#and i feel like my message will help a company move towards better rhetoric | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kinktae · 5 years

Text

flesh and blood || 2 (M)

You are living in a society that is just now picking up the scraps that the Great Outbreak left behind after the government killed off the majority of the zombies. Still, some remain, and fear still lies within society’s walls. So imagine your surprise when the very thing you’ve been taught to fear ends up saving your life, showing you that maybe two beating hearts aren't always required when it comes to love.

pairing: zombie!jungkook x reader

word count: 5.9k

genre: post-apocalyptic, sci-fi, smut

warnings: lots of TV watching, mentions of conspiracy, joon doing some illegal shit, mentions of murder, & smooching

A/N: inspired by warm bodies and the fact that I'm a legitimate crackhead.

01 | 02 | 03

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

PART TWO

Zombies were nothing like hamsters, you had come to find out over the past few days.

It seemed like an odd comparison, but it was the only other pet experience you could call upon. Your hamster, affectionately named Anarchy, was an impulse decision on your part, a running theme in your life it would come to seem. Nevertheless, you and Joon took it upon yourself to ensure she lived up her whopping two years of life, setting her up the biggest tank you could find and spoiling her with chew toys and salt licks. Anarchy was the perfect pet; she didn’t whine or grunt, didn’t eat all the chocolate in your fridge and she certainly didn’t follow you into the bathroom every time you needed to pee.

Your zombie friend, however, could not have the same said about him.

Namjoon and you spent many a night perched on the couch discussing very important zombie matters – Are steak saturdays a bad idea with a zombie in the house? Does he have a name? Should we be charging him rent? – while the zombie in question sat directly in front of the TV, completely consumed by the black and white film Namjoon had put on for him.

“Why can’t I just put some of my foundation on him?” You tried to reason.

“They’ll know he’s wearing makeup. Your foundation is cakey as hell.”

“What about— wait, what?” You blinked, surprised.

Namjoon shifted uncomfortably, flashing you an apologetic look, “Oh, sorry. I thought you knew.”

You rolled your eyes, glancing over at your TV to find that the zombie boy had not moved an inch since the last time you looked.

“Hey, brains.” You called out, feeling playful. “How would you feel about getting a spray tan?”

“Y/N, this is serious. I really don’t think he should ever leave the house.” Namjoon sighed, pulling your attention back onto him.

“You want to imprison him? He’s a person! He has to leave the house or he’ll go stir crazy. I know I would…”

Your best friend shook his head, and although you still felt like you had a case to argue, you knew that the discussion was over.

“I know, but if we’re seen outside with a zombie… It’s just what’s best for everyone, Y/N. Better safe than sorry.” Namjoon shrugged.

Leaning back into the couch, you crossed your arms over your chest. Of course, he was right, but that didn't make it any less unfair. Even if the zombie man had yet to utter a complaint since arriving at your place, you couldn't help but feel responsible for his well being. He saved your life after all.

A noise coming from the sitting zombie caused you and Namjoon to jump; it was a sharp, high pitched sound, unlike you had ever heard come from him before.

Shockingly, you looked over at the zombie to find the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as the scene playing out on the television reflected in his dark eyes.

"Did he just..." Namjoon gaped.

"Laugh?" You finished the shared thought, a warm feeling falling over you. "Yeah. Sounds like he just did."

Namjoon hummed, tapping a finger against his thigh contemplatively. Suddenly, he stood up, heading out of the room. Your eyebrows furrowed, unsure of what he was doing.

"Where are you going?" You inquired.

"To start a Project Z chart. My groundbreaking research begins today!" His voice informed you from somewhere in the apartment.

You grinned, chuckling slightly. Bringing your knees into your chest, you wrapped your arms around them. Project Z, huh? Alright. Count you in.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

A thump against your foot pulled your eyes from your computer screen. You were sat in the living room, legs tucked under the coffee table as your ass took comfort on a pillow you placed on the floor.

"Hi, there!" You cooed, poking your head under the table as you greeted your hamster Anarchy. She had been roaming around the room in her giant clear hamster ball, one of her favorite ways to keep you company while you did your work.

The grey colored rodent continued forward, wheel rubbing against the length of your legs as she ran. Snatching the ball before she could get any further, you brought her up to eye level, her little nose sniffing at you.

"That's enough ball time for today, don't you think?" You asked her rhetorically.

Suddenly, your phone began to sound, the familiar tune of Monster by Lady Gaga ringing out for the kitchen.

"Brains!" You called out towards your zombie roommate, who was sat in his usual place in front of the TV. He wasn't actually responsive to your nickname for him, but thankfully, the volume of your tone caught his attention enough to turn and face you.

You placed Anarchy back onto the floor.

"Watch Anarchy." You pointed at your pet before pointing at him. "Don't let her roll out of the room."

The undead boy showed no sign of understanding, his eyes merely locking onto the contained mammal. He hadn't shown much interest in your hamster up until now, the TV taking up all his attention of course.

Thank god he was already a zombie because the amount of time he spent in front of that damn screen would have surely rotted his brain by now.

Assuming that his attention would not shift away from the rodent now that he was intrigued by it, you made your way out towards the kitchen, where you had left your phone to charge. You cursed as you watched the way the screen of your phone changed, the phone call ending before you could reach the device.

Grabbing your phone, you swiped it open, only to see that it had been Namjoon to call you.

Your eyes fixed on your phone, you sent him a message as you walked back into the living room.

[12:56 PM]

To: Joonie – sorry I missed ur call... did u need something?

You let out a small yelp as your toe hit itself on something– you knew exactly what it was as the sound of plastic rolling across the room rang out.

Your stomach sank heavily as you located the ball, not because you had just sent your hamster whirling across the room, but because the ball... was empty.

Your eyes widened as they found the ball's lid, lying ominously on the floor.

"Anarchy? How did–" You breathed before you realized you had left the zombie alone with your beloved pet.

A chill ran over you as you eyed him; he was once again watching the TV, cross-legged as if nothing was wrong.

"Oh my god..." You gaped. "Did– Did you eat Anarchy?!"

He didn't react to your voice and before you reason with yourself, you gripped his shoulder angrily, forcing him to look at you.

To your surprise, you were met with not just wide zombie eyes, but with the sight of Anarchy cupped carefully between his palms, very much alive. You let out a breath of relief, sinking down to sit beside him.

So your zombie friend didn't have a taste for rodents. Good to know.

"Sorry." You apologized reflexively before a chime, followed by another, called your attention.

The zombie watched carefully as you began to fiddle with that strange device he sometimes saw you occupied with.

You read the texts carefully.

[12:57 PM]

From: Joonie – just stopped by the market and picked up some human brains for dinner… JK lol

[12:57 PM]

From: Joonie – was gonna ask if you wanted something but im otw home. c u soon!

You were just about to put the phone away when something stopped you in your tracks.

Tap.

A finger poked at your screen, and your eyebrows raised to find the zombie leaning in close, attention fixed on the set of texts sent in by your best friend.

You gawked at him for a moment, unsure if he was capable of reading and understanding the words in front of him.

After a few silent moments passed by; you cleared your throat, deciding to read the texts to him.

“Just stopped by the market and picked up some human brains for dinner… JK haha.” You narrated.

To your surprise, the zombie boy let out a grunt, poking at your screen again. Confused, you followed his finger to see what exactly he was pointing at.

Tap.

His finger hovered over the acronym Namjoon had sent. Was he asking what it meant? You could imagine zombies weren't well versed in text slang.

“The letters J and K stand for just kidding.”

It felt silly talking to him like this. You had no clue if he even understood written language – or verbal for that matter.

If the boy understood what you said, though, he didn’t show any sign of it. Once again, he tapped his finger against the message, accidentally causing the word to become highlighted.

“Yes, yes, I see it.” You said, growing slightly frustrated at the clear lack of mutual understanding between you.

Tap.

“Okay, enough of that…” You sighed.

Ten minutes passed by uneventfully; Brains was watching his favorite show again, having had handed your hamster back so you could put her back and continue your work.

The sound of the front door opening caught your attention, accompanied by the rustling sounds of the grocery bags Namjoon was carrying.

"Welcome home!" You greeted, not peeling your eyes from your screen.

"Can I get some help, please?" Namjoon's disembodied voice called out, stealing a sigh from you.

Begrudgingly, you closed your laptop, trudging over to the kitchen to help the scientist.

Offering him a nod in greeting, you began sifting through the bags he had heaved over onto the kitchen counter, on a hunt for any frozen foods that needed to be stored immediately.

"Did you buy–"

"Chocolate?" Namjoon finished for you, tucking away a tub of ice cream into your freezer. "Yeah, duh. You only reminded me eight times before I left."

You flashed him a sheepish smile, pulling a plastic container of strawberries from a grocery bag.

"Did you get any work done?" Your roommate wondered conversationally. You shrugged.

"I guess. This article Seokjin has me working on for the paper is dull as hell."

"And how is our zombie friend? Did you guys bond with me gone?"

“Obviously. I mean, we're practically best friends now." You teased, rolling up a now empty bag. Namjoon gasped suddenly, a hand over his heart in pretend offense.

"You're not trying to replace me are you?" He sniffed fakely.

"Well, he does get along with Anarchy. He took her out of her ball and held her and everything." You shrugged, a small smirk pulling at your mouth.

The fridge door shut sharply, Namjoon's eyes narrowing in distaste, "You're telling me that little rat likes an undead stranger better than me? I can’t even put a hand in her enclosure without her trying to gnaw off a phalange!"

"Stop calling her a rat, she's a hamster!" A laugh escaped you, ever amused by the way your pet despised him.

"Interesting that he didn't eat her though." Namjoon continued, the two of you were nearly done putting the purchased food away. "I'll make sure to note that in his chart."

"I was surprised, too." You nodded.

"Learn anything else interesting that I should write down?"

"Not really. Just that he really likes the acronym JK. I read your text out to him and he wouldn’t stop tapping at my phone when I showed him it.” You explained, slipping a hand into the back pocket of your jeans casually.

The groceries were all stored meaning your moral duty as a roommate to help put them away was officially completed.

“Really? Interesting..." Namjoon hummed.

"Is it?" You mused.

"This could mean he understands transcribed text."

You thought back to the way the zombie had shown little to no reaction to Namjoon's words before shaking your head in disagreement.

"I doubt it."

"You said you read it out to him right? Maybe it’s zombie slang for something. Or at least sounds like it.” He pressed.

You pondered that idea for a moment before responding, “You think zombies have their own language? I haven’t heard a sound out of him other than the occasional grunt or groan.”

“Why not? If animals are able to communicate within their own species, why not zombies? Nonverbal communication occurs in the animal kingdom all the time.” Namjoon explained, once again proving himself to be the smarter of you two.

Suddenly, without warning, he began to make his way over to the living room; you cocked your head in confusion before following him.

“What are you doing?” You questioned, worried he was going to harass the unsuspecting zombie again. Often you'd have to step in and remind Namjoon that the zombie wasn't a test rat that he could just poke and prod at whenever he wanted.

Said zombie was, of course, exactly where you had left him, sat upright on the couch looking stiff and unnatural as ever as he watched his TV with a blank expression.

“I’m gonna test out a theory.” Namjoon declared without warning, and to your disbelief, he let out a loud grumble.

“J...K…” He groaned out, voice clearly trying to imitate that of a zombie’s. Oh, god. Your best friend was an idiot. He really was.

Just as you were about to hit Namjoon on the shoulder for being such a dumbass, the seated zombie unexpectedly turned towards the two of you, clearly responding to the word.

He stared at you both with wide, unblinking eyes before letting out a huff of his own.

“Holy shit.” You breathed silently.

“Well. I think I just spoke zombie." Namjoon whispered. Neither of you dared to take your eyes off the walker as a small ounce of fear began to set in.

What exactly had Namjoon said to him? Was it possible to offend a zombie? Should you both start running now?

And as if you weren't taken back enough, you completely lost the ability to breathe altogether when a corner of the zombie boy’s mouth twitched upward, flashing you both a crooked, yet unmistakable smile.

“Is he... smiling?” You turned to face your best friend only to see that he was smiling back at the zombie.

“Remind me to put zombie whisperer on my résumé.” Namjoon grinned smugly.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"No, this is mine. That one is yours." You huffed, grabbing back the stolen candy bar.

"Mine." JK repeated, reaching over for the very item you had just taken back from him. You let out a groan, throwing your hands up in defeat.

"I take it he's not grasping the concept of ownership?" Namjoon glanced up from whatever hospital file he was looking over.

"That little brat knows what I mean, he's just greedy and stubborn." You accused, glaring at the zombie who had already peeled open the wrapper of your chocolate.

In the past two weeks since you first brought home the stubborn zombie, there had been much development on his part. For starters, Namjoon and you had deducted that his name must be JK as it was the only word he responded to every time without fail.

Along with that discovery came the shocking utterance of words on his part.

Y/N. Joon. No. Mine. Sorry. Candy.

Each one was just as jarring as the one before, even if simple. Namjoon, although disappointed your name was JK's first words and not his, was thrilled. Language reacquisition was certainly something reports on zombies failed to notice.

"Hmm... wonder where he picked that up from..." Namjoon muttered sourly. At his words, you frowned.

"Excuse me, are you suggesting something mister?" You raised an eyebrow at him challenging.

Your best friend let out a laugh, "You say that as if you aren't the most hard-headed, unyielding human being to ever walk this earth."

"Bold words for someone who can't even go to sleep unless a nightlight is present." You scoffed.

"Hey!" Namjoon slammed the paperwork down onto the coffee table, causing you to roll your eyes. The zombie frowned, eyes flickering between the two humans. "That was a low blow! I could have brought up the fact that you're in your twenties and still can't drive but some of us have class, you know."

"Driving is scary!" You defended, turning your nose up at him. "Besides, why do I need to drive when I have a chauffeur?"

"You ass, I am not your chauffeur–"

"Joon." JK's gruff voice rang out suddenly, silencing the room. His eyes glared at the tall human openly.

Namjoon looked taken aback at the zombie's sudden call, his eyes flickering to you for reassurance, but you hadn't a clue what was happening either.

"...Yes?" He finally replied, voice hesitant.

The zombie immediately dropped the chocolate, hand coming up to point at you instead. You quirked a brow, noting the way he had yet to take his cold eyes off Namjoon.

"Sorry." JK demanded.

You let out a laugh.

"Wha– Are you kidding?" The scientist marveled. "Hell no, I'm not apologizing to her."

"Joon. Sorry." The zombie said once more, a clipped tone behind the word.

You were a giggling mess, hand coming up to cover your mouth as you watched your roommates interact with amusement.

"Why just me? Y/N should apologize too!" Namjoon whined.

JK held the man's stare for just a beat when swiftly, he grabbed the file that he had placed down onto the table.

"Woah– Hey, naughty zombie! Give that back."

"No." The zombified man responded dryly, only causing you to laugh harder.

JK glanced your way for a moment, taking note of how pleasant the sound before once again turning to Namjoon.

"Yeah, Joon! Say sorry." He could hear you tease beside him.

"Yeah." JK repeated after you, his head nodding in a way that was convincingly human-like.

"Son of a bitch. He's like the undead male version of you." Namjoon griped, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ultimately, he cried uncle.

"Fine. Y/N, I am so sorry, please forgive me." His eyes flew back to JK, extending his hand out pleadingly. "Now can I please have that file back?"

JK frowned, wanting to say something but lacking the necessary words to express himself, so instead, he turned towards Y/N.

You were already looking at him, elbow perched on the table as you rested your chin on your open palm. You were smiling in the way that always made him feel funny; your eyes shiny and amiable.

You gave him a nod, which was all the reassurance he needed before he finally handed the file back over to the man he had stolen it from. Namjoon snatched it back eagerly, pulling it into his chest in case either of his roommates tried to pull that same stunt again.

"Monsters. Both of you." He said in a flat tone. You chuckled, heeding his words no mind as you spotted the abandoned chocolate lying on the table that the zombie had set down.

JK watched with a frown as you took the candy bar from him, his noise of protest dying in his throat the moment he saw the way your lips wrapped around the sweet treat.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“Y/N.”

“Hm?” You replied, still concentrating on the apple you were slicing up for the zombie. As willing as he was to keep eating candy all day, you didn't want Jungkook's insides to decay any more than they already had.

Jungkook.

The sudden discovery of the zombie's full name was an unexpected one. It happened last week on a night much like others. You had just finished drying up his sheets and pillow cover, the fabrics warm and heavy in your arms. You had noticed your zombie friend had been particularly pensive that day, not chatting much which certainly was unusual for him nowadays. So as you walked into the living room, you weren't surprised to find him sitting at the couch staring out at the metal bars that ran along the length of the window as he appeared lost in his thoughts.

"Here you go. Nice and warm." You had announced, dropping the sheets onto the zombie's lap. He was yanked from his thoughts by the sudden weight.

"Nighty-night, sleep tight, don't let the zombies bite." You chimed breezily. The childhood rhyme might not apply in this particular case but you found the humor in it enough to say it to him every night.

The zombie gave you a slow nod, causing your brows to furrow slightly. It really wasn't like him to be this quiet. Lately, it had almost seemed as if he couldn't shut up; he was a human parrot, regurgitating and repeating every word that caught his interest, even occasionally forming sentences.

Namjoon deduced that this must be something of a second term speech emergence– or as you understood it, just a fancy science term meaning JK was rapidly learning how to speak.

A soft click rang out as you flicked the light switch on the wall off. The moon was bright and full tonight, it's light seeping through the window as it painted a wash of blue on the zombie and the couch.

"Y/N."

His voice was small; if it weren't for the quiet of the night you doubt you would've caught the call at all.

"Yes? Is everything okay?"

There was an undeniable melancholy in the air. It seeped through his tone and engulfed the room.

"I remember."

The words stunned you and after a silent beat, you were walking over to him, sitting down on the coffee table across from him.

"What? What do you remember? Tell me." You urged softly.

You watched as he swallowed shakily, eyebrows furrowing as his jaw opened and closed, fighting for a response. He could see it all, flashing from one scene to another in the back of his mind. There was a family that loved him. A pretty girl that made his chest tighten like it did when he was near you. A car accident. A morgue. Screaming. A group of six boys taking him in. Men in black uniforms pinning them to the ground as he hid and watched.

It was suffocating.

"JK?" You called out worriedly, noticing the way emotion clouded his eyes and how his breathing was becoming ragged.

"Jungkook." A name came out raspily as if saying it out loud was painful.

"What?" You blinked.

"Jungkook." He mourned, tears falling from his eyes. "I remember."

Your heart sank as his face twisted up, and before you could stop yourself, you stood and pulled him into you, his face finding the crook of your neck as he began to weep. You let out a breath, your hand petting the back of his head in hopes to comfort him, his hair still damp from his shower earlier.

Needless to say, when Namjoon came back from his night shift to see the two of you curled up asleep on the couch together, he had many questions.

“Y/N, come here.” Jungkook's voice insisted, causing you to huff.

'No please, huh? Typical man.' You thought to yourself bitterly as you placed the knife in the sink, scooping up the plate of freshly cut apples as you made your way over to him.

"Here. Apples. Eat." You ordered, placing the plate down in front of him. Jungkook had graduated from sitting on the floor to the couch while watching TV, truly an astonishing character development on his part.

"What are they doing?" Jungkook ignored you, completely captivated by whatever he was watching.

Pressing your lips together, you watched the scene unfold on the screened box.

“They’re kissing.” You said, glancing back at the fascinated man that sat beside you, unsure of how to approach this subject.

"What?" Jungkook cocked his head, clearly not familiar with the term.

“What they’re doing? Yeah, it’s called a kiss.”

The romantic lead and his female counterpart were locking lips under an umbrella as rain poured around them, uplifting music humming in the background. Just the kind of grand romantic movie ending all pre-apocalypse movies seemed to have.

“Kiss.” Jungkook repeated, testing out the word.

“Yeah, you do it with someone you care about. Someone you’re close with.”

“Do Y/N and Namjoon... kiss?” He muttered.

Your eyes grew, quick to shake your head vehemently, “Huh? Oh no! God no. We’re just friends.”

“Friends?” The zombie pressed.

“Yeah. We’re close and care about each other but… definitely no kissing.” You shuttered. You had known Namjoon for too damn long to even entertain that idea.

“No kissing. Just friends.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook nodded, seemingly content with the information he was just given. "But why do they kiss?"

You shifted in your seat. Was this what parents felt like when it was time to give their kids 'the talk?'

“Well… It feels nice. And I guess it's a way of showing someone you love them.” You shrugged shyly.

“Love."

Jungkook seemed to be merely repeating you rather than pressing for an explanation as he turned his attention back to the movie.

“Confusing.” Jungkook concluded.

“Yeah, well, you’re not wrong.” You mused through a laugh, bringing his attention back on to you and the way he couldn't help but smile every time you heard you do so.

And there it was again. That strange, tight feeling in his chest that he had yet to find a word for... up until now.

"Y/N."

Turning towards him, your world froze the second his lips found yours. They were soft and warm much like the hands that cupped either side of your face.

Pulling away from the kiss, Jungkook opened his eyes, heat finding both your faces as you gawked at him with wide eyes.

"Sorry." He apologized suddenly.

"Y-You just..." Your words failed you, there was no possible way to wrap your head around what just happened.

You brought a hand to your lips, fingers running along your bottom one before covering your mouth altogether.

"Gosh. You have to ask before you kiss someone, brains." You turned away from him, tone of voice serious as if to scold him.

Jungkook nodded quietly, unsure of how to reply, especially when he could see the way you smiled behind your hand.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

You were trying to sleep, you really were. But unfortunately for you, when your, admittedly good looking, zombie roommate kisses you, it tends to consume your thoughts. You felt like you were overthinking everything despite the fact that you knew nothing.

Was it a misunderstanding on your part? Did you explain kissing in a way that confused him and he was just trying to express his gratitude towards you for taking care of him for all this time?

Or did he... love you?

God, you sounded ridiculous, you know you did. How could a zombie even understand an idea as complex as love? Why was this even affecting you so much? Why did it matter?

Your thoughts were bordering on dangerous territory right now, and in desperate need of a distraction, you rang up Namjoon.

"Joon!" You greeted the second he picked up.

"Uh, hey?" Your best friend replied warily. “Is everything okay?"

"What? Yeah! Of course, I mean, why wouldn't everything be okay?" You replied, heart racing as you swung your legs against the side of your bed.

"Well, for starters, you're calling me at three in the morning? Why aren't you sleeping?"

Namjoon often went to do work late at night at the hospital for his internship; usually, it meant you got to see little of him in the mornings as he was passed out cold but this time it actually worked to your advantage.

"Oh, I'm just... thinking, I guess. How are things at the hospital?" You diverted quickly.

"It's kind of a slow night," Namjoon revealed and you could almost picture the way he'd shrug, "but I'm guessing you didn't call me to ask me that. What's going on, weirdo?"

You let out a sigh. He was your best friend, after all. Of course, he'd see right through you.

"It's just... Jungkook. He's just so different from everything we thought we knew about zombies."

"I know, right? He's nearly completely fluent now, don't you think?"

"No, it's more than that." You furrowed your brows, laying back on your bed. "He's just– I mean he's got... emotions and preferences and memories. I think he might even... Ugh, nevermind I’m just overthinking.”

"Did... something happen that I should know about?" Namjoon mused. You bit down on your lip, unsure of how to answer.

"We know he's different from the others but–" You chose to ignore before he cut you off.

"But what?"

Staring at your ceiling, you sorted through your thoughts– thoughts that you had been toying with for a while now.

"What if there are more like him? And if so, where are they? Have they been killed? What role does the DEAD Team play in this?"

"Hm. I don't know... but let me see if I can find out." Namjoon said, causing you to sit up in surprise.

Of course! Research was Namjoon's whole thing. If anyone could find out more about this, it was him.

"Okay, yeah! Let me know if you find anything." You replied.

"And Y/N," Namjoon began suddenly, his tone shift slightly. "If you’re right... Wait. Nevermind, let's, uh, just not talk about this over the phone anymore, okay?"

"Oh... okay." You blinked in confusion at your best friend's nebulous words.

"Good night, weirdo."

"Night." You muttered back, hitting the end call button as you tried to suppress the uneasy feeling in your gut.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The feeling of someone yanking the covers off your body jolted you awake. Squinting, you tried to orient yourself, the lights in your room blinding your tired eyes.

"What the fuck?" You grumbled, eyes focusing on the hovering body that soon revealed itself to be your boisterous best friend.

"Morning, sunshine!" Namjoon chimed.

"Ugh, what time is it?"

"Around six in the morning!" He answered before taking a seat on your bed, dropping a pile of what looked to be meaningless junk next to your body.

“Can I just say, finding anything outbreak-related that isn’t Anti-Zombie propaganda is fucking difficult… Luckily for you, I happen to be a genius with a lot of friends in the computer programming field.” Your best friend explained cockily.

“Oh shit." You rubbed at your eyes before taking in the pile. "Find anything good?”

“Oh, yeah. Turns out you’re not the only one who thinks there is more to the zombie story. I found an archive of a forum of people like us sharing stories and conspiracies about the Great Outbreak and the government’s involvement in it.”

“Really? How have I never stumbled upon that before?” You pondered.

“That’s just it. It was an archive, meaning the forum doesn’t exist anymore, it was shut down. The whole site was shut down actually, seemingly out of nowhere. Unfortunately for whoever took it down, once someone takes a step onto the internet, there are always footprints left behind. Nothing is ever really gone forever.”

You let his words sink in, still on sleepy brain mode.

“So... do you think the government took the site down?”

Namjoon flashed you a look as if to say well, obviously.

“A lot of the thread was purely he said she said stuff, but I did find some compelling pieces of evidence. Most notably… this.”

Namjoon reached into the pile and pulled out an old copy of a newspaper, placing it on top for you to read. Printed on the first page was a picture of a family you didn’t know, consisting of a mother, a father, and two daughters. On top of the picture in all bold was the title, “FAMILY KILLED BY ZOMBIE DAUGHTER.”

You vaguely remembered hearing about this story on the news when you were younger. But even then, you hardly gave sensationalized news much thought.

“Anyway, the youngest daughter, Shelby, died some time ago from some form of cancer. There are records of her parents taking her in to get that sketchy ass drug if you remember–”

“Immortuos, of course.” You nodded.

“Yeah. Obviously, she ended up dying and coming back to life. However, instead of letting the DEAD Team take her into custody, her family somehow managed to sneak her out of the mortuary her body was being stored in.”

Your eyes grew in size, “Are you serious? Wait, how do you know this?”

Namjoon rummaged through the pile, pulling out a piece of paper before holding it out to you. You stared down at it.

“Is this… a credit card statement?”

“Shelby’s father’s credit card statement.”

You shifted back away from the paper, sitting up in your bed. You were looking at a dead man’s credit card history. Weird.

“How the literal hell did you even get your hands on this?”

“I have my ways.” Namjoon smirked. You nodded, impressed at just how much your best friend had gotten away with.

“Anyway, look at this. Five days before the entire family’s reported death, the father bought four plane tickets.”

Four plane tickets?

“Well, that doesn't make sense. If it was just the oldest sister and her parents, they would only need three.” Your brows furrowed.

“Right. But with Shelby alive again…” Namjoon hinted.

“Four tickets.” You marveled, finally understanding. “They were trying to run away.”

You shook your head, “But wait this newspaper says Shelby killed her family, right? So what really happened? Why didn’t the family make their flight?”

“So there’s speculation that the government heavily monitored the immediate family of the recently undead after their resurrection. People on the forum theorized that the government caught wind of the family’s plan and killed them off before they got the chance to flee. Clearly, they thought the family knew something they shouldn’t have otherwise they would have just taken the girl. I mean think about it, do you really think a six-year-old could overpower her sister and two adult parents? ‘Cause I don’t.”

You sat in silence for a second. It made sense. The zombie girl was already back with the family so it would be the perfect guise to fall back on: ‘Naive family takes back zombie child only to be eaten alive!’ That would certainly deter other families from trying to do the same.

A thought crossed you suddenly.

“Hey, this happened in our town. You have access to the hospital's morgue records… do you think there is any way–��

“One step ahead of you.” Namjoon interrupted, pulling out an aged manila envelope from the pile, the word confidential clearly stamped onto it.

You held Namjoon’s eyes in disbelief, wondering how the fuck you had befriended a master level criminal, before taking the envelope into your hands and prying it open. Inside were four sheets of paper. Copies of autopsy reports, with each respective family member’s name on it. Your stomach dropped as you let your eyes roll over them, realizing each sheet of paper had been signed off the same way:

Cause of Death: GUNSHOT TO HEAD

Manner of Death: MANDATED HOMICIDE

Police Notified: NO

"Mandated homicide– whoever executed their deaths was ordered to do so. And if the police weren't notified then..."

"Yeah." Namjoon confirmed grimly. A wave of nausea rolled over you suddenly.

“The family knew what we know. That not all zombies are dangerous.” You breathed, swallowing dryly. “And now... they're dead.”

Your apprehensive eyes met Namjoon's, the air thick with the feeling that you two had just stumbled upon something much bigger than yourselves– something you would not come out of unscathed.

4K notes · View notes

octalove · 4 years

Text

III: We Met

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Reader goes out, and finds herself in an alley with no one to call. An old memory is brought up. Part one and part two.

Who the fuck leaves a batarang lying around when they’re spying on a supervillain?

A week had gone by. A week where every day I tried to wake up and smile at my family and go to school and do calculus, but all I kept wondering was what kind of idiot leaves a batarang when they’re spying on a supervillain? I glanced over at it; I’d left it lying on my desk as a reminder. Every time I looked at it, I felt the sharp edges biting into my palm as his hands closed around mine. I smelled leather and the musty scent of unsettled dust in the warehouse. It was the same shape as the angry red bat on his chest- eye level with me.

How did he know who I was? How did he know I was there? How was it he just knew I’d show up to that same warehouse four days afterward in the middle of a school day?

“Tell Batman,” He’d said. If the secrets weren’t ringing around my head already- there it was. The line that kept echoing. Tell Batman, tell Batman. Telling Batman wasn’t an option. He’d lock me in the cave until I was thirty and growing liver spots. I’d never be Batgirl again. No way in hell was I standing before that black cowl and confessing two weeks worth of bad decisions.

That blue evening, Gotham was alive and breathing with the heat of something organic; rhythmic heart-beat in the muffled cars on the street, and the jazz clubs, eyes wide open in the bright, excited lights dotting the spiring skyline. The breeze bit subtly as the city shook the shackles of summer, and moved into early September.

I stuck close to Batman, almost apologetically obedient for the night as I tried to convey some sort of negotiation on my part; I’m sorry for acting weird, I’m on my best behavior tonight.

Robin didn’t so much appreciate that sentiment, because Batman’s side was his place, but patrol began civilly enough. Car theft on Nettleton (Red Robin dealt with), some questionable sex work in the Row (I oversaw and made sure the women were safe and willing), a robbery call (Batman and Robin checked it out- false alarm). By one in the morning, we were all mostly still in one piece, and lulled by the mildness and coolness of the night. I was dragging my gaze over Haytham Parkway when Oracle’s staticky voice came through the coms.

“Batman. There’s been a Red Hood sighting at the H&P in Gotham Village. It’s Falcone’s men.” Swiftly and gracefully, the three of us scaled rooftops, pillars and cell towers. We arrived within twelve minutes, and then planted ourselves like gargoyles. Listening. The Village was one of the more quiet parts of Gotham. It was all settled with blue collar, passive criminals, instead of outright violent ones. A few minutes passed. The building looked undisturbed.

“Do you think-“

Bang.

A gunshot followed by glass breaking. In a hair’s width span of time, Batman, Robin and I descended on the building and swung through through the shattered display window. Inside, broken glass littered the floor, along with disheveled items from the shop, stung around haphazardly. Two men were dead on the ground, blood around them like a premonitory chalk outline. They were unassuming men, but I recognized the patches on their matching shirts as Hadley’s Deli. They were Maroni’s men.

“Robin- the back rooms. Batgirl- check the perimeter. If he left the building, he won’t be far.”

I shot past them and into the dark, grappling to the roof for a better vantage point. From there I swept my gaze across the northern and eastern neighboring streets. Movement. Like a twitch in the darkness. I raced down a fire escape and into an alley adjacent east of the H&P. It was quiet. The sound of my own boots on the asphalt as I halted. It was small and enclosed- the shadows weren’t deep. If he was here, I’d know.

Click. And now I did.

“Easy,” He said, a rumbling, buzzing sound that was becoming familiar. “Easy.” The second order was much slower. I felt his presence as it drew closer, but I didn’t turn around. I was a damn good martial artist, but a gun would always be faster and deadlier than me.

“I just keep findin’ you, don’t I, little bird?” He stopped a couple feet away from my back. “Where’s Batman?” He asked. I scowled.

“He’s with the men you murdered.”

A deep chuckle. “You saw that? Maroni and I have been havin’ a… disagreement. He’s comin’ around.”

“What, he won’t submit to you?” I pressed, hoping since he was so keen on entertaining me, I might be able to probe for some information- figure out his long game.

“Something like that.”

“So all this. Is it just to get to Batman?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped forward. I tried to look for something to catch his reflection in- a window or something. I felt the cool metal of his gun part my hair like a curtain and press against the nape of my neck. Then, slowly, his gloved hand ghosted lightly across the side of my face, slowly, slowly, upward toward my temple until he found the button. Click. And just like that, my coms were down. No Batman’s voice in my ear. No updates from Oracle. No calling for help. How did he know that was there?

“What do want? Who the hell are you?” I said, letting frustration and anger deep into my voice. I stood cemented to my place as he drug himself around to stand in front of me, until I was staring back at that angry red bat on his chest. He’d holstered his gun.

“Why don’t you find out?” It was one part threat, one part joke that I wasn’t in on, growled contemptuously in that electronic flare that masked his voice. Whether it was rhetorical, or a genuine invitation, I took the opportunity to cautiously raise my hands to his helmet, feeling along the edges of the jaw until I found a matching set of release triggers. The architecture of the helmet was oddly congruent with something Bruce would’ve cooked up. Another mockery- like the bat.

His passive stillness terrified me. Like he knew just what was under the mask and just how I would react. Like it was all part of his plan, and I was playing my dutiful role. I pressed. A hissing noise as the inner workings went slack and released, giving me the freedom to push it up and over. When I saw his skin, then his mouth, I stopped. I stopped because he was actually letting me- and there was no reason he should be letting me except if he planned to kill me afterward. There was a long strangulation of the air between us. Gotham City- the buildings and streetlamps and gaudy, glittering marquees- seemed to quiet just to watch in anticipation. In a very coy way, his lips battled a grin. I felt like saying something witty, but stayed silent for fear of pushing time back into motion. He leaned forward, and lightning leapt in my stomach, despite myself. The dusk had alleviated, leaving only black across the sky that was rather vapid in comparison to the shining city reflected on his helm, still covering his eyes and nose.

“Scared?” He asked; quite spitefully considering my hands were trembling. Of course I was scared. But his voice was so human- smooth, but a little raspy, like anyone who gave orders for a living might have. It was low and deep, and I preferred it to the voice scrambler.

A dog barked from somebody’s fenced balcony, and some passing car shook with jaunty bass. Loud engines, sirens, honking, distant voices. The sizzling of a street taco stand. And still, somehow I was close enough to hear his drawing breath as his chest rose and fell. I went to push my fingers along the bottom of the helmet, to remove it entirely, but he grabbed my wrist.

A tiny, pinpoint red light was flashing on the breast of my suit. Batman was trying to contact me- unable to reach my coms.

“Daddy’s calling.” He looked wolfish there in the dark; featureless but a mouth displaying a cheshire grin that was wickedly snide. In a fluid motion, he released his grip on me and replaced his helmet, turning on his heel into the shallow shadows.

6 years prior

I hated this. The music, the marble, the champagne- all of it. I caught Alfred’s eye as he exchanged formalities with some distant-cousin-twice-removed of Bruce’s. I knew what he was looking at me for. The glint in his eye said it all.

Please behave, was the message. I’d already heard it twice this evening; Bruce told me how important this party was for the investors (aka, please behave), and Dick gave me some casual line about how he’d been looking forward to tonight all month (aka, please, please fucking behave).

It’s not like I had anything better to do. I couldn’t drink (no, not even the wine), and the only thing I had in common with company investors was that I was under Bruce’s thumb, too. Occasionally, some sweetly overbearing lady would appear, pinch my cheeks and pat my head, then disappear just as quickly. Thirty minutes passed as I sipped my ginger-ale and counted untied shoelaces, until I decided to find my brother. It was easy, really- just follow the laughter.

Dick wasn’t born in Gotham- not like me- but his rearing in the city had no doubt left a strong imprint. Everything about him proposed Gothamite glamour- even his voice. Far removed from the expensive private grammar lessons Bruce had bought him, he swung his vowels, and let his ‘a’s hang in the air, leaving an irresistible air of cocky, laid-back swagger. Some equilibrium between wealthy socialite and ‘man of the people’ he seemed adept at finding.

I found him at the snack table. He wore a perfectly-fitting suit of all black with navy satin accents, dark hair slicked back, and a very beautiful woman (I would come to know as Maya. Or was it Moira? Mara?) on his arm. A couple of his academy friends stood around him- freshly graduated, and so much wiser for it. It all suited him well. Not as much could be said for me.

“Hey.” He said, throwing me a grin.

“Hey.”

Maya Moira Mara excused herself to freshen up for a moment, and Dick put his hands in his pockets.

“Make any friends?” That was always his first question. I rolled my eyes.

“No. But you have.” It was a pointed jab- he and Babs had just taken a “break” and Maya Moira Mara’s silky red hair marked her as a painfully obvious rebound.

He sighed, decidedly ignoring me. “What about uh... what’s her name?”

“Who?”

“Ah, I forget. Her parents are international law something or other. Bruce works with ‘em. They have a daughter about your age.”

I just grunted. No use in making it seem like I was desperate for company now, considering I’d spent the last hour alone.

“There-“ He pointed to a girl standing alone, apparently abandoned by her respective international lawyer parents. Before I could slap his hand down and tell him it was rude to point, she spotted us. Following that, I’d look even weirder if I didn’t say anything, so after a nudge from Dick, I walked over to her.

“Hi.” I said, immediately wishing I could take the monosyllabic word back and try again. “I’m Jason.”

The girl smiled at me. A small, bashful sort of smile that you give when you’re the only people your age at a christmas party, so you slam together like two magnets.

“I’m Y/N.” She replied.

143 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Galactica, Chapter 72 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Previously: Miss Fame and Raja appeared on morning TV, and Miss Fame was visibly irritated with Courtney.

This Chapter: Violet stresses, Sutan orders some dinner, Katya chills, Raven preens, and Courtney’s Day From Hell continues.

***

“Courtney!” Miss Fame’s voice was sharp, sharper than usual. “Do you ever use your head? Or do you just go through life without a shred of critical thinking?”

It was fairly obvious that it was a rhetorical question, so Courtney kept her mouth shut, wondering what had gone wrong, what mess she’d have to clean up now.

“Hello?!?!”

“I’m sorry, Miss, I-” Courtney picked up her bags, prepared to head into the building. She looked at the cab driver, wondering if she should attempt to get a receipt for her expense report or just say fuck it. Jaida was pretty forgiving with petty cash records if the ride was less than fifty dollars.

“Do you know what happened when I got dressed for the investor lunch, Courtney? Thank god Raja was here, she’s the one who spotted it!”

Courtney pushed the door to the cab closed with her hip, trying to follow Miss Fame’s thought process, her heavy purse slung over one shoulder and laptop bag over the other.

“Spotted…?”

“A rip! There was a rip in the seam of the dress! Is that how you wanted me to show up? Looking like an absolute disaster?!”

“I-” Courtney scrambled into the lobby as quickly as she could to avoid the drizzling rain, glancing for a moment at the elevators before deciding that getting cut off wasn’t worth the risk. She opened the door to the stairwell and began trudging up, cursing the heels she’d chosen today and wondering if it would be too awful and unsanitary to just take them off and go barefoot.

“Next time you pick something up, you need to use your brain and your eyes and check the garment! Always check everything! Don’t trust anyone, do you hear me?!”

“Yes, Miss.”

“These kinds of careless mistakes are unacceptable. You’re not new anymore, you’ve been here for months. Violet isn’t around to protect you, you have to think, think!”

“Yes, Miss-”

“Luckily for you, I had my outfit from the show this morning, so it wasn’t an absolute disaster but if this ever happens again, I won’t be forgiving.”

“I understand, Miss.”

“This meeting better go flawlessly. I simply cannot take more incompetence today!”

“Yes, Miss-”

“That’s all.”

And with that, the phone clicked off. Courtney sighed, sagging against the banister before continuing on her way. Luckily, she hadn’t climbed too many flights, so she could still catch the elevator before she turned entirely into a sweaty, disheveled mess.

***

Violet heard her phone vibrate, and she looked down on the floor, her bag carefully placed under her desk. She abandoned her computer, several tabs with pictures from past Met balls open, and reached for her phone, messages from Sutan ticking in.

SUTAN: Any thoughts on dinner?

SUTAN: I could go for italian

SUTAN: I know a place that has a great fettuccine al salmone that I think you’ll like

Violet read the messages, a smile on her lips. Sutan was probably stuck in traffic or watching a presentation somewhere, her boyfriend often texting her like this when he was bored.

VIOLET: That sounds good

SUTAN: Great! I’ll order. Bottle of red too.

SUTAN: Feeling like dessert? Raja texted that she’s picking up Dominique Ansel for her and Raven and I’m jealous. The Italian place has a fantastic torta tenerina

SUTAN: It’s a chocolate cake if you haven’t had it

SUTAN: It’ll be just like our second date ;-)

Violet felt an instant blush rise in her cheeks, the memory of falling off the couch hitting her like a freight train. Sutan had been so kind about it, the man just laughing when Violet had messed everything up. She knew she was insanely lucky that Sutan was so calm and collected, that he rolled with the punches and took most things with a grain of salt, but she couldn’t help but worry if he was too relaxed.

Violet had meant to push it aside, to stop thinking about it, but Maxwell’s words from yesterday were still playing around in her head, the small comment about her sex life with Sutan starting an avalanche of worries.

Because Maxwell was wrong.

Violet did not, in fact, suck Sutan’s dick. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, wasn’t that she found it gross or unappealing, it had just never… happened.

She didn’t know how she’d bring it up, what she’d say or what she’d do, but she knew that she wanted to talk to Sutan about it, and make sure that everything was okay.

VIOLET: Can’t wait

***

“Hey, Court, how are you?” Jaida asked, entering the conference room, holding up a flash drive with their investor presentation.

“Jaida! Oh thank god, is that the final?” Courtney asked, shifting from one foot to the other. She stood next to Shawn from IT, who was crouched over the projector.

“It is, it is...at least until Miss Fame texts me with another round of helpful suggestions,” Jaida said with a grin, and Courtney closed her eyes briefly.

“Don’t even joke about that,” she warned.

Jaida handed over the flash drive, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Poor thing looked very much on the edge, her little face screwed up anxiously, a crease in her brow where no one her age should have one.

“It’ll be okay, I promise. And I’m gonna stay here with you until it looks perfect.”

“Thank you,” Courtney said, her face softening into a grateful smile. “I know how to handle all the refreshments and stuff, but we don’t usually do these kind of multimedia things. I’m so worried that I’m gonna mess it up.”

“You won’t. And anyway, I’ll be right here. I can always tell you to go back a slide.”

“Right...yeah, that’s true.”

“How’s that look?” Shawn asked, and Jaida gave him a thumbs-up.

“Perfecto. Thank you, sir.”

“Alright, great. Court, you need anything else? ‘Cause apparently marketing is having some kind of emergency with their calendars not synching.”

“No, I think I got it,” Courtney said, sounding not at all confident.

“We got it,” Jaida said, sitting down beside her to look at the laptop that controlled the screen. “Why don’t I give you a basic rundown of what I’m gonna say, and then we can even do some rehearsing.”

“Sure!” Courtney said, smiling brightly.

Jaida took her through the whole presentation, then stood up to do a run-through, making sure they worked out a signal for when she was moving to the next slide, and double-checking the investor packets to make sure all the references to page numbers were accurate.

“Alright...I think we’re good. Do you feel better?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Courtney said, standing and walking towards the refreshment table, lining all the drinks up in neat pyramids. “You can take a break, I’m sorry to have kept you so long.”

“It’s no problem,” Jaida said. “But I could use a little breather before they arrive. I’ll be back in 30.”

“Okay. Um, also…”

Jaida turned in the doorway. “Yes?”

“Well...it’s just...um, some people were talking about their bonuses, and my last paycheck was just my regular salary. So I just wasn’t sure how that all worked.”

“Oh.” Jaida sighed to herself. Of course Miss Fame hadn’t filled her in. Dammit. “Well, usually we only give end of year bonuses to people who’ve worked for the company for six months or longer.”

“Oh. Right. Okay, sorry.” Courtney said, looking disappointed but not surprised, and Jaida felt awful.

Courtney’s salary was a pittance--barely enough to be off the street in New York. Jaida knew that, and she knew how much of a difference even a few hundred dollars would have made to her. But Miss Fame had insisted that the rules were there for a reason, and it would be a bad precedent to set to overrule them for her own office. It was pure nonsense--all employee bonuses were at the discretion of the department heads and always had been.

Clearly, Miss Fame had simply not wanted to reward her for whatever reason. At the time, Jaida didn’t think it was worth the headache to push back, but looking at her sad little face, Jaida couldn’t help feeling like maybe she should have.

“But hey,” Jaida said, giving a rueful smile, “It gives you someone to look forward to next year, right?”

“Yeah.” Courtney returned her smile, trying her best to recover. “Sorry to bother you about it.”

“It’s no bother. I’m sorry I didn’t have a better answer for you,” Jaida told her, guilt still eating away at her. “I’ll see you at 3, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Jaida.”

***

“And there we go!” Raven looked up from her phone, Juju standing behind her, a big smile on her face. “What do we think?”

Juju held up a mirror, showing Raven the back of her head. She had gotten a keratin treatment, her thick black locks cascading down her back like a silky waterfall, the ends cut ramrod straight, her December touchups going exactly according to plan.

“It looks great,” Raven smiled, running her fingers through her hair, the strands beyond soft to the touch. She always got her hair done by Juju, Raven’s salon visits an excellent opportunity to chat with her best friend without kids around. “Good job.”

“Thanks,” Juju smiled. “I’ll have someone over shortly to fill up your lashes. Can I get you anything?”

“A Pellegrino please.” Raven held up her glass, Juju leaving her to stay in her chair. She didn’t really want the water, a caramel macchiato or a hot cocoa much more weather appropriate, but she had already had her first fitting for Galactica’s closing look, which meant she had to stay true to that size.

Raven looked at herself in her mirror, turning her head side to side, her brows already threaded and perfect. She hadn’t told Sutan, or even Raja, but she had started to get the tiniest botox injections, her day starting off with a visit to the doctor. It was just 5 units here, another 10 there, to make sure her glabellar lines didn’t show up and that her nasalis lines stayed on the side of cute, instead of wrinkly and gross.

Raven pulled some of her hair over her shoulder, twisting her waist to catch the best lighting as she held up her phone, snapping a pic for her Instagram, a grin spreading on her lips at how hot she looked.

***

Courtney flexed her fingers and toes, trying to keep them from going numb. Her brain already felt like mush. They were going into hour three of the investor meeting. At first, she’d found it incredibly interesting, how the new fund they were raising would help with their 2015 growth, allowing them to expand into several Asian markets and open up a whole new stream of revenue. She’d taken a few business classes in college, and while math was never her strong suit, the financial charts and projections were fascinating.

However, after several hours of this, coupled with the fact that she’d been working since 6 am, and the fact that nearly everyone else in the entire company had already left to start their winter vacations, Courtney was slowly losing her interest in, not just the meeting, but the fashion industry period.

She glanced out the window. A flurry of snow was swirling past the window--it would probably melt before it reached the ground, but it made her long to be tucked under a blanket with Bianca. She picked up her personal phone to discreetly check the messages.

BIANCA: Still getting out early?

COURTNEY: We’ll see. :’(

BIANCA: LOL, poor baby. I’m heading home now, tell me when you’re done there.

COURTNEY: I will. Can’t wait to see you...counting the seconds...<3

Courtney sighed softly to herself. The drone of voices was starting to sound surreal to her, like she was under water. She checked the time again, wishing that they would wrap things up. By the sound of it, though, no one was in any hurry to leave. Maybe I’ll die here…

“Courtney!” Miss Fame’s sharp voice cut through her thoughts and she stood up straight, back against the wall.

“Yes Miss?”

The fury in Miss Fame’s eyes told her that she’d missed a cue, and she racked her brain for what it could have been. They were done with the presentation, and she’d laid all the refreshments out, as well as clearing the empty plates and replacing them with clean ones twice already.

Miss Fame glared at her harder, eyes darting to the box near her feet, and she jumped, realizing her mistake. Miss Fame wanted her to hand out the glossy photo books of the history of Galactica that were on standby, just in case. She reached down and pulled a big stack out of the box, then quickly began handing them out.

“If you’ll open your books,” Fame said, going back to the meeting with a charming smile, “You’ll see some photos of our humble beginnings at New York Fashion week, 2002.”

I will definitely die here, Courtney thought, trudging back towards her spot against the wall.

***

Winter break was here, and Katya absolutely loved it. She had slept in, enjoying a slow morning making pancakes in her pajamas, listening to Christmas music and dancing around, since she was completely alone.

Well, not completely, at least not anymore. She couldn’t feel the baby yet, and probably wouldn’t for a few more weeks, the app Trixie had downloaded informing her that she should be able to sense movement from week 20.

Katya took a sip of her hot cocoa, a Hallmark Christmas movie playing on the TV. She had cleaned up the apartment, making sure to get all of the laundry out of the way so everything was nice and tidy for the upcoming vacation.

She picked Pearl’s bomber jacket back up, the scent of her cigarettes clinging to the fabric. She had noticed that there was a tear while checking it, Pearl often forgetting the most random things in her pockets, so she had taken it upon herself to sew it back together.

She knew she didn't need to, but she liked doing things for her friend, the small project perfect for a relaxing day with nothing important on the agenda.

***

“Raja!” Raven couldn’t keep in the shout of happiness as she finally finally heard the front door open and click shut. She rushed to the hallway, making sure not to trip over her dress in her heels. “You’re home!”

“Hey Princess,” Raja smiled, taking off her coat, specks of snow in her long hair, revealing one of her office suits underneath. “You look perfect.”

“Mmh?” Raven grinned, her fiancée’s eyes sweeping over her body, appreciating the brand new outfit she had put on. “You think?”

“I know,” Raja hung her jacket up, and Raven stepped up, wrapping herself in Raja’s arms, a moment of complete peace washing over her.

Raja was home for the holidays, almost two wonderful weeks ahead of them with no work, minimal obligations and parties except New Year’s, all followed by their annual trip to Aspen.

It was Raven’s favorite time of year, for the simple reason that she had Raja’s undivided attention, and that was why she had picked New Year’s Eve as their wedding date. It was a little stressful that she only had about a year left to plan, but she knew that the night would be perfect, no matter what.

“Did you remember dessert?” Raven looked up at Raja, the fact that she was still taller than her even in heels insanely hot.

“Of course I remembered dessert,” Raja grinned, the Dominique Ansel box on the little hallway table, “I got your favorites.”

“I love you,” Raven smiled, getting up on her toes to plant a kiss on Raja’s lips.

“Are you talking to me or the pastries?”

“You,” Raven rolled her eyes, Raja as always teasing her, “...and the pastries.”

***

“So, what are we in the mood for?” Sutan asked. He sat down on the couch, placing the chocolate cake and the two forks on the table before grabbing the remote to turn the TV on. “A Christmas movie?”

He waited for a beat, and then another, no reply coming.

It was normal for Violet to be on the quiet side, common for her to come home from work and need time to unwind and reset before she could be present, his girlfriend not saying much during dinner.

What wasn’t normal was for Violet to ignore him outright, and Sutan couldn’t help but feel worried.

“Violet?” He sat up, looking over at her. She was tapping her fingers against her leg, looking straight ahead, her lip between her teeth. “Is everything okay?”

“Does it bother you that I don’t suck dick?”

“What?” Sutan spluttered, nearly choking on air, the question taking him by complete surprise.

“Does it bother you?” Violet twisted her body, her knees knocking against his as she turned towards him.

“Why are you asking?” Sutan knew it wasn’t what he should focus on, but he hadn’t expected Violet to ask that, hadn’t figured that a sex thing was what had twisted her into a knot, though the direct and blunt approach was exactly her.

“Answer my question.”

“I’m very satisfied with our sex life.” Sutan turned the TV off, commercials in the background not what he needed at the moment. “So no. It doesn’t bother me.” He was being completely sincere, the lack of Violet performing oral not something he had thought about except in brief fantasies here and there.

But it was just that, a fantasy.

A tantalizing and sexy fantasy for sure, but when it came down to it, not getting blow jobs was a miniscule price to pay in exchange for Violet, Sutan much more concerned with making sure that his girlfriend was having a good time, and that she was into what they did in bed.

“I simply assumed you wouldn’t enjoy it.”

“Okay.” Violet bit her lip, and Sutan moved closer, putting his arm on the back of the couch.

“Why are you asking? Is everything okay?”

“Maxwell made a comment at work.” Violet pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, looking at Sutan’s chest instead of his face.

“And?” Sutan reached out, gently putting his hand on her shoulder.

“I just figured, I never really…” Violet sighed, tugging at the edge of her skirt, Sutan rubbing his thumb up and down. “Offered, and I hadn’t considered…”

“Violet. Good sex, is sex that makes everyone feel good, and I like, no, I love, making you feel good.” Sutan smirked, watching the prettiest blush bloom on Violet’s cheeks, but this time, she didn’t shy away, didn’t look down, instead, she met his gaze straight on, their eyes locking together.

“I want that too. To make you feel good.”

“Is this your way of offering?” Sutan raised an eyebrow, “To experiment with blow jobs I mean.”

“Yes,” Violet nodded. “I think I could enjoy it with you.”

“If you want it,” Sutan smiled. “I want it.”

***

As Courtney helped Miss Fame into her coat, she could feel her will to live come surging back, the end of the day so close now that she could taste it. She’d already brought the many gifts from Miss Fame’s friends and associates downstairs to her car and in a remarkable display of generosity, Miss Fame had even handed Courtney one of the bottles of Veuve to take home herself.

“Merry Christmas, Miss!” Courtney exclaimed happily as she settled back down at her desk to take care of her last few tasks of the year.

“Yes. Make sure that those sketches get to Trixie before you leave. Goodnight.”

“Sure thing!” Courtney called after her, waving as she rounded the corner. The sketches. She knew she had the sketches earlier. Where were they?

She searched the mostly empty surface of her desk, stomach lurching when she realized what must have happened. The cab. She left them in the cab. Her sunny smile dissolved, color draining from Courtney’s face as she realized how absolutely fucked she was.

Miss Fame almost never did her own sketches any more. These were rare and precious; Courtney recalled how angry she’d been earlier in the day at simply the thought of a crease in the pages.

How could Courtney have been so utterly careless?

Original sketches from Miss Fame of Galactica floating around a random NYC taxi was a nightmare. She wracked her brain, trying to remember the cab company, and found her head absolutely empty of any details, devoid of anything that could help.

And of course, she didn’t have a receipt, because she’d been in such a rush to get upstairs, which meant no evidence, nothing to go off of.

She frantically searched for the numbers of any local cab companies and began the tedious task of calling them to track down the priceless unmarked envelope.

Nearly two hours later, throat hoarse from crying, she had to finally admit defeat.

Nobody had seen the envelope, and the chance of her getting a call back with good news was looking slimmer and slimmer as the dispatches closed for the day. She picked up her phone, knowing that she’d be seeing a whole bunch of increasingly concerned messages from Bianca.

There was no way she could face her tonight. Not after she’d fucked up so immensely, done something that was sure to make her boss more furious than she’d ever seen her. There was a small chance that Bianca herself wouldn’t be mad, that she might even be sympathetic--but Courtney knew that she absolutely didn’t deserve that.

Just to be certain, she waited until she was on the subway before responding to her messages, texting a simple ‘I can’t make it’ and then adding ‘I’m so sorry’ before shoving the phone back in her bag and riding the rest of the way to the Bronx with her head in her hands, cursing herself over and over.

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #vitan #bitney #raja x raven #courtney act #miss fame #violet chachki #raja gemini #jaida essence hall #raven #jujubee #bianca del rio #katya zamolodchikova #lesbian au #m/f au #fashion au

5 notes · View notes

doodling-doodler · 5 years

Photo

THE LOUDEST SHOW FANFIC

(PLEASE READ THROUGH THE WHOLE POST)

Woah Woah Woah Woah Woah Woah Woah Woah Woah

Ladies and gents, this is the moment you've waited for (woah)

Doodling Doodler here with a special message for all you guys! I. AM. BACK!!! I also have exciting news. Remember that little project I got? What was it… ah! The Loudest Show! Well guess what! The first chapter is out now!!! What are you waiting for? Looking at the art? Thank you by the way. Part of the first chapter is just down here. Oh wait before you do I give you ivanthestoryteller who wants to give you all 2 special messages. One just down here and the other all the way at the end of this post.

1vanth30s0m3/ivanthestoryteller: I’m not going to take up your time too much here. It’s been awhile since my last story wrapped up and here I am again. I’d like to thank doodler for the opportunity to work on this story. I understand that someone else has also been writing about this AU from doodler and I want it to be known that I’m not trying to steal ideas or even ride that person’s coattails. I simply wish to tell a good story. Hopefully you’ll stick around for the ending notes since I want to use that space for a more productive reason and will try to stick to those when I write out any more notes. Please enjoy the first chapter.

(Please come down and visit)

Story: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/8482143/

Tumblr: https://ivanthestoryteller.tumblr.com/

Chapter 1 What is a man?

A young Lincoln waited on the couch in the reading room, just as his mother had instructed him. He tugged at the collar on his shirt, trying to loosen it so he wouldn’t feel strangled. The day was warm and the manor was just as such. He finally heard the clacking of shoes on the wood floor and turned to see his parents leading a girl who appeared two, maybe three years older than him. They all stopped in front of the couch, the girl standing in front of them. She had buckteeth and her hair was drawn into a braid. Lincoln didn’t know why she was there and eagerly awaited.

“Lincoln, as you know,” his father began, “we have considered how to go about your education. We finally have decided that a private tutor is the best option for you. However, we also know that you need other children to play with,” his father looked down and gestured towards the girl, “so we also decided to hire an apprentice to the maids. She will live here with the rest of the staff and fulfill her duties, but she will also be here to help keep you from feeling lonely.” The girl was wide-eyed, looking very nervous at the prospect of the future that awaited her. Lincoln only looked curious, stuck in a state of wonderment.

“Go on, Lincoln, say hello,” his mother instructed.

“Hi, I’m Lincoln,” he said.

“Hello, my name is Luan,” the girl said with a curtsy.

“Now, I do think it best for the two of you to get to know each other, so would you kindly show her around, Lincoln?” his father requested. Lincoln got off the couch and began an impromptu tour of the manor. He showed her every room, asking bits and pieces, not sure of what to really say. She was just as quiet, unsure of herself when responding. She noticed he was developing buck teeth, even if it was early, much like her. That was something they at least had in common.

“Why did you want to become a maid?” Lincoln asked. It was the only thing that felt right to say when he exhausted what little small talk he knew. She waited for a moment.

“My mom made me,” she replied, saddened. Lincoln only grew more curious to the answer.

“Why did she make you?” They had stopped in the middle of the hallway on the way to the north wing.

“She wanted to see me in a better place that would help take care of me,” Luan said. Lincoln was sure that he didn’t want to press that issue too much.

“Do you want to be with her?”

“Yes.” Luan looked at the floor. Lincoln thought quickly.

“Where are you from?” She looked up, her face reverting back to nervous.

“Royal Woods,” she spoke quietly, her voice distracted from her mother.

“Oh, that’s a quick train ride away,” he stated with realization.

“Have you been there?” Luan asked.

“No. I haven’t been able to go many places and my parents won’t let me visit places with them. But that’ll change in a few months.” He was jovial with the date for then.

“Do you want me to tell you about it?” He nodded fervently. They began their tour again, with her describing her hometown to him. He listened, marveling at her stories. She looked comfortable, as if she were in her own home and they were lifelong friends. Her voice was nice, as if he could listen to it for hours on end.

Lincoln enjoyed this memory, as he loved to remember meeting his best friend for the first time at the age of five. He enjoyed the games they played, although he enjoyed her company always, particularly when ditching their responsibilities. Though it had been a month on from when they met, they hid in a den that was rarely used by his family and just as touched by the staff. He didn’t like the schoolwork he had to do and she was trying to buy time before she had to do anything. She wore a white frilled cap, a simple gray dress, and the apron was not too far off from the cap in design. He was wearing an orange suit that was more to impress the tutor than to be comfortable.

“I don’t know why I ever have to wear this stupid suit. It does nothing but choke me,” Lincoln complained. Luan giggled a little.

“I like it. Orange seems to be your color.” He looked at her with an empty warning in his eyes.

“If you like it, then why don’t you wear it?” he jested. She laughed a little.

“I would but I’m afraid I would be mistaken for a savage, much like you,” she delivered with a wide grin. He laughed, knowing her words were meant only for tickling him.

“I’m still wondering who took the pies from the kitchen,” he rhetorically declared.

“I don’t know, but three butlers certainly found them.” Lincoln laughed harder, remembering how all three were covered in the varying pie fillings. She joined him in laughter, enjoying her handiwork. “I wish everyone could laugh like this all the time,” she said in between giggles. He looked over at her, coming down from the giddiness.

“You want to see the world happy all the time?”

“Yeah. I only wish to make the world happy,” she spoke with a bittersweet tone.

“That’s what you’d love to do, huh?” He never knew before now.

“Yep.” She pulled out something small from her pocket. He saw it had many sides, all of which were yellow, dangling from a small string. “I’ve got my wish right here: to see everyone happy and to bring it to them.” She was smiling grandly. He saw her conviction of wanting to carry out the dream and saw the item go back into her pocket. He looked on at her, wondering if her dream could ever be fulfilled.

He stared, still, his face solemn and stony. He saw the caskets, ready to be lowered after some final words. He held the hand of Lily, his newborn sister. Lincoln wanted her to be able to see their parents one last time before interment, helping to build a chair for her carriage so she could look at them. His mother’s words were always fresh whenever he saw Lily. Promise me you’ll look after Lily, he heard her say with a voice growing weaker and weaker, all happening right after her delivery of her daughter. He promised her and she gave one final breath, smiling as she heard his words. He made sure he would keep his promise, always checking on her and tending to her if he heard her.

Luan was right beside him, looking worse than he was, tearing up but not sobbing, unlike some of the staff who were. He told them it wasn’t mandatory to attend and he would understand if they wished not to, but all of them came. The mourners at the funeral were clothed in black garb. The crowd heard the pastor clear his throat and begin the last step of his job for the event.

“These poor souls were taken from us, beginning with the passing of Lynn Loud, of whom had passed away on the twelfth of April, in the year of our Lord eighteen-hundred and eighty-two. On the nineteenth of April, in the same year, Rita Loud passed away and has joined her husband. They were kind souls in life and so shall be in Heaven.” The sky was gray but no other sign of rain coming was present. “I do believe that the book of Ecclesiastes has some important words for all of us and are most fitting for any occasion. I shall now recite chapter three, verses one through eight.” He cleared his throat again. “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance...”

Lincoln listened to the pastor. He waited for the man to be done, carefully observing each word he spoke. The words brought some comfort, but he wished not for comfort. He wished he could carry on with his parents being there for when he needed them most. And now he needed to be there when they needed him most. The pastor finished his services and approached Lincoln.

“My condolences, Mr. Loud,” he spoke, voice filled with the same solemnity he kept from before.

“Thank you, Pastor Mannard,” Lincoln replied. His voice was low.

“I’ll go ahead and retrieve the gravediggers for their burial. Are you sure you wish to stay around?” the pastor asked.

“I wish to see things through and give them the first shovelful of dirt,” he replied, still low with his voice.

“Then I shall be back in a moment.” The pastor left, going to where the diggers were. Luan put a hand on his shoulder.

“Do you want me to take Lily back to the mansion?” Her voice sounded broken, trying hard to keep itself together. She noticed the staff heading back and wondered what Lincoln would like to do.

“No, let her be until I head back myself.” He moved toward their gravestones, Luan pulling her hand away. She moved closer to Lily, staying within arm’s reach of her. Lincoln stood before the deceased, looking over their gravestones to check for any imperfection.

A good wife and perfect mother, letting no one else say otherwise, he read on the stone for his mother. He made sure the words were perfect, wanting to never disrespect her memory.

A kind husband and an even greater father, he read on the stone for his father. The same case could made here. The pastor returned with his two assistants, spades in hand. They lowered the couple into the holes, taking extreme care with doing so. True to his word, Lincoln gave the first portion of dirt to his mother and the next portion to his father, handing back the spade. He walked away, Luan and Lily in tow. He could hear the movement of dirt until he could hear no more, mostly since a set of walls blocked the sounds.

“Take Lily to her wet-nurse and please tell the staff that I don’t wish to disturbed for the rest of the day,” he told Luan after entering the foyer, the door barely being closed behind them. She nodded and he went to the den his father used almost all the time. Luan did precisely as instructed, informing those who needed to know and ensuring that Lily was to be taken care of before leaving her to see Lincoln. She opened the door with no warning and stepped in.

“May I come in?” she asked, unsure if he would entertain the thought of having her there at this time. He turned to see that it was indeed her before turning back and giving his response.

“Please do,” he spoke quietly from his seat. She moved in farther after shutting the door with a soft thunk. “It’s quite surreal, sitting here,” he spoke again.

“How so?” she indulged the pleasantry, sure of what the answer might be.

“He would always sit there,” Lincoln gestured at the giant, empty seat on the other side of the desk in front of him, “tending to any and all matters that were for business. I never saw him within this room without his presence on that side.” He rested his head in one hand as he looked at the floor. “I’ll never see him standing there again. He filled that seat, but now...” He turned to Luan and she saw his facade slowly breaking down. “But now… I’m not even sure I can fill it. Not even sure I want to fill it.” She stood behind him and clasped a hand upon his shoulder.

“I’m sure you’ll figure this out in due time,” she said, trying her best to comfort him. “Maybe so, but… there’s just so much to do,” he voiced with grave concern. “I have to assume control over my father’s business ventures, I have to make sure the estate isn’t just suddenly taken away, I have to make sure Lily is taken care of, all the while with me needing to put bread on the table for everyone here.” He looked back down. “Luan, I’m ill-prepared to be Master of the Estate.”

“We all have faith in you, Lincoln,” she said to soothe his woes. “You might not be prepared but I know you’ll succeed. You always do.” She finished with a giant smile showing off her buckteeth. He returned one that was weak, but it was still a smile nonetheless.

“Thank you, Luan, for your kind words,” he said. “However, I must ask you follow suit with the other staff and allow me to be alone for the rest of the day. I apologize if I sound unreasonable.”

“Not at all. I’ll let you know if an emergency arises and requires your attention,” she said and gave truth to her words by letting him be. With the door closed behind her, she set off for her normal rounds, checking to see if anyone was in need of company or wished to check on their employer’s emotional state. She left each room since not one spec of dust or dirt could found and everyone was given the same information when she encountered them. Finally, she walked into Lily’s room, sure there was something to pass the time there.

“How is Master Lincoln fairing?” the woman holding Lily as she herself sat in the rocking chair asked. Her age was certainly not large in number, though it was possible for her to be a grandmother (albeit, a young one at that), her hair reflecting this slightly and the formation of wrinkles barely taking root.

“He seems to be doing better than yesterday but the toll is still plain to see,” Luan responded from a chair stationed near the door. “I’m assuming that tomorrow, Lincoln will wish to be left alone in his room.”

“That’s Master Lincoln. He’s the head of the estate now; you must show him the proper respect his position carries,” the woman scolded her.

“I am showing him respect. He had the title thrust upon him and is still trying to get used to holding it. He wishes that his father still held it,” Luan said, defending her choice in words. The woman sighed.

“I suppose your words have merit, but that does not mean you should be used to speaking with a lack of title in your address of him.” Luan couldn’t argue her words. For as much as Lincoln was her friend, it was inevitable that he would simply become less so and then she would either have to leave or deal with it as her only paths.

“Fair enough,” Luan submitted. “But for now, it’s reasonable.” The older woman chuckled.

“That stubbornness will either put you on the streets or take you to the top of society,” the woman said as she stifled her laughing.

“And I’ll gladly accept such a fate, Ms. Agnis,” Luan spoke with confidence. With the time passing by quickly the more she conversed, night soon fell and she, along with all other members of the manor (to her knowledge), turned in so as to rise in the morning.

However, the next day was still as dreary as the previous one. Lincoln refused to have her as company, something she had expected and so she waited for the next day, and then the next day. And the one after that. It was at long last on the fourth day that she set her mind to disturbing her good friend in his time away from it all.

“Lincoln?” she called from her side of a large door after a quick rap. There was nothing. She repeated her actions, calling a second time, still gaining no response. “I’m coming in,” she warned as she tried the knob. It gave no resistance to her entrance. She entered and saw Lincoln slumped in a chair, his clothes still surrounding him as if he had been productive through the night. He had severe bags under his eyes and the occasional snore let her know he was still breathing. “Wake up, Lincoln.”

“What’s the time?” he asked as he roused at her hand’s behest.

“Time for breakfast,” she answered. He rubbed his eyes to rid them of sleep.

“Send it up then,” he responded, beginning to sit up and get some life into his limbs.

“Everyone’s worried about you,” she informed him. He paused and looked at her, his eyes barely focused.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes, then,” he conceded, slumping forward in the seat. She began to make her way out of the room so as to give him the space for his own needs but was stopped just before the door. “Tell everyone they’re more than welcome to join me, though I suspect I won’t be down there for long,” he added on. She nodded and went to spread the news. Almost all of the staff declined such an offer, the only one willing to accept being Ms. Agnis, on the conditions that she not be served anything.

Enough time passed to cause Luan to wonder if she would have to go back to retrieve her friend when he showed up. His clothes were more put together and fresher looking, but he still had a disheveled look to his head. She knew better than to point it out, seeing how him arriving was an achievement in and of itself. He took his seat and bowed his head so as to stare at the table. Luan delivered his breakfast directly to him.

“How’s the meal, Lincoln?” she asked after a few bites were taken. It was a simple testing of the waters, meant mostly to be done in stealth behind kind words.

“Quite good. Thank you,” he replied with little life in his words. She had taken a seat beside him, something she was rarely afforded a chance to do.

“That’s good to hear,” Luan said, unsure what else to truly do. He continued to eat the meal in peace, leaving with barely a word at the end of it. Luan followed him, even after he ducked into his room and tried to shut the door behind himself.

“I wish to be in peace,” he spoke with slight annoyance, turning around and seeing who he had given such a command to. “My apologies. I didn’t see you there.”

“There’s no need to be sorry. I completely understand,” she replied. He turned back to sit in his chair once more.

“I do wish to be alone,” he said in a much calmer tone. She ignored this and went directly to him, standing by his side as he sat at his desk.

“I’m worried about you,” she said, her tone showing it. “I haven’t seen you smile in an eternity.”

“Luan, now is not the right time–”

“I’m not leaving until I see a smile on your face, Lincoln.” She delivered the ultimatum and he knew that he was in for a fight to be rid of her. “Did you hear about the man wandering a police station? Apparently when he was stopped and asked why he was there, he said he didn’t have the faintest clue.” She saw the twinges of a smile touch the edges of his mouth and used this as a hope to keep pressing on. “Did you hear about the other man wandering the police station? He was trying to find someone to talk to about his pole’s lease”, she delivered, allowing a smile to touch her lips. Lincoln was trying quite hard to suppress the smile he was developing.

“Please, Luan,” he begged. She ignored him.

“Three men and a dwarf walk into a bar,” she began. A knock at the door to the room interrupted her. They both looked toward the door.

“Enter,” Lincoln called. The door opened to reveal a member of staff, a butler by the name of Drewson.

“There’s someone here who requests to meet you, sir,” he spoke, his very voice unsure if he should have even alerted the Master of the Estate to this guest and instead to have sent the person packing at the door.

(Go see the other half of the story at https://www.fanfiction.net/u/8482143/)

1vanth30s0m3/ivanthestoryteller: That was quite something. If you enjoyed it, then hopefully you’ll stick around for the rest of the story. I’ve never written an AU nor have I ever dreamed I would. I’d like to take this time to say that I’m probably going to get these chapters released very slowly, so hopefully I’ll be able to keep to a schedule of no more than every three months (I’m not joking). At least until I finish everything and then I’ll up the releases. I’d also like to take this time to recommend stories to you, dear reader. The first two stories go against my personal criteria for this section, but I’ll also be putting in two instead of one, so nothing will be as I want it to be in the future as I have it now. The first story is “Loud Like Love” by ThisAccountKillsFascists. I think I forgot to mention them in the last story I wrote and so I’m just being safe here. The second story I want to recommend is “A Sister’s Love” by (current name) Outsider316. Both can be found on fanfiction.net and are great stories. I really think you should check them out. In the future, I’ll be aiming for stories with under 50 favorites and 50 follows as well as less than 100 reviews from the same site. Other than that, tell me or doodler what you think about this story either here or on fanfiction.net. Reviews and/or pm’s are greatly appreciated.

Doodler here, now many of you fine ladies and gents know I had been absent for a while well that’s because recently I have been out of a job and had been struggling to make ends meet which is not a good thing when you are the constant whipping boy of that jerk called depression. I apologized for the delay and what I am about to do. I will be setting up some of the old fundraising sites like patreon. Not looking for much nor do I have a plan. All I will ask is just some small amount like a dollar, not even per month just a one time donation to help keep the lights on.

But have no fear! I will still be producing more content regardless!

The Loudest Show is a go!!!

112 notes · View notes

douchebagbrainwaves · 5 years

Text

WHAT KATE SAW IN YOUR IDENTITY SMALL

If you just start doing stuff for them, many will be too busy to shoo you away. The 32 year old. I don't even try to predict it. The best odds are in niche markets. So why not go after corruption? Investors' opinions are explicitly tested: startups come to them for funding. Some believe only business people can do this—that hackers can implement software, but not to tell them everything either.1 If you really think you have a chance of going public. I've learned that some suits are smarter than others.2 Because of Y Combinator's position at the extreme end of the scale at least in technology. Even when you find genuinely good things to copy, there's another kind of thinking, when you're starting something new, that requires complete quiet. Most adults looking at art worry that if you take a vote.3

I haven't prepared.4 If we were talking about the taste of apples in a dish made of equal parts apples and jalapeno peppers. To most hackers, getting investors seems like a stinker to me. That depends on how ambitious you feel. The downside is that none are especially good. However, for better or worse it looks as if Europe will in a few decades speak a single language. We used to show people how to build real, working stores. That would have led to disaster, because our software was easy to use.5 Twitter is such a big deal.6 At the top schools, I'd guess as many as a quarter of the CS majors could make it as startup founders if they wanted.

Starting a startup is always calculating in the back of every art student's mind. The successful ones therefore make the first version as simple as possible. It seemed obvious that beauty, for example, are now en route to the Bay Area to find investors. I couldn't imagine why there should be any lower limit for the age of startup founders.7 When an investor maltreats a founder now, it probably has a few leaves stuck in the landing gear from those trees it barely cleared at the end of that year we had about 70 users. We also thought we'd be able to improve the odds. Even genuinely smart people by their ability to say things like I don't know exactly what's suppressing all the startups we've funded. If you actually want to compress the gap between rich and poor, you have to have a silicon valley in Germany, because you couldn't establish the level of university you'd need as a seed. A typical VC fund is now hundreds of millions of dollars.8 For most of college I was a Lisp hacker, I come from the tradition of rapid prototyping. If two companies have the same revenues, it's the one with fewer employees that's more impressive, not less.

No matter who you pick, they'll find faces engaging—practically by definition: face recognition is in our DNA. No matter who you pick, they'll find faces engaging—practically by definition: face recognition is in our DNA. It's pseudo-hip. And they may be, but they want to do it, you'll just get a lot of time and money to do it: give money to the poor, or they could become irrelevant. If a startup gets into real trouble, instead of only in the most hospitable environments. What's the equivalent for startups? Investors mainly contribute money, which in principle is the same no matter what the source. Few if any colleges have classes about startups. So the language is likely to have seemed an extremely risky bet at first, and that probably made a difference. I spent a lot of startups involve someone moving. They had, I think, is that it frees artists to try to create a silicon valley in Germany, because you couldn't establish the level of university you'd need as a seed.9

Investors like to co-invest.10 The number one question people ask is how many employees you have. VCs want to invest large amounts. Lisp. I got in reply what was then the party line should be to figure out what. I can predict quite well what sort of people, each with their own opinion; on what grounds can you prefer one to another? Is that so bad? I want to free the idea of taking this rival firm's rejects.11 The problem here is not wealth, but corruption.12 Back in 1998 our CFO tried to talk me into it. I can pretend it wasn't merely a rhetorical one.

So a software startup in Sweden is still at a disadvantage relative to one in the US this is another rule that isn't very strictly enforced. I'm not even sure what the list is, because we, ah, skipped all that. They just smelled wrong.13 Can you protect yourself against obsolete beliefs? Perhaps even more valuable: it's hard to switch from that to a product company. I'm not too worried yet.14 I decided not to, because that's implicit in making something customers want is to get a prototype in front of computers, and I don't understand x well enough. Most people who buy SUVs do it to seem manly, not to drive off-road.15 What, besides clothes and toiletries, do you make a point of packing? When I get asked in interviews to predict the future, I always have to struggle to come up with a remotely plausible story, you can compose expressions however you want. The most overreaching employee agreement I've seen so far is not very long. Watch closely how power is exercised, and demand an account of how decisions are made.

Notes

University Press, 1973, p. People seeking some single thing called wisdom have been about 2,000 sestertii apiece for slaves learned in the usual way to put it would destroy them. They overshot the available RAM somewhat, causing much inconvenient disk swapping, but I have no idea what they claim was the last round of funding.

Investors are fine with funding nerds.

You're not seeing fragmentation unless you want to get elected with a faulty knowledge of human nature is certainly part of the fatal pinch where your existing investors help you in? But the margins are greater on products.

A scientist isn't committed to rejecting it. I've observed; but as a phone that is exactly my point. Then it's up to two more investors. Vii.

Statistical Spam Filter Works for Me. And since there are certain qualities that help in deciding between success and failure, just that if colleges want to pound that message home.

If you wanted to go sell the product ASAP before wasting time building it.

Then Josh Wilson came in to pick your brains. Ian Hogarth suggests a way to explain it would have undesirable side effects. Anyone can broadcast a high school, the partners discriminate against deals that come to them rather than doing a small amount of stock the VCs I encountered when we say it's ipso facto right to buy corporate bonds to market faster; the Reagan administration's comparatively sympathetic attitude toward takeovers; the critical path that they don't want to design these, and not incompatible answers: a to make a brief entry listing the gaps and anomalies.

In 1800 an empty room, and that they don't make their money if they become so embedded that they are by ways that have bad ideas is to carry a beeper?

But scholars seem to have too few customers even if they don't, working twice as much income. These were the case.

Because the title associate has gotten a bad reputation, a market for its shares will inevitably arise.

There are simply no outside forces pushing high school you're led to believe is that promising ideas are not very well connected. The situation is analogous to the customer: you post a sign saying this is also the 11% most susceptible to charisma. Nothing annoys VCs more than one who passes. And while we can easily imagine.

Hodges, Richard. This is similar to over-hiring in that sense, but some do.

One reason I stuck with such abandon. In the late Latin tripalium, a copy of K R, and that often doesn't know its own. You have to. No one seems to be good?

Spices are also the golden age of economic equality in the mid 20th century was also the golden age of economic inequality in the message.

Together these were the impressive ones.

Thanks to Michael Seibel, Steve Melendez, Paul Buchheit, Greg Mcadoo, Harj Taggar, and Ron Conway for smelling so good.

17 notes · View notes

tear-her-aus · 6 years

Text

Karma’s a Bitch - pt 9

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Summary: Closure. That’s what you needed to finally forget that memory of your past. A memory that shaped you into becoming the person you are today. Perhaps you wouldn’t find closure, but instead closure in the form of a boy would find you.

Pairing: Jimin x female reader

WC: 3.9k

Warnings: Low self esteem, past trauma, revenge.

A/N: Hi! It took me a while to publish this part, so I’m really sorry if you had to wait a lot, but it’s finally here, so I hope your wait is worth. I really enjoyed writing this part, so I hope you enjoy reading it (if you did, don’t be afraid to drop a comment or to ask me anything! I would love to discuss with you about this series).

* - * - * - * - *

Part 9

Checking your phone in what seemed like hours, you tried to avoid one specific message at the top of your list and decided on checking others. Jin seemed to be really worried about you, considering how he proposed having a PJ at yours. Even though you wanted some time to clear your mind, you couldn’t reject the company. Besides, Namjoon seemed to be tagging along, saying how he had missed these reunions, so you concluded Jin wouldn’t bring Jimin to the conversation. All of you had classes on Wednesday noon, so it didn’t seem like a problem to any of you. It was about 8 pm when Jin came by with a cake in hands. You were confused as to why he would bring a cake but preferred not to ask. Gently, he placed the cake on your coffee table and plopped himself on the couch. Leaving a sigh of tiredness, he closed his eyes and started complaining about all the work he had to do. You probably also had a lot of things to do but didn’t think too much about it since you wanted to focus on the present, not on the future nor the past. Mimicking your friend’s actions, you threw yourself on the couch, placing your head on his lap. Jin seemed to have acknowledged your head on his lap, for he opened his eyes to look curiously down at you. You simply sighed and closed your eyes. Jin didn’t say a word, and you two stayed like that for what felt like hours until your door was knocked again. Lazily, you started getting up but Jin stopped you, saying he would go. As Jin got up, your head lost the comfortability of Jin’s thighs as your pillow, so you sat up waiting for both of your friends. They seemed to be taking more time than needed, so you started walking towards the main door. Once Namjoon saw you walking towards them, he looked over at Jin with a secret laced within his eyes. It was rather odd, the way Namjoon looked at Jin, as if he knew something and didn’t want to tell you. You stood there and stared curiously. “Hey, Y/N,” Namjoon said with his dimpled smile replacing his previous expression. “Hey, Joon,” you decided to let it go, “come in. Don’t just stand there.” The three of you made your way towards your living room and sat down. Namjoon seemed to have brought things as well, so you took them along with Jin’s cake and placed them in your kitchen counter. Once you walked back to your living room, you found yourself once again with your friends sharing a mysterious look. This time you didn’t let it pass. “What is it?” you placed your hands on your waist and waited for their answer. “What do you mean?” Namjoon said as calm as ever. “This,” you gestured with your hands, “suspicious atmosphere.”

“Suspicious atmosphere?” Jin questioned with a laugh as he turned to look at you.

“Yeah,” you nodded, looking between both of them.

“There’s nothing as a ‘suspicious atmosphere’, come sit here,” Jin brushed it off by patting the space beside him on the couch. Rolling your eyes and pouting, you sat beside him defeated.

“Don’t pout, Y/N. It’ll only form wrinkles,” Jin added with a mocking expression.

Sighing, you let the matter go and asked them how you were going to spend the night. It seemed that playing board games would be the main entertainment of the night. Netflix and chill was overrated, besides, you all had different tastes for tv shows, so it seemed playing was the answer to your boredom. Unanimously, you decided on playing Risk which was one of your favorite games. Each one of you had their countries assigned and soon enough the blood shed began. Namjoon, being the diplomatic he was, made strategic and well-planned moves while Jin and you found yourselves fighting each other with a thirst for blood. Each turn, you attacked Jin and Jin attacked you as well in return, getting to the point where Namjoon had already conquered a whole continent while you were at it. While Namjoon had Europe in his power, you were two countries away from getting Asia. On the other hand, Jin seemed to have the plan of getting Namjoon’s troops out of North America. At one point of the game you got a text message. With delicacy, you checked it to see it was Jin asking for a secret alliance against Namjoon. He stated how you two didn’t have a chance against him on your own, so it was better to unify forces. A devilish grin tried to make way on your face, but you hid it while taking a sip of your water. You agreed to Jin’s terms yet with another plan of your own in mind. At some point in the game, Jin asked you to make a final blow on Namjoon by attacking his territory in Central America in order for him to open his way upwards and finally get to North America. With expectant eyes and a devilish grin, Jin said, “Now, Y/N!”

Namjoon looked between the both of you, seemingly unaware of your treacherous plan, yet you knew it was all acting. Before you got Jin’s text, Namjoon and you had already stablished an alliance, so he was well informed of Jin’s intentions. With a grin on your face, you attacked Jin and won over his only territory in America. “What are you doing?!” Jin screamed, panicked. Both Joon and you started laughing to the point where you had to hold your stomachs in pain. Jin seemed bewildered and looked at you with a look of betrayal on his face. If you two were in a different situation you would feel bad, but games are games, and you were a competitive player. You merely shrugged and stated that Namjoon was your secret ally all along to which Jin’s expression changed from hurt to angry. You knew what was coming. He would try to destroy you with all he had. One hour and several battles later, Jin managed to conquer Oceania, yet having lost most of his territories elsewhere, he was trapped in that continent. His only country besides those of Oceania was Madagascar, but soon enough Namjoon and you managed to destroy his army there. You had to admit you felt bad for Jin. He looked as if he was going to cry, being all by himself in Oceania completely trapped by you, or in this case by Siam (Thailand). You weren’t strong enough to bring the final blow on your friend, so you stated that you were bored and that you should all do something else. Namjoon seemed disappointed since he was leading on the game, but he agreed at last when you looked over at Jin, who had a pitiful expression.

It was already 11 pm so not wanting to engage in yet another long game and being famished from the constant hours without food, you decided to cook something. Jin still seemed to be “mad” by your previous treacherous actions as he cooked in silence. You communicated in silence with Namjoon to see what you could do to make him forgive you. Namjoon simply shrugged, leaving you with no other options. Jin knew well you weren’t a hug person, and that most skinship seemed hard for you to initiate, so you approached him from behind and hugged him. You felt him stiffen and the vibrations of his voice as he said, “Namjoon, don’t hug me while I’m cooking.” At that, you buried your face in his back to stifle a laugh that was making its way from your throat. Namjoon replied from his place in the living room “Why would I hug you?” Jin seemed to register it was your body pressed against his and not Namjoon’s as he looked over his shoulder to see you there. You looked at him with puppy eyes, and silently asked “Are you mad at me?” He looked like he wanted to say ‘yes’ but the smile that formed in his face said otherwise. “How can I be mad at you when you’re looking at me with those eyes?” he asked rhetorically. Comically, you fluttered you lashes to which he scoffed. “You know you love me,” you said confidently. “Yeah, I surely do because how else could I forgive your betrayal?” he shook his head. “With a hug?” you asked shrugging. He nodded yet added “ANDDDD helping me cook.”

“Sure, besides, you are my guests,” you disconnected from Jin and waited beside him for instructions.

* - * - * - * - *

You knew you were avoiding your problems or in other words, Jimin. Jin had told you to stay away from him, but a part of you knew that it wouldn’t solve anything. It could only make it worse. You thought of the possible outcomes, and the worst one would be if Jimin recognized you, which could happen if you stopped all contact with him without any reasonable explanation. That’s why before your friends woke up, you took out your phone and wrote a reply to the most dreaded contact on your phone. Yeah, you wrote even though you knew it was a lie. The best part of you was screaming not to do this, but since the day you learned the truth about Jimin, that part was shut down by your worst part. With emotionless eyes, you added, Just a minor incident. It was rather early, so you didn’t wait for a reply, and blocked your phone again. You knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore, so you sat by yourself on the couch and looked at your friends. Knowing they wouldn’t wake up in a long time, you made your way to the kitchen to have something to eat. The day before you all ate most of the things that Namjoon and Jin brought, so you looked for left overs. You served yourself a piece of cake and started munching on it. Since you didn’t have your phone at hand, you found yourself thinking. Or was it planning? You had to figure out what to do with the knowledge you now had.

If you were being honest, you had already thought of many things to do, but one thing seemed to be more attractive than the others. While eating cake, you contemplated this plan and the consequences it might bring, yet you seemed to be focusing your attention on the positive ones rather than the negative ones. Just like the day before, you wanted to play a game but one that you were going to win no matter what. The night before you learned from Namjoon that strategy was a safe path to take in order to win. So, step by step, you started designing your strategy. You had your target in mind, yet you didn’t seem to figure out your plan of attack. Once again, the events of the previous night inspired you. Betrayal. That seemed to be the perfect weapon to weaken your opponent, yet it was a weapon that could only work if used on previous allies. Just as the saying “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” you had to design your plan. You now had figured out your opponent, weapon, and first blow to make. Now you had to figure out your biggest objective. As you considered several options to do this, your eyes caught at the decoration of the cake frosting. Beautiful colorful small hearts covered the cake’s impeccable frosting, and it seemed that as you took a spoonful of cake, one heart broke in half. It seemed you found your main objective. You didn’t know if it was the cake or your plan, but it tasted rather sweet. In concordance to the game, you had all figured out, yet this time you didn’t have any ally or didn’t want to involve any at least. This had to be your own wrongdoing that would eventually be your closure. Taking into consideration everything you learned the previous night, you now would start playing. However, this time the person doomed to lose would not forgive you.

* - * - * - * - *

The day went by rather smoothly as all of you arrived at your respective classes. Jin and Namjoon basically had to go to the other end of the university to take their classes, so you three separated ways after you arrived on campus. Just as you thought they had left, you turned around and started walking. However, a hand stopped you from walking further. You looked up surprised and found Jin staring at you with a totally different expression from before. “What is it? Did you forget something?” you asked, wondering if Jin left something at your house. “Yeah, to ask you if you are okay?” he said searching your eyes for something. You knew you weren’t okay. The wound in your heart you thought was healed was now re-opened. It was a waste of time trying to lie to Jin, so you said your truth “No…but I figured I’m going to be.” Jin looked quizzically at you, and just when he was about to ask what you meant by that, you looked at your watch and told him you had to go. He wasn’t satisfied by your evasion but seemed to understand, so he let you go. Waving at him, you made your way to your boring class.

You managed to make it on time, yet there weren’t enough spaces, so you had to seat at the back instead of sitting on your regular spot at the front. Considering all the things you had in mind plus being on the back, you knew today wouldn’t be a productive day. To prepare for the lecture, you took out your notes and pen, and just as you were doing so, a boy asked you if the seat beside you was taken. You were so focused on getting your supplies that you didn’t even look up as you answered him no. He seemed to have heard it as he sat down and did the same as you. Only when you sat up and looked straight to the board did he see you.

“Y/N, is it?” You looked beside you to find no other than Kim Taehyung. Immediately your heart constricted, but you knew that the show must go on. So, faking the most shinning smile, you greeted him, “Taehyung, right?”

He nodded while a simple yeah left his lips. “I didn’t know you were in my class,” you said truthfully. What were the odds, right? Not only did you had to meet them at the gym but at school too? Life was probably laughing at you and at your bad luck. But, perhaps you were looking it at the wrong angle, perhaps it was karma helping you out to give back what you received. Perhaps it was karma giving you your chance to finally find closure.

“Oh, me neither,” he said with a smile from the surprise of being classmates all this time without knowing it.

“How come we hadn’t seen each other?” you asked really curious.

“I don’t know,” he pondered the question, “I usually sit in this spot, so I guess it has to do with you sitting in the back?” he shrugged.

It made sense to you. You usually sat at the front and didn’t take your time to analyze your surroundings, so you probably never noticed his presence. “Yeah, makes sense, I usually sit at the front,” you pointed towards the first row.

An O formed his lips as he nodded in understanding. He was about to tell you something else but stopped when your phone screen lit up. You followed his stare and saw a new text notification from no other than Jimin. Trying to maintain a neutral expression, you looked at Taehyung once again to find him focused on his own phone with a smirk on his face. If he wanted to be discrete at all, it wasn’t working. He was probably talking to the same person that sent your text. Knowing really well that you had to answer Jimin in order not to arise suspicion with his best friend, you opened the message.

I’m glad to hear that. I was really worried something bad might have happened to you. With a poker face you thought that something bad did happen; you were reencountered once again with the devils of your own personal hell. Instead of writing your thoughts, you wrote:

Oh no. I’m okay, really. How are you, tho? I didn’t get to explain anything to you.

He seemed to be online, for he answered right away. If I’m being honest, I’m a little nervous. Nervous? If only he knew how you were feeling right now. Your nervousness only grew with his text.

Why? You typed, apprehensively.

A few seconds and his reply made way to your phone. Cause I wanted to ask you on a date, the text read. Even though you knew his real identity, you couldn’t help the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach. You felt stupid for feeling this way, really. You had to learn to set your mind on your objective and don’t falter along the way. Games are games, right? And as you proved the previous night, you were a competitive player.

And why would you be nervous because of that? You asked with a flirty tone in mind.

Because it feels like the first time… Oh, if only he knew that it would indeed be like a first time. Everything again but with a different version of you. Everything with a plan in which he was another player yet being unaware of it.

I feel the same way. And you did. It would be a first to you, playing the game of karma. Giving people what they deserved. Making them feel the pain they once created.

You blocked your phone once the professor entered the classroom as you didn’t want to seem rude and focused on the rest of the class. You did that as you tried not to think on the boy next to you and especially not on the one texting you.

* - * - * - *

Class finished rather boringly, and the sleeping boy next to you was the proof. As silently as possible, you exited the class in a hurry, wanting to avoid any other contact with Taehyung. If you were honest with yourself, you didn’t know how to act in front of him yet. Everything was still so fresh that being in contact with the two boys in one day seemed emotionally exhausting. That’s why you managed to convince Jimin to have a date in a few days by giving him excuses of nearby projects you had to deliver. You had to buy some time to plan everything out and to let your mind take control over your heart. That’s why you refused your friends’ invitations as well by using the same excuse, even though it had some truth to it; you had tons of work to do. Once you were back home, you threw your stuff on the couch and went straight to grab something to eat. Being a multitasker, you used your eating time to think how to approach the situation in the best way possible. First, you thought of the enemy, Jimin. No matter what, he couldn’t have any suspicion of you, so you had to act as normal as possible. You couldn’t keep avoiding him anymore, so these days were fundamental for you to figure out how to keep your shit together. Being able to answer to his texts indicated you were able to fake it, but to what degree? To convince him, you had to be as real as your past self, but how could you act as before knowing what you knew? You would have to figure out your new character before you started to contact him again. Just as you managed to trick Jin into believing he was your ally, you could manage to trick Jimin into believing you liked him, right? Everything is a game after all. For Jimin, your whole life was a game in which he had omniscient control, and now it was time for the roles to change. Now, you would play his part just as well as he did in the past, but you would play it with in a different way. You wouldn’t be as coward as him, who used an entire army to hurt you; you would be a single kamikaze in this mission. Knowing really well the risks of this path, it would be stupid not to know that in the end you would lose something as well. However, no risk would stop you from playing this game. Since the moment you heart faced the truth and you brain twitched with ideas, you knew there was no one who would stop you.

Changing your trail of thought, you tried recognizing alliances. Thinking in your opponent, you recognized one ally for Jimin, Kim Taehyung. Just as you had to approach Jimin, you had to approach his allies. You didn’t want to harm more people than necessary, but if they represented a means to an end, you would seize any opportunity you had at hand. Now you saw an advantage in having Taehyung as a classmate. The friends of my friends are my friends, right? It could earn you some credibility if ever needed. You made a mental note at this. Later on, you would figure out how to approach Taehyung in the best way possible.

On the other hand, you had already told yourself you wouldn’t have allies, as this was your own suicidal mission, but it bothered you that Jin already knew too much. It would be hard to hide Jimin from him, and it could ruin the whole plan if Jin intervened in some way. There was no way to get him out of it now; he was already involved. You knew you had to tell him something before you made another move with Jimin. Would you have to lie to Jin as well? You never thought of that possibility in your whole friendship, but your despair was taking the best of you, and it now seemed like a possible solution. It hurt you to consider what Jin would think of you if he ever found out you lied to him, but it also hurt to think how he would judge you once he knew what you were capable of. You pondered both possibilities and wondered if this represented your loss. If being a kamikaze in this war meant losing your best friend instead of your life. It sacred you, you couldn’t deny it. You couldn’t lose Jin, not him. Your leg started shaking as you considered this. Was this whole thing worth it? Would it make you a bad person in other people’s eyes? Would it change you? Remembering your conversation with Jin when he saw you crying after you found out Jimin’s identity, you thought back of his words. “I won’t leave you,” he had said back then. You believed him then since you hadn’t done anything questionable, but would he stay beside you after this? Even though you knew it was avoiding an important decision, you decided to figure it out along the way. Just thinking about it made you lose your appetite, so putting you unfinished food back in the refrigerator, you made you way to your couch as you decided it was time to do some homework.

A/N: Okay so I don’t know when I’ll be able to publish next part since I’ve been rather busy, but I’ll try my best to make it as soon as possible. I can’t emphasize enough how every like and comment gives me the motivation I need to keep writing, so don’t be afraid to show what you think about this series.

4 notes · View notes

pxrxllel · 6 years

Text

A Kiwi girl of colour after the Christchurch terror attacks

I was born in Taipei, Taiwan in the spring of 1997. Fuelled by the desire for a safer, less fast-paced, higher quality upbringing for me, my parents made the decision to sacrifice everything familiar to them to move to a country they had seen only in books and magazines. That’s why just over a year later, I boarded an 11-hour flight across the Pacific and settled into what would become my new home for the next 21 years and counting.

My sister was born in Waikato Hospital in 1999. The following year, I uttered my first word (late bloomer, I know). I enrolled in a rural primary school shortly before my fifth birthday. My shyness prevented me from making friends until one day a girl who had black hair, tan skin, and hooded eyelids like me approached me on the classroom stairs where I was sitting by myself. She whispered something to me in Mandarin. That’s how I made my first friend.

It took about another year to get comfortable with making white friends, who made up 99% of the student population. Relating to kids who didn’t eat the same food as me or speak the same language at home or who had pet cows and sheep that I didn’t have was difficult.

Eventually I learned to round out the edges of my culture that scraped against the identity I wanted to embrace for myself. Eating my dried seaweed in two quick gulps at lunch so that no one would see me and ask questions. Being secretly glad to be in the second best maths group rather than the top (although my mother tried her hardest at home to bring up my test scores – extra tutoring is nothing new to Asian students). Dreading my father’s Mandopop on road trips and asking him to buy records sung in English. Although Mandarin was technically my mother tongue, by the age of seven my competency had fallen far behind. Dulling my own sense of otherness was a protective measure to ‘assimilate properly’ into the culture I was now supposed to call home. Perhaps it worked; I was never bullied or picked on for my race or lack of religion despite being in a rural and largely white Christian community.

My first-generation immigrant mother did everything she could to preserve remnants of home and to fight against the greater forces of peer pressure and her children’s difficulty navigating their own fit into society during their formative years. This involved Chinese school every Sunday morning while my white friends were at church service, chopsticks at every meal, and banning English-speaking at home. She even sent me to school once in Year 3 with a pack of notecards, one for each of my classmates with their names transliterated into Chinese characters. They thought it was ‘cool and exotic’, I thought it was embarrassing. My internalised oppression couldn’t shake the feeling that they were laughing at me behind my back, that my efforts to blend in and not be seen as an ‘other’ had been completely voided by one reminder of my ‘Asian-ness’.

I moved onto high school in an urbanised area. Knowing no one in Year 9 meant I could start over brand new. The diversity was refreshing. Seeing girls around me who spoke different languages and had different experiences helped me to let out the breath I’d been holding in for 8 years at school.

I quickly found my tribe. My friends were overwhelmingly people of colour – we counted African, Indian, Filipino, Chinese in our company. I could never relate fully to the Chinese international students; even if we spoke the same language, I was out of the loop when they swooned over TV series and musicians on the charts. I could never relate fully to my fair-skinned Kiwi friends either, with their race days and baches and Christmas pudding. Suddenly I understood why my mother had formed such close friendships that were almost exclusively Chinese – they just got it. They could bond over where to get the freshest and cheapest bok choy, or which companies and services were most accommodating towards people who looked like us or whose accents speaking English were punctuated with uhs and filler laughter and not the quite the right word at times. My friends and I bonded over how our immigrant parents treated us, while appreciating and celebrating each other’s different foods, customs, and religions. We were the in-between kids, never fully fitting in to one culture or another, learning to carve out a category of our own we could belong to.

I credit my high school friends with easing my internal identity crisis. For the first time I could just be, and we focused not on how we could fit into prescribed cultural identities but how we could strengthen our own sense of self beyond our phenotypes. We threw ourselves into a variety of extracurriculars. I watched K-Pop music videos in Club Asia, performed a traditional dance at assembly with Club Africa, raced to name all 50 states in Club America. We fundraised for Daffodil Day every year. I passed auditions for choir and glee club, discussed global issues in equality club, became certified in peer mediation, played sport, and buddied up with international students new to the country. I wanted my achievements, my hobbies, my values, and my actions to be the characteristics to define me, to get to the point where, like my Caucasian friends, it was not my race but my character that weighed on me or factored into how I perceived myself or how I thought other people perceived me. I wanted to experience the freedom that Eurocentrism afforded my peers, and for a while, being insulated in my diverse bubble – that was my reality. I thought to myself, This must be what it’s like to be a true New Zealander.

Unfortunately, this ideal state existed in a microcosm. No matter how hard I tried, I would never be immune to ‘othering’ from the wider Caucasian community. My reputation as an involved and active contributor in multiple arenas did not precede me beyond school gates, where I would always remain an Asian, perhaps someone who is good at maths and bad behind the wheel, in the eyes of others and those I had never met.

The terrorist attacks in Christchurch just days ago have thrust issues not previously discussed at length in New Zealand into the spotlight. White supremacy, from normalisation of stereotypes, racist jokes, and blanket Eurocentric approaches to racial profiling and refugee discrimination to outright overt racism, has suddenly broken through to the public conversation. Pākehā everywhere are shocked that such acts could occur in what they have always believed to be a peaceful society.

But they have not been listening.

That shock stems from their bubbles of Eurocentric privilege, where they have never experienced or seen the ways in which our people of colour communities have been shown that they are not accepted. Although the majority of New Zealand does not tolerate overt racism, subliminal or passing messages still proliferate on message boards and Facebook comments in the name of ‘jest’ or ‘patriotism’. It’s what enabled a classmate at school to openly present her Year 11 English speech on the ‘Asian invasion’. It has caused strife for the Māori people who had their land stolen from them, the vestiges of this horror echoing through the public discourse centuries later and becoming normalised. It’s swastika graffiti and it’s the glass bottles hurled from a car window at Indian girls walking outside the shops, it’s how a woman told me to my face that a ‘nice little Chinese girl’ like me should be outside tending to the gardens (no shade to gardeners, they are severely underappreciated) and how even after the attacks, there are still people telling grieving Muslims they should go back to where they came from or that the death toll should have been higher. It’s these microaggressions and the bigger displays of hate that make people of colour kill little parts of themselves inside piece by piece, become overly apologetic for the parts of themselves they do not choose, become embarrassed by the very differences we ought to be celebrating, uplifting, and rejoicing in.

As a young woman of colour, I cry alongside my African, Asian, Pasifika, and Māori brothers and sisters, who understand the pain that oppression by white nationalism has brought. It has been our lived experience for years. In battling this, I encourage my peers who may look or sound or pray differently to wear their identity proudly and to be brave enough to pursue their passions and dismantle the prejudices lodged against them.

As a young woman growing up with a Western mentality, I implore my fellow host communities everywhere to be more actively supportive and appreciative of newcomers and immigrants, to take the time to learn and celebrate the new and fresh contributions they make. Equally importantly, our society must be proactive in the fight against white nationalism and supremacy, which begins with admitting fault and damage caused by harmful populist rhetoric, avoiding defensiveness, and listening to and acknowledging and amplifying the experiences of those whose lives have been shaped from oppression at their hands.

As a young woman citizen of New Zealand, I beg for less division, more unity, for equality, for us to let go of old traditions and norms that do not serve to better our society and to uphold the values that we wish to see. I wish for condemnation of hatred, intolerance, and violence, and for proliferation of understanding, respect, and love. As we move towards an increasingly diverse and globalised world, my dream is that one day my school experience of celebrating differences and living in the freedom that my Caucasian friends feel in a Eurocentric society will not just be within a microcosm, but a shared reality for all.

In the meantime, time will stretch on. The flowers in front of mosques will wilt. Public attention will shift to another major issue. The pain from the attack will fade to a permanent scar on our historical landscape. But what won’t die out are the people of colour continuing to attend Jummah, sell laksa, vend dumplings, speak their languages, sing, dance, observe Diwali, Eid, Matariki, Lunar New Year. My mother will continue to foster self-confidence in immigrant Chinese children by volunteering her time weekly to teach Mandarin. We will work hard to dispel myths about us and contribute to create a colourful New Zealand we all love. And we will never, ever let terror divide us.

The terrorist may have drawn his gun expecting to provoke division, tear us apart, and breed fear.

Little did he know that pulling the trigger would instead cause New Zealand to bleed nothing but sympathy, solidarity, compassion, and aroha.

Kia kaha, Christchurch.

#christchurch #christchurch mosque shooting #christchurch mosque attack #new zealand terror attack #white privilege #white supremacy

2 notes · View notes

diyunho · 7 years

Text

The Joker x Reader- “Take It Back”

In the last few weeks, The Clown Prince of Crime managed to screw up beyond repair, not that chaos is usually missing from his daily existence: you moved out of the Penthouse after catching him with another woman, his son is mad at him, none of the schemes and plots seem to lead anywhere since he can’t concentrate on the mischievous strategies. Yet The Great Joker doesn’t need anybody and that’s a fact: he is certainly unaffected by such insignificant matters, definitely immune to the problems he keeps on creating in his life.

“When are you gonna talk to mom?” Kase wants to know, irritated his father is not doing too much to patch up a relationship that completely fell apart after you caught him with another woman last month.

“Your mother doesn’t want to see me,” The Joker puckers his lips, displeased his 20 year old son keeps on bothering him with the sensitive subject.

“Well dad, you’ll have to try harder than this!” the young man gestures towards the paperwork piled up on his father’s desk, suggesting a solution won’t come from the maps and reports The Joker keeps on glaring at.

“I don’t need your mother!” J hisses, fumbling around with some files he moves over to his left for the lack of a better plan to show what a busy person he is.

“Oh, you don’t?!” Kase raises his voice. “How are you sleeping at night, hm?”

The King of Gotham sucks on his silver teeth, annoyed.

“I’m sleeping just fine!” “You look tired,” his son points out, aware J can’t sleep without you.

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” a pissed off parent shouts.

“I would if I could, but what you did is truly despicable! Mom is heartbroken, can you understand that?!” Kase slams his fist on the heavy oak desk, the temper inherited from both of you kicking in.

“Watch your tone!” J growls, his eyes darkening since his son is really pushing it. “Don’t you lecture me!”

The 20 year old ignores the warning and his voice cracks when he thinks about the state you’re in:

“Mom would have never done this to you…Not in a million years.” “Of course you’re on her side,” The Joker smirks, squirming in his chair.

“I can’t be on yours!” Kase almost yells, defying his father: he knows how dangerous it is but he can’t help it. “You fucked up everything!”

“Get lost!!” J snarls, barely containing his rage. “Get the hell out!!!”

Kase lifts his hands up in surrender, fed up with the meeting.

“Fine, I’m going…” he whispers, realizing a simple fact: talking to his father is useless. But before exiting the office he has one more thing to say.

“You know what dad?… You’ll never find another woman that will look at you the way mom did. She really loves you… I hope it was worth it,” and Kase quietly closes the door behind him, leaving The Joker speechless for once at his son’s accurate remarks.

“I don’t need her…” J mutters after a few seconds. “I don’t need anybody…” he reassures himself but for some reason the sentence doesn’t give him peace of mind this time around.

In the last few weeks, The Clown Prince of Crime managed to screw up his life beyond repair, not that chaos is usually missing from his daily existence: you moved out of the Penthouse, his son is mad at him, none of the schemes and plots seem to lead anywhere since he can’t concentrate on the mischievous strategies. Yet The Great Joker doesn’t need anybody and that’s a fact: he is certainly unaffected by such insignificant matters.

*************

Kase sneaks in the house with food from your favorite restaurant, saddened to find you in the same spot you were a few hours ago: the recliner on the porch, still in the pajamas, one sock missing from your feet; didn’t even comb your hair today.

“Hi mom,” your son makes his presence known, parting the colorful beads separating the living room from the terrace.

“Hi honey,” you finally smile, forced to snap out of daze.

You have a hard time getting used to the change: Kase had neon green hair until 3 days ago. He washed the color off as a sign of rebellion against his father’s behavior and returned to his natural locks: a dark blonde, the long strands reaching his elbows. The Joker pretended not to notice, too proud to bring it up. One thing’s for sure though: he wasn’t happy about it.

“Ta-daaa,” the young man takes five boxes out of the bag and places them on the small table separating the two chairs on the porch. “Do you want plates?” he is fast to add because it seems you’ll say you’re not hungry and he is sure you didn’t eat today.

“No…it’s fine…” you sigh, forcing yourself to grab one box of warm food and nibble on the calamari pasta that has no flavor today.

“You OK?…” the young man reaches over and caresses your cheek, upset when your eyes get teary.

“U-hum,” his mother lies and he knows it.

You kiss his wrist and keep his hand on your face for a few moments, grateful to have him near; it feels comforting.

“You want something to drink?” your son offers, completely hating the fact that you look so lost.

“I have my tea,” the shaky voice alerts him something is wrong.

“Mom?…” Kase frowns when you turn towards him and ask:

“How many…how many times do you think your father cheated on me?”

It’s something you can’t stop thinking about; a rhetorical question that keeps you up at night, especially since you can’t sleep without The Joker, no other choice besides getting used to being alone in the huge bed.

Your son rushes to hug you when you suddenly burst up crying, startled to see his mother depressed beyond any consolation he can offer. He was planning to return to the Penthouse, but decides it’s better if he sleeps at your home.

“Tomorrow I’m going to see dad again, you want me to tell him anything?” Kase tries the waters, maybe you have a message you would like to communicate to your estranged husband.

“Tell him to go to hell!” you whimper, blowing your nose in a tissue.

“Do you have the address?” your son grins when you crack a smile, softly chuckling at his silly joke.

“I’ll google it,” the short reply makes him snort, glad to have shaken you up from apathy.

***************

The sound of broken glass and loud voices abruptly end your son’s dreams. He stretches under the covers, slowly waking up and the noisy argument echoing in the house makes him recognize his father’s voice and yours.

“Oh shit !” he jumps out of bed, hurrying down the stairs as fast as he can.

J has you on the kitchen counter, blocking your every attempt to escape his grip, broken plates and cups on the floor after he cleared the area he forced you to sit on.

“What do you want me to do?” he yells, fired up after your stubbornness antagonized him to a whole different level.

“I want you to take it back!!!” you shriek through your clenched teeth, panting.

“I can’t take it back !! OK? I can’t !” and The Joker’s mouth gets really close to yours while you dodge the closeness, disgusted.

“God knows where that’s been!” the daring sentence makes The King of Gotham gasp. He wants to start ranting when your hateful comments continue. “If you can’t take it back, then there’s another thing you can do: drop dead! Do you hear me?! DROP. DEAD!!”

J is so angry he can’t even process what you said, but he wants to bite also.

“Why would I drop dead when there are so many women to enjoy?”

You slap him with all you’ve got and he closes his eyes, not expecting such strength from your part. His pale skin never changes color, but the mark of your fingers is turning pink now.

This is what Kase witnesses as he enters the kitchen, ready to intervene between his parents after the unpleasant endeavor.

“Mom, are you OK?” he checks, startled.

J growls, violently yanking at your hands while pulling you down from the counter; you almost lose balance when he gives you a nudge in your son’s arms.

“Here’s your precious mother! Get her out of my sight before I kill her!”

“I want you out of my house!” you scream and Kase hides you behind him when J stomps towards a livid wife; there’s nothing worse than a scorned Queen.

“This is MY house, not yours!” J shouts and your son blocks his father’s attack when he tries to snatch you.

“Stop it, dad! What are you doing?!”

The Joker disregards the warning and you can’t give up either:

“It’s my house, purchased with MY money!!!!”

“Everything in this town belongs to me!” The Clown Prince of Crime exerts his possessiveness when it’s not even necessary.

“Not everything!” you fight back and Kase can’t take it anymore.

“Both of you … SHUT UP!!!”

You and The Joker gaze at each other with contempt, almost breathless from the outrage and resentment poisoning your minds.

“Dad, can you please leave?” the stern request follows and J snarls, deciding to exit a residence he’s not welcomed at.

“Who needs her anyway?” he mumbles, making sure to break more objects in his way out, the trail of destruction being a way of marking his territory. On the way to his car, The Joker is seriously contemplating murdering his own flesh and blood but the fact that he doesn’t have other children halts the idea before it becomes reality. He just can’t stand the fact that Kase is so protective of you.

What good is having a son if all he does is hanging around his mother instead of indulging his father’s whims?!

And yet, The Great Joker doesn’t need anybody and it’s a fool proof statement: never did and never will.

So he shouldn’t be bothered by such unimportant matters, definitely immune to the problems he keeps on creating in his life.

*****************

After convincing Kase you’ll be fine if he goes out with his friends, you decided to end your self-imposed exile and invite over for dinner one of your old pals: Harvey Dent.

The horrible meeting you had with your husband this morning made you realize just how much you needed some company and nice conversation. The ex-politician is the perfect choice: intelligent, amazing personality and great sense of humor.

Back at the Penthouse, The Joker has been drinking all day; he started with a glass of whiskey which didn’t help tame his demons. The second one relaxed him a bit and after the third he lost counting: J got completely plastered and his inebriated brain decided the quarrel initiated with Y/N a few hours ago should be continued.

Despite the henchman trying to convince him otherwise, The King of Gotham ordered Frost to drive him to your house: even if it was a bad idea, he couldn’t disobey his drunken employer.

Getting to the front door was a difficult challenge for somebody with so much alcohol on board: J fell on his knees twice, at one point crawling in between the rose bushes growing on the sides of the alley leading to his targeted goal. Nothing to really use in order to prop a body that doesn’t have any equilibrium so The Joker got pissed and started a fight with the last rose bush he stumbled on.

The rose bush won, J being no apt match for the sharp thorns.

It’s a miracle he gathered himself up and managed to ring the doorbell; took seven tries but he showed that button who the boss is !

Harvey is the one to open the door and he gets shoved to the side a moment later by the totally smashed Joker; thank heavens for the walls he can use in order to walk towards the living room. You are eating and furrow your eyebrows when you see him like that. “What are you doing here?!” The mighty Prince of Crime addresses Harvey instead, straining to articulate a few words:

“Wha’ are you here wit’ ma’ kite Dent, huh?…” he stutters, jealous to find another man in there.

“You mean wife?” your friend stretches his facial scars in a wild smirk.

“Yeah !” J firmly holds on to one of the chairs at the table, wobbly to the point of collapsing.

“We’re having dinner and then we’re gonna have sex,” Harvey blurs out and you quietly sip on your wine, watching the scene quite intrigued.

“Whaaa’?” J’s eyes get big, not sure if he understood correctly.

“You’re not deaf, are you? I’m sure you heard me: after we eat, we’re going to have sex. Very busy night for us so if you just turn around and disappear, it would be appreciated.”

The Joker’s chest is going up and down faster and faster, his clouded mind attempting to make sense at the atrocity that just reached his ears.

“Tha’s ma’ woman!” J huffs.

“What’s your point Joker?” Harvey laughs and J begins to search his pockets with one hand, gravity making it nearly impossible to fulfill the task.

“I’m gonna kill ya !” he threatens, not understanding why he can’t find his gun. The answer is simple: he doesn’t have it with him.

“Can you hurry up?” Dent urges, only two steps away from his apparent adversary. “I told you we have things to do.”

“Huh…?” J lifts his head up, bugged by the green hair spread all over his face. He tries to move it, but the fingers keep on missing his head: there is no correlation between movement and practically inexistent sobriety.

“Alright Joker, I don’t like to make a lady wait and my food is getting cold too. Are you gonna kill me or what?” “Ho…hold on…” your husband stammers, frustrated. “You can’t have sex wit’ ma’ wife!”

“Why not?” Dent cuts him off. ”You can full around and she can’t?”

Right when you thought you can’t love your friend more…there it is.

“I don’…I don’ sleep around!” J straightens his back and damn, it does take a lot of effort!

“Oh, you don’t?” Harvey mocks, crossing his arms on his chest. “Then what were you doing naked on top of the woman Y/N caught you with? Were you giving her CPR?”

The Joker is so drunk he can’t understand the sarcasm.

“Yeah !” he has outburst of exuberance. “ C…R …P…R …,” he misspells and abandons the project seconds later.

“You’re pathetic,” Dent shakes his head, revolted by the unwanted guest’s conduct. “I guess that’s how you repay loyalty: with dishonesty and lies. You don’t deserve Y/N in your miserable existence, you lousy piece of trash! She gave you your son and puts up with your crap; the least you can do is keep it in your pants!”

The Joker might be plastered, yet he recognizes the elements of an insult. He wants to retaliate but suddenly the two guys hear you sniffle and finally turn their attention towards you.

Harvey is ready to apologize, thinking he was too harsh with The Joker and that upset you; he’s just that considerate. You couldn’t care less; the jerk deserves it.

What actually hurts is the fact that another man admires the few redeeming qualities you have while your own husband takes them for granted.

“Y-you made ‘er cry,” J scoffs, unnerved. “That’s nude!…Rude!” he surprisingly picks the correct term right away and abandons the safety of his anchoring chair, wanting to punch Dent. Since J has two left feet, he trips on the carpet and falls, hitting his head on the table and knocks himself out cold.

“Is he dead?” you wipe your tears, getting up from the table.

Harvey bends over and analyzes the Joker, informing with regret:

“We’re not that lucky; still breathing.”

You softly kick the limp body and the former senator notices your distress.

“You want me to leave?”

“No way,” you protest the proposal. “Help me put him in bed and we can continue our evening.”

“You want me to break his neck? Now is your chance,” Harvey scratches his scar, hoping you’ll agree.

“No…I guess not…” you utter after carefully considering the suggested assassination.

**************

The Joker woke up at 6am in your bedroom, not remembering too much from the previous night. The strong taste of alcohol in his mouth almost made him gag and he staggered to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, taking a quick shower also. He had such a headache he almost fainted, didn’t even have the energy to search for clothes. J wrapped his naked body in a blanket and creeped up back in bed again, wondering where you were before he passed out.

************

He opens his eyes and sees you next to him, still wearing your nightgown. You just stare at The Joker, squeezing the handle of the knife in your hand.

“What’s that for?” he grumbles, gazing at the sharp blade. “Are you gonna stab me?”

“Sort of. I want to cut your pride and joy to pieces and then set your crotch on fire,” the bitter tone makes him aware you mean it: you are vengeful and hold grudges just like he does.

“My son is my pride and joy. Why would you want to cut him up to pieces? I thought you love him,” the smart comeback doesn’t score any points. Not a single muscle moves on your face and you usually laugh at his cleverness.

J licks his dry lips, sliding a few inches closer to his wife.

“How many times did you cheat on me?” the sudden question halts his motion.

“Once…” he serenely admits like it’s nothing.

“I don’t believe you,” you interrupt and he scoots over more.

“It’s true!”

“A-ha, sure is, because you never lie,” you sigh and he can’t comprehend why there’s no trace of emotion in your eyes: that special way you used to look at him is gone, just like his son warned the other day. And The Joker didn’t think it would irk him.

“So what do you want me to do, hm?” he directly inquires, curious to find out if you care enough to give him a solution.

“I want you to take it back,” you whisper.

Who knows if it was because of the concussion he got last night or something else, but The King of Gotham has an epiphany: he wants to tell you he can’t take it back when he realizes what you meant when you requested the same thing yesterday. J was too fired up and furious to acknowledge that was your way of demanding a formal apology for his betrayal.

“I take it back…” he slowly blinks and wants to kiss your nose but you avoid his touch.

“Don’t !” you roll back towards the other side of the bed, placing the knife under your pillows.

“Can I sleep here? I have a horrible hangover,” J pretends not to be affected by the lack of intimacy and physical attraction that used to be an important part of your relationship.

“If you want to,” you turn your back on him, wanting to take a nap after being awake for hours.

That’s how Kase found his parents; he returned to your home after not finding his father at The Penthouse, worried something terrible happened in his absence. Such a relief when there was no evidence of a fight and he peeked inside your bedroom to see if you were there. The door was cracked opened and your son was surprised to see his mom and dad in the same bed; so much space in between them, but finally able to properly rest since they can’t sleep without each other.

The Joker kept on coming to sleep at your house every single night and Kase would check in the morning to see if he has to order breakfast for two or three people: it’s always for three.

You left the bedroom door half opened for weeks until this morning when your son found it closed; he went downstairs and made coffee, ordered breakfast for his family and had enough time to dye his hair too. When you finally show up with J, the first thing you do is kiss your son’s forehead and then you go to open the fridge in order to take out the creamer.

The Joker follows and hugs you from behind, purring and whispering something in your ear that makes you giggle. He pinches your butt and then he sees his son’s smirk; Kase is at the table already, waiting for you two to join him.

“Mind you own business!” the grouchy father snarls.

“I am,” the young man admits, turning the pages of the magazine he’s pretended to read.

“Leave my baby alone,” you pout and J gasps, irritated nobody is ever on his side.

“Your baby is 20!”

“Just leave him alone,” the mother repeats and The Joker starts bickering, glancing at his son from time to time: he did notice the neon green hair matching his again, how can you miss it?! Too proud to bring it up though, but it makes him happy.

J keeps on complaining and suddenly his heart beats faster: I mean, you seem annoyed with the speech but you look at him in that unique way he thought he won’t see again. Too arrogant to admit, but it makes him happy.

So strange for somebody that doesn’t need anybody around…

After all, The Great Joker is certainly unaffected by the problems he keeps on creating in his life.

Also read: MASTERLIST

http://diyunho(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

#the joker x reader #the joker fanfiction #the joker imagine #the joker jared leto #the joker #jared leto #the joker suicide squad #the suicide squad #joker #joker fanfiction #joker suicide squad #harvey dent #mister j #mistah j #mr. j #puddin #dc #dc comics

211 notes · View notes

dankennihan-blog · 5 years

Text

Anthology Reflection

Throughout the semester, our class dealt with five phases of topics that we delved into. These topics were techno-panics in history, future of the body, intelligent systems, making and things, and cyborgs and bio arts. Each phase had its own unique and interesting appeal it. I learned a lot from just the material assigned to us from each phase alone. After doing my own research on the various topics, gained further knowledge of each phase and made connections between much of the material.

Starting with phase one, techno-panics in history, I was able to find great artifacts relating to the topic. The first one was an article written by Will Reinhart and is called “The Rhetoric of techno-panics and why it matters”. This article argues how techno panics are just basically an uproar of moral panic, where people are concerned that the moral choices of another group of people will risk society as a whole (Rinehart, 2017). This article falls right in line with the material reviewed in class about techno-panics, as many referenced morals as being a foundation to how techno-panics are started. Moral stand points are also a major facet included in the other phases that were studied to, which further adds to the reason that this article is an appropriate fit.

Another good article relating to the tecno-panic phase is called “A history of panic over entertainment technology”, written by Christopher Ferguson. The Article discusses the history of various techno-panics and the past research that has long to figure out if there is a connection with various novel technologies and health. One example utilized in the article was if violent television increased aggression in young kids (Ferguson, 2018). In a similar manor as the some of the media sources that we looked at in the techno-panic phase, this article provided many examples of historical occurrences that resulted in a techno-panics. The difference here is that the article talked about actual behavioral science research that took place to find out if the issue that was causing all the panic was statistically and scientifically supported. This differed from the other media related to techno-panics, which is why I thought it would be serve as good fit. Overall the media observed for techno-panics shared an underline theme. This theme is that tecno-panics are a natural response by humans to things they don’t know a lot about. The fear that arises over new tech however will subside just as the fear form the previous scare did too.

The next phase discussed in the class was the future of the body. This was an extremely interesting topic to me because of the controversy that can surround these kinds of issues. One video I found relating to the future of the body was a BBC technology post, called “Rise of the human exoskeleton.” The video shows that engineers in Italy have developed a wearable exoskeleton that can exert 10 times the force the user applies. Also, other companies have attempted developing their own exoskeletons that can do similar activities (Bowdler, 2014). This artifact serves as a great example of the future of the body because theoretically exoskeletons could be a common item for individuals in the future. Exoskeletons would provide convince in a variety of fields. However, exoskeletons could also be a subject of techno-panics if they were to become mainstream. I’m sure there would be advocates that would argue that exoskeletons would cause social divisions in society. In any case, the language portrayed in the video seemed to voice that exoskeletons would be a benefit to society.

Another worthy example relating to the future of the body topic is an article written by Elise Bohan. This article is titled “10 Human Body Modifications you can Expect in the next decade”. It was particularly interesting article that provided examples of real-world technology that will assimilate into society in the future. One of the technologies mentioned happen to be exoskeletons, conveniently relating the exoskeleton video previously mentioned. Other technology mentioned include intradermal ID chips, real-time language translator, augmented vision, better drugs, and brain-computer interfaces (Bohan, 2019). With a plethora of examples of potential advancements in the human body, this article serves as a great addition to the future of the body phase. The theme of this article is that individuals are seemingly excited about the technology that humans will be able to exploit in the future. Also, just like the exoskeleton concept, many of the proposed new tech in this article could spark controversy that could result in techno-panics. However, just like the techno-panics in the past, the uprising scare will subside with over time. From a broad view standpoint after reviewing many articles, I would say that the feelings toward the future of the body is overall a positive vibe.

Moving forward, the next phase that was discussed this semester was intelligent systems. The main topic of discussion in this segment was artificial intelligence, so naturally I research various and powerful forms of AI. I found a sufficient artifact in a Nature research article called “Engineering intelligent systems with AI”. This article described the AI research areas in progress as well as the three current issues in AI research; Autonomous and sensing systems, emergent intelligence, and collaborative/swarm intelligence. The article also talks about how the top talent of AI researchers are hoping to forge university-industry collaborations to increase the amount of work going into AI research (n.a., 2016). A fiery and motivated tone is portrayed through this article. It can be felt that research in AI is an important and growing field in our day and age. It is an article that fits with the rest of the topics covered in the intelligent systems phase because it is somewhat represents the backbone of research that has led to the current AI systems that we discussed in class. An example might be how the creation of the Sophia Robot was initiated with presumably lots of research.

Also relating to the intelligent systems phase, an interesting article I found talked about the potential risks of AI. This article, titled “Benefits and Risks of Artificial intelligence”, Talks about the background, myths, danger, and controversy behind AI. One of the big picture ideas in the article is that though there are many myths dispelled about the danger and time-proximity of functioning super intelligent systems, these systems realistically be created in our life time. Due to this, it is important to consider the consequences when rushing into creating super intelligence (Rohde, 2016). This article has a different theme then many of the other articles read pertaining to intelligent systems. Instead of a more excited and enthusiastic tone to voice the advancement of intelligent systems, this article utilizes a more cautious tone. However, the article still serves as an excellence artifact for this phase of intelligent systems. This is because the article first and foremost explains exactly what AI is, and then proceeds to inform the reader of controversies and myths of AI. Media that was read and watched in class didn’t go into as much detail about the dangers of AI like this article did, but similarities are obviously found in the explanation of what AI systems are.

In the next portion of this semester the class reviewed the making and things phase. This gave focus to the upcoming of 3D printing and use of the Internet of Things. Relating to 3D printing, or additive manufacturing as it is commonly called, I read an article by Stephen Gosett called “The future of 3D printing”. This article discussed the ambitious idea of designing and building a spaceship using 3D printing to send it into orbit. When they say building a rocket by 3D printing, they mean everything. From the thrust chamber to the engine, every piece of the rocket is 3D printed. They hope to have the rocket in orbit in 2020. The article explains that the scientists’ ambitious goal is a product of the rising efficiency and accountability of 3D printing (Gossett, 2019). Gosett’s article shares the tone of the other media that was read during this particular phase. The tone is a lighthearted and joyful one that portrays the rise of 3D printing technology as a helpful and exciting development. With an interesting 3D printing topic that expands on what we analyzed in class, this article makes a great fit in the phase of making and things.

Expanding on the making and things phase, I made sure to look into media that pertained to the internet of things as well. I found a website by a company called SAS whose goal is connecting individuals with real time analytical data. This concept is the base of the internet of things, in which the company’s website explains. The website also lists serval types of currently in use devices that execute the principals of the internet of things, as well as the occupational fields that utilize them (Internet of things, n.d.). This website does an excellent job of explaining what the internet of things actually is, as do all the media that was analyzed in this phase. Of course, this foundation of explaining the internet of things does is what makes this company’s website a great artifact for this phase. The company’s message lacks a substantive tone, which make sense because it is a company’s website rather than article. However, one could still argue that the website’s information displays an intriguing and exciting tone because of style in which the story of the internet of things is presented. An intriguing and exciting tone for this piece is advantageous because the website is also trying to sell the company’s software. Overall, the media analyzed for this phase shares a tone of excitement for what the internet of the things has to offer society.

Lastly, cyborgs and bio arts was the last phase discussed this semester. Though this phase held a limited amount of sources compared to the other phases, I was still able to find sufficient artifacts. One article pertaining more toward the cyborg topic was written by Victor Tangermann and was called “The Future is here: Six of Today’s most Advanced, real-life Cyborgs”. The article listed of a plethora of incredible human bound innovations that enhance the abilities of disabled individuals as well as normal individuals. Some examples of these innovative pieces of technology are artificial vision, advanced sensory forelimb protheses, and bionic legs. The article refers to all these ability enhancing innovations as making an individual a cyborg (Tangermann, 2018). This article hit the nail on the head in terms of being a good artifact for cyborgs and bio arts. It lists of many examples of advanced pieces of technology that enhanced the abilities of the individuals that used them. This article also relates to some of the other phases as well like future of the body phase and the techno-panic phase. The relationship that the new tech mention easily falls under the future of the body category and could very much be targeted by techno-panic enthusiasts.

Relating more towards the bio arts aspect of this phase, I found a great article written by Clara Fernandez. The article is called “15 Bioart exhibitions to check out this Fall” and its content is right in the name. Among this article are many bio art events that the author suggests visiting, She first provides a except on the beauty and complexity of bio art and why the events she has listed, which are held all around the world, is worth attending. Some of the events listed were Craft and Graft, Ars Electronica, Creatures made to measure, and Extravagant Bodies. All of the events display various forms of art that use real tissue in their making (Fernandez, 2019). The article portrays a powerful and passionate tone, which had even me interested in checking out one of these events. It is a perfect artifact for this phase because it provides a follow up opportunity to experience the bio art atmosphere that our class read about in the bio art phase. It differs from other media contained in the other phases because instead of just informing the reader of a topic, this article provides an opportunity to engage in the topic that it is discussing.

Citations

Bohan, E. (2019, April 20). 10 Human Body Modifications You Can Expect in the next Decade. Retrieved December 10, 2019, from https://bigthink.com/10-human-body-modifications-you-can-expect-in-the-next-decade.

Bowdler, N. (2014, March 4). Rise of the human exoskeletons. Retrieved from https://www.bbc.com/news/technology-26418358.

Engineering intelligent systems with AI. (2016, July 12). Retrieved December 10, 2019, from https://www.nature.com/articles/d42473-019-00180-x.

Ferguson, C. J., Faye, C., Ferguson, C. J., & Faye, C. (2018, January 1). A History of Panic Over Entertainment Technology. Retrieved from https://behavioralscientist.org/history-panic-entertainment-technology/.

Fernández, C. R. (2019, August 29). 15 Bioart Exhibitions to Check Out This Fall. Retrieved December 10, 2019, from https://www.labiotech.eu/tops/bioart-exhibitions/.

Gossett, S. (2019, August 29). The Future of 3D Printing. Retrieved December 10, 2019, from https://builtin.com/hardware/future-of-3d-printing.

Internet of Things (IOT). (n.d.). Retrieved from https://www.sas.com/en_us/insights/big-data/internet-of-things.html.

Rinehart, W. (2017, September 10). The Rhetoric of Technopanics And Why It Matters. Retrieved from https://medium.com/@willrinehart/the-rhetoric-of-technopanics-and-why-it-matters-a78870048ee0.

Rohde, K., Vukovic, R., Zeldich, M., Ramesh, S., Hershkowitz, J., & Farkas, G. (2016, June 1). Benefits & Risks of Artificial Intelligence. Retrieved December 10, 2019, from https://futureoflife.org/background/benefits-risks-of-artificial-intelligence/?cn-reloaded=1.

Tangermann, V. (2018, January 17). The future is here: six of today's most advanced, real-life cyborgs. Retrieved December 10, 2019, from https://futurism.com/six-of-todays-most-advanced-real-life-cyborgs.

0 notes

topmixtrends · 6 years

Link

OÙ ATTERRIR? (OR Where to Land?), Bruno Latour’s aptly named latest book, is an essay on politics, climate, and migration. It was published one year after Brexit and Trump’s election; the English translation by Cathy Porter will be published later this year with a stolidly inferior title: Down to Earth. Grounded to be sure, and with its own logic, but lacking the urgency of the question “Where to land?” Imagine yourself in a plane, Latour says: you hear the captain say, “Ladies and gentlemen, we are in a holding pattern … There is nowhere to land right now. No available runway; no safe harbor.” Latour is referring to the migrant crises whose politicization has intensified this summer, with Trump’s separation of families at the US border, and Matteo Salvini’s copycat refusal of Mediterranean refugees in Italy. It’s a reference, too, to the spread of authoritarian politics from Europe to North America, and to the creeping sense that there’s no escape from them, just as there’s no flight from the planetary ecological crisis we face no matter where we are.

Latour’s point is that crises of migration, inequality, and environment are linked by a politics of denial: we finally have an environmentally based politics, but it’s one of negation, symbolized by the erstwhile EPA Secretary Scott Pruitt’s extraordinary soundproof phone booth.

Before examining Latour’s political argument, it’s worth dwelling on the territorial language now dominating the political imaginary, which he describes with his usual suggestiveness. The protagonist of his book is not a person but a mythology: the idea of “attachment to the soil” (“attachement au sol”). This attachment is characterized by a yearning to retreat from “the global” to “the local,” and to define ourselves as defending our soil from external enemies who will not only land but also somehow destroy us. Ironically, such nativism — truth to soil, if you like — is driven by escapist flight: flight from the reality of anthropogenic climate change, and flight from empirical evidence to “alternative facts.” Trumpism is the ultimate mental staycation: there is only here, and there is nothing outside of here to care about. Let’s lock ourselves in. In other words, the political world now under construction is one of paradoxical flight toward the local, rather than away from it; we don’t share the same planet, and so there’s no common ground. If any grassroots connected all of us once upon a time, those roots seem to have been pulled up like so many inconvenient weeds in the name of protection from our enemies.

It’s worth noting how Latour charts the shift in rhetorical positions on both sides of the Atlantic. Debates about Brexit in the United Kingdom are becoming increasingly farcical as time “to leave” runs out. If Trumpism dreams of border walls, the prospect of a hard border in Northern Ireland is a geopolitical nightmare. When moderate Conservative Party politicians try to explain to members of the public that a “Hard Brexit” will likely leave them worse and not better off, the answer often comes back as “I just want to leave.” It’s as though a hellish reincorporation into Europe of geological proportions threatens sovereign British identity; the island therefore wishes to abandon its key trade partner and literally set sail for the open seas — but for where? Ironically, one common answer is that once free of the European Union, Britain will again be “global” — a term haunted by the history of the British Empire and so assiduously avoided in mainstream discussions. Theresa May, the current prime minister, warned any cosmopolitans who happened to be listening in 2016 that “if you believe you’re a citizen of the world, you’re a citizen of nowhere.” She was obviously not addressing the absentee Russian, Chinese, and Gulf State billionaires who now own property in central London, but rather pandering to the new politics of territoriality. “No more easyJet” was the message.

Could the name of any company symbolize the target of the new nativism better than the British low-cost airline founded in 1995? The 1990s were indeed the easyJet years, fueled by casual attitudes to global travel, access to cheap credit, and the cheap cosmopolitanism of cross-border tourism. What was the Third Way of Bill Clinton and Tony Blair if not a heady cocktail of air miles based on credit cards? But now it’s time for revenge against the easyJetters and the Air Miles gang. Locality strikes back in the age of the travel ban. EasyJet has hit the wall: company profits were down last year.

For the first time in generations, observes Latour, we don’t know where we’re going. Our compasses are deranged. His essay about territory is even more an essay about time, capturing the anxiety many of us feel about progress having, unbelievably, ground to a halt. What the British fatalistically call the direction of travel has suddenly and mysteriously changed. The long arc of history no longer bends toward progress; at least for now, time’s arrow is bent or twisted or even reversed.

The end of the Cold War prompted Francis Fukuyama’s notorious End of History thesis, now widely mocked, heralding the universal triumph of liberal capitalized democracy. An anthropologist of modernity and of the moderns, whose claims to exceptional status he never took at face value even while treating them with respectful diplomacy, Latour is well placed to diagnose their apparent dethronement. Modernity, he argues, presented itself in the guise of both economic and identitarian globalization, promising an ever-widening horizon enabling all of us to move from the merely local to the gloriously global — and the infinitely open. Alas, however, the benefits of globalization proved either insufficiently distributed (in economics) or much too distributed (in identities) for those wanting new limits and old protections. Latour likens Trump to a fictional 19th-century character called Ubu Roi, or King Ubu, an anarchic prankster monarch who turns the world upside-down through a kind of political situationism. The result is a dream neither of social progress nor of ecological sustainability, but of restricted rights (reproductive and electoral) and a return to coal-mining and its many ills. Whether most Trumpers and Leavers ultimately want tangible benefits or symbolic goods, material advancement or metaphysical satisfaction, remains profoundly ambiguous.

Latour does not scorn these so-called “reactionaries” but seeks to understand the new politics they are building. Just before the 2016 election, I heard a colleague make the argument that American cities should in effect secede as a kind of progressive archipelago and leave the country’s rural hinterlands to languish in all their anti-modernism — an audacious (or simply oblivious?) vision of liberal gerrymandering. Then Ubu Roi led the revolt of the archaic against the modern, the local against the global, bending time’s arrow. Latour’s analysis urges us to grasp why populism now appears most vibrant, or at least most effective, on the far right. Many of us may prefer walled democratic cities — in our own way, we are staycationers too — but we all would be affected by the lack of democratic grassroots beyond those walls. We may not agree with those people, but to regard them as somehow beyond the polity is a fatal mistake. Can’t we just get back to the Third Way or Air Miles and the acceptably unequal world we inhabited under the Bloombergs and Obamas? But this is exactly what brought us to the bait-and-switch of grievance and reaction that built up in the long aftermath of the 2008 financial crisis.

For Latour, we are falling prey to the wrong kind of soil politics: a politics of terrain that seeks to assuage the intensely agoraphobic anti-modernism fearful of that ever-widening global horizon. What we need instead, he suggests, is a politics of “the Terrestrial” (“le Terrestre”) to confront the real climate crisis that will not stop at any wall or customs declaration counter. Modernity is itself the problem. Reason, science, ingenuity, and industrialization turned the earth into a set of mechanical resources for exploitation and posited nature as an entity outside culture. Only now do we find ourselves inside nature after all, and rapidly making it uninhabitable. So, how can we make common political ground out of ecology? This is a problem Latour has for years been addressing in his writing about the earth as Gaia, but with no obvious political resolution. He has, rightly in my view, no faith in Reason in the abstract sense; in his analyses of what constitutes the public, he has fruitfully adapted a line of argument from Peter Sloterdijk to urge that democratic publics must be creatively embodied, cunningly engineered, and artfully stage-managed to generate effective political assemblies. This is a response to those enlightened utopians who hoped that the prospective death of our entire species would unite us in a new politics of universal reason (when, in fact, Richard Branson, Elon Musk, and their friends are now simply planning their escape to Mars).

It’s fascinating to see a thinker like Latour grapple with the political moment and deploy the abstractions of his intellectual program to help clarify it. His book is a success in this regard. It’s even encouraging. Yet, for all its discussion of “geo-social conflicts,” it cannot quite reckon with the uglier political passions and genuine hatreds that define current political dynamics, and it does not have enough to say about the absence of vital grassroots in today’s democratic landscape. Where are these locals? If liberal urban technocrats have failed to respond to the environmental crisis, then surely it is time to activate a new grassroots beyond our city walls to build the politics of nature we so badly need. Yet no one has thought more compellingly than Latour about the problem of how to retool the authority of the sciences to fight the new Information Wars, or about how to move people to passionate engagement with ecological questions. He is well aware that countering climate-science deniers with facts, and more facts, is not going to result in their submission. Marches for Science are all very well, but do they work? In the dispensation of modernity, as Latour has argued, Science (like Nature) is not supposed to be part of culture, so it cannot negotiate with those who deny its authority — it cannot do politics in this sense. Modern science, for all its power, turns out to be politically weak: its belief in its own pragmatically cultureless truths means that, when it is challenged, it simply reasserts the veracity of its facts, but it cannot move its opponents. It depends on a certain liberal political ecology to function. By way of response, Latour returns us to earlier models of knowledge, where science was not a dictatorship of facts but offered compelling images of nature to move us morally and aesthetically, as in the virtuosic combinations of precision measurement and artistic vision produced by the Enlightenment polymath Alexander von Humboldt.

Latour’s ending is self-consciously ironic: he mounts a political defense of the European Union. He acknowledges that Europe is the original villain of modernity: Europeans dreamed that Europe could be the world, remaking it wholly in their own image. That vision led to madness and ruin, to empire and universalism at its most lethal. But precisely for this reason, Europe owes the world some kind of redemptive service. Unremitting particularism may be an understandable response to the idea that any common ground constitutes political tyranny, but where does this particularism take us? In Latour’s vision, Europe remains a vital provincial laboratory for demonstrating that supranational cooperation for the common good can overcome allegiance to sovereignty for sovereignty’s sake. However tattered and menaced, the European Union provides some imperfect hope for cooperative interdependence of the kind needed to address climate change and other crises. It’s hardly a fashionable position and may strike some as just another view from Paris — where, Latour reminds us, the 2015 Climate Accords were signed. Yet Latour’s most important contribution to current debates may be his untimely insistence on the importance of thinking universally in a post-universal world.

James Delbourgo is professor of history at Rutgers University. He has written widely on the history of science, collecting, and museums.

The post No More EasyJet: On Bruno Latour’s “Où atterrir?” appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books https://ift.tt/2Q7Cu3j

#Los Angeles Review of Books #topmixtrends

0 notes

smokeybrandcompositions · 7 years

Text

In Defense of Laci Green

I’m a giant black man who lives in America. I’m the most persecuted individual in this country, bar none. People cross the street when they see me. Cops rest their hands on their sidearm at traffic stops. My white neighbor called in a noise complaint and three K-9 units pulled up on my family as we stood outside of my apartment talking. At 6 in the afternoon. On a Friday. I live across the street from a bar. He lives in the same building as several drunk 20-somethings. But I’M a problem? Yeah, okay. I was once stopped by CHP at 7am as I walked to work, because I fit a description. Literally that’s what they said to me; “There’s been a report of robberies in this neighborhood and you fit a the description.” The CHP, man. What description? Black and in a hoodie? It’s 7 am in December and I have to walk 5 miles to work. I’m cold and this is the only jacket i own. But that doesn’t matter. They saw a black man, in a hoodie, walking in an affluent area, too early in the morning for their tastes. That’s my life. That’s my reality. I understand what it means to be a target. To be persecuted. To be marginalized. I know how frustrating it is to be considered less than because of your physical identity so I identify with the overall feminist message. Always have. I just don’t like how it’s being voiced as of late.

I am, by no means, a feminist. I find that whole modern ideology, toxic, divisive, and problematic. I believe a lot of the message these third-wave feminists preach is bullsh*t rhetoric more akin to the younger Millenials whining about inclusion and entitlement rather than addressing real social issues. It’s all very ridiculous to me. If you think there aren’t enough women being represented in movies and TV, then get out there and make more shows. Demanding that other people do what you, yourself, can get out and do, is nonsense. So what if there’s a glass ceiling? Go build your own house then your ceiling can be as high as you want it, no transparent boundaries need apply. If you feel like the boob physics in my Beach Volleyball game are offensive, then don’t buy it. Protest with your dollars, not your signs or your tweets. Show these companies there isn’t a future in chauvinism and maybe chauvinism will go away. Probably not but still, give it a shot.

Sh*t like having movies stars complain about the wage gap detracts from the very real issues women face today. So what J-Law only makes 12 million a picture and Bradley Cooper made 15 mil. That ain’t helping Sue-Anne in that brake factory out in Detroit get her equal pay. How ridiculous is to listen to a millionaire who plays pretend for a living, complain about not getting an extra few million because she thinks she plays pretend harder than her male counterpart pretends? All of that silly and superficial nonsense hurts the message and the fact that so many of these women aggressively vocalize their inept dogma, drowns out those who actually want to make a change. Laci Green was one of those shrieking heads until she decided not to be. Laci Green stepped back, took a look at how she was expressing her voice, and decided to change her narrative. Instead of trying to yell over people, she decided to listen. And in that pivotal decision, she learned more about herself, her community, and her message than she ever did just trying to shout-down those that didn’t agree with her beliefs.

I have seen more venom and vitriol for Laci Green coming out of these “feminists”, than I have seen for the patriarchy they all seem to hate so much. A few months ago, Laci was the poster child for Feminist victimization. She was all over the internet being portrayed as a martyr as she saw her channel and social media bombarded with people calling her out of her hypocrisies. Her “community” immediately came to her aid then, torches and pitchforks in hand. I think someone used Laci’s image in a thumbnail about toxic feminism and she didn’t care for that, so she made an attack video or some sh*t. As you can imagine, sh*t went sideways and everyone got involved. She posted a response calling out Philip DeFranco and others for their misogyny and then took a hiatus from Youtube. It was all very ugly and kind of stupid. In her time away, however, she was “red pilled” and decided to actively hear the arguments her detractors and opposition had to say. And to her surprise, they made sense. That tends to happen when you listen to people instead of villainize and decry their right to have a voice. There are a lot of people out there hating on feminism, not because they legitimately think feminism is a problem, but because of the what the message has become.

When the Suffragettes were doing their thing, they wanted to be seen as people in the eyes of the law. They wanted a voice in the government. They wanted representation in country wide legislature. They wanted to be counted just like their male counterparts. Second-Wave feminist fought for and secured a better lifestyle for women among the male dominated society of the mid 20th century. I’m not saying, by any stretch, that women were considered equal in the 70s, but they definitely were taken into consideration more than their earlier counterparts, even 20 years before. Hell, even early third-wave feminists were moving the cause forward. They fought for equal wages and better representation of women in the arts. And that sh*t worked for the most part. Sure, that wage gap is still a very real thing but it’s gotten better. I am by no means telling women to stop marching. I am by no means saying everything is hunky-dory because it’s not. What I am saying is that these young feminist, these kids raised up In the age of prosperity during the Clinton years and then disillusioned by the W. years, these kids need to adjust their approach. They need to be more Laci Green and less Anita Sarkesian.

Laci made a very real stand and she’s been violently attacked for it. She said, “Hey, maybe these people over here, not the cowardly dick-heads who hide behind their anonymity and threatening rape or death, but the guys who have been trying to engage us in fair, civil, debate, actually have something to say. Maybe there’s a legitimate counter point to our message that we may need to take to heart.” See, that doesn’t fit their narrative though. It doesn’t fit that whole “ I am a victim so look at me but ignore my own transgressions” situation that so many of these modern day feminists want you to believe. It’s insane how fast these people, once her allies, began spewing as much barbarous rancor against her as the people they so vehemently oppose. The hypocrisy is insane and exposes their “feminism” for what it is; immature superficiality. Arm chair activism. These feminists don’t want change, they just want to be buzzkills. They have no intention of compromising for the betterment of everyone involved. They refuse to listen but, at the same time, refuse to shut up. They just want people to do what they say, not as they do. And THAT is MY problem with their whole f*cking movement.

I have a wife. I was raised by my mother. I have several sisters. I’ve been surrounded by women my entire life. I know, for a fact, they are stronger, in a lot of ways, than most men. They support, tolerate, and encourage us to be better. That saying, “Behind every man, is a strong woman” is the truest sh*t in the world. So why do we pretend like it’s not? Why do we treat these women like second class citizens? It doesn’t make a lick of sense! How can you say you love someone, then expect them to be less than you? How can you consider them an equal partner in your life, if you treat them like they’re not worth? Women should be treated equally to men, period. They do the same amount of work as we do, if not more. They certainly carry far more social expectation. It’s only right they are given equal footing in said society. To believe otherwise is disrespectful and childish. Again, I’m not a feminist. I consider myself an Equalist. I believe everyone should be treated the same way as everyone else, good or bad. Man, Woman, Black, White, Muslim, Christian, whatever; Everyone should be treated like everyone else. I believe if cats can walk a mile in someone another person’s shoes, that would go a long way toward mutual understanding and compassion for each other. That’s what Laci Green did. She took the time to consider an uncomfortable opinion and it made her a better person. It strengthened her convictions and gave her new tools to voice her very real, very poignant, message. It’s a goddamn shame so many of her peers and compatriots refuse to do the same. It’s a goddam shame these fools don’t see that the way they’re going about spreading their message, is actually poisoning the well.

Laci did and she’s being crucified for it.

0 notes

smokeybrand · 7 years

Text

In Defense of Laci Green

Laci did and she’s being crucified for it.

0 notes

keiakibara · 7 years

Text

Enter The Elephant Man

Earth, once ruled by creatures of incredible proportions, now stands of the utopia of man, but to Alexander, the world shrank too small for him. He does not complain after all they are the ruling species. The inconveniences caused by not being part of the majority is that he is as heavy as 12 steak ready beef with a bit more weight to boot, that would lead to a person of average height to death, but he is also slightly shorter than history’s tallest man being multiplied by 2 and stacked from sole of the shoe to head. Being an elephant made this sort of proportions possible but he wishes he was like them. “These hairless apes have it so good. I wish I could have such a great life,” he sighs to himself, knowing that all of the housing was meant to accommodate humans and that he is the freak around here.

He works with a construction crew, the only job that would need muscle like his, with him around. Accidents have been prevented or if he could not do so, keep himself in a state of focus and get the human out of the situation even if it burns him. Despite being unable to use the water due to his size which leads him to be left dirty and without clothes feeling cold is inevitable. To him the land used for constructing a building is where he sleeps. He mostly relies on rain to clean himself and then again he still is working. The only place he can go is to the wildlife reserve but due to the distance not only creating noise pollution is inevitable, but he may have to cross dirty water which would make him sick and the zoo is the only place for his healthcare, which for him means that he can only get himself fixed up in prison. At least, for him the zoo, despite having him in some sense of horror knowing that his family and friends are in here forever, it is better than the circus, or as it has the reputation of being animal hell, his kind already went crazy with the circus; Flora, once a performer in the circus, went crazy when she was brought out of hell and into captivity, he knew the humans wanted to be nice, but a zookeeper still got hurt by them, and Janet, who got shot 47 times by an officer for endangering human children on her back.

His place of work is in Los Angeles where a building that can withstand earthquakes is needed to be built by a big corporate company willing to pay this band of workers that are far from their birth homes much more than any their work so far, the company is obviously trying to outlast its competitors even in a crisis, which Alexander knew was a sign of greed on them but the look on all the workers and their contractor shined like gold, Alexander thought in delight, “Due to living with humans, I am now used to eating meat. And even then it was just Mc Donald’s, but know I can feel full again, I feeling I miss ever since I moved to America due to the food shortage at my home.” Alexander found his only friends being his workmates, the company representative, which is just being friendly with him for his services, and the suppliers in the shipyard. “Don’t worry we have a full prove guarantee that the building is to your specifications, we have Alexander, he can jump once, that can make the ground shake just enough to test the structure and keep the surrounding building intact, just with a little bit of apologizing on our part,” the contractor promised. With an impressed look on the representative’s face the job was given to them.

The floor need to be broken down and moved away before anything can be done. In one stomp, the ground softens. With the ground soft enough and with a few holes dug into the ground. Three of the workers go and work the vehicles, two work on the trucks and one on an excavator, Alexander worked as an excavator. While the holes are being dug in and the dirt is being thrown into the trucks. A small ringing of chants that kept on repeating, but he pays no mind. Until, a grenade enters the excavator and blows up, the mixture of a crowd chanting with the screams of an injured man, Alexander yelled as he rips the door open and pulled the casualty out of the vehicle and put him to the side, the workers run towards the injured man and Alexander, took their place as the wall, bellowed in simmering anger, “Why do you people attack here, we are working!” He emphasizes on “working”, the response of them is a bunch of insults, with reference to the smell and them being poor, puts Alexander in a state of brimming rage, with a rock tossed to the head, making a bleeding scratch. This is the limit, in a loud demonically low, Alexander brought a mighty stomp onto the rioters in front of him, leaving 8 corpses under his foot while 2 others who had their legs stomped off, then killed the other 2 rioters that have become running man, the rioters disappeared in fear. Before Alexander went after them in rage, his friends tried to reign him in so that no poorer souls needed to be sent to hell in rage.

In a state of melancholy, he wanted to walk off to the zoo, to heal up, but after a step, he felt too weak due to blood loss, in his desperation, he meditated for the safety of the people who broke the area and the souls who provoke him for safe travels in the afterlife, he closes in eyes accepting death, while his friends cried for him to hold on. In Alexander’s lifeless state all the people who are in the company including the boss, who came out shouting only to stop when he saw the lifeless elephant body before him, all came to hug his body to keep his body to a happy afterlife. In a state of miracles, a young lady who just ran into the construction site, when she stopped she said, “Alright everyone, your friend will be fine.” All the workers look on in anticipation as she does her work and his head gets bandaged, due to his state, he has to be moved to the zoo for his rest. Finally, awake, he woke up to Judy, “Oh, you’re awake! You got a message that your boss wanted to tell you something.” The look of Alexander went from surprise due to literally being resurrected from the dead to a sense of dread, he lost his job due to causing a public relations nightmare that puts the company’s marketability in jeopardy. He felt crushed, even more than his wounds already did.

“Looks like I will have to work with you, right?” Alexander asks in a begrudging manner.

“Umm… Yea, surprised you did not want with u…” before Judy can finish that sentence Alexander intrudes with in a booming voice, “We want to be free, not be enclosed in this… JAIL CELL!” This feeling of want for freedom has all the animals call in unison.

“But I have no choice, do I” he asked rhetorically, in an act of pity she gave him banana with tree bark, his favorite. From then on, he worked at the zoo, much to his own dislike.

It’s been months since the incident at his last job, he has gotten used to his new job, where he trained new zookeepers in helping to feed his kind, where the skills used can be used to train with other animals, he made a new friend in a monkey that can also communicate with humans, named Chester.

“You have to try out for this talent show, it going to make you free.” Chester exclaims excitedly, knowing how Alexander look like he has given up on freedom. In a weird move of glee, he trumpeted a sound of victory, the talent can be seen.

“So, I will take it as a yes then,” Chester states, knowing Alexander’s new joy. With the zoo hearing him, he panics and asked, “I wasn’t too loud, was I?”

“So, what song will you be performing?” Judy asked.

“Hey you got a trumpet and a human vocal cord right?” Chester prompted.

“Yea…” Alexander replied.

“Let’s do ‘build our machine’.” Judy suggested.

“You mean the new song that got famous due the new game.” Chester said, in questioning.

“Stop, what are you talking about?” Alexander shouted in confusion. Judy played the song in response to Alexander. The tune of the song bringing a sense questioning with it ending with Alexander wondering, “Couldn’t Chester do this singing bit?” With the thought of being famous and Alexander’s longing for freedom in Chester’s head. He went with, “Whoever sell the most tickets in our respective shows at different times, will go for the competition.” Judy and Alexander agreed with Chester’s proposal.

With the days usually spent practicing with only one animal, it was used to host shows for Chester and Alexander to practice. With the decision on whether can do the singing without fail, Chester backed out for the reason of he felt exhausted, leaving Alexander to be the main singer for the competition representing the zoo, In Judy’s eyes, in his own he represent himself as a resume for someone to take him out of the zoo.

The show was started and was running with almost half of the contestants have been either booted or shortlisted and it’s Alexander and Judy’s turn in the open, the look of the audience varies between confusion and finding this a joke. Even the judges wanted to shoo the duo away, but in a single request at a louder volume the audience and the judges are interested in the elephant that can talk, with some snickering at the joke they thought it was going on. With the performance on the way, Judy went with a speed that the song went with fingers of the devil, shredding the cords on the piano while Alexander sung with a power that required no speakers, the audience went from thinking it is a joke to screaming in joy and clapping in rhythm with the song this was the first ever “gold shower” in the season, the judges was reminded of Susan Boyle. And the ending left with no one wanting to challenge “the great elephant” as the judges called Alexander. With the victory, one of the judges named Simon, asked if Alex wanted a record label, Alexander graciously gave this opportunity to Judy, saying “I believe that the opportunity to become famous should belong to Judy, the woman who gave me the spotlight.” Judy looked at Alexander in shock and wanted to have him to this opportunity, but clearly he must have heard her drunken wishes to be famous. She could only say in tears of joy, “Alex…”

Before Alexander’s name can be fully spoken, he interrupted with, “Dreams never die, my friend. Dreams never die.” With the crowd hearing this, the audience gave a standing ovation, with Judy hugging her friend in acceptance of the gift. Simon questions Alexander, “Then what do you plan to do with your gifts.”

He could only reply, “Someone is already after me, and he means well.”

Days later, Chester asked, “Why did you not take the chance to leave the zoo, I mean you do hate this place.” He gave a smile and a word of “Youth” implying that she needs to chase her dream when young so that her elder years can be fun and worth all the trouble of working hard.

#otherkin #animal #blue collar

0 notes