re only friends, really!”

Her aunt seemed unconvinced, as did several other guests.

Shadow slowly uncurled, prepared to back Rouge up- though he seemed to have temporarily forgotten how to speak in his shock. His mouth moved silently, and he seemed to be having trouble stringing together a coherent sentence.

“I am not romantically involved with Rouge in any way.” he began slowly. “I assure you, she means the world to me, but in a platonic manner. I am grateful to have a friend like her, but that is all we are to each other.”

Several other relatives decided to weigh in on this.

“He seems like a very polite friend!”

“Rouge, even if you’re not together, you had better hang on to this one.”

“He certainly likes you, and that’s what’s important.”

“It’s alright if you aren’t dating, honey!” Rouge’s mom added. “Healthy platonic relationships are very important.”

The younger bat shook her head, covering her eyes with her hand. “Guys, please.” she groaned, before looking over at Shadow.

The hybrid appeared to be surreptitiously trying to get in touch with his hedgehog heritage and burrow underneath the cushions by this point. Rouge grinned at him and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him back out into the open. “Come on, don’t make him embarrassed! It’s only day one, guys!” 

Shadow cringed at that. Omega, meanwhile, was most definitely not recording any of this and storing it safely in his blackmail folder. Not at all.

…

A little later on, after everyone had eaten lunch, Omega (being the strongest on the team, despite Shadow’s protests otherwise) hauled their suitcases upstairs with little trouble. Rouge had been too busy talking to come with him, and Shadow looked as though he’d buried himself in a pile of cushions and probably wouldn’t be moved without extreme force, so he’d gone up alone.

Looking around the small room, he...found it quite tolerable, honestly. Sunlight streamed in through two medium-sized windows, and there were several empty floating shelves on the walls for their things, as well as a linen closet. There were only two beds in the room, since Omega just required a…

Ah, there it was. A charging port.

The robot was actually more pleased than he expected with the amount of mock evergreen, poinsettias, and other such ornaments in the room, though. He wasn’t much one for artistic expression himself (preferring to express his thoughts via some choice language and a few well-aimed rockets), but his friends were more...appreciative of such things and would likely enjoy the decoration.

Bored with examining the room already, he put down the suitcases and began to explore the house, trying to figure out what the floor plan looked like. He walked through all of the different rooms, enjoying himself while examining all of the possible defensive vantage points and the most optimal attack areas. 

Sure, fighting was his job, but who said he couldn’t enjoy contingency planning? Mapping out attacks on his place of residence and figuring out how to best repel invaders was one of his favorite pastimes (right up there with visiting the mall with his friends).

However, once he had planned out about five different strategies, he realized that an hour had gone by and that it was probably a good idea to go check up on said friends.

After he carefully made his way back downstairs- trying to walk in a way that didn’t shake the house was difficult- he saw Rouge still chatting with some of her cousins and looking very happy. Shadow was barely even visible, curled up in a dark corner and alternating between reading and listening to the conversation. Everyone honestly seemed to be enjoying themselves.

However, there was one jarring thing about this warm, familial scene that Omega noticed. 

The little children.

They were everywhere. Climbing their parents like a jungle gym, interrupting conversations left and right, running around underfoot, and generally causing mayhem in their wake. While Omega highly appreciated their impressive ability to cause confusion and chaos, he suspected that most of the other people here did not. Multiple guests looked ready to break something, and the robot was fully aware that Rouge’s family did not share his opinions on wanton destruction.

So, he decided to do something about this.

“SMALL CHILDREN,” he shouted, gaining the attention of the entire household. “I CHALLENGE YOU TO A SNOWBALL FIGHT.” That was an acceptable (and fun) form of violence, if he remembered correctly. Rouge certainly looked interested.

The children began to bounce around in various states of excitement, their energy somehow increasing exponentially at this prospect. “Whose team will you be on, mister?” Rouge’s stepbrother asked bravely. 

“MY OWN. NONE OF YOU CAN DEFEAT ME.” Omega declared.

“Yeah, right!” an older child shouted. “Come on, guys, let’s go!”

The entire group rushed outside and began to build a snow fort for the upcoming attack. Most of the children were clearly struggling to organize, as half seemed to comprehend the need for a well-structured creation and half were just piling up snow like maniacs.

Meanwhile, Omega began to carefully form large building blocks out of the snow, building a formidable fortress (snow could be imposing, alright??). Once he was satisfied with his semicircle construction, he noticed that he still had a few minutes to wait before the children finished theirs. He spent this time making snowballs, as well as a few other...adjustments. When the children shouted out “Ready!”, he was more than prepared.

Since they were, again, Rouge’s relatives, he was very, very generous and gave them the first chance to fire. The children launched snowball after snowball, but he ducked behind his fort and only one found its mark. Once they were all out of ammunition and scrambling for more, he felt a smug sense of satisfaction.

It was time.

He loaded his arms full of snowballs…

And proceeded to launch them out of his machine gun ports at the children.

The kids scattered in all directions, shrieking with a mixture of fear and excitement. Omega, during their attack, had thought to make even more projectiles, turning what was supposed to be organized warfare into a one-sided rampage of destruction.

By now, Rouge had appeared on the deck and was currently howling with laughter, tears streaming down her face as she watched Omega launch his onslaught of snow. Shadow was standing at the doorway along with several others, a giant wicked grin spread across his face.

The E-series robot truly wished he could make that second expression right now. He turned to Rouge, watching her cackle…

...and immediately proceeded to fire a massive amount of snow at her as well. Her laughter transformed into a gasp of mock betrayal as she scooped up some of the offending substance, packing it into a weapon of her own. “Oh. It. Is. On.”, she hissed, shaking the snow off her wings.

Taking to the skies, she began a counterattack, distracting Omega with varied sizes of snowballs and forcing him to try and fire directly upwards. The children, realizing that they had a powerful ally in Rouge, began to make new projectiles themselves and threw them at him from all sides, until Omega finally found that he was struggling to handle the attack.

As he began to turn the tide again, he realized suddenly that this was entirely due to Rouge’s absence…

...and of course that was when a shadow fell over him.

Followed by a giant pile of snow.

He flailed in the icy trap as he struggled to regain his bearings. Once he had managed to clamber halfway out of the snow, he saw Rouge hovering above him. Her wings struggled to hold her in the air as she laughed again, and he noticed sulkily that she was holding a sheet.

“Cheater.” he muttered, indignant at having been trapped in such an unflattering manner.

“Cheating?! From the guy who launched snowballs like missiles? Really?” she shouted down to him good-naturedly, shaking her head. “Talk about hypocritical, Omega.”

The E-series robot still insisted on having the last laugh, though- he had to get out somehow, so he powered on all of his fans at full blast to clear away the snow. And if everyone was standing too close to avoid the resulting icy shower, well then that was their problem.

After that, though, everyone had to go inside and dry themselves off. Organics couldn’t handle being wet and cold very well, and Omega didn’t like the idea of his circuitry being shorted out. He felt a great sense of satisfaction at having established his status as the cool one on the very first day, though.

He spent a little more time with the young ones after that, playing several rounds of a popular card game called One with them and stacking up all of the plus-fours. The robot showed no mercy even in games.

Several children, evidently impressed by his prowess (or perhaps just in awe of the fact that he was a giant robot) begged him for promises that he would play more tomorrow, to which he quickly agreed. Not long after, to everyone’s disappointment, the kids’ parents came and practically dragged them to the dinner table, having shouted their names four or five times by this point.

As he walked into the dining room, Omega surveyed the area, focusing for a moment on the glow that the many candles gave off on the table. Fire was always a nice touch.

Looking further, he noticed that the wooden table alone was a formidable piece of furniture, filling the largest room in the house and forcing some chairs to squeeze up against the wall just to make space. And that wasn’t even mentioning the feast laid out on top of it. Omega ignored that for now in favor of sitting down on one side of Rouge after he saw her at the table. Looking over to her other side, he noticed Shadow surveying the food spread out on the table with what most would consider a completely blank look.

Omega, however, had experience with analyzing Shadow’s facial expressions, and noted the slight tension in his face as well as the fact that he was fidgeting with his silverware. Both he and Rouge had a good idea as to why, too- Shadow didn’t need any of this.

The hybrid had been created with incredible physical resilience, able to withstand the most arduous of conditions. This included a significant lack of food. He actually ate only about three times a week, and even then he only consumed small meals. While it was about time for him to eat today, the fact that there would be even more food over the next couple of days seemed to have produced a conundrum for him.

If he ate now, he wouldn’t need to later, which could be quite awkward, particularly when everybody else would. Omega thought through the options and decided that there were three main paths he could take: eat now and not later, not eat now but do so later, or possibly attempt to eat a little on all three days.

Rouge seemed to have realized this as well. Leaning over to Shadow, she whispered, “Whatever you want to do is fine, hon. It’s okay if you eat a lot over these few days- everyone else here will too. If you don’t want to, though, that’s cool- just make sure you have something at some point, alright?”

The robot watched as Shadow relaxed slightly at her understanding words. The change was almost imperceptible, but he now sat back in his chair instead of forward, and he’d stopped adjusting his place setting.

Once everyone was seated and they’d given a quick toast, the family began to dig in. Shadow sat back and waited for everyone else to take some food first- a wise choice. Rouge, on the other hand, entered the rather impressive food frenzy with a voracity that her team members knew all too well- she often complained that one of her few vices (aside from gems and other sparkly objects) was food.

Omega took this time to survey what he could see of the dishes, interested in finding out for himself what a proper Wintersweek meal looked like. He saw two dishes that appeared to be some sort of poultry, as well as bowls of finger food that looked like they were filled with crickets and beetles. Various platters of cooked vegetables in every color of the rainbow covered the table, some with sliced fruit available as well. Loaves of bread in multiple shapes and sizes were scattered throughout the presentation, accented by artfully placed centerpieces.

Quite honestly, it looked impressive.

Rouge had a little bit of everything on her plate, and was currently digging into a buttery baked potato like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. Omega silently put his napkin next to her plate, the (sarcastic) message clear: You need this more than I do.

Shadow, meanwhile, had taken a little fruit, one piece of meat, and two slices of bread, but seemed very hesitant to eat much more than that. He looked to be quite invested in a conversation that several of the adults were having about their own teenage experiences, often leaning in slightly when a funny story came up.

Omega mostly kept an eye on his friends, while also half listening to the children talk about the latest video game that had become popular. It seemed to contain lots of fighting combined with some impressive storytelling, and the robot made a note of the game title for his own use later.

However, as he checked on Rouge again, making sure she hadn’t choked on her food, he noticed that she had left her plate to the side in favor of talking to her family about...wait.

Omega knew this story.

This was a story where he was walking through the halls of an abandoned underground hideout for a highly sophisticated ring of criminals (an assignment for their entire team). In which said diabolical criminals had installed multiple traps designed to keep people out. And these traps. Included magnets. That specifically messed up artificial intelligence.

Omega’s memory had been severely impaired by the event, but Shadow and Rouge told him later that they had discovered him stumbling around the main hub of the base, rambling out loud about things as ridiculous as current weather patterns and- he shuddered internally- kittens. He was eternally grateful for this memory loss, though, as the two had apparently, instead of taking this seriously, dissolved into helpless laughter on the spot.

Of course, they had taken him to Tails to get fixed up. But not until after Rouge had filmed another five minutes or so of him acting absolutely loopy while their laughter, punctuated with the occasional gasp for breath, filled the background.

And she was just getting to the part where they found him now-!

The E-series robot shot out of his chair and clamped a hand over Rouge’s mouth, turning his volume low and hissing “Don’t you dare.” in her ear.

Unfortunately, this only added to everyone else’s interest, as Rouge began to cackle loudly at Omega’s evident embarrassment and her memory of the event. “Tell us! Tell us!” Camellia (Rouge’s stepmother) cried out, clapping her hands and looking for all the world like a child who had just been handed a chocolate bar. 

“Help me, Shadow!” Rouge shouted through the steel grip on her face, slurring her words with laughter. The hybrid, happy to take a break from the crowded room and equally happy to shame Omega, pried the robot off of Rouge and somehow managed to drag him out of the room as everyone now leaned in to hear her finish the story.

“So we were really worried, right? Since we hadn’t heard anything? And then we-”

Shadow shut the door on her voice and smirked at Omega, but there was a tinge of real happiness in his expression. “It’s alright, Omega. She doesn’t actually want you to feel bad, you know.”

“That’s what you say.” he scoffed. “Rouge isn’t in there telling them about the time you didn’t eat for a month on a mission and then binge-”

“Alright, alright!” Shadow groaned. “I get it, but let’s let her have fun, alright? This is her family, after all.”

“Fine.” Omega grumbled. “But I will get you back for this.”

“Sure you will.” Shadow raised an eyebrow at him.

This led to a fierce staring match/arm-wrestling battle and subsequent argument over who won, immediately followed by Omega pulling out his phone and the two watching a recently popular obstacle course show. Of course, they both agreed that they could do far better than any of the contestants.

Eventually, though, as the evening wore on, the two joined back up with Rouge to head to their room. Shadow took a hot shower while Rouge changed into her favorite pajamas- they were soft and white with little pink hearts all over (her favorite colors). 

She yawned loudly just as the hybrid walked in, already wrapped in a blanket and pulling on some plain black nightwear. He didn’t really need it, but his fifty-year stint in what was essentially a superpowered freezer had left him with a distinct dislike for the cold.

Omega had already plugged into the outlet and begun to charge, but yet…”Why don’t I get a blanket?”

“What the heck d’ you want one for?” Rouge muttered, already exhausted. 

“Well, you both have them.” he muttered sulkily, glowering at them from his corner of the room.

The bat opened up the closet in the room, looking up at the top shelf. “Shadow, c’mere. I can’t reach this thing by myself.” 

He walked over quickly, not appearing to be tired at all. Omega, as always, knew better, and saw the fatigue from the long day that he tried to hide behind his “Ultimate Lifeform” title.

Rouge jumped onto his shoulders in a practiced movement, snatching a pale purple fluffy blanket from the shelf and flinging it half-heartedly at Omega. “There’s your blanket.” she declared, before jumping straight from Shadow to her bed.

She settled into her usual sleeping position, with her feet hooked over the headboard and her face and pillow about halfway down the bed. It wasn’t a typical behavior for most, but she was a bat, after all. “‘Night, guys.” she murmured, already half asleep.

Shadow carefully lifted his blankets and slid under them, trying to keep them as neat as possible. The hedgehog shifted into a half-curled position, displaying his quills to the world and protecting his vulnerable legs and chest. “Sleep well, Rouge. Goodnight, Omega.” he said softly, still trying to stay awake.

“Good night.” the robot replied.

Omega kept an eye on his teammates, the room lit only by a patch of moonlight from the window. He listened to Rouge’s slight snoring, and watched as Shadow’s eyes slowly closed and his breathing evened out.

The robot was always cautious about shifting into his own form of ‘sleep’, but reminded himself that this was not enemy territory. This was Rouge’s family’s house, and they were all safe.

Still, he watched his friends sleep peacefully for a while longer. Then, he selected low power mode from his menu of choices and allowed his eyes to go dark.

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

‘Ashamed to be Korean' extract — the Moon scam is paid for in blood, poverty, misery, sickness and death by a slave class of Japanese

September 30, 2012 This has been incredibly hard to do, but I have decided to sacrifice my national pride, personal interest and loyalties to start telling the truth about the complicated religious scams of the Moons and the so-called “Unification Movement”.

Why? Because I guess I discovered that I still had some conscience left alive somewhere inside of me, so I decided to come out and tell the truth, and before it shrivels up totally. Another reason for me to come out is the tragic and shameful truth that the Moon scam is paid for in blood, poverty, misery, sickness and death by a slave class of Japanese who have been, and continue to be, what must be the most hapless class of religious scam victims in history. This is worsened by the fact that the victims have been deliberately and cynically scammed by a group from another country.

I have no love or respect for the Japanese, and like most Koreans, I have rarely missed an opportunity to gloat at any Japanese misfortune with other Koreans but I guess I have to draw the line somewhere.

It is my intention to tell the truth about the Moons and the Korean feudal ‘aristocracy’ from the position of an insider in the hope that those members who still have enough of a vestigial conscience left functioning in themselves can know the unvarnished truth and fully understand the crimes that have been, and are still being, committed and either help stop the crimes from being committed, or at least walk away and not contribute even silently to these crimes. … It has been said that one of the problems with the Moon Church is that every country projects their own image of what they want the “Messiah” to be; The Japanese see an emperor to grovel to and worship, westerners saw Moon as the the second coming of Jesus, while for the Koreans a conquering King that will elevate Koreans above all other nations (you might as well know we think we are superior to the rest of the world physically, spiritually, intellectually, and culturally). Therein the problem starts, Moon’s genius was to able to manipulate facts and myths and lies to divide and conquer and get exactly what he wanted for him and his family and for Korea which has created the core culture and operating practice of the movement: Deception.

Some people may think that the Divine Principle is the religious doctrine of the ‘church’, but it is nothing more than a recruiting tool. The real ‘religion’ is like an onion, with separate layers of rules, requirements and benefits. The easiest way to understand the game is to realize that Moon wanted to set him and his family as a royal family governing as a theocracy from day one. His goal was to control all power, money, laws and rules, at least as much as he could get hold of.

The theocracy works by strict hierarchy with the Moons as the top royals, the Korean blood relatives as the minor royals, the rest of the Koreans as the aristocracy and top officials. The rest of the nations are all in the position of servants. The only absolute in the Moon church is the position of the Moons and the loyalty demanded from the members.

Have you wondered why all top posts involving power and money are controlled by Koreans?

Do not be fooled by the fact that we trust the Japanese more than our own and use then nominally to hold assets and the like – that is only because they are totally obedient.

What Moon and his family fear the most is meritocracy, God forbid if there was a level playing field, the whole game would be blown sky high. It is fantastic for us though, to have rules applied not only in a selective way but completely differently to always ensure the Moons and ourselves are on top.

My greatest personal amazement is how supposedly educated people in advanced countries have bought the enslaving myths of Moon that have in fact been precisely tailored for them without them realizing the utter insanity and nonsense of coexistence of completely contradicting realities and myths and rules, without even acknowledging the irony of it all! Maybe we are much cleverer than you.

The Japanese have bought the fantasy of ‘Eve Nation’, when in reality there never was and still is absolutely no intention to use them for any purpose other than for donations and slave labor. If and when they are no longer needed they will be dropped like a dirty habit in favor of another country (if one was available), this threat has been constantly drummed in to their heads to keep them desperate and obedient.

What they do not realize is that in private Sun Myung Moon, when he was alive, Hak Ja Han and all the Moon children and we 2nd gens in the inner circle not only have no respect for Japan and instead gloat at the way in which Korea has been taking over Japanese business, laugh at the Japanese members and refer to them in really raw, rude ways. We see it as a rightful revenge for what we think they did to us. On the other hand, we never fail to remind them of the indemnity they need to pay to us.

I have heard Japanese old members emotionally talk about how they will accept anything because they had felt loved by “Aboji” at some time. When they say this, they remind me of rabbits caught in the headlights, totally bamboozled by the Korean charismatic gift for delivering shameless emotional appeals at 1000 horsepower. The reason they were taken in is because they had only ever experienced emotion in Japan at 100 horsepower before meeting Moon, so they are convinced that 1000 horsepower emoting must be the real thing.

Given the Japanese unfortunate penchant for masochism, perhaps it is not surprising that they have been fooled, but I am truly amazed that more Westerners have not been able to see through this scam.

My jaw drops as members still refer to the Moons as “True”, as an unending string of evidence of their unbridled wickedness and hypocrisy appears on this and other sites, it makes me giggle involuntarily, as I watch Westerners falling over themselves to justify or deny their crimes contorting themselves to deny the truth.

My only explanation for it is commitment bias, nobody wants to admit they have been fooled. Please read the facts honestly and use your conscience to decide what to do. Remember the laws of physics and math, the laws of countries and most importantly of all the laws of morals and values either apply equally and universally or not at all.

Members have been trained like Pavlov’s dogs to do our (more accurately the Moons’) dirty work for us. Foreign members justify our crimes with that precise get-out-of-jail-free card that the whole Moon scam relies on.

Read more here: https://tragedyofthesixmarys.com/ashamed-to-be-korean/

___________________________________________

In 1965 Japan gave $800 million as reparations for their occupation of Korea

The Japanese government supported Korea with $800 million in 1965, $400m in 1983 and over $10 billion in 1997.

Sun Myung Moon Church used the Japanese members for profit, not religious purposes – the world’s greediest church

Suicide of Japanese ‘Moon money mule’ in Uruguay. Mother of three children

A huge Moon Church scam in Japan is revealed

Shocking video of UC of Japan demanding money – English transcript

Moon extracted $500 million from Japanese female members

Japanese woman recruited by the Unification Church and sold to an older Korean farmer

How Sun Myung Moon bought protection in Japan

The ‘True Father’ who could not forgive. Sun Myung Moon: “I haven’t been able to release my grudge towards Japanese people yet.” November 2011

[secretadventuresociety]

Episode 29 Recap

Hi, hey, hello SASholes! I’m Bren, resident SAStorian and your best friend. Welcome to Episode 29: Mother, She Wrote.

Treehouse of Horror

We catch back up with the Nobodies as Kess exits her greenhouse, letting Detective Brienne collect her thoughts after the trio’s separate testimonies. The first thing she sees is Pearce anxiously pacing with Kü trailing behind, mimicking his every step. Cutting off their questioning glances, Kess tells them to grab their coats and leads them to a treehouse in the backyard of the manor. Now, if you’re picturing something simple, made out of wood, maybe even for children-- you must be a new listener! Hi, and welcome to Mardosta’s Thieving Veterans’ (or, more simply, MTV) Cribs: Kess Edition. This ‘treehouse’ is an extravagant (albeit rundown) tower, secluded from the rest of the house. Kü immediately takes off to scramble to the highest point, and his companions climb after him-- winding up in a circular level with a small fireplace; because lest we forget-- Mardosta is fucking COLD.

Kü casts a magical bonfire into the fireplace, fixing his gaze on the blaze (come for the recaps, stay for the mad rhymes, amirite?) as Kess makes a perimeter check to ensure they were not followed, nor being listened to. Once she is satisfied, she turns her attention to the group, curious about how their interviews went. Pearce tells her he had been relatively candid-- only leaving out the part where her parents are criminals, which Kess is thankful for. Kü remains silent, and Kess worriedly attempts to get his attention. Kü answers her while still staring at the flames-- asking if someone will throw a log in so that he can stop ‘concentrating’ on the spell. As soon as the requested wood catches, Kü drops his spell, and relaxes just enough to tell Kess that it must have gone well because Mother told him Brienne didn’t suspect a thing. 

Even Pearce’s outraged cries regarding the fact that Kü outed the gunslinger as the most violent man he’s ever met (come on, Pearce, the boy has met all of THREE men in his short life) go quiet in this aftermath. The group can’t fathom why she would say such a thing if they hadn’t done anything to Xarus. Kess asks if they can talk to Mother-- but responding to Kü’s panicked face, she recorrects and implores him to try to talk to her. Kü worries she may not answer, but calls out a tentative “Mom?” regardless. Moments pass before Kü’s mind echoes with a full-bodied voice asking what he wants. The transition from Mother’s whispered tones to this powerful resonance does not escape our kobold, and it shakes him just as badly as if he had stepped into the emerald-drenched quarters of a mighty wizard, but Kü presses on.

“You’re Better Than I Am.”

With difficulty, Kü manages to inquire if Mother had anything to do with the death of Xarus. When she goes momentarily silent, Kü continues nervously on, reassuring her he won’t be mad, no matter her answer. Mother’s response drips with disbelief. She thought he had been with her that night, but he only remembers sleeping off his ass-kicking. Mother mutters a pleased ‘Interesting.” and talks down to Kü; telling him that since she is growing in strength she needs time to stretch her legs-- and as such-- she did indeed murder the loathesome dickbag. With an air of gloating, Mother croons that as Kü gains power, so does she. Now. You know I love for you all to read my recaps. However, I need you to go to the SAS Youtube (link at the end of my ramblings) and scrub to 45:30. You can literally watch Kü’s mind backfiring as pieces of this puzzle refuse to line up. He can’t understand why Mother killed something (BARELY someone) that they didn’t even eat, and you know, he’s not wrong. It’s wasteful.

Mother can only say that the slaughter sustained her in ways he couldn’t even imagine, and her enthusiastic lilt grows angry and gritty as she scolds Kü. She tells him he hadn’t complained when she used her talents to protect him in the fighting pit. The kobold physically recoils-- immediately ducking his head and begging her forgiveness for being ungrateful. He thanks her for taking care of him, and she spits a venom-laced acknowledgement before taking her leave from the conversation. Kü looks up at his friends, afraid to divulge what he’s learned. Pearce pinkie promises him he won’t be angry-- and once Kü reveals Mother DID in fact murder Xarus (possibly to consume his power?)-- the gunslinger points his weapon into the air and fires it, dust and rubble raining down on him while he screams in irritation, “I’m so happy you were honest with me!” and subsequently mumbles about their imminent doom. 

I need to give a trigger/content/hard-hitting roleplay warning before this paragraph. If mental and physical abuse is something you’re uncomfortable reading about, please feel free to skip to the next heading. Cool? All right. Pearce and Kess begin to question Kü about Mother, and he gets increasingly more uncomfortable after each question. Has Mother ever fought with him? Hurt him? How does he feel when Mother gets upset? Kü goes mostly silent, replying with no’s where appropriate and ending on his view that his feelings don’t matter-- and that he’s never considered himself his own person. Kess reminds him of things that separate him from Mother; his love of shiny things, his fashion choices, and his friendship with them. As the kobold reaches up to wipe a tear away, Mother’s skull shifts ever so slightly to display a sizable, healed scar on his nose. Kess gets down on his level and tells him she believes him to be Good (™, ™, ™), and Mother has nothing to do with that. Pearce even brings the kobold into a hug and whispers the same sentiment into his ear. Kü’s confidence is bolstered, but tampered down by the fear of Mother overhearing and punishing him.

Kü, Interrupted

Pearce, having calmed down, admits to Kü that he’s not angry about what Mother did, but instead HOW she went about it. Her carelessness (I mean, what did we expect from a disembodied voice wreaking havoc in our terrible little angel’s mind) has put them in a precarious position. The gunslinger does, however, chime in with Kess to console Kü that none of it is his fault. Dear Reader, once Kü started in with, “If I had just stayed on the island none of this would have happened.”, I was absolutely hyperventilating from sobbing so hard. I could barely hear between my wheezing cries, but the new SAS captions made sure I knew that mention of the island caused Kü to realize Mother’s body is still there-- and he shuddered to think what might happen if it was destroyed. At this point, my eyes were swollen and my nose was running, yet I made out the abject fear rolling off of Kü when Kess suggested maybe it wasn’t his actual mom he’s been talking to, and offered to help him take off the skull to be sure.

I held my breath (or was my throat just closing up from emotion?) as I waited for Kü to answer. He ducked his head and shook it in refusal, having been pushed too far. So, the group did the only thing they could think of. Redirected the thoughts of the kobold to temptation of-- you guessed it-- meat. They had all slept past breakfast, and in all the commotion, had not realized the grinding emptiness of their guts. Kess promises the party fish, so they climb down from the ‘treehouse’ and make their way inside. As they enter, however, they are waylaid by an unfamiliar figure on the ground floor of the house. Well, unfamiliar to all but Kess. She brightens and calls out to him. It’s Vendreth, resplendent in his enchanted wheelchair. They catch up for a moment, Kess makes introductions, then the baron confesses he’s making a house call to talk to her mother.

Kess jumps at the chance to escort him to her parents’ floor-- he glides along in his chair as Kü chatters about fish while ascending the stairs, but before they can take Vendreth any further, Norse comes from around the corner on the second floor and intercepts them. Norse steals him away as he calls for some tea, and maybe a light snack of fish. Seems Kü rubbed off on him. Our heroes slink away; Kess wishing to be in the room where… well, whatever is happening. I tried, Lin. I tried. Anyway, Pearce encourages her to ‘go be a Shadowmore’ and he and Kü will try their hand at waitstaffing. So, Kess races to catch up with the pair of Adulty Adults (™, ™, ™), only to be turned away. Her mother tells her she needn’t worry herself with the discussion, and tells her to rejoin her friends.

Li’l Butler

Surprisingly, Pearce leads Kü without incident around the maze of a mansion to the kitchen, wherein the gunslinger immediately begins rifling through the cabinets. He finds two crystal chalices, and prides himself on his excellent glassware taste. Kü, feeling left out, climbs his way to one of the top shelves and tosses a claw out to grip a similar cup-- almost falling and bringing fragile glass down on top of him. However, he smoothly recovers, climbing down just in time to see Kess leading Pearce in making a pot of tea. Our gruff friend throws a tea towel over his arm and places the chalices and teapot on a tray; hellbent on playing butler for their important visitor. The trio walks carefully back up to the room Norse and Vendreth have claimed. Pearce hands the baron one of the fancy glasses and begins to pour the boiling water into it. Everything is going well, Pearce is making a stunning impression-- and then the chalice shatters from the unyielding temperature of the tea. The room goes silent as Pearce screams an expletive, apologizes, and bows himself out of the room. 

Kess is unfazed; using this opportunity as an excuse to escape the house. She once again orders the boys to grab their overcoats and proudly announces they’re going to the library of Mardosta. On the way there, the party stops by a food stand and procures buckets of fish sticks. Yes, you read that right. Fish sticks, the way Mother used to bake. Kü goes somewhat silent, enjoying his long-awaited meal, and Kess uses his distraction to divulge to Pearce what it is they’re going to be looking for. She hopes that there will be some sort of clue to not only Mother’s identity, but also that of Ashe. The changeling notices as they walk that people seem to be recognizing Kü from his epic showdown in the Underfrost. She smiles and keeps it to herself as she is pulled from her reverie by Pearce voicing a need for ammo. She agrees to take him to the Night Market once they finish researching. Kü, coming up for air from his bucket of grease, feels that good good food coma coming on. Pearce tells the kobold they are basically going to ‘The Napping Place’.

Entering the gargantuan (FIVE floors, guys. Who has that many books?!) marble building, Kü seeks out a warm cubby near a fireplace to curl up and sleep off those yummy processed seafood spears. Pearce and Kess split off, one headed to search for fallen gods and the other to hone in on beings that are known for their close relation to shadows. The gunslinger finds three novels of note; skimming them and cramming them under his arm to have Kess read into further. However, our Druid has much more luck. A book dedicated to ‘ancient evils’ catches her eye, and as she flips through it, her gaze lands on an illustration of snaking shadows squeezing a humanoid as they appear to howl in pain. Reading the section, she learns about ‘The Shadowmother’, also known as Skugamor-- a being of unknown origin who has the power to contort and control shadows. Her focus dims after this section, brain buzzing with terror, and so her search into Ashe is less satisfying. However, she does hit on an interesting piece as she focuses on fire itself-- learning that there are beings (Titans and Quasigods) who are made of the remnants of slain victims of gods or dead gods themselves. WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?!

Pearce’s Parable

Pearce and Kess find each other and share their pertinent findings. Kess decides to check out the three books Pearce brought to her, but steals a second pass at the tome with the information on Mother. She soundlessly rips the informational page from its binding and slips it into her bag. I mean-- I knew her family was made up of criminals but…. DEFACING A BOOK, KESS? What kind of MONSTER are you?! So, Book-Ruiner Shadowmore heads to the librarian to get at least SOME knowledge legally, and at the same time, Pearce comes across Kü still sleeping soundly. The gunslinger attempts to scoop up the kobold without waking him, but as soon as Kü is in Pearce’s arms-- he startles. Pearce assures him everything is okay, they found what they needed and are about to leave. Kü, without missing a beat, brings a small hand up to Pearce’s cheek and asks the gunslinger to tell him a story. Remember how I told you to WATCH that sad moment? Well here’s a palate cleanser! Go to 2:39:39 and hear the entirety of ‘The Hungry, Hungry Kobold’. 

The fairytale is good enough that it lulls Kü back into sleep, and Daddy Pearce carries him outside and waits for Kess. When she leaves the library, they fall into step together and make their way to the Night Market. It is an impressive, overpowering bazaar-- stalls snuggled up to each other with a glass roof overhead, the calls of merchants hyping up their wares ringing out, and the faint smell of animal feed permeating the air. Despite its sprawling floor plan, it doesn’t take long for Pearce to sniff out the gun show. The proprietors he finds do not have anything that will work for Iris, and so the gunslinger requests the components to make the ammo himself. As the shopkeeper mills around to fulfill his request, Pearce notices that all of the guns being sold in this part of the market are branded with the curlique GG insignia of his father’s weaponry business. He pays the shopkeep extra to give him the name of the supplier of her guns-- and she warily imparts that a contact in Nevyra keeps them stocked. This is, apparently, where Pearce’s deadbeat dad hails from. Can we REALLY tackle mommy AND daddy issues in one episode?!

As the group leaves the market, Kess wakes Kü up to have a midnight snack of… more fish sticks. Between bites, all three discuss their wild dreams at sea, and how they mostly revolved around people they care about dying, aside from Pearce-- who was completely alone. As Kü admits that he dreamed of killing both of his companions while Mother cheered him on, Kess has a brain blast. She turns and makes a beeline straight back to the Night Market-- seeking out Greg’s Wonderful Magic. There, a charming southern gentleman asks how he can help, and Kess requests a Speak With Dead spell scroll. The scroll is there, however after some debate, the Druid realizes she is unable to cast it. Thus her plan of speaking with Mother’s skull is momentarily foiled, and so the three of them return to the manor to close out the longest day of their collective lives.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

TL;DR

Listen, I’m curious to see what would happen if they tried to talk to Kü’s helmet-- but I can only handle so much trauma in one episode! Please let me BREATHE!

Apparently you shouldn’t pour boiling water into glass. Thank you for this lesson, DM.

If you are a victim of abuse, know that it is not your fault and you are not alone. And thank you to the SAS crew for telling this important story. https://www.crisistextline.org/

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pearce be with you and catch the next session over at twitch.tv/lochness on August 25th at 7:30CST/8:30EST! If you’d like to watch THIS episode, follow the link below:

Secret Adventure Society | Session 29: Mother, She Wrote | CW: familial trauma and mental abuse

[mobius-prime]

271. Sonic Universe #4

The Shadow Saga (Part 4 of 4): The Ultimate Lifeform

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley! Colors: Jason Jensen

Before we get started, it's important to note that this issue likely takes place a short time after the upcoming two issues, but for the sake of continuity as well as plot pacing, I've decided to cover this one first, especially since it doesn't overlap with the events of the next two issues at all. Shadow and Rouge are suited up and ready to go into the Special Zone in search of another Chaos Emerald, and Shadow is unconcerned, as he thinks the mission should be fairly routine. They're teleported into the zone by Hope's device, and sure enough, the giant freaky panda god Feist is there, ready to test some mortals for funsies in return for a Chaos Emerald.

Feist cackles and says that since he creates the rules of this zone, Shadow's own powers won't work, as even if he's the "ultimate lifeform" Feist is a god and therefore holds power over him. Shadow and Rouge quickly start trying to navigate Feist's little maze, using their respective strengths to dodge obstacles, but Feist has deliberately set them up for failure, and laughs at them as they run out of time just a moment before Rouge can grab the green Chaos Emer- wait, what? The green emerald? That one was already retrieved from the Sol Dimension! For whatever reason, Jason apparently completely forgot that not all the emeralds are green anymore, and miscolored this one, which was intended to be the red one. Ian handwaved it away later by saying Feist made it look that way to confuse them or whatever, but the color was also quietly corrected to red in future reprints, so it clearly wasn't intended. Anyway, Shadow and Rouge are booted out of the zone without their prize, much to Hope and Commander Tower's shock.

Okay, first of all, Tower, there's literally no need to be an asshole about this. There were already problems just getting into the Special Zone in the first place, it's downright idiotic to think it would just be a total piece of cake to retrieve one of the emeralds within after all that. And second of all, for goodness' sake, Shadow, stop blaming yourself for goddamn everything! Oh no, you didn't immediately succeed at everything you've tried! Ultimate lifeform or not, you're still an ordinary sentient being with ordinary sentient thought processes. Shadow, moping and upset, heads to the facility's gym and begins beating the crap out of Omega, who is surprised and makes a weird comment about how it's he who "usually" comes to Shadow for sparring practice. I'm… a little baffled at this comment, honestly, because it makes it sound like Omega's been around for a while now and he and Shadow regularly beat each other up, even though the very last issue implied that this issue's story is taking place like, the day after recruiting him. But anyway, Shadow dodges all of Omega's questions and attacks, while Omega rather tactlessly points out that now that he's received his clearance for duty, he can come with them on their next mission and blast Feist for them. This pisses Shadow off, and he stalks away to find a quiet spot near the top of the base.

Oh, speaking of which, has anyone been wondering where GUN is actually based? We know they're part of Station Square's security force, but multiple past issues have made vague allusions to the United Federation having more than one territory around the world, and generally being a lot bigger than it was previously portrayed as being (remember when the Mobians and entire outside world didn't even know Station Square existed? Ah, the weird old days). Well, here we get a clue as to where this GUN base is located. Shadow is moping at the top of the mountain that houses the base, and Hope appears there too, surprised to see Shadow as she'd thought this was her own personal hidden thinking spot. She tries to make conversation, enthusing about the view and how "On a clear day, you can see all the way to Soleanna!" I've already noted that Sonic '06 technically took place, if you can call it that, in the comics universe, so obviously Soleanna would have to exist as well. My point here is more about the location of Soleanna. The aesthetic of the kingdom's capital city is vaguely Venetian, indicating it's probably located somewhere analogous to modern-day Italy, so for it to be visible from the top of this mountain, this GUN base would have to be somewhere in Europe. Because I'm extra, I took a look at the position of these two relative to the sun in the background, and if we assume this scene takes place in the afternoon, then the base would be somewhere north of Soleanna - so if Soleanna is indeed located on the coast where Italy currently, then that all checks out nicely. Just a fun fact for y'all!

Anyway, I'm getting way too into the small details here. Hope, noticing that Shadow refuses to make conversation despite her efforts, tries to comfort him, but Shadow just insists that since he's the ultimate lifeform he's not supposed to fail. This is, of course, ridiculous, and Hope points this out, adding that in her opinion he hasn't failed as badly as she has. She tells him the story of how Snively encouraged her to leave Knothole and how she feels too guilty to go back after its destruction, which rouses Shadow somewhat, becoming concerned when she starts to cry. He tells her that leaving was hardly a failure, that she had no way of knowing what would happen and that it wasn't a bad thing to want to push her own boundaries by exploring her role in the world. She smiles and fires back that he can't blame himself for his own failures then, and points out that in the end his "failed" mission was actually excellent reconnaissance and that now that he understands better what he'll be facing, he's just set himself up for future success. This makes Shadow pause, as he's obviously not thought of it like this before.

Now that is how you write a Shadow. It's weird when people try to characterize him as this edgy, brooding, angry violent character who would never allow himself to be soft or emotional. Sure, he has an ego that he has to protect, and he likes to show off how tough he is on occasion, but Hope's analysis here is accurate - he's literally an eternal teenager who's just trying to figure out where he belongs in the grand scheme of things. Furthermore, Shadow the Hedgehog is great with children and no one will ever ever change my mind on this. So there.

Soon after their talk, Shadow, Rouge, and Omega have gathered at the teleporter for their next foray into the Special Zone. They've christened themselves "Team Dark," something which Rouge and Hope both seem a bit baffled at but which Tower seems to think is apt. They make it back into the Special Zone, and when Feist gloats at them for coming back for another round, both Omega and Shadow become riled, wanting to go on the offensive, though Rouge holds them back. Feist conjures up another challenge for them, this time in the form of a weird 3D-cube-maze-thing, and mocks them as they do their best to find the center. They eventually end up in a chamber with spikes at the bottom and the Chaos Emerald at the center, but Feist covers the emerald with a bunch of multicolored, useless gems, giving Omega the chance to use his beloved guns to blast a hole in them, giving Shadow an opening.

Feist, you're a real asshole, you know that? He brings them back to his sphere… platform… thing to mock them some more, and Omega begins begging for the chance to pursue "Plan B" like an excited child on Christmas. He's delighted when Rouge gives her permission, and immediately launches half his weight in ammunition into Feist's face, having to be literally dragged away from the screaming panda by Rouge to prevent him from standing there and firing at him for the rest of the day.

Woo! Go Team Dark! Hope hugs Shadow and congratulates him, and Tower is similarly pleased, accepting the emerald from his agents and eager to make GUN a "force to be reckoned with" with the power of their two emeralds. Normally, that statement might set off a few red flags, especially concerning these guys' history of, y'know, murdering innocent terminally ill children who get in the way of their bullets, but luckily fifty years has been enough for them to change for the better (I sincerely doubt Shadow would ever agree to work for them otherwise). This issue ends with a single page teasing the next arc of SU, featuring an adult Knuckles and Julie-Su getting ready to leave on some kind of trip and trusting their daughter Lara-Su to take over things while… they're… oh for the love of Chaos, this again?! We're really going back to the future? Only this time, it's thirty years into the future instead of twenty-five. Ugh, I wanted to be done with this AU, but I guess we're careening right back into it… But first, of course, the two-part finale to the sixth era of the preboot, the shortest era so far!

[retroateez]

bandit king - s.mingi

hello!!! literally nobody wanted this but i’ve written it anyway and actually?? i quite enjoyed writing a character like this. i hope you enjoy! if you do, please like or any other way of letting me know!

// Apocalypse!AU  Borderlands x Ateez AU Bandit King!Mingi x Vault Hunter!Reader I guess this is kind of??? angst // I’ve tried my best to write a gender neutral reader, but if i’ve slipped up anywhere please tell me and i’ll change it ASAP. Warnings; mentions of blood, death (murder), guns, graphic descriptions of violence and explicit language. if i’ve missed anything that may potentially be triggering, please message me and i will add it to this list. wc;4642

// 

“Strip the flesh! Salt the wound!” 

You aim your radiated Maliwan shotgun at the psycho who was hurtling towards you, screeching nonsense at the top of his lungs. Without blinking an eye, you pull the trigger and watch the shell plunge into his chest, knocking him to the floor in an instant. You lower your gun, and stand frozen in your position.

Wait for it…

His skinny frame is launched thirty meters into the air with an explosion that leaves your ears ringing. A toxic, mustard-coloured cloud trails after him as he flies upwards, then rolls over his corpse when he lands with a dull thump.

You had always favoured Maliwan’s range of elemental shotguns. 

With a sigh, you sling the gun into its holster on your back, and step over the dead psycho with a small smirk.

One down, plenty more to go.

-----

Tracking the Bandit King had proven much more of a challenge than your contractor had initially let on. Bringing you from your home planet to the run-down, wasteland named Pandora, you’d travelled far and wide looking for them. Rife with rival gun manufacturers, various bandit clans and ‘ordinary’ civilians just trying to survive, your particular maniac could be anywhere. You didn’t know much about him except for his name; Inferno. It was a stupid name, for an equally stupid leader of a stupid bandit gang, but you were promised a substantial amount of pay for his murder, so he could call himself whatever he wanted; he would be dead soon.

However, the night was quickly approaching, and you’d been driving through the dusty Pandoran plains for far too long, so you pull up to the next bar you come across. You park your sandy brown Outrunner to the left of the tavern and walk towards the entrance.

‘The Blood Bucket’ flickers in a blinding, neon purple above the crimson stained double doors. A fine establishment for some fine patronage, you presume. 

With a kick of your steel-toed boot, the doors swing open and a hush falls over the customers almost immediately; it’s not everyday they witness a vault hunter so out in the open.

“Ain’t no vault here, you scumbag!” a hoarse voice calls out from the crowd of drunks, and the rest of them break out into laughter.

You reach down and slightly withdraw your Vladof pistol from your hip, the crowd falling silent once more as you inch it out of it’s holster and clutch it in your hand. All eyes are on you as you approach the bar, and although you’re used to the staring and scowling from random people, it’ll always make you nervous. Not that you would ever show weakness, as a vault hunter, you’d sooner die than let anyone believe they had an advantage over you. 

“A bed for the night?” You ask the bartender, although it comes out more as a demand than a question.

You can see by the way his lip curls up in disgust that he isn’t best pleased about having you, a murderer, thief and all-round terrible person who galivants across the galaxy facading as a hero, standing before him in his bar. But he knows how ruthless vault hunters are, how cold-hearted they can be and he’s aware that you can put a bullet between his eyes quicker than he can say “skin pizza”. 

So he reluctantly points to his right, indicating to a set of rickety looking stairs, to which you assume the rooms are. You nod in thanks and make your way over to the steps, ignoring the glares from everyone else in the bar. Hurrying up them, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and unclench your fists from their stiff positions by your side. The tensest parts of these contracts were never committing the murder itself, it was always the journey getting there that made you anxious to your core.

Admittedly, you’d grown accustomed to your lifestyle, even if you had no choice. It was a dog-eat-dog universe, and you’d built yourself into a powerful lone wolf. Yet there were always bigger beasts out there, no matter how hard you trained or how many people you killed. It would probably never be enough, but for the time being, you had no other choice; you had to slaughter, or run the risk of being slaughtered yourself.

-----

The next morning, you wake early and wash the dried blood out of your hair from the day before. You sit on the (surprisingly comfortable) bed and pull out the contractor’s instructions from your bag. Skimming over the pages for the millionth time, you study Inferno’s face one more time. 

You’d been hired to take out countless enemies for countless rich idiots, but there was something different about him, and you hated to admit it; but he was ridiculously handsome. One of the documents given to you was an old, faded ‘wanted’ poster, featuring a photograph of the bandit king himself. Judging by the photo’s setup, you guessed it was a mugshot of sorts, as Inferno is standing, facing the camera and holding a sign. Typically, there would be a name written on the board that the criminals hold, but this one has been scratched out, presumably to hide his identity. Whoever crossed that name out, wants Inferno’s real name kept quiet. You can relate though; you don’t go by your real name either. Nicknames are so much safer to use, especially on this wasteland of a planet. 

You stare down into his hooded eyes in the photograph, responding to his stagnant smirk with a frown of your own. The height markers behind him indicate a healthy six feet and you wonder how somebody so good-looking managed to become the crazed ruler of a bunch of lunatics. You imagine his wildly curly hair is an obnoxious red, the blood spatters on your documents covering the sepia tones of the photo and giving him quite a nice hair colour. 

The longer you inspect his face, the more and more you start to feel for him. It’s a foreign feeling, sympathy. You don’t like it. You hate that you think he could’ve become more, become something better than a murderous clan leader. Because this mugshot is clearly old, from a time before he was totally corrupted by blood-lust and greed. From before he could solve anything and everything with the pull of a trigger. And you realise it’s because this young, up-and-coming bandit king in the photograph reminds you of yourself. Before you were forced into fending for yourself and transforming into somebody deep down you were ashamed of, but realistically you had no choice. And it was likely that your next victim had no choice either. Nobody did. Not on Pandora. Not anywhere.

Abruptly, you stuff the documents deep inside your backpack and then haul it over your shoulders. Grabbing your shotgun and pistol and hiding them inside their holsters, you feel that same rush flood over you as it does everytime you pick up a gun. It’s similar to an unwavering calmness, a complete opposite to how any other ordinary person would be if they were to clutch a huge Maliwan shotgun to their chest.  You pick up the new, DAHL SMG that’s leaning by the door and twist it around in your hands. Aptly named ‘Night Hawkin’, it switches from shooting pyro bullets to cryo (ice) bullets depending on the time of day, and you figure that Inferno is the perfect test-subject for your new toy.

Once you’ve gathered your few belongings, you march downstairs to pay the innkeeper. 

“Five Eridium bars?!” you snap. “You didn’t say anything about Eridium fees.”

The innkeeper raises his smug little face at you and you resist all urges to pistol whip him across the room. 

“I figured a vault hunter like you would have no trouble paying up,” he spits. “After all, you like to gloat about how much you rob from those vaults, right?”

“Two bars.” you bargain. He’s right, truthfully. You do have the money, more than enough actually, to pay him the full five, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Four bars,” he pauses for a second and eyes you from his side of the bar. “Four, and I’ll tell you where your bandit lover-boy is.”

You freeze. How did he know-

“You don’t think I check on the people who stay here?” his smirk grows and you realise he’s got you in the palm of his hand. He has information that, providing he was telling you the truth, could be extremely helpful. You’re also pretty bewildered that he went through your things while you were sleeping too, but now is not the time to unravel all of that.

“Fine.” you grumble. “But information first, payment second.”

The barkeep fixes his gaze on you for a few moments before crossing his arms and leaning forwards. He lowers his voice, despite the bar being relatively empty.

“You’ll find him at The Devil’s Footstool,” he mumbles. “Just north of The Salt Flats.”

“I thought that was Hyperion territory?” you question. Hyperion, one of the most influential weapon manufacturers and businesses this side of the galaxy had reign over the majority of Pandora. Naturally, you despised Hyperion and everything they stood for; a corrupt, power-driven company who stopped at nothing to get what they wanted. Butchering thousands of innocent lives for their own benefit. You loathed Hyperion.

The innkeeper shrugs.

“Inferno and his bandit followers waltzed in not so long ago like they owned the place,” he explained. “Not Hyperion anymore.”

You nodded, opting not to say anything else. Reaching into your bag, you pull out the four violet bars and hand them over to the innkeeper, unimpressed at having to fork out such a ridiculous amount.

It didn’t matter though, because the information he had just given you could save you days, even weeks in completing the contract. Even if it turned out he was lying out of his ass, you might still be able to find something at The Devil’s Footstool regardless. If not, you knew where he lived, and there was a brand-new shotgun with his name on it that you were just itching to try out.

You sling the backpack over your shoulder again, mumble a ‘thank you’ to the barkeep and make your exit. Jumping into the driver’s seat of your vehicle, and heaving the bag into the passenger seat, you prepare yourself for the endless journey through the boiling heat and dust. You hated it here.

-----

Five hours later, you finally arrive at your destination; The Salt Flats. Stocking up before embarking on tracking Inferno down for the final time was a very good idea, so you pulled into a small town just on the outskirts of The Salt Flats. You’d be in luck if the inhabitants (if there were any) weren’t hostile, but you weren’t planning on staying long. Luckily, you manage to find a nearby ammunitions vending machine, so you spend a good fifteen minutes buying shells, bullets, grenades, anything you think you might need to send Inferno’s cult of weirdos sprawling. 

 Also, what kind of dumbass name was Inferno?

There were so many crazy individuals spread across the planet but you’d never get over some of the stupid names they chose for themselves. One of the most absurd characters being King Wee Wee, a bandit lord in New Haven. You’d yet to find anyone dumber than him. But on Pandora, you’d probably find them soon enough.

Shaking your head and double-checking your bag is tightly secured, you throw it into the back of the Outrunner. But before you can jump into the driver’s seat, you freeze.

You squint into the distance, almost as if blinding yourself momentarily will make your hearing clearer. And somehow it works, the faint sound of rushing footsteps nearing closer and closer. The grunting and wheezy breaths immediately signal out to you; there’s a psycho nearby. And he’s not happy that you’re here. 

The slim, weirdly ripped frame whips around the corner, bolting out from behind an abandoned car. His mask covers his entire face, and you’ve dealt with psychos millions of times before, but the blank, expressionless masks always chilled you to the bone.

“You’re gonna be my new meat bicycle!” he screeches at you, before hurling himself over the hood of the car and sprinting full-speed towards you, waving some sort of nailed bat above his head. 

Instinctively, you withdraw your pistol and before you can even blink, there’s a deafening bang! and the hideous screaming stops, leaving the psycho as nothing more than a bloody, crumpled heap on the dirty ground. Catchihg your breath, you watch the pool of crimson seep across the earth below your feet, and put the pistol back by your hip. No matter how quick your reflexes were, psychos would always manage to scare the living shit out of you. It was their odd, unsettling catchphrases more than anything. They stuck to wild, close-range combat, so anybody with a gun would easily defeat one. But when they threaten to turn your face into pepperoni? That’s when you’re caught off guard.

You hop into your car, turning the engine and pressing on the gas as hard as you can. Eager to get out of this town in fear of what else might come barreling around corners and out of alleyways.

Yet it’s in your haste that you fail to see the tattoo inked onto the psycho’s body. You overlook the dark outline of the bursting flames on his torso, something you’ll end up wishing you hadn’t  missed.

-----

Crouching behind a semi-blown up road-block, you’re just outside of Inferno’s compound. After scouting the area, you were certain that nobody was patrolling the areas outside. You wondered how Inferno had managed to seize The Devil’s Footstool from Hyperion. The central focus of the area was a massive arena, where you assumed Hyperion personnel would train. What did Inferno want with a fighting arena?

It was suspicious too, how there was not another living soul out here with you. You supposed that maybe there was a meeting going on inside the building attached to the stadium, one where literally everybody had to present for? Although psychos could barely tell apart their own limbs from hotdogs, so if there was an important gathering, it’s unlikely they’d be invited.

Still, you keep your guard up, head down and make your way towards the building. As you gain on the entrance, you hear the roaring of engines rise up into the air; there must be a race in the arena. But the track is behind the main building, and you can’t see or access it from here. So the only option is to go through the building. 

With one hand clutching your pistol, you slope around the left of the building, deciding that going through the front doors would be stupidly reckless, instead looking for a side door. Alternatively, you locate a window, which conveniently is already open. You peer inside, scanning what appears to be a study or an office, with nothing but a wooden desk and a chair in the middle. 

You should’ve sensed that something was off because of how empty the room was; offices should have shelves, plants, bits of paper everywhere, right? 

However, you think nothing of it, continuing to hoist the window up and combat roll into the room. You stand up immediately, about to reach behind you and grab the shotgun slung across your back but suddenly, an arm flies in front of you, wrapping around your throat with your chin buried in the crevice of their elbow. You dig your nails into their forearm, your vision firmly planted onto the tattoo shaped like a burst of flames on his arm. Caught off guard, you don’t make the connection in your head between the tattoo and the obvious.

“Hello,” a deep voice purrs into your ear, causing goosebumps across your entire body. “I’ve been expecting you.”

-----

The barrel of his assault rifle presses painfully against your spine, and his bicep is squeezing against your jugular so hard you think you might pass out. You bite your bottom lip harshly to stay quiet, and to ground yourself. Panicking now is the last thing you want.

“It’s not everyday a vault hunter comes tumbling through my office window.” you feel him smirk against your ear and you curse yourself for not checking the room properly.

“Where’s Inferno?” you demand. “I have business with him.”

“Business?” he echoes, easing his grip on your neck a little, but still restricting almost all of your movement. “Are you sure? I don’t recall him having any business to attend to today.”

You attempt to twist your head around to look at him, but he catches your chin in his hand which thankfully, removes the pressure from your neck. But now he’s tightly gripping your face and you can feel his fingers press against your teeth through your cheek.

“Tsk tsk,” he reprimands you, tutting into your hair. “Face forward. If you agree to behave, I’ll take you to Inferno and you can handle this so-called ‘business’”. 

Nodding, (or at least, as best as you can with his vice-grip on your jaw), you agree. The gun is still prodding into your spine, and with the way he’s towering over you, there’s no way you could possibly escape from this. 

So you allow him to march you through the building, reverting back to having his forearm basically crush your windpipe, causing you both to shuffle awkwardly through the hallways. He leads you up three flights of stairs, multiple twists and turns, (the building definitely didn’t look this big from the outside), until he bustles you into a random room at the end of another, identical hallway. 

Only when you’re inside and he’s checked the door is locked, does he retract his grip and move away.

You swivel around the second he lets go, retrieving the pistol and aiming it out in front of you. The sight before you shocks you to your stomach, and you almost drop the small firearm.

Inferno himself is standing right there, the smuggest grin on his stupid face. His eyes are hooded, yet still sparkling mischievously with his gaze fixed directly on you. Taller than you thought he was too, you have to look up a fair amount to meet his stare. He has a sharp, narrow nose that suits the rest of his face and a few, prominent freckles splattered over his cheeks like blood. What strikes you the most is his hair. Curly, wild, and obnoxiously red. So the blood on the paper was right.

“Hi, darling.” he drawls. “Expecting somebody else?”

He’s rolling the Night Hawkin submachine gun in his hands, inspecting it from the stock to the magazine with an impressed pout. He flicks the manual switch between pyro ammunition and cryo, and chuckles shortly at the icy bullets.

“Nice weapon,” he compliments you. “Let me guess, DAHL? Those bastards love to make guns that make my life difficult.”

His playful tone irks you, and you scowl angrily at him. Not only has he stolen your brand-new weapon, he’s playing mind games with you. It’s just a shame that you’re  playing yourself right into his hands. Inferno raises an eyebrow at your silence.

“Cat got your tongue?” he teases. “That’s okay, I’ll do the talking.”

Making no reply, you keep your pistol aimed at him, thanking the gods that your arms aren’t trembling the same way your breath is. 

He paces around the room, slowly making a circle around you and you’re forced to spin on the spot to keep your gun aimed at his head. He’s still smirking, even as he begins to speak.

“You’re here to kill me, correct?” he nods in acknowledgment as you confirm that yes, you are in fact here to murder him. “I thought so.”

“You see, I have a slight problem with that,” he continues, strolling over to the window and glancing at the blazing sun outside. “It’s beautiful weather outside today, and I’d really prefer not to die and miss out on topping up my tan.”

What?

You don’t even know how to reply to that, but he doesn’t give you the opportunity to do so.

“Not only would you be murdering me on a wonderfully hot afternoon, you’d be committing yet another crime against me. And what have I done to you, vault hunter?” he fake pouts, and you catch yourself before you feel sympathy creep back in.

But what did he mean ‘another’ crime? You haven’t met him before now. Murder contracts are nothing personal; you’re simply the messenger.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already?” he’s in front of you before you can even register his fingers curled underneath your chin, tilting your head up to glare dead into his eyes. The tip of your pistol is pressing into his chest, just right of his heart. Yet he doesn’t appear fazed at all. 

“Let me jog your memory.” he murmurs, fanning hot air all over your face. 

In an instant, he’s seized your pistol, wrenching it from your hold and spun you around so your back is leaning against his chest. You can feel his jaw resting on the top of your head, and the way he moves round to your right, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear like before.

“Not so long ago, I believe you had an encounter with a very good friend of mine.” husky voice eerily calm, you hate to admit that you’re terrified.

You’re used to dealing with the most insane individuals the planet has to offer, but there’s something human in him. Something so raw that it’s thrown you completely off balance. There was absolutely nothing in the universe that could have prepared you for a bandit king who wasn’t completely crazy. For someone who reminded you of yourself, somebody who was trying to survive in this barren, apocalyptic wasteland, albeit through entirely immoral means. 

“My friend is dead now, thanks to you.” there’s no bitterness or even anger lacing his words, and you’re conflicted on whether he’s furious or grateful.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you exhale, finding your voice eventually. 

“Oh? The vault hunter speaks!” he feigns surprise, but the arm you hadn’t even noticed wrapped around your waist squeezes you closer into him.

You truly had no idea what he was on about though. You’d killed a lot of people, although you’d spent the majority of the day driving, so unless you’d accidentally fallen asleep at the wheel and taken part of an unconscious hit and run, you were clueless.

“The town just outside of The Salt Flats,” he snaps, losing his temper with you. You feel his chest rise and fall as he recollects himself, and you wonder how short his fuse must be. “Steve only wanted to show you his new bicycle.”

Bicycle?

“That psycho was your friend?” you blurt out.

“Steve was my second-in-command,” Inferno mumbles into your ear. “And you put a bullet in his head. I don’t appreciate that one little bit, vault hunter.” as he finishes his sentence, he raises his free arm and plants the barrel of your pistol to your forehead, the cold metal a cool change to your burning skin. 

“I don’t like it when people mess with my things.” he growls lowly. “I also don’t like having to find new second-in-commands.”

“You’ve got plenty of lunatics to choose from.” you whisper.

“No. I don’t think any of them are fit for the job, you see.” he retorts immediately, barely waiting for you to finish your own sentence. 

“Yet how convenient it is,” he carries on. “That there is a new vacancy, just as you break into my office.”

“No, I don’t thi-”

“You don’t think anything, vault hunter,” he interrupts you, his tone getting aggressive and rougher. “I regret to inform you, but you don’t have a fucking choice.” You can tell from the pistol digging into your skin that he isn’t sorry at all, and that he might be right; do you really have much of a choice?

“What do you want from me?” you ask, voice just above a whisper. 

His clutches weaken ever so slightly, finally allowing oxygen properly into your lungs. It was looking more likely for you to die from lack of breath rather than a bullet to the brain.

“I just told you,” he says. “I want you to be my second-in-command, seeing as you killed my previous one. Think of it as an exchange.”

“An exchange? For what?”

He leans over your shoulder, his cheek pressing against your own as you try to look him in the face.

“Put it this way, you join us, or you die. Does that make sense, Y/N?” he examines your reaction with an ecstatic grin, watching as your face drops and your breach catches in your throat.

How did he know your name?

The panic that shoots through you is immeasurable; nobody is supposed to know your real name. Nobody should know your real name. So how the fuck does this stupid, mind-game playing bandit king who you’ve never met before, know?

Satisfied with your response and knowing you’re putty in his hands, he completely lets go of you, even removing the pistol from between your eyes. You sense him moving away, the space around you turning empty and cold. Part of you wishes, hopes that he’ll put his arms back around you and make you warm again, and the other half of you wants to yank the small ice pick out from your sock and jab it into his eye socket over and over and over again.

You stand in the center of the room, motionless for what seems like an eternity, just thinking. Inferno waits behind you patiently, and you secretly commend him for being the sanest psycho you’ve ever met.

But clearly his patience begins to wear thin, as he comes round to stand in front of you. He bends down to match your height and uses his fingertip to lift your chin up a little, the same way he did previously. His touch is uncharacteristically gentle, a polar opposite to the way he was choking you and harshly grasping you not even five minutes ago. 

“So?” he hums. “What do you say?”

Inferno searches your eyes as you mull over your answer. Although, there isn’t much thinking left for you to do; he’s metaphorically backed you into a corner and realistically, you have no escape.

“Fine, I’ll join you,” you rasp, the pressure of his gaze weighing down heavily on you and making you tenfold more nervous.

“Excellent!” he beams, standing up straight and clapping his hands together. “You’ll make a much better second-in-command than a vault hunter-”

“On one condition, I’ll join you.” you interrupt him, and his excited demeanour drops.

His dark eyes bore in yours, and he raises an eyebrow, indicating for you to name the stipulation. 

“Tell me your name.” you request. “Your real one.”

“I don’t think you quite understand the power dynamic here, darling.” he scoffs.

“No, I understand perfectly,” you quip. “I just don’t think it’s fair that you know mine, but I don’t know yours.”

You hold your palm out in a mock handshake pose.

“Say the name, and I’m yours.”

“Say my name?” he snorts, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue and turning his head away from you.

Suddenly, his large palm slaps into yours, his long fingers curling around your hand and he performs a strong, steady handshake.

“Mingi.” he says quietly. “You can call me Mingi.”

You smirk, reciprocating the formal shake.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mingi.”

// if people like this then i already have ideas for a part two... hehe

[tabloidtoc]

Globe, January 25

You can now buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: COVID patient Larry King’s nasty battle over $50 million will 

Page 2: Up Front & Personal -- Shia LaBeouf shows off his tattooed belly on a walk, Jessica Alba matches her mask to her shoes, Simon Cowell works out as he continues to recover from breaking his back 

Page 3: Amy Schumer on the beach in St. Barts, Peter Weber is a total cue ball, Jenny McCarthy hauls garbage outside her Illinois home 

Page 4: David Bowie’s supermodel widow Iman confesses she gets lonely but will never tie the knot again because the singer was her true love -- she made her revelation in the January issue of a fashion magazine where at age 65 she’s still hot enough to be the cover gal -- David and Iman’s daughter Lexie asked her if she would ever marry again and she said never and that their life together was beautiful and ordinary and that David was a very funny warm gentleman 

* Kindhearted Kelly Ripa is so spooked by her new gruesome true crime series about digging up murder victims’ bodies that she’s having terrifying nightmares that have driven her to a shrink for help -- Kelly and actor husband Mark Consuelos are bigwig producers behind Oxygen channel’s series Exhumed that debuted January 17 featuring unearthed corpses to solve cases -- many nights Kelly will awaken haunted by a case she and Mark reviewed and realizing the horror and heartbreak the victims and their families went through is something you don’t forget once the lights are out -- while Kelly and Mark aren’t on the show as executive producers they have to approve the episodes and become intimately involved with the devastated families who help tell their heartbreaking stories -- her immersion in the grisly material has had a chilling effect on Kelly who is an empath which is a highly sensitive gal who can often feel the pain and suffering others are going through and Kelly’s therapist encourages her to do positive meditations each night before bed and think about at least two things that made her happy that day and Kelly is doing her best to follow doctor’s orders but she is so affected by the plights of other people that somehow the nightmares still manage to find their way into her dreams 

Page 5: Onetime Bond girl Tanya Roberts passed away at age 65 less than 24 hours after her prematurely announced death -- Mike Pingel who was a rep for Tanya says he told the world that she had died at L.A.’s Cedar-Sinai Hospital on January after speaking with her distraught beau Lance O’Brien -- following a goodbye visit with the ailing star mistaken Lance claimed she died in his arms but bizarrely the very next morning sobbing Lance said he was told by the hospital that Tanya was still alive in the ICU while filming a TV interview about her untimely end -- however according to Lance she finally perished hours later on January 4 after being taken off life support -- Tanya reportedly collapsed in her California home after walking her dogs and rushed to the hospital she remained on a ventilator from December 24 until her death which was not COVID related

Page 6: In Denmark a bitter feud between royal wives is tearing the ruling family apart -- Danish Crown Prince Frederik’s Australian wife Mary detests her French-born sister-in-law Marie who is wed to Frederik’s kid brother Joachim and Mary helped banish Marie and Joachim to Paris to get her sophisticated rival out of her hair -- Frederik’s wife who is the future queen desires to be treated with the deference befitting her station even by relatives while Marie is far less stuffy and very outspoken and she’s made it plain she was unhappy when her husband was ordered to become military attache at the Danish Embassy in Paris in 2019 -- shortly after his arrival in France Joachim suffered a blood clot in his brain and when Frederik showed up to visit his ailing brother Mary was nowhere in sight

Page 7: After failing to land plum roles in A-list movie blockbusters Meghan Markle and her husband Prince Harry inked a $40 million deal to crank out podcasts and the first installment was branded a bomb after airing late last month -- despite superstar Elton John dropping by for Archewell Audio’s first holiday special the highly hyped recording embarrassingly landed at No. 17 on the Spotify podcast list behind entries like Deep Sleep Sounds which features whale sounds -- many in the royal inner circle are gloating and smirking over the arrogant couple’s disastrous debut and even with Elton’s help Meghan is still a second banana to whale noises and no one wants to listen to the couple’s self-absorbed drivel 

* Not only has royal renegade Prince Harry traded London for L.A. he’s ditched posh palace pronunciations and speaks more like an American during his public appearances -- while doing his first Archewell Audio broadcast Harry dropped the refined Received Pronunciation favored by his grandmother Queen Elizabeth and sounded like a regular American 

Page 8: Anti-vaccine crusader Bobby Kennedy Jr. has been kicked in the teeth by his powerful political clan after triggering fears about immunizations and the desperately needed cure for COVID-19 -- brother Joe, sister Kathleen and niece Kerry Kennedy Meltzer who is a doctor battling the virus on the frontlines publicly accuse Bobby of putting Americans’ lives at risk by telling lies about vaccines in general and attacking injections aimed at stamping out the killer virus -- family members were always skeptical about Bobby’s slightly off-kilter anti-vax ideas but they supported him because the Kennedys stick together and hate to show a rift in the family but now they have shifted against him

Page 10: Garth Brooks’ sloppy habits during nine months of lockdown have iron-willed wife Trisha Yearwood in a tizzy and their marriage is dangling by a thread after she clobbered the slob with a strict set of house rules -- after exasperated Trisha spilled her guts to pals a friend advised she put the rules in writing and hang it where he’ll see it and she did but Trish’s demanding ways are pushing Garth to the brink and he’s ready to walk unless they can find middle ground, one that doesn’t include Trisha calling all the shots -- Trisha has given Garth a list of do’s and don’ts that include wearing deodorant at all times and stop leaving the bathroom a mess and to remove his clothes from the dryer once he’s done but on the top of Trisha’s list is a ban on Garth’s constant 24/7 whistling that has her pulling her hair out 

Page 11: Dynamic diva Jennifer Lopez is bored with fat-cat fiance Alex Rodriguez and is struggling to keep their romance alive -- after postponing their marriage and saying there was no real reason to tie the knot Jennifer has kind of hit a wall with where she and Alex can really take things and she is particularly frustrated by ho-hum Alex’s lack of motivation -- those who know J.Lo want her to stick to her wheelhouse by making movies and recording music however those endeavors don’t offer retired baseball player A-Rod any position to play -- they haven’t fallen out of love exactly but they have run out of the joint projects and goals that were the rocket fuel for their relationship and they’re stuck with no obvious places to go next 

* Teresa Giudice and new beau Luis “Louie” Ruelas are already shacking up together and plan to buy a pad of their own and Teresa can see herself marrying Louie and combining his kids and hers under one roof -- he stays over most weekends and some weeknights at her place in New Jersey and they cook Italian together and stay up late watching movies -- her four daughters like Louie too and see how happy he’s made her 

Page 12: Celebrity Buzz -- Maitland Ward wearing masks on her breasts (picture), Demi Lovato battled a life-threatening secret eating disorder for years but today she bravely flaunts the stretched skin she’d once considered painfully flawed by wearing glitter paint on her stretch marks to celebrate her body and all of its features whether society views them as good or bad, Paul McCartney still gabs with dead pal George Harrison whose sprightly spirit has planted itself in a tree, Ray Liotta has asked girlfriend Jacy Nittolo to marry him and she screamed yes, legendary country star Ricky Skaggs is lucky to be alive thanks to an emergency quadruple bypass that saved his ticking time bomb of a ticker 

Page 13: Mel Gibson steps out in Malibu with his arm in a sling (picture), Amy Poehler loads up at a Beverly Hills market (picture), brothers and Kinks bandmates Ray Davies and Dave Davies brew up an outing in London (picture), Michael Jackson’s one-time associate billionaire biz-wiz Ron Burkle snagged the late pop star’s beloved Neverland Ranch for the bargain basement price of $22 million 

Page 14: Bryan Dattilo the 47-year-old soap star who’s played Lucas Horton on Days of Our Lives since 1993 now calls himself grandpa to a bouncing baby boy thanks to his 21-year-old son Gabe and his girlfriend and he’s also becoming a granddad on TV too with Alison Sweeney who plays Sami Brady, no more boozy days or nights for Chrissy Teigen and she declares she’s on the wagon and through with imbibing embarrassments

* Fashion Verdict -- Reese Witherspoon 7/10, Greta Gerwig 1/10 

Page 16: Cover -- As 87-year-old Larry King battled for his life against killer COVID in an L.A. hospital his estranged wife Shawn was making a grab for the talk star’s $50 million fortune -- the cheating blonde is raging because in the months before his hospitalization Larry filed for divorce and cut her out of his will, leaving the fortune to their boys Chance and Cannon and Larry Jr. his son from his second marriage -- it’s going to be a fight to the finish literally and Shawn is trying to make sure she’s not left out when it comes to his cash 

Page 19: 10 Things You Don’t Know About Anthony Anderson

* Kim Cattrall swore off motherhood because bedroom sessions with then-husband Mark Levinson didn’t fit into her Sex and the City shooting schedule -- Kim was 41 and newly wed when she decided to slam the door on pregnancy 

* Bill Cosby is refusing to shower with other inmates a Pennsylvania prison to avoid contracting COVID-19 and he says he controls his stink by washing up in his cell’s sink but he doesn’t expect the situation to last forever because he’s hoping a court will toss his 2018 conviction 

Page 21: LeAnn Rimes has admitted she checked into a mental ward after feeling bullied when news leaked she had cheated on her husband with married Eddie Cibrian -- she reveals she did 30 days in therapy in 2012 because she couldn’t handle the public shaming that rained down on her over her affair with future husband Eddie who was still married to Brandi Glanville and she was still wed to Dean Sheremet -- LeAnn calls her therapy the best gift she could have given herself 

Page 22: True Crime -- Survivor villain Jonny Fairplay is living up to his bad boy image after cops busted TV’s evil liar accusing him of ripping off his dementia-stricken granny 

Page 24: Marie Bobette Riales knows where the bodies are buried in actor Danny Masterson’s Scientology rape scandal and terrified church leaders want her silenced at all costs but Marie who dated the indicted actor and slapped the sci-fi faith with a civil suit won’t back down -- Marie’s impending testimony at Masterson’s criminal trial and in her civil case threatens to destroy the controversial church by exposing the intimidation used by ruthless Scientology bigwigs to hide the twisted secrets of its celebrity members 

Page 26: Health Report 

Page 30: Tom Cruise has taken on the mission to shield his movie crew from the rampaging coronavirus by building a disease-proof studio on a former top-secret army base -- Tom who is already taking heat for screaming curses at crew members who ignored virus safety measures is shelling out millions to build a secure shooting facility at the former English tank base in Longcross -- Tom is obsessed with finding ways to beat the fast-spreading virus ever since filming of Mission: Impossible 7 was shut down when the pandemic savaged Italy and when it spread to Britain 

* Alec Baldwin’s yoga guru wife Hillary a.k.a. Hilaria Baldwin has been busted as a fraud after putting on foreign airs and talking with a Spanish accent -- the mom of Alec’s five young kids claimed to be from the Spanish isle of Mallorca where she was called Hilaria but her tale unraveled after a social media video showed her accent mysteriously drifting on and off and pals from Boston’s preppie Cambridge School of Weston began texting that she’s all-American with one saying her name was indeed Hillary Hayward-Thomas and she did not have a Spanish accent -- now Mrs. Baldwin is confessing she was born in Boston but spent a lot of time in Mallorca where her American parents called her Hilaria and she picked up the accent 

Page 36: Angelina Jolie is panicking over her sky-high legal bills but she only has herself and her vengeful divorce war against ex Brad Pitt to blame -- she may be worth $100 million and rake in moolah from producing and directing but her high-maintenance lifestyle and refusal to finally settle her four-year divorce and custody war with Brad have left her cash-strapped and she’s starting to panic over her dwindling cash flow and every time she files a motion like her losing attempt to dismiss the judge it costs her money because these fancy lawyers can charge more than $850 an hour and it adds up -- more and more Angie’s having to dip into her savings but as much as it hurts she’s stubborn and refuses to settle and she blames Brad for everything -- on top of legal bills the luxury lifestyle she shares with her brood including a whopping $17.5 million mortgage on her L.A. mansion are a humongous cash drain and she also supports a household staff plus she’s never learned to say no when one of the kids wants an expensive high-tech toy 

* Pop diva Taylor Swift’s image has been erased from a mural at Nashville’s iconic Legends Corner bar because some die-hard fans believe she turned her back on country music -- artist Tim Davis notes the saloon’s owners told him to replace Taylor with Brad Paisley -- furious Taylor fans cry that she won country’s highest honor the Pinnacle Award in 2013 but painter Davis notes Taylor has turned to pop and some inebriated bar hoppers have spit on her image specifically feeling betrayed by her venture from country 

Page 40: Arnold Schwarzenegger’s acting unstoppable and savoring his favorite stogies just three months after major heart surgery but a medical expert warns the 73-year-old’s love for cigars could trigger a devastating health catastrophe and he should kick the habit -- however Arnold who had an aortic valve replaced in October has been feeling his oats with galpal Heather Milligan in resort Sun Valley, Idaho 

* In the latest twist in Dr. Dre’s messy billion-dollar divorce the rap mogul admits he spent a night of passion with estranged wife Nicole Young after they split -- in legal documents the music tycoon claims that although Nicole moved out of their family home in mid-March the two continued to speak and socialize and see each other and he also revealed that on the couple’s May wedding anniversary Nicole invited him to dinner at her Malibu home and the two did the horizontal mambo -- Dre vehemently denies Nicole’s claim that he abused her during their 24-year marriage adding she was not and is not afraid of him and insists she’s lying to bolster her divorce claims

Page 45: Robin Williams’ wife Susan Schneider insists she’s haunted by his ghost who shows up when she needs him and she says she recently saw him in the yard 

* Gilligan’s Island’s goody-goody girl Dawn Wells took a shameful regret to the grave that the perky pothead was accused of being a dope dealer -- the 82-year-old actress best known as girl-next-door Mary Ann Summers on the classic sitcom was still humiliated over her secret stoner past when she died of complications from COVID-19 -- her drug scandals dated back to 1998 when her friend and co-star Bob Denver who played Gilligan was arrested after a parcel containing half an ounce of pot was delivered to his house in Princeton in West Virginia and Denver later fingered Dawn as his connection and said she’d been selling him dope since 1995 but Dawn lawyered up and denied everything and was never charged -- she was busted for having marijuana in her car as she drove home from her 69th birthday party in 2007 and she was sentenced to five days in jail and fined and placed on probation -- her years as a pothead continued to haunt her until the end 

Page 47: Bizarre But True 

[lovelyirony]

Nevertheless, She Persisted

I wrote a drabble about marvel women persisting. Here it is. 

When Peggy was little, her mother told her to keep her chin up and strong. Her father told her much the same. Society said “no, not like that.” Peggy shot back “yes, exactly like that,” and kept on going. The British army shot down her request to be an agent. “Go get me a coffee and some smokes,” one of them had said. It was as if they would never consider her for a position of power. (Oh, how they underestimated her.) She came to America and demanded it. They said okay. She got to meet a small man who grew four sizes, and who looked at her like she was an equal. She wasn’t just some dame in the war. She was a terrifying woman who knew how to shoot and knew how to get things done. And he appreciated it. She continued as the Director and Founder of SHIELD. She vowed that they would never question a woman in power. (They did, but no one ever said or did anything in public.) Hydra lived in fear of her, and they would never plan anything if she was in town. If she had known, Peggy would have laughed and destroyed them in one day. She persisted. 

Pepper went into business. Her family was from Cape Cod. She grew up playing with Barbies and talking about marriage. Her plans deviated. Pepper was good at math, organization, and making plans on the fly. She was the sole reason that the Thanksgiving of ‘92 was saved. But all around her, men would look at her as if she was there for enjoyment. They would think that she couldn’t hear as they commented on her looks. On how her body was. She burned bright red not out of embarrassment, but out of fear. Sure, Tony patented the nickname, but it was around long before him. She dominated the business field, made sure women knew they were important. More important than the men who demonized them. She ruled Stark Industries with an iron fist, taking little shit and receiving it all with a razor-sharp smile. She persisted.  

Jane Foster was a woman in STEM. This was before all of the programs for young girls. She was a woman who was working on a theory that many considered impossible. She forgot to shave and shower like a regular person, and never looked good unless Darcy worked some make-up magic. Men would scoff at conferences. “Some lady,” they’d say as they saw her brushing Pop Tart crumbs away from her pantsuit. Because they thought that she would have to be some alluring woman for them to gaze at. But she wasn’t. And Jane would never be, because that isn’t something a lady has to be. So Jane stared them down as she announced to the world her findings. She walked off the stage with a slouch, not tall and straight. “I want to go back to sleep,” Jane announced. They left the event early. It was noted that her hair was a mess, and that was the only thing they noted about her; not the fact that she had discovered possibly a new way to travel to distant planets that sustained life. Jane just brushed it off and released a new theory that no man had ever thought of. She persisted. 

Maria Hill was young and fresh out of the army when Director Fury snatched her up to be his righthand woman. She was sharp, intelligent, and could do orders as asked, rarely questioning anything. (At least, he thought.) Maria was to the point and blunt. There were no sweet smiles or nervous laughs. If she was uncomfortable, she would ask them to stop or she would leave. She was a frigid bitch, the ice queen, a lesbian. (The last labels and the previous ones did not bother her in the slightest.) She wasn’t trained in the army to hold men’s gazes. She wasn’t trained to flirt and flutter her eyelashes. She was trained to save lives and make the tough calls. And that’s what her job description was. When Ward tries to make her angry and say that Romanov should have been chosen so they’d have someone to look at, it just amused Maria. She looked nice; smooth hair, lipstick, contour on some days. But the fact that Ward thought he could get under her skin with insults about how she looked? Now that, that was hilarious. When Fury “dies,” she keeps going. People ask her if it was “serious.” Maria says she will date never, and leaves it as that. She continues on in his stead, taking on the complicated jobs that no one else at the fallen agency has the guts to take. She persists. 

Sharon Carter had Peggy Carter as a distant relative, but that didn’t stop Sharon from looking up to her great-aunt. “Never, ever, let a man walk all over you,” Peggy would reiterate to a young Sharon. Her parents were embarrassed but altogether thankful that someone had the courage to tell their daughter what they couldn’t. (They did not appreciate that Peggy gave Sharon her first pistol at age fourteen. Peggy claimed that “Tasers were sold out.”) Sharon has never relied on a legacy to get her into SHIELD. She dealt with people asking her questions about what she did at her job. She handled tough jobs because she was the person to do it; once people realized that Agent 13 was a girl, they had a tough time accepting that she could actually do the job. “It’s pretty gruesome,” a man had said. “Ladies shouldn’t see this.” Sharon gives him a flat look. “Ladies shouldn’t see a lot of the things men do, but unfortunately enough, we still have to. Now move, or you’re gonna get killed.” She wears a sweet smile as she eviscerates the competition. She outshoots Rumlow in a contest and he claims she was using her “assets” to distract others. “You’re just mad because I’m better than you,” Sharon gloats. Rumlow doesn’t like that. Challenges her to a hand-to-hand competition. Sharon has a family dinner, so she declines. Sharon fights hard for her work, and loves every second of it. (Almost.) She fights through men who think she’s there as the distraction. She smirks as she shoots bullets, nearly laughs as the mark stumbles and falls over the balcony. “Yeah, I guess I am pretty distracting when I’m being a badass,” she says with a shrug. “I really want some chicken right now. After the briefing, I guess.” After that “civil war” smackdown, her boss questions her allegiance because of “romantic feelings.” Sharon stares him down, glaring. “The day that ‘romantic feelings’ compromise the ability to do my job, feel free to fire me. But they didn’t, and I’m insulted that you would think I was that inexperienced.” She persisted.

Natasha Romanoff doesn’t remember her childhood. Just learning how to be a lady, and a deadly one at that. She remembers sweat pouring down her back, and her teachers saying that men should never see you sweat. Natasha nods. Life after the Red Room is different, but not. Men still salivate after her, the agents make bets on who can “bed the Widow.” Natasha smiles sweetly and says that the next person who tries to take her to have sexual intercourse will be strung by their uniform to Lady Liberty. Natasha wears make-up most days. She likes the feeling it gives her. She doesn’t wear it other days, and people ask her if she’s feeling okay, or that she looks better with make-up on. Natasha shrugs it off, but says that if they think she looks better with make-up on, then she will make sure they never find a date. (Ask about Agent Sammond. He has never found a date since.) She continues even when men still underestimate her. She is the freaking Black Widow, the name usually tips women off at least. They know to stay away. Natasha leans in with her fragrance and smile, and eviscerates them. She is courageous, and she is strong. Sometimes, she’ll teach other women how to be their own kind of deadly. Even after everything, Natasha is still herself. She persists. 

[icechuksblog]

Every Nigerian has the legitimate and constitutional right to protest and demonstrate peacefully in a democracy. It is NOT an act of treason to march against the President and to protest about the insecurity in the country. The publisher of Saharareporters and a presidential candidate in the just-concluded presidential elections, Mr. Omoyele Sowore, expressed his desire to demonstrate peacefully against you (President Muhammadu Buhari) and your Government. He chose to call his protest a “revolution” in order to emphasise his zeal and the importance of the event. He has no arms, he has not threatened to conduct an armed struggle or engage in an armed insurrection or to kill anyone so this can only be a “revolution” in name and by words. Yet you are such a COWARD, you are so timid and you are so fearful of your own shadow that you storm his home in the middle of the night, arrest him and threaten to charge him and his supporters with treason if the demonstration holds. Meanwhile various murderous northern supremacist and hardline Fulani extremist groups, all armed and “fully loaded”, have stated their intention to kill every southerner in the north unless and until RUGA is accepted and implemented in the south. They are filled with hate, they have arms, they are racists, they are ethnic supremacists, they have a publicly-stated murderous intent and they have already killed many in the south, the Middle Belt and even in the north itself yet you did not see fit to arrsst even ONE of them or declare them as terrorists. It is those that do not kill, that do not have arms and that do not threaten to kill that you threaten with treason, detain, jail, kill and call terrorists like IPOB, IMN, the civil rights groups and activists and members of the official opposition. I am constrained to ask you, why are you such a coward? Why do you always target those that cannot fight back, that do not kill, that do not threaten the peace and that do not carry arms? The only thing they have are their words, their feet, their hands, their pen and the courage of their convictions yet you are so intimidated by them and so frightened of them simply because you cannot bear to be exposed for what you are. You silenced and clamped down on the official opposition, on IPOB, on IMN and on all the civil rights groups but you bow and tremble before the Fulani herdsmen and covertly protect and support them whilst you pamper Boko Haram, secretly empower them and fight against them with kid gloves. You do not even honor our gallant soldiers that fought Boko Haram in battle but instead you bury them like stray dogs in unmarked mass graves after they are killed on the frontline! Meanwhile your military commanders are openly telling Boko Haram fighters that if they put down their arms they can end up being President of Nigeria! That is the pitiful level thst you have dragged your nation and the Nigerian military to. I must ask you: why this glaring double standard? Why are you such a bully and why are you so hell bent on dividing and destroying Nigeria? I guess that you have already achieved that objective because I doubt that our country can ever be the same again but yet you are still not satisfied. You want to do more! You want even more turmoil, strife, division, violence, mayhem, confusion, slaughter, carnage and conflict and you are trying desperately to provoke a violent reaction from your targetted victims and those that you secretly hate and despise. This surely is the work of the devil and you sir are satan’s demonically-annointed and satanically-inspired emissary. I warned the country about you before and during the presidential election in 2015 but they would not listen. People like President Olusegun Obasanjo, General Ibrahim Babangida, General Abdulsalami Abubakar, Chief Ernest Shonekan, Professor Wole Soyinka, Sheik Ibrahim El Zak Zaky, Mr. Omoyele Sowore, Pastor Tunde Bakare, Vice President Atiku Abubakar, Senator Bukola Saraki, Mrs. Oby Ezekwezile, Mr. Femi Falana SAN, Chief Dele Momodu and many others supported you then but I, by divine insight and prophetic perception, saw through you, knew what you stood for, knew what you planned to do and knew what you represented. So did my friends and brothers Mazi Nnamdi Kanu, Governor Ayo Fayose, Lt. Colonel Abubakar ‘Dangiwa’ Umar (rtd), Pastor Bosun Emmanuel and a few of our fathers in the Lord like Bishop David Oyedepo, Pastor Ayo Oritsejafor, Prophet T.B. Joshua and a number of others. Even the leadership of the PDP at the time and top members of President Goodluck Jonathan’s administration, with the possible exception of Prince Deji Adeyanju and Pastor Reno Omokri, did not see you for the great evil that you are at that time but now they all do. The bad news is that you are going to plunge Nigeria into a major crisis and conflict and a terrible, protracted and bitter civil war which most do not see coming and which no-one wants or prays for but which will come if you do not change your ways or if you are not stopped. This is very sad. It is a great tragedy yet that is precisely what you secretly crave for and want. Bloodshed, the suffering of others and turmoil brings you and your supporters pleasure and joy but permit me to tell you this: warmongers, bloodthirsty and blood-lusting sadists and evil men never end well. This matter and this story will not end the way you want or expect it to. Your power is not divine: it is temporal and temporary. Others have come and gone before you and you will go in the same way as them: in God’s way and in God’s time. We are not violent and lawless revolutionaries or irresponsible and reckless anarchists and neither do we believe in doing anything outside the constitution or the law. We are committed democrats and great believers in the rule of law, the constitution and the democratic process. We are also believers in the power and efficacy of the Lord of Hosts, the Alpha and the Omega and the Ancient of Days and we know that sooner or later, no matter how long it takes, He will honor His word and make all things beautiful in our country. In the end the forces of light and the children of God will prevail against your great wickedness, unconsciable malevolence and evil plan to destroy Nigeria and throw our people into a cauldron of raging fire. You can lock us all up and torment us for as long as you want. In the end you shall fail, you shall fall and you shall be ashamed and God’s counsel alone shall stand. Those of us that oppose you from the heart, spirit and soul have lost all sense of fear. We will stand against you until the end of time. We will sacrifice all, including our very lives, if that is what is required for us to break our chains of servitude and slavery and win our freedom. Our message to you is simple and clear: do your worse because we expect no less. God gives and God takes, blessed be the name of the Lord. Permit me to conclude this contribution with the following. It was brought to my attention that my friend and brother Governor Nyesome Wike of Rivers state condemned the planned demonstration and put the security agencies on full alert to arrest anyone that dared to come out to protest in his state. With the greatest respect to my brother I believe this was wrong and that it was a mistake. He and I both know that Sowore does not have the intention or the capacity to effect a violent revolution and that the planned protest would only have been a revolution in name. It would have been a harmless exercise, with relatively small numbers and an opportunity for the activists that often collaborate with Sowore to come out and express themselves. It would have begun and ended there without much drama and rather like the harmless protests about the Chibok girls at Unity Fountain in Abuja. There is not a hope in hell that it would have turned into a violent attempt to overthrow the Government and, as far as I am aware, neither was that ever the intention. I suspect that the reason Wike has taken the position that he has taken and the reason that so many other leading figures in the official opposition PDP has taken a queue from him and distanced themselves from the protest is because of their personal dislike and disdain for Sowore who really has very few friends in the political class or in the ranks of the official opposition party. Yet I believe that those that have fallen into the trap of not standing by Sowore or speaking up for him when they know that he is being treated unjustly, his rights are being violated and he is suffering persecution are being shortsighted and naive. In a time of crisis and especially when we are contending with a dangerous and merciless despot we all need each other regardless of how we feel about one another or whatever contentious issues, conflicts, disagreements and fights we may have had in the past. That is common sense! In a time of war my enemie’s enemy, out of expediency, necessity and good old-fashioned pragmatism, automatically becomes my friend. Failing to grasp that point and holding on to it could prove to be fatal to our collective cause and objective. No man can take on Government on his own: we all need each other. Permit me to go further. If anyone should have an axe to grind with Omoyele Sowore that person is me. He has never been my friend, I have never met him and I have never liked him. He has offended me on many occasions and he has also offended many of my closest friends, political associates, family members and relatives. Worse still his website, Saharareporters, which has a massive reach all over the world, has slandered, libelled, villified and defamed me and mine more than any other media outlet in the world and has consistently done so since 2005! There is no love lost between us but that does not mean that I will remain silent, sit back and gloat when his rights are being violated or when he is suffering persecution from a Government that can, at best, be described as paranoid, vicious, cruel, desperate, mendacious, relentless and dangerous and, at worse, genocidal, murderous and evil. When I was detained in a specially built Boko Haram terrorist facility (which only had Boko Haram suspects and convicts in it) at Kuje prison in 2016 and my life was purposely put in danger Sowore, his Saharareporters and some of his colleagues and activist friends made mockery of me. I was reliably informed that some of them were hoping and praying that I would be killed or maimed by the terrorists whilst I was there. I have little doubt that that was Buhari’s intention and desire as well and it would have surely come to pass had the Lord not been with me. Yet I will not repay Sowore in the same coin. Only fools mock others when they are going through hard times, challenges, difficulties and travails and this is especially so when they are going through those travails and hard times for a noble and worthy cause. It is enough vindication that the same people that he was once in bed with, that he once collaborated with, that he helped bring to power and that he once wined and dined with are now humiliating, demonising and terrorising him too. The same people that have continously insulted, persecuted, villified, demonised and denigrated me and mine for the last four years are now persecuting him as well. To hear about him being roughed up, dragged out of his home, arrested in the middle of the night and detained by the DSS and to hear that there is a possibility that he may be faced with a charge of treason or treasonable felony for doing no wrong does not give me joy. Instead it saddens me and confirms my greatest fear that the Buhari administration has lost its marbles, gone totally insane and is capable of doing absolutely anything to those that it perceives and it regards as being its critics, its adversaries and its enemies. It is Sowore today but it could be anyone else tomorrow. And neither do you have to break the law or do anything wrong before they come for you. As one of my tormentors and jailers eagerly and gladly told me when I was in detention for three months in 2016, he said, “We know you have done nothing wrong but we can keep you here for as long as we like and charge you to court for breathing air if we choose. Whatever it is you will spend the next few years trying to clear your name even though you have done nothing wrong”. He concluded by saying, “We are here to torment you and that is what we are going to do. In case you make it out of here alive and you are still whole, if you like keep criticising and abusing Buhari: we will bring you back and teach you the lesson of your life!” That is the deplorable and degenerate mindset of our collective oppressors and that is why it is important for us all to stand up and speak up for one another in trying times, whether we like each other or not. There is nothing illegal in conducting a peaceful protest, even if you choose to call it a revolution for the purposes of theater and drama. You don’t plan a revolution and an armed insurrection and sleep in your home! As long as it is only a demonstration and nothing more there is absolutely no reason why the Buhari Government should behave like the bunch of cowardly, paranoid, lily-livered and vicious Nazis that we know them to be. By arresting and detaining him they have only made Sowore more relevant and more popular. If that were not the case I would not be moved and honored to lend my humble voice to his cause and to join millions of others from all over the world to call for his immediate release. He is not my friend and I do not like him yet on this matter I stand shoulder to shoulder with him. May God guide and protect him and may he be returned to the land of the living at the soonest.

http://icechuks2.blogspot.com/2019/08/revolution-in-nigeria-sowore-and.html

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Shock: “Ashamed to be Korean” gives a report on the Moon scam

September 30, 2012

This has been incredibly hard to do, but I have decided to sacrifice my national pride, personal interest and loyalties to start telling the truth about the complicated religious scams of the Moons and the so-called “Unification Movement”. [Now re-branded as the Family Federation for World Peace and Unification.]

Why? Because I guess I discovered that I still had some conscience left alive somewhere inside of me, so I decide to come out and tell the truth and before it shrivels up totally. Another reason for me to come out is the tragic and shameful truth that the Moon scam is paid for in blood, poverty, misery, sickness and death by a slave class of Japanese who have been, and continue to be, what must be the most hapless class of religious scam victims in history. This is worsened by the fact that the victims have been deliberately and cynically scammed by a group from another country.

I have no love or respect for the Japanese, and like most Koreans, I have rarely missed an opportunity to gloat at any Japanese misfortune with other Koreans but I guess I have to draw the line somewhere.

It is my intention to tell the truth about the Moons and the Korean feudal ‘aristocracy’ from the position of an insider in the hope that those members who still have enough of a vestigial conscience left functioning in themselves can know the unvarnished truth and fully understand the crimes that have been, and are still being, committed and either help stop the crimes from being committed, or at least walk away and not contribute even silently to these crimes.

I intend to submit a series of posts that share the secrets and insider knowledge that is not supposed to be shared outside of the inner circle, and provide enough information for decent people to make their own minds up.

It has been said that one of the problems with the Moon Church is that every country projects their own image of what they want the “Messiah” to be; The Japanese see an emperor to grovel to and worship, westerners saw Moon as the the second coming of Jesus, while for the Koreans a conquering King that will elevate Koreans above all other nations (you might as well know we think we are superior to the rest of the world physically, spiritually, intellectually, and culturally). Therein the problem starts, Moon’s genius was to able to manipulate facts and myths and lies to divide and conquer and get exactly what he wanted for him and his family and for Korea which has created the core culture and operating practice of the movement: Deception.

Some people may think that the Divine Principle is the religious doctrine of the ‘church’, but it is nothing more than a recruiting tool. The real ‘religion’ is like an onion, with separate layers of rules, requirements and benefits. The easiest way to understand the game is to realize that Moon wanted to set him and his family as a royal family governing as a theocracy from day one. His goal was to control all power, money, laws and rules, at least as much as he could get hold of.

The theocracy works by strict hierarchy with the Moons as the top royals, the Korean blood relatives as the minor royals, the rest of the Koreans as the aristocracy and top officials. The rest of the nations are all in the position of servants. The only absolute in the Moon church is the position of the Moons and the loyalty demanded from the members

Have you wondered why all top posts involving power and money are controlled by Koreans?

Do not be fooled by the fact that we trust the Japanese more than our own and use then nominally to hold assets and the like – that is only because they are totally obedient.

What Moon and his family fear the most is meritocracy, God forbid if there was a level playing field, the whole game would be blown sky high. It is fantastic for us though, to have rules applied not only in a selective way but completely differently to always ensure the Moons and ourselves are on top.

My greatest personal amazement is how supposedly educated people in advanced countries have bought the enslaving myths of Moon that have in fact been precisely tailored for them without them realizing the utter insanity and nonsense of coexistence of completely contradicting realities and myths and rules, without even acknowledging the irony of it all! Maybe we are much cleverer than you.

The Japanese have bought the fantasy of Eve Nation, when in reality there never was and still is absolutely no intention to use them for any purpose other than for donations and slave labor. If and when they are no longer needed they will be dropped like a dirty habit in favor of another country (if one was available), this threat has been constantly drummed in to their heads to keep them desperate and obedient.

What they do not realize is that in private Sun Myung Moon, when he was alive, HJH and all the Moon children and we 2nd gens in the inner circle not only have no respect for Japan and instead gloat at the way in which Korea has been taking over Japanese business, laugh at the Japanese members and refer to them in really raw, rude ways. We see it as a rightful revenge for what we think they did to us. On the other hand, we never fail to remind them of the indemnity they need to pay to us.

I have heard Japanese old members emotionally talk about how they will accept anything because they had felt loved by “Aboji” at some time. When they say this, they remind me of rabbits caught in the headlights, totally bamboozled by the Korean charismatic gift for delivering shameless emotional appeals at 1000 horsepower. The reason they were taken in is because they had only ever experienced emotion in Japan at 100 horsepower before meeting Moon, so they are convinced that 1000 horsepower emoting must be the real thing.

Given the Japanese unfortunate penchant for masochism, perhaps it is not surprising that they have been fooled, but I am truly amazed that more Westerners have not been able to see through this scam.

My jaw drops as members still refer to the Moons as “True”, as an unending string of evidence of their unbridled wickedness and hypocrisy appears on this and other sites, it makes me giggle involuntarily, as I watch Westerners falling over themselves to justify or deny their crimes contorting themselves to deny the truth.

My only explanation for it is commitment bias, nobody wants to admit they have been fooled. Please read the facts honestly and use your conscience to decide what to do. Remember the laws of physics and math, the laws of countries and most importantly of all the laws of morals and values either apply equally and universally or not at all.

Members have been trained like Pavlov’s dogs to do our (more accurately the Moons’) dirty work for us. Foreign members justify our crimes with that precise get-out-of-jail-free card that the whole Moon scam relies on.

Ontological difference. The rules apply differently to the “True Family”. The nightmare myth of the “True” Father and even worse the “True” Family implies that every lie they tell, and whatever crime or wrongdoing they commit in fact is not wrong.

Why?

Firstly, any negative fact about them is a lie, if it is proved beyond doubt that it is inconveniently true, then? “Anyway you cannot judge!” “You have no right to judge!” You did not know there is a providential reason for it? Even better it is “YOUR FAULT!”, your lack of faith caused the True children to do the act.

I have do admit with a sideways grin that only Koreans would have the guts to come up with this kind of bullshit.

Do you know why even Western members have bought this kind of nightmare parallel universe type logic? Because we have trained you to believe that the Moons and the Koreans are ontologically different to you, and therefore different rules and interpretations apply to us.

Once you buy and propagate this scam you have lost your soul and are enslaved to the extent you aid and abet any action that helps the Moons and their businesses.

Japanese translation: 韓国人であることが恥ずかしい

Barbara Underwood, left, 25, and Leslie Brown, right, 24, shown March 31, 1977 in San Francisco, former members of the Rev. Sun Myung Moon's 'faithful five' said all they needed to break away from Moon's Unification Church was a few days free of 'mind control.' (Photo: AP)

Laser on the Moon family scam by Ashamed Korean

The Divine Principle Deception

Indemnity is a Moon Trap

The Frightening Power of Obedience to Authority

The Moons’ Jets and Helicopters

“The entire movement was built on a lie” Annie Choi

Japan gave Korea $800 million in 1965 as reparations for the occupation

Faced with the acutely disturbing reality of the Unification Movement…