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dancingintheraindreamingonday · 3 years

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My loyalty can be bought - Chapter 7

Author’s note: The journey is almost over. Maybe two more chapters. Sometimes I want to write thousands of words but that would probably bore you. Thanks to everyone who reads my stories. It means the world to me.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

„When was this picture taken?“ Bucky, Sam and Zemo, the golden trio, stand in Sharon Carter’s apartment looking at all her illegal paintings. But a certain framed picture got Bucky’s attention. On this picture was Sharon and you. A cigarette was between your fingers and a bottle of Vodka was in the other hand. Your wedding ring wasn’t on your left ring-finger anymore. Instead you wore it as a necklace. You looked different. Your hair was darker than usual and you wore more make-up. If Bucky hadn’t memorize every feature of your body he wouldn’t have recognize you.

„Three years ago… I think… During that time (y/f/n) and I were pretty close but now not anymore. I think that’s a side effect when you are the vice-director of SHIELD. She doesn’t trust me anymore.“

Bucky didn’t know what shocked him most. You being vice-president of SHIELD or you not trusting Sharon anymore. After all, you and Sharon were really good friends.

„She said my loyalty can be bought and that’s not a good character trait.“ Sharon continues talking as she pours herself a glas of whiskey.

Bucky jumps to his feet and pushes Sharon against the wall who drops the glas. „Bucky!“, Sam screams and stands right behind Bucky. „What the hell are you doing?“

„And did you sell your loyalty to the one who kidnapped (y/f/n)? Did you?“, Bucky shouts at her.

He knew it. Right from the beginning when they met Sharon after all those years. Something was off. She’s not innocent

Sharon doesn’t look at Bucky but instead at her mobile phone. Sam follows her gaze, unlocks the phone and finds a voice message of you just a day before the abduction:

„Tell your little friends to stop following me. I don’t like being followed, Sharon. I know the identity of the power broker and I also know that SHIELD is infiltrated by HYDRA again. I’m neither blind nor naive. Why are you working with her, Sharon? I thought you hated Valentina. Why are you cooperating with her? I’m warning you. Leave them alone. Leave my family alone.“

The call ends. Your voice still hard and strong, echoing through Bucky’s mind.

„Where the hell is she? If you want to live you better tell me.“

„She knew how this would end. (Y/f/n) played with fire and got burnt. You really think she’s still the same quirky and naive teenager who just lived for the love of a man. Wake up, Bucky. How do you think she got the job at SHIELD? You still trust her even thought she kept all the secrets.“ Sharon tries to free herself but Bucky’s grip is too strong. „Did she tell you that the first year of being a mother she wasn’t even with her child because of her depressions? She gave the kid to Tony and Pepper. Did you know that? Did she tell you how close she was with Clint Barton? Did she tell you about the huge argument she had with Steve and that they weren’t on speaking terms for 3 years? Did she tell you that she lived in Madripoor for months? And did she tell you that she was with Barton on their criminal missions? No, I bet not. She’s still acting like this weak woman around you but believe me. She’s not innocent.“ Sharon spats in Bucky’s face.

„For the last time. Where is she?“ Not responding to Sharon's accusations.

„I’ll show you because she’s probably already dead. It was her or me and after all she was right about one thing: My loyalty can be bought.“ Sharon’s voice is filled with anger as she smiles at Bucky and Sam wickedly.

Sharon leads the way, a gun is pointed in her back. „If that’s a trap I’ll make sure you will regret the day you betrayed (y/f/n).“, Bucky whispers in her ear.

After a while they walk into a dark building which is guarded with several soldiers with heavy guns.

„They are with me. They wanna see the project.“

As they walk down the hall they see many doors with little windows. Bucky see other men and women in white hospital clothing laying on bed.

„(Y/f/n) is our special guest. She’s in the last room.“

The last room has three more soldiers guarding the door. As they step aside and Bucky, Sharon, Sam and Zemo enter the room, Bucky’s heart drops. There you are. Unconscious and weak. Bucky pushes Sharon aside and walks directly to your bed.

„Love?“, He caress your left cheek with his big hand. „Can you hear me? I need you to wake up. We have to get you out of here.“ He takes the syringe out of your arm and shakes you softly but you don’t respond.

„I’ve brought them here as you wished.“, mumbles Sharon in her ear piece.

The door opens again and soldiers run into the room to take their positions. „What a great day. Killing the winter soldier, the falcon and the vice-director of SHIELD. And this guy.“ A woman with black hair and big silver earrings walks into the room, looking from Bucky, to Sam, to you and to Zemo. „Good work, Carter. Well done.“, she pats Sharon on her shoulder. „You are Ms. De Fontaine. You were friends with Steve. How can you betray his legacy?“, Sam asks disgusted by her betrayal. „The world changes, Mr. Wilson. So does people and people’s goals.“

As Sharon and Valentina De Fontaine walk out of this room, Bucky and Sam, and even Zemo make themselves ready to fight.

„Have fun, boys.“, Valentina chimes as the the door closed.

15 soldiers versus 3 men. Bucky attacks first and then there was utter chaos. Punches, knife stabs and kicks. All you can hear are bones cracking, cries and thuds. Sam is pressed against the wall with no option to escape. „Any last words?“ , asks the soldier who points a gun at Sam. But before Sam could do anything the soldier collapses on the floor with a bullet in his left temple. Sam turns to his right. There is you. You lean against the wall with shaking legs. The gun is still in your hands as you whisper „Asshole“. While Sam and Zemo take the end of this fight as a small break to catch breath, Bucky rushes to you. He hugs you and kisses you dirty hair. „We need to get out of here.“ He grabs your hand as you all escape Madripoor.

Later on the plane, Bucky looks at you intensively. „Why didn’t you tell me?“

You look at him confusion written on your face. „Tell you about what?“

„About everything. You and SHIELD; You and Steve and you and Barton. I didn’t know you were a couple.“ The last part hurts Bucky the most. He feels this green monster inside him roaring out of jealousy.

„Clint and I were never a couple. Maybe a couple of idiots and friends. But there was never more between us. Clint and I lost so much but we didn’t lose the love we had for those who we lost. At that time we were in so much pain and grieve. No, a romantic relationship was something both of us never wanted- not with each other or with anyone else.“, you reassure Bucky. He doesn’t show it but Bucky is relieved and happy.

„There is still so much that I don’t know about you.“

„James, we broke up after you came back, remember? And people don’t really talk with their ex-partners.“

„Breaking up with you was the worst mistake I’ve ever made.“, whispers Bucky just for you to hear it.

„It’s okay, James. I’m okay. We changed. We both did. You changed. I changed. Heck, our whole family and the whole universe changed. And love does the same too.“

„Mine didn’t.“, says Bucky. „My feelings for you never changed. I still love you.“

You smile at Bucky for a while, not reacting to his love confession immediately.

You lean your head against the cold window of the plane and close your eyes. You spoke so softly that Bucky almost missed it you say. „I’ll always love you.“

Chapter 8

Author’s note at the end: Sorry, for making Sharon kinda bad. I love the Sharon in the movies and I love the actress, so it’s definitely nothing personal. Did you notice how much my you-character changed? A few chapters ago in Bucharest she didn't notice that she and Bucky were being followed but now she's more aware of her surrounding. ;)

@inlovewith3 @jackiehollanderr @homesicam@dreamydreamerwriting @losers-club6 @gengen64@agentsofsheilds @crimson-darling @akkinda10 @xemine@bubblegumholland @chipilerendi @iamasimpingh0e @bbmommy0902 @madddiiee26 @teenagedreams-bucky @aya-fay @idontknowwhatthisisfam @w-wolfhxrd @useless-creature-213 @angywritesstuff @supernaturalcat7 @harrys-stan @geek-and-proud @pastel-boy-sungjae @austynparksandpizza @maxsaturdayhatesnarwhals @teenagedreams-bucky

#sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes feels #james barnes #james bucky barnes

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drabbles-mc · 3 years

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Whatever It Takes

Juice Ortiz x Reader

Shoutout to @bishopslosawife for this idea! I am...passionate about Juan Carlos Ortiz: What if a up-and-coming MC from another state stops in town for a night to discuss business but when they don't get want they want they take something/someone important to a SONs member as a leverage against the guys? I could see Juice going all overprotective of his s/o. 😍

Warnings: blood, language, murder, kidnapping, angst

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Honestly I would kill a man for Juice and I believe that he would do the same for me haha. Enjoy! xo

Taglist?? I realize that I don’t write a whole lot for SOA and when I do it’s always been Juice lol. That being said! If you’re interested in getting tagged in any future SOA or Juice fics please let me know!

The doors to the chapel flew open and a stream of very angry-looking men came storming out. You sat back at the bar, trying to make yourself as small as possible as most of them left the clubhouse. Once the Sons started filing out, you could see that none of them were looking overly excited about whatever had gone down during church either. Clay, Jax, and Tig were still in the chapel and you caught brief glimpses of their faces as they shut the doors once again, making it so it was just the three of them.

“Hey,” Juice appeared in front of you, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead, “it’s late, what are you still doing here?”

You smiled and shrugged, “Waiting for you. Didn’t think it was going to take so long.”

“Yea, it was a fuckin’ shitshow in there.”

“I figured. Those guys didn’t look happy.”

He chuckled, but you could see the exhaustion on his face, “They weren’t.”

You cupped his face, thumb tracing along his cheekbone for a moment, “Ready to go home?”

He nodded, leaning into your touch, “Absolutely.”

You hopped down off the barstool and pulled him with you towards the door of the clubhouse. He trailed behind you, and you let out a small yelp followed by a laugh when you felt him playfully smack your ass as you walked through the doors.

“Juan Carlos,” you feigned offence as you turned around, placing your hands on his chest, “there’s a time and a place for that.”

He laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist, “What’s wrong with here and now?”

You smiled, shaking your head as you leaned in and kissed him. His arms wrapped tighter around you, keeping you pressed flush up against him. Your hands slid up from his chest, fingers trailing lightly and quickly over his mohawk until they came to rest on the back of his neck. You could’ve stood there like that with him forever if it was possible.

He pulled his lips away from yours to catch his breath, but you could see a playful smile starting to spread across his face as he rested his forehead against yours, “I love you.”

You smiled, humming in approval, “I love you too. We gonna make it home tonight or are we crashing in your dorm?”

He laughed, nudging you towards his bike, “We’ll make it home, c’mon we can even take the bike. I’ll bring you back for your car in the morning.”

As the two of you made your way over, you heard someone call out for Juice from the opposite side of the parking lot. You both turned around, and you felt Juice’s body tense up a little bit as he stood directly in front of you, completely blocking you from whoever was talking to him.

“This ain’t over, you know,” the young man walked up to Juice, blowing out a billow of smoke as he spoke, “Better let your Pres know that.”

“Pretty sure you’re the one who should be letting him know,” Juice’s tone was even, but he kept one hand behind him, rested on your hip, “He’s still in church. Go talk to someone who actually has some sway.”

The man laughed, dropping what little was left of his cigarette on the ground between his feet and Juice’s, “Don’t say we didn’t warn you,” he looked over Juice’s shoulder and shot you a smile that was too much to be sincere, “You two have a good night.”

After the man walked off, getting onto his own bike and leaving the compound, you and Juice both let out sighs of relief. His body was still rigid as he turned back to face you, trying to search your expression to see if you were alright. You knew that things got dicey with the club—you’d had to clean Juice up on more than one occasion because of it, but it was different when you were experiencing the tension first-hand.

“You alright?” he gently cupped your face in both of his hands.

You nodded, “Yea. That was just…weird.”

“I know,” he sighed, “I’m sorry, baby, I just feel like I should probably go talk to Clay and them. You okay to drive home and I’ll meet you there in a little bit?”

“Yea, of course,” you kissed him softly on the lips, “I’ll text you when I get home. I love you.”

He smiled, “I love you too.”

He waited until you were off the lot before heading inside to talk to Jax and Clay about the brief little interaction he’d had out in the parking lot. More likely than not it was all talk, but there was never a guarantee of that.

You pulled into the gas station, mentally kicking yourself for putting off getting gas for so long. You wanted to be home but you wouldn’t have made it with what little was left in the tank. You went inside and prepaid, coming back out to the pump. You looked around as you filled your car, and everything seemed quiet.

You turned to put the nozzle back on the pump when you felt an arm wrap around your neck, a gloved hand coming to rest tightly over your mouth. Your entire body froze, and you wouldn’t have been able to try to fight or run if someone tried to pay you. The person pushed you up against your car, speaking to you in a low, harsh whisper.

“When I take my hand away, you’re not gonna scream. You’re going to get into this car and you’re going to do exactly what I tell you to, got it?”

You nodded, eyes wide with fear. When he took his hand away, though, something came over you and you let out a blood-chilling scream. The last thing you remembered was the man cursing and your head being slammed hard against the side of your car. Everything went black after that.

Juice was heading back out to his bike after talking with Jax and Clay. He hadn’t gotten any messages from you, which was a little worrying but it wouldn’t have been the first time you forgot. He dialed your number and called, figuring that if you were home and just forgot you’d pick up and the first words out of your mouth would be, “I forgot again, I’m sorry! I love you,” the way that they always were.

But there was no answer

He tried two more times and it was more of the same. Even if you had fallen asleep right away when you got home, the second or third call would’ve woken you up. He turned to head back inside when he saw Jax walking out of the clubhouse. He flagged him down.

“What’s up, brother?” Jax could see the worry on Juice’s face.

“It’s Y/N. I haven’t heard from her since she left. Tried calling and she didn’t pick up. You mind just riding with me out to her place to make sure she’s all good? It’s probably nothing but it’s not sitting right with me.”

He nodded as he clipped his helmet on, “Yea, sure thing.”

The two of them rode out to your house, and came to an empty driveway and no lights on inside. The knot in Juice’s stomach was growing as he parked his bike and hopped off of it. He yanked off his helmet, running his hand over his head as he turned back to Jax with worry all over his face.

“This isn’t right, Jax. She was coming straight home. Something must’ve happened to her.”

“Alright. Let’s think for a second here before we get too crazy.”

“What if it was that guy?” he saw the confusion on Jax’s face and elaborated, “Adam, or Aaron, or whatever the fuck his name was. The one who came up to us in the parking lot.”

He shook his head, “No way. Those guys are too green to be doing shit like that.”

“You sure about that? Gave you and Clay a run for your money during church tonight.”

The comment stung Jax’s ego a bit, but he had to admit that Juice raised a somewhat valid point. He sighed, “Alright. Call the guys, get ‘em all back to church. Let’s find this asshole and get your girl back.”

Juice immediately started calling everyone. Luckily it hadn’t been very long and everyone was more than willing to turn back around and head back to the clubhouse. Juice looked at your house as he dialed number after number, the darkness in the windows sending shots of fear up and down his spine.

Once everyone was back at the chapel, they started strategizing. They were trying to figure out where the most logical places would be for the men to have taken you, what they were going to ask for to secure your safe return. Throughout the whole thing, Juice’s eyes were glued to his phone, hoping to see your name light up the small screen of his phone.

“We can’t cave to all of their demands, though,” Clay said with a strong sense of finality.

Juice turned to look at the man sitting at the head of the table, “We’ll do whatever we fucking have to, to get her home.”

It wasn’t like him to speak that way to anyone, let alone Clay. The man shook his head, “Juice, I know that this is hitting you close to home but—”

“But nothing!” he stood up, “Not getting her back isn’t an option, Clay,” tears stung at his eyes but his anger was still apparent.

Before the argument could continue any farther, Juice’s phone buzzed on the surface of the table. His eyes went wide as he picked it up, seeing your name on the screen. He held his breath as he brought it up to his ear, “Hello?”

“Go glad you picked up, Juan Carlos,” the man chuckled.

“What the fuck did you do to—”

“She’s fine…for now. But I’m going to need you and the president of your club to agree to some things if you want to make sure she stays that way.”

“Prove it,” he snapped.

“Prove what?”

“Prove that she’s alright. How do I know that you didn’t already do something to her?”

The man chuckled but he complied. Juice heard your pained tone coming through from the other end of the line, “Juan?! Juan what the fuck is going on?”

He felt a sob locked in his throat, “Y/N, baby, we’re coming to get you, alright? You’re gonna be fine I promise.”

Neither of you got the chance to say anything more before you heard the man’s voice on the other end of the line again. “There’s your proof. Your president knows what needs to happen if you’re going to see her again. You have two hours to meet our terms or you’re never going to see your girlfriend ever again.”

“I swear to god if you fucking hurt her—” he didn’t get to finish the sentence before the man hung up on him. He shook his head, slamming his fist against the table, “Fuck!”

He stormed out of the chapel and came flying back in a minute later, laptop tucked under his arm. He sat down heavily in his chair before opening the computer and pulling up numerous windows. The guys looked on in silence, knowing that they had nothing to offer him at this point.

Jax looked over his shoulder, “What’re you doing?”

“Getting a trace on her phone’s GPS.”

“She doesn’t use the burners?”

Juice shook his head, like it was the most obvious answer in the world, “No, she doesn’t have to because she’s not a fucking criminal,” he sighed as his fingers flew across the keyboard, “I’m willing to bet that these guys were too stupid to think about that, though.”

The couple of minutes of silence while the computer programs tracked her phone seemed to stretch on for an eternity. They all looked back and forth among themselves, hoping they were going to get the answers that they wanted. After what felt like hours, they were rewarded with a quick beeping sound.

Juice immediately started rattling off the address to the entire room. He was already walking towards the chapel doors as the rest of them tried to piece together where exactly they were going.

“Abandoned warehouses out off the main drag behind the old logging place,” Juice said as he continued to leave.

They nodded, impressed that he knew it off the top of his head like that. His brain was working overtime, though. Anything to keep you safe. The guys followed him, grabbing their guns as they went. They had no idea what they were walking into but they were going to be prepared.

Juice didn’t bother waiting for the rest of the club. He was fully prepared to go into this entire situation alone despite the fact that he knew he wouldn’t have to. He sped out of the lot, forcing the rest of them to play catchup. His mind was reeling and all he knew was that he couldn’t lose you. you were the one thing that he got right and he wasn’t going to let anything happen to you. No matter what it took, you were getting home safely.

He rolled into the lot, followed shortly by the rest of the MC. They all got off their bikes, getting their weapons ready. There were a few buildings to choose from, and Juice was looking to see if any of them had any signs of life in them.

“Middle one, top window,” Opie broke the silence, nodding towards the building he was talking about.

Juice looked, and he was a mixture of relieved and anxious when he saw that Opie was right. At least it meant that you were there. He just hoped that they weren’t too late.

“Hey,” Jax’s voice was quiet, but firm, “you shouldn’t be the first one in on this.”

“Fuck that,” he shook his head, refusing to be benched for this.

“You’re angry. Angry makes you stupid and stupid gets you killed. You can’t be lead on this.”

Juice stood toe-to-toe with the VP, “You can’t fucking stop me.”

He wasn’t yelling, but he didn’t need to raise his voice. His tone and the look in his eyes communicated everything. Jax sighed, nodding in defeat. If the roles were reversed, he knew he would be doing the same thing. Juice pushed past him and went towards the building, a few of the guys trailing close behind while a few more waited back in case anyone tried to leave.

They were silent as they entered the building, straining their ears to pick up on any noise. There was a mild clamoring coming from up the stairs. Juice turned to see Jax and Opie behind him, nodding for him to continue onward, that they had his back. With as little noise as possible they made their way up the stairs.

The door at the top was slightly ajar, light streaming through the crack. They could hear the laughter of the men who had you, but they couldn’t hear you. Juice’s heart was pounding inside his chest. He glanced back, using his fingers to count down before kicking the door completely open and storming in with Jax and Opie right on his heels.

The sight of you bound to a chair and gagged was enough to make Juice see red for a few moments. Tears were streaming down your face and he could see the fear in your eyes, the cut on your forehead caked in dried blood.

They all had guns pointed at each other, but your kidnappers were outnumbered two to three. And judging by the look in Juice’s eyes, he had enough rage in him for a few people.

Still, your captors forged onward like they were going to win this, “We told you this wasn’t over.”

Juice scoffed, cocking his gun, “You don’t let her go, the bullshit you have going on with Clay is going to be the least of your fucking problems. Believe me.” He could see you shaking your head, trying to urge him to stop and not make the situation worse, but he was too angry, “Let her go. She has nothing to do with this shit."

The man pressed his gun against your temple and you cried against the gag in your mouth, shutting your eyes tight. He laughed, “I’d lower that gun now if I were you.”

He shook his head, “You think you��re going to best the three of us?”

“You willing to bet her life on the fact that we won’t?”

The seconds of silence that followed felt never-ending. You still had your eyes shut tight, unable to force yourself to open them and take in the scene in front of you. If it ended badly, you didn’t want the last thing you saw to be something horrid.

The man pushed the gun harder against your temple and you winced as he spoke, “What’s it gonna be, then?”

There was another brief moment of silence but it was short-lived as the sound of gunshots filled the room. You cried, trying to make yourself as small as possible in the chair that you were in. You still couldn’t force yourself to open your eyes, knowing that the warm substance that just splattered across your face was blood and you didn’t want to know who it belonged to.

You felt someone pull at the gag in your mouth, and quickly cutting through the binds around your arms and legs. There was a hand softly put to your cheek, and the only thing that got you to open your eyes was the sound of Juice’s voice saying your name.

He was crouched in front of you, hand resting gently on your cheek as he waited for you to say or do something to indicate whether or not you were hurt. You couldn’t force any words out, so instead you leaned forward into him, head burying in the crook of his neck as you sobbed. He wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you tight to him.

He cradled the back of your head in his hand, “It’s okay, you’re okay.” He turned back to Jax and Opie, “Go let the guys know what went down,” he paused, waiting for Jax to meet his eyes, “And tell Clay that he solves this shit tonight or I fucking will.”

You heard the sounds of their footsteps retreating out of the room. Juice pulled back from you so he could get a better look at you. You saw that you had smeared blood all over his neck and shirt. He saw the way your eyes went wide at the sight of it and instantly tilted your chin up so you were forced to look him in the eyes.

“Don’t even worry about that, alright?” his voice was soft, tears in his eyes as he looked at you, “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

You shook your head, finally making yourself speak, “No, nothing aside from my head.”

He let out a sigh of relief, “Thank god. I’m so sorry, Y/N. You never should have gotten caught up in this shit.”

“What’s gonna happen with…” your voice trailed off as you looked around the room, the carnage made your stomach turn.

Juice shook his head, “Don’t worry about that. It’ll all be taken care of,” he kissed you softly on the lips, “Let’s get you home and cleaned up. You able to ride?”

You nodded, “Yea, yea I’ll be okay.”

He scooped you up and carried you down the stairs of the warehouse. You clung tightly to him, you gripped his shirt harder than necessary, just needing the sensation of knowing that he was really there holding you. You buried your face against him, tears leaking out of your eyes and onto his neck and shirt. You heard the murmuring of the rest of the club as the two of you walked out of the warehouse, but you didn’t have the mental wherewithal to lift your head to look at or talk to any of them. In reality, you hardly heard what Juice was saying to them as he carried you over to his bike.

He gently placed his helmet onto your head and buckled it for you. He traced his thumb along your cheekbone, eyes filled with tears and love, and you wondered how he could still look at you like that when you had blood splattered across your face.

“I love you,” his voice was hardly a whisper.

“I love you too,” you practically melted into his touch.

He hopped on the bike in front of you and started to pull away. You wrapped your arms around his waist and settled against his back, shutting your eyes as you did. The only things you wanted to concentrate were the sound of his bike, the feeling of his body heat seeping from his back into your chest, and the thought of taking a shower and lying down in bed with him once you both got home. You let out a shaky breath as you squeezed your arms around him tighter for a moment, more thankful than ever that it was something that you were able to do.

#sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #juice ortiz #juice ortiz x reader #juice ortiz x you #juice ortiz imagine #juan carlos ortiz #soa #soa imagine #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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serena-hart-09 · 3 years

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A Story’s Analyzation Chapter 1 : A new fresh page...

This is a GN!MC X Lucifer fic

Mc wakes up in an unfamiliar place or rather, in a chair. Seriously of all places they could find themselves sleeping…. in a chair? They groan a little and struggle to wake up as their back aching as if someone is loudly screaming at them. ‘Where am I?’ they think to themselves. The place is like a big courtroom of sorts. Suddenly, a man shouts: “Welcome to the Devildom, Mc!”

“WAAAGH!” Mc screams startled and falls off the chair. “Oh, my is the human broken?” someone speaks. Mc gets up quickly on high alert only to face several men looking at them some of them with concern while some amused. Adjusting themselves they say “I’m not broken, thank you very much. I just got surprised is all. Anyone would be especially if someone screams at you with that volume. Dammit, my back hurts.” A red-haired man speaks, “oh I apologize about that. Are you alright?”

“I’m alright now. Anyways, who are you?” Mc looks at all of them suspiciously. ‘There are 5 of these weirdos it seems’ they think. “Oh, pardon me. Feeling a bit shocked, are we? Well, that’s understandable. You’ve only just arrived, after all.”

“True, I am quite shocked. But doesn’t answer my question. As it seems you haven’t understood the question, I shall ask it again.” Mc takes a deep breath and askes in a cold and dark voice “Who are you all?” The redhead and everyone look at them with a surprised face. The greenhead beside him also is shocked but looks at them with anger the moment after “That is no way no talk with the Young Master.” “Well, I’m sorry but I talk with people like this with those people who don’t answer a question as simple as this” they say with a bored face. “Who do you think you are?” a black-haired man with scowl on his face askes them.

‘Why all handsome men are rude, taken or are assholes? But at least he has normal hair and doesn’t looks like a person begging for attention with unnatural hair colour’ they think to themselves. “Me, you ask? I’m ‘just a human’ you know?” they tell him with a sly smirk.

“Do not test my patience, human-”

“Now now Luci calm down!” the redhead says.

“Luci? Your name is Luci? Quite cute name for man who looks like he lives with a scowl on his face every single day of his life.” Mc laughs at him.

“You dare-” ‘Luci’ looks at them with a bashful expression. He turns to look at the redhead with shock as he laughs out loud, “Lord Diavolo don’t laugh at this. This rude human is insulting you-”

“Hey, I’m not insulting you. Especially, if you don’t have the courtesy to even tell me your names or introduce yourselves.” Mc says with an annoyance in their voice. “…” the man says nothing while looking away from them, while ‘Lord Diavolo’ (Redhead? Maybe?) is still laughing “But- but they are right Lucifer! Pfffft-”

The redhead looks at them and finally introduces himself “I apologize for the delay of introductions. I am Diavolo. I am the ruler of all demons, and all here know of me. As the Prince of Devildom, one day I shall be crowned king of the Devildom. You are in Devildom.”

“Devildom, you say?” they ask with interest evident on their face.

“Yes exactly, the Devildom. I see that you catch on quickly. Excellent.” He says with small smile. He continues, “This is the Royal Academy of Diavolo. We just call it RAD. You are standing inside the assembly hall, the very heart of RAD. This is where we officers of the Student Council of RAD hold our meetings and conduct our business. I’m the President of the Council”

“……..I see, why am I here? Mc asks cautiously slowly trying to take the information that is bombarded on them.

“I will explain everything to you.” ‘Luci’ says suddenly with a serious expression. “Ah, yes. Mc, this is Lucifer. He is a demon and the Avatar of Pride. ‘Luci’ is his nickname. He is also the Vice President of the Student Council and my right-hand man….and not just in title, I assure you. Beyond that, he’s also my most trusted friend.” Mc raises an eyebrow at that.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Diavolo and do not call me that nonsensical ‘nickname’.” Lucifer tells him with a stern expression. Then he looks at Mc again with a small smirk (or rather a forced one) while still looking like he wants set them on fire, he continues anyways, “Speaking on behalf of the entire student body……. I offer you a most heartfelt welcome, Mc.”

“I shall be little polite now, but as I said, please answer my question. Please do so before I do something we both would regret.” They say with a tired expression. They were tired. Tired taking this whole new bag of information swung at them like a bat. They wanted this to be over. They knew that this wasn’t a dream, they knew very well how dreams are like………but by God they wish that this was a dream. ‘Please let’s just get the formalities over with!’ they begged in their head.

“Interesting. This one is quite different from Solomon.” Lucifer smiles.

“….” They said nothing as shock covers their face for a minute.

Ignoring their shock, he continues “Diavolo believes that we demons should start strengthening our relationship with both the Human World and the Celestial Realm.” ‘Wait…. WHAT’ Mc’s mouth was agape with shock. “As a first step towards this goal, we’ve decided to institute an exchange program. We’ve sent two of our students to the Human World and two to the Celestial Realm. The period of stay for all exchange students is one year.”

Recovering from the shock, Mc asks “So I’m one of the two exchange students? And other there are other two from the Celestial Realm?”

Lucifer wearing a little comfortable expression, agrees. “……. I see that’s good I shall try my best and help you!” they say with an excited expression.

“It’s true you may feel agitated-” Lucifer stops mid-sentence to look at with a baffled expression but continues, “…. after one year, you will write a paper about your stay here in Devildom.”

“Alright! Will do!” the human says with a happy expression.

“…..” Lucifer now thinks that this human maybe is broken or naïve or probably stupid.

After a moment Mc speaks, “I don’t know much about this place and the education system or the syllabus so, I request your help during the stay.”

“…. Of course,” he says. “You need someone to guard you in this place as you are a meal to the other demons here.”

“Really? Do I need a guard? I can just guard myself very well.”

“Yes, you will need one. That someone will be my brother Mammon.”

Ah, the ‘I want to punch you but I’m holding back’ smile is back. This man-…. demon gets very mad very easily it seems. ‘He should probably attend some anger management classes.’

“Okay I won’t complain.”

“Good. Back to the topic….”

He hands them a device which looks similar if not is a smartphone. “Oh?”

“This is a D.D.D. similar to the smartphones you have in the Human World.”

Mc inspects the device and turns it on.

“The contacts of my brothers and I have been already added to D.D.D.”

“Wow. Thanks.” They him a little smile.

“Now go ahead try calling Mammon.”

“Alright, I guess.” They press the call option.

“Yoooo.” A new voice is heard through the device.

“Yooooooo, to you too.” They say while snickering.

“Are ya foolin’ around? Who the hell are you?”

“I……am a human! Tada!”

“Whaaaa? A human? Geez, I was gettin’ all chilly here thinkin’ it was Lucifer again. Should’ve told me right away.” He continues after a huff “So, what does a human got with THE Mammon?”

“Lucifer here said that you will be in charge of me from now on. So, he told me to call you. I think wants you to come here.”

“No way! There’s nothin’ in it for me. Whaddya even mean by ‘be in charge of you’?”

“Well….”

“AHH! I get it now, you’re the other human- the new exchange student!”

“Yeah so-”

“Good luck with that, and see ya.”

Mc felt as if something snapped in them. “What do mean by ‘see ya’? You think I wanted this? Well don’t worry, because when I see you, I’ll punch you hard. I’m already on edge as it is after all, I found out I am transported in Devildom of all places. If you think this is trouble then I will show you trouble once I send Ling Long at your arse. Mind you, Ling Long is a dragon. Plus, I think it’s alright even if you don’t come here after all, he needs a new toy to play. He’s getting bored with the old one yknow?” they say with a small sadistic smile. “And I’m serious, Mammon or whatever. So, get here in the assembly hall of RAD you lil-”

“OI you can’t be serious!”

“I am, try me.”

“Oh yeah? Well-”

Mid call Lucifer comes near me “You’ve got 10 seconds 9…. 8…”

“YESSIR” Mammon yells. Then the call ends.

“About the thing with Ling Long…… it’s not true. I don’t hurt people with families especially if their families are near the place where I’m standing. I just want to get things over with.” Mc says with an apologetic and tired smile. This time, Lucifer smiles as well “ah, yes I see. I figured as much. However, what about the aforementioned dragon?”

“Yes, he is my pet dragon.”

“Oh? Where is he then?”

“……. You want to meet him?” Mc looks at Lucifer with nervousness and hesitation evident in their face.

“…. Yes? Why is he shy?”

“No, quite the opposite actually. The problem is…he is huge like very huge his size alone may destroy the assembly hall……so…” they look at their side.

“I…. see. Though I am interested to meet ‘Ling Long’. You see, even I have a beloved monster pet too.”

“Woah! Really?!” they ask with sparkles in their eyes. Lucifer looks at them with a smile. Lucifer opens his mouth to say something but before he could Diavolo’s voice interrupts him, “Lucifer, why don’t you introduce your brothers?” Lucifer sighs dramatically as if to say ‘when is this day going to finish?’

“Do I have to?” he groans in displeasure.

“Lucifer how mean! How could not introduce your adorable brother?!” a man with beautiful champagne-coloured hair pout at him.

“You are a shopaholic more than adorable, Asmo.” A blonde hair man dead pans at him.

“Both of you, stop it. Mc this over-excited brother of mine is Asmodeus.”

“Hi!” at a minute Asmodeus is at your side “I am Asmodeus! But you may call me Asmo!” Mc looks at him with a bashful face. ‘Does this man know of personal space? Why are his eyes shining like that?’ they wonder.

“Asmodeus, stop it now.” Lucifer’s commanding voice makes the man look at him but he only smiles at Lucifer.

“Hey Asmodeus, why are your eyes shining like that?” Mc asks him.

This make Asmodeus grin at them “Do you like them, Mc?” he asks them with a husky voice.

“No, I think they are creepy.”

“WHAT?” He looks at them with shock. “Wh…… Why…….?” Mc continues to look at him with a question mark on their face. “He was bewitching you.” A new voice fills in.

“What?” they look at the blonde-haired man.

“He was trying to seduce you. He is the Avatar of Lust after all. But it seems you are not affected by him……. Interesting.”

“……What……” They look at Asmodeus with a scary looking face.

“EeeeK-”

“Lucifer, I’m hungry” A giant orange haired man frowns looking at Lucifer.

“Endure it for now, Beel.” Lucifer tells him while he pinches his nose bridge with his fingers. Asmodeus screams about how weird and how this is his first time that a human is not bewitched by him and stuff. ‘I feel bad for him’

“Here, I have some candies.” They say as they give the candies to the giant man.

“Thanks!” his face lights up with a childlike excitement. “My name is Beelzebub. Avatar of Gluttony.”

‘He is cute like a puppy…. hehe’ they think, “I am Mc, Beelzebub. It is nice meeting you.”

“You can call me Beel.”

“Alright, Beel it is.”

“I know Lucifer won’t introduce me but I am Satan. The Avatar of Wrath. I hope we get along well.” The blonde says with a polite smile.

“Ah, yes thank you for warning me about your brother.” They shake hands with Satan. A distant “Hey!” from Asmodeus could be heard in the back ground.

“It’s my pleasure. Also, I would like to know more about your dragon.” He smiles at them.

Just then, a loud bang is heard as the oh so awaited THE Mammon comes in. “Human, you have some guts to threaten the Great Mammon!” He looks at them with anger.

“Maaaaaamooooon?” Lucifer voice is laced with hostility. ‘Well, wow.’ They think.

“I- I mean I’m happy to meet ya!” his face covered in fear as he stutters out the words.

Lucifer sighs for like a hundredth time that day before he says, “Well, now the introductions have been taken care of, Mc.”

“Yes?”

“You will be living with me and my brothers in The House of Lamentation, for the whole year.”

“Oh…… um alright I guess.”

“Now” He looks at Mc with a smirk. “Let’s go back home brothers.”

Mc smiles back at him. The others brothers are either complaining about their responsibilities (Mammon, obviously) or complaining about other stuff. Throughout the ride Lucifer looks at the human and observes them with intensity……. because they are smirking……throughout the whole ordeal.

…….

…..

…

‘Well, it seems a new story has begun.

Let’s see, if this one is interesting. If these pawns are worth the effort……hehehehe…….’

#shall we date obey me #obey me fic #obey me #obey me x mc #obey me lucifer #lucifer x reader #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me solomon

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square-blunt · 3 years

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I have a history quiz due on Sunday, why am I writing this character analysis of a sixteen-year-old minecraft streamer for fun-

I am hyper-fixating on the Dream smp. This has caused many problems for me. I have been in the fandom for a semi-short amount of time, since Tommy’s exile, but I was immediately attached to him, because of the arc he was in and the relationship with c!Dream. I was amazed at how much he actually went through because I only had a quick rundown from a friend. And this ‘much’, I think, actually validates the many ‘controversial’ choices that Tommy has been forced to make. Keep in mind that a lot of these choices that Tommy made were unwilling- and sometimes both of the options have very big consequences. My name is Nix, I kin the gremlin child, and thank you for coming to my very biased ted talk. Essays are just scholarly rants, and I will now rant about this angsty block gremlin child.

I feel like we forget that he is a child. I feel like those who criticize c!Tommy forget that he’s a literal child. He is 16. And he has already been through an unspeakable amount of trauma. It’s almost sickening, the fact that a lot of these adults know what Tommy’s been through, they know that he’s a kid, and yet they treat him like an adult, and they expect him to act like an adult and punish him when he doesn’t. They expect him to make choices like an adult like he hasn’t been traumatized like he hasn’t been through literal wars, saw his best friend get blown up by his brother, had his other brother blow up the country, had his father kill that brother, and then get emotionally manipulated into isolation until he almost fucking killed himself, and then that first brother and his father blew up the same country again with the guy that emotionally manipulated him into almost killing himself. He is still a child. And the adults of the server seem to fucking forget that. Puffy is one of the only people to stand up for him, and yet no one listens to her. Big fucking surprise. But she stands up for him still, because she understands the fact that Tommy is a child and he should not be expected to act like an adult. She understands this. And no one else seems to. Ghostbur treats him well, but that’s because Ghostbur treats everyone well. I’m not saying that everyone should treat Tommy nicely because he is traumatized, what I am saying is that they have no excuse to treat him like shit. These adults should treat him nicely because they should be decent human beings (Or piglin hybrids or half-enderman or furries or whatever else). They shouldn’t be fucking assholes to Tommy especially because he’s been hurt by assholes almost all his life (on the server, I mean). They should be nice to everyone, but especially to Tommy because he’s been hurt so much. The people who believe that Tommy should ‘learn a lesson’ (cough cough Philza) and try and ‘teach’ that lesson through violence (COUGH COUGH PHILZA [and technoblade but like, techno’s an enigma that I’ll talk about later]), like, it’s not gonna work! It hasn’t worked the ten million other times they’ve tried before! Like fucking jesus the kid already lost his disks and his country and half of his family, what more lessons can you teach? Like yeah. Tommy, he has fucked up in the past. He’s made mistakes. But I personally believe that he’s been held more than accountable for all of them. Stop. Using. Violence. To. Try. And. Teach. Tommy. A. ‘Lesson’.

Most of this does stem from c!Dream and his iron grip on the serve, and I am a firm fucking believer that he was the one to blow up the community house with the sole purpose of framing Tommy. Because that is something Tommy would do. Because he's ‘grown up’ in an environment where the only way to work through your issues is to blow shit up. Tommy knows that there are other ways, but every time there has been a conflict, violence seems to be the only way out. And it is perfectly in line with Dream’s character to know that and use that against Tommy. I think Dream also knew that Tommy would end up going back to Tubbo in the end, too. That’s another thing, I don’t think Tommy betrayed Techno. Like, yeah, Tommy left him, but he didn’t betray Techno in the normal sense of the phrase. One stream before that, Techno legit said “Oh I’ve just been using you as a pawn for my own personal gain up until now but y’know now I actually don’t physically want to kill you so good job I guess. By the way, I’m blowing up everything and killing everyone you’ve ever loved whether you like it or not. You don’t have to help me, you can just let it happen and sit it out I’m cool with that-” LIKE BITCH EXCUSE ME? Tommy has given up two lives, his disks, he’s been exiled twice, his country has been blown up twice (by that point)- and now Techno is telling him that he’s gonna blow it up again? Because you people seem to forget, Techno blew up Tubbo first. Techno. Shot. First. Sure the butcher army didn’t have to go after him when he went into retirement, but Techno shot first intending to kill Tubbo, did that, got away with it other than Tommy yelling at him right after it, and then worked with Dream to spawn withers and blow it up after they killed Schlatt. Sure, Techno gave them gear. But during that, whether he was knowingly contributing or not, Dream was corrupting Wilbur and Techno was contributing. Once again, knowingly or not, he was still doing that. And Tommy realized this. Tommy cares about L’Manburg. He cares about Tubbo. He cares about Wilbur. And Techno hurt all of them. Tommy didn’t forget that. And yeah, Techno stood for Tommy during that whole ‘this guy’s with me’ thing, but like, Techno still offered to hand Tommy over for the favor. Techno could have kept his mouth shut. But Techno still saw Tommy as somewhat of a pawn for his own personal end- blowing up L’Manburg. He said, ‘Oh we’ll get your disks, Tommy, don’t worry, but you know I’m gonna just gonna side with the guy who isolated you from everyone you ever cared about first to blow up one of the only things you have left of Wilbur but you know, government bad, they took everything from me, don’t mind the fact that I killed your best friend and blew everything up no it’s all their fault-’ Techno saw Tommy as an opportunity. Techno didn’t care about Tommy’s well-being, until maybe the day before but even then. (Yes, I know about the ax and Ranboo giving it to Techno and all that bullshit and how he’s hesitant to let anyone in bc everyone has ‘betrayed’ him but he said. To Tommy. Directly. That he was simply using him for his own personal gain). At least Tommy was open about what he actually wanted.

The disks, I feel like, are more than just disks. They represent all the sacrifices that Tommy’ ever made for L’Manburg. Notice how, yeah Tommy wanted the disks back when he had L’Manburg, but that ‘I-want-my-disks-back’ arc really picked up when he was in exile/when L’manburg was taken from him. L’Manburg and the disks are interchangeable. If Tommy has L’Manburg, he doesn’t have the disks. If Tommy doesn’t have L’Manburg, he wants the disks back. And he’s said this from the start. That’s why he gave the presidency to Tubbo was because he knew that he would be a bad president. He wanted his disks back. That want has always been there. But notice that when Tommy gets to Snowchester, he says to Tubbo “I want the disks back.” Not ‘I want L’Manburg back’. Tommy wants the disks. He knows he’s lost L’Manburg, (even tho L’Manburg is the bond between him, Tubbo, and Alive/Ghostbur but that’s a rant for a later date) so maybe he can get his disks back. One thing I should touch on is Tommy’s struggle between choosing his disks and choosing people. Don’t get me wrong, I know that if it came down to Tubbo or the disks, he’d choose Tubbo, but in little things. Like when Tubbo invited him to stay in Snowchester, Tommy didn’t respond but instead asked for his help in getting the disks. Tommy has trouble getting his priorities straight in minor things. I think that’s why Tubbo is such a good fit for Tommy. Tubbo knows that Tommy would choose him over the disks if it came down to it, and Tubbo understands what Tommy has gone through, and Tubbo understands that even when Tommy can get a little too fixated on the disks, he will still put his friends first. That’s what the others don’t get. That’s why, I think, Tommy told Tubbo to give Dream the disks on the 5th. Because Tommy realized that by saying “The disks were worth more than you ever were” he is putting the disks above Tubbo- he’s putting himself above Tubbo. And this ties back into the emotional trauma that Dream inflicted on him, he was told that Tubbo didn’t care about him, that no one cared about him, and Tommy wanted to not be that. Tommy wants to care about people, and because Dream had invalidated what care was shown to Tommy, he believes that that is the bare minimum. He believes that ‘being kind to other people’ is the norm, especially considering the way he was treated before the exile. Dream has made it so, that in Tommy’s mind, the only way to show someone you care about them is to put them above yourself. So by saying that the disks matter more than Tubbo, Tommy is putting his own needs above Tubbo, and therefore, he doesn’t care about Tubbo anymore. And he still cares about Tubbo despite Dreams, and Techno’s, best efforts. He felt that the only way to apologize is to give up what he wanted, to make sure that Tubbo knows that Tommy does actually care about him. Granted this could have completely backfired. Tubbo could have seen that as, ‘If the disks are worth more than me, and Tommy’s giving up the disks like they’re worth nothing, then what am I worth to him?’ but thankful Tubbo knows that Tommy didn’t mean it. Because Tubbo knows Tommy for who he really is when he’s not hurting, or manipulated- when Tommy is Tommy. Not Techno’s sidekick. Not under Dream’s influence. And Tommy knows Tubbo knows.

This is why, in the end, Tommy was always meant to side with Tubbo. Because Tubbo and Tommy have cared about each other from the start, meanwhile Tommy went to Techno at his lowest, and Techno, for the most part, was using him for his own personal gain. Tommy knows that he wasn’t himself, too. When Tommy offers for Tubbo to move in with him, Tommy was doing that as a sign of ‘Hey, I’m trying to heal, I know I’m fucked up, and I need you to help me.’ Tommy is trying to heal. Tubbo, and Puffy, and Ghostbur (Maybe Wilbur will, too) are trying to help him heal. (Ghostbur less so, only because I don’t think he has a proper grasp of how much Tommy has been put through, but he’s trying his best and I love him for it) And maybe, the other adults on the server will start acting like adults and quit expecting Tommy to be one. Tommy is a threat- to Dream. Dream knows that Tommy is the main protagonist, and he knows that Tommy can take him down. He’s tried to turn everyone against him, and it was working for a while. But maybe the others will understand what Tommy’s (and tubbo, of course, but I’m gonna give Tubbo an essay of his own later) been put through, all the choices he’s been forced to make- with all options being not very good, and actually try and help to take Dream down. Because Tommy does want his disks back, but he also wants to make sure that Dream won’t hurt anyone ever again. The disks would just be a plus. I’ve been Nix, and if you couldn’t tell, I am a Tommy apologist.

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the--blackdahlia · 5 years

Text

This Life Chapter 21

Title: This Life Chapter 21

Summary: Dean Winchester is the Vice President of the motorcycle club The Hunters. After almost 7 years in prison, he's free. But things have changed and Dean has to figure out how to put things back together.

Warnings: Language, violence, arson, murder

AN: There are only two more chapters after this one! A special thanks goes out to the beautiful @sams-serialkiller-fetish . The song for this chapter is Seek and Destroy by Metallica.

Sam called Jody, who called in a few favors with Austin PD, who released Lucifer’s body to her. So while they were working on all of that, the Wayward Sons returned to Winchester-Singer, where the Hunters stood waiting for any news. But one look at Gabriel’s face told Dean all he needed to know. It was the look of someone who had lost a brother.

“Gabriel?” Jo asked softly. He looked at her, his eyes not shining and there was not a mischievous smile on his face like there normally was. He walked past her like a zombie. Meg whispered in Jo’s ear what they had just seen, causing her to gasp. Jim pulled out a chair for Gabriel to sit down in.

“Do you want a funeral?” Bobby asked a while later, when the activity had started to pick up around the garage again.

“My family believes in cremation.” Gabriel told him. “Probably just a little ceremony when I spread his ashes.”

“Sprinkle him at Haunted Mansion?” Dean asked, causing Sam to slap his arm. “What?”

“He’d love that.” Gabriel laughed a little. “It’s against the rules of Disney. And for some reason, he’s the only person I’ve ever met that would do anything to give a big “screw you” to Walt.”

“It’s almost seventeen hours to Walt Disney World.” Charlie informed them.

“And twenty hours to Disneyland.” Ash added.

“Disney World!” Dean cheered, making Gabriel laugh. Sam shook his head.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s a good option right now.” Bobby said. “We still have two very pissed off princes out there, and we need to figure out who pumped Lucifer full of drugs.”

“I think I can help with that.” A voice said. Everyone jumped and were pulling guns. There stood Crowley, minus his Horsemen vest. It was in his hand as he raised them. “I come in peace.”

“You were there the day Azazel killed my dad.” Sam sneered. “I’m not going to trust you.”

“I didn’t want to even be a Horsemen.” Crowley said. “My mother is Cain’s sister. And before the coup, I was a prospect. Things were great until those assholes took over.”

“And why the fuck should we trust you?” Dean asked. Crowley shrugged.

“I’m not saying you have to. I just want you to listen.” Crowley said. “Please?”

“What do you think Bobby?” Sam asked. “Should we listen to him?”

“Let’s give him a shot. But the weapons are not leaving.” Bobby said. Crowley nodded.

“You can even check me for a wire.” He said, spreading his arms. Dean nodded for Kevin to check him out. Kevin patted him down. He didn’t even bring a gun with him. Just a pocket knife. No recording equipment, no cell phone, nothing. “I told you, I came in peace.” Bobby nodded and they escorted him to the meeting room. They set him down in a seat and the Hunters and Wayward Sons watched him like a hawk.

“Okay, what do you know?” Bobby asked.

“It was Ramiel and Asmodeus that ordered Lucifer to be used to send a message.” Crowley explained. “They have been in talks with this new club from north of here. Called God’s Chosen. They deal Demon Blood and some new thing called Angel Grace.”

“Angel Grace?” Dean asked. Crowley nodded.

“I’ve heard it’s a mutated form of angel dust. I’m not sure though. There’s not enough information out there yet, but I guess it’s just as addictive as Demon Blood is.” Crowley explained to them. “They got the Demon Blood from God’s Chosen. He was more than happy to oblige when he found out who it was for.”

“He? He who?” Gabriel asked.

“His name is Michael.” Crowley told him. Gabriel’s eyes darkened then.

“Gabriel?” Andy asked. “What is it?”

“That stupid fucker. He’s the one that got Lucifer addicted in the first place.” Gabriel growled.

“A dealer?” Caleb asked. Gabriel shook his head.

“No. Our big brother.” Gabriel told them. Everyone just stared. “There’s seven of us guys. Scattered all over the world. I stuck around to take care of Nick...Lucifer.” Gabriel explained.

“That’s some...really deep drama.” Cas said. “Glad I’m not apart of that family.”

“Ramiel and Asmodeus are back in Arizona, planning how to attack next.” Crowley explained. “They don’t know I’m here and frankly, I’m done with them.” He tossed the vest on to the table. “I would love to watch this all burn.”

“How do they know about everything?” Sam asked suddenly, making everyone look at him.

“They have a mole on the inside.” Crowley explained. “I’m not sure about his name, but I don’t see him here right now. I’ve heard his name thrown around a couple times, but for the life of me, I can’t remember for sure what it is.”

“Any clues?” Dean asked. Crowley closed his eyes, trying to think.

“I think his name started with a g…” Crowley said. All the Hunters looked at each other then.

“Son of a bitch.” Caleb hissed. “I’m going to kill him.”

“We have to find him first.” Bobby said. “I should’ve listened to John when he first said a freelancer was a bad idea. But I convinced him to give it a shot. And it worked for awhile. Apparently, it was working for both of us.”

“What?” Andy asked. Dean sighed.

“While I was locked up, the club agreed to hiring a freelancer to work for them. A hired gun, you can say. His name is…” Dean looked over at Jim.

“Gordon Walker.” Jim informed them.

“And he apparently was getting paid more by the Horsemen than we were paying.” Dean finished up.

“And how do we know you’re not that way?” Cas asked, looking down at Crowley.

“Shoot me for all I care.” Crowley told them. “I’m not going back there. They’ll kill me if you don’t first.”

“We’ll do protective custody for the time being.” Bobby said. “Can’t risk you running off and telling your buddies.”

“Whatever you think is best.” Crowley said. “I’m ready for it.”

“Well, there’s the room here.” Bobby said. “I’ll have Jo wash the sheets. Probably stinks of Dean.”

“Hey! I don’t stink!” Dean said. Caleb looked at him.

“Kid, have you ever been in the room with yourself when the boots come off?” He asked. Sam laughed, making Dean roll his eyes.

“At least I’m not gassy.” Dean grumbled. “One burrito and he’s toxic!”

“Whatever you say Dean.” Sam said, patting his brother on the shoulder. “Whatever you say.”

****

“Where’s Gabriel?” Ellen asked. They were settling down to dinner, both clubs and Crowley. Except Gabriel wasn’t around.

“He was here.” Sam said. “Just twenty minutes ago. I talked to him.”

“I thought I saw him leave.” Kevin told them.

“Leave?” Andy asked. “Where would he go?” Sam’s eyes widened.

“He’s going to Arizona.” Sam said. “He’s going to kill the Horsemen.”

****

Gabriel had plenty of time to plan on his trip back to Aguila. They had killed his big brother with the help of his eldest brother. He would deal with Michael later. Right now, he just wanted to make the Horsemen pay for what they had done to Lucifer. He had five gallons of gasoline and some matches. He was taking Crowley’s words to heart.

He was going to burn them.

He knew that he was getting phone calls one after another from the people waiting on him back in Wolfpine. He would call them when the deed was done. But he wanted to get it done first.

It was pretty early when he got to Aguila. There weren’t many people out and about yet, and that was perfect for Gabriel. He parked his park a little ways away from the Horsemen clubhouse and made his way around. Dropping his bag of supplies by him, he peered inside one of the windows. Ramiel was asleep on the pool table and Asmodeus was asleep on the couch in front of the TV. Gabriel smirked and reached into his bag. He grabbed some bungie chords that he had bought before picking up the gas and started securing each door leading to the outside. He made quick work of it. They were shut up nice and tight. The next thing he did was soak as much as he could in gas. He even had a bottle of light fluid if he needed it.

If the Horsemen thought it was okay to burn people, to take loved ones away in a firey blast, then Gabriel was going to do the same. Once the gas was all gone and some light fluid has been distributed, Gabriel lit a bunch of the matches and dropped them, watching the flames dance around and start to eat at the building.

“Adiós Jinetes. Manténganse calientes en el infierno.” Gabriel laughed. Four years of Spanish and he was going to use it. He made his way back to his bike. He found a place to watch as the fire consumed the Horsemen’s club. He didn’t see Ramiel or Asmodeus escape. He stuck around long enough to hear if there were any bodies recovered inside the building.

Seven bodies reported. And from the descriptions Gabriel heard, it was Asmodeus and Ramiel. With a smirk on his face, he headed back towards Texas, taking a break in New Mexico to tell the others what had happened.

****

“What?” Sam asked as he talked on the phone with Gabriel. “You’re serious?” Dean watched as Sam paced while on the phone. He had done that since he was little, getting caught up in the cords on the phone so much to the point John got a cordless. “I’ll let them all know.” He hung up.

“What’s up?” Bobby asked. Sam smiled.

“Ramiel and Asmodeus are dead.” Sam announced.

“You’re serious?” Dean asked. Sam nodded, a smile on his face. “And Gabriel did it?”

“Yes.” Sam said, a bigger smile. “He burned them.”

“So the Horsemen are gone?” Crowley asked. Him and Ruby were both bartending and they both proved to be excellent at it.

“Except for one.” Caleb said. Crowley felt the hairs on the back of his neck stick up. Were they going to kill him next? “Gordon. He has to be dealt with.”

“We’ll take care of it.” Cas said.

“I think this calls for a toast. Ruby, break out the Irish whiskey!” Jim called out, making everyone groan. But Ruby poured the shots and everyone drank them.

****

Gordon stood with Lilith, Abbadon, and Dagon, looking at the charred remains of the clubhouse. First, they had taken Azazel. Then Alastair. And finally, Ramiel and Asmodeus. The four of them stood there. They were all that was left.

“We’ll get revenge.” Gordon finally said. “The Hunters and the Wayward Sons won’t know what’s coming.”

“We’re helping.” Abbadon told him.

“We can’t just sit around.” Dagon added. Gordon nodded.

“Then get ready. Because we’re taking this fight to Texas.”

Forever Tags: @anathewierdo @we-ride-with-the-tide @dekahg @marvel-af @feelmyroarrrr @gemini0410 @nanie5 @imboredsueme @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogaruke @xxwarhawk @strab0 @sandlee44

Dean Winchester/Jensen Ackles Tags: @luciathewinchestergirl @sheris532 @bobasheebaby @bella-ca

This Life Tags: @soulslaststand @jamielea81 @caplansteverogers @becs-bunker @colie87

Supernatural Tags: @bandobsession98 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @fangirlsencyclopaediaofweirdness @ilovetardis @missihart23 @cloudyskylines @supernaturalwincestsblog @flamencodiva @sams-serialkiller-fetish

#this life #sam winchester #dean winchester #supernatural #gabriel #fanfiction #Jared Padalecki #Jensen Ackles

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sheithonearth · 6 years

Text

Rockabye

Warnings: Mpreg, mentions of abortion but no actual abortion.

The chair scraped across the floor as Keith pulled it out and sat down, seat creaking under the weight. Iverson took his own spot across from him at his desk, wordless and unhurried as he set a stuffed folder on the surface then casually flipped through it. Keith knew what Iverson was doing and was prepared to not let that asshole get under his skin, used to his so-called “intimidation” tactics at this point. Sat adjacent to him was another officer whose name he didn’t know but was probably there to be a witness, meaning this meeting wasn’t going to be in Keith’s favor at all.

The office had a dull hue to it with unremarkable white walls that surrounded him. Awards and photos of Iverson shaking hands with higher ups and world leaders, including the president herself, were tacked to the walls in a showy display. Included were the few picture frames on the desk that faced away from the guest. Keith didn’t care what was on the other side of the frames, especially not now.

Iverson finally spoke, “As I’m sure you’re aware, the Galaxy Garrison is known for its discipline, its displays of valor, and its adherence to its code of conduct, meaning those under the tutelage of the garrison are to follow the rules. Now you, Kogane, have not been very good at following the rules from day one. You’re only saving grace has been your piloting abilities, but now we are at a cross roads where that might not be enough.” Keith crossed his arms over his chest, giving off an air of defiance and to shove down the creeping fear he felt.

“Kogane, you know why we’re talking to you right now, right?” It was a dumb question and Keith refused to answer it.

“You’re pregnant,” Keith dug his nails into arms, almost painful enough to make him wince. He was well aware of his situation, one he had only found out about three hours ago after going to the med bay for excessive vomiting. It was still too fresh in his mind.

“We don’t care if cadets have relationships with other cadets, it’s inevitable, but sexual misconduct and pregnancy are to be strictly abstained from. Violations can result in NJPs and even expulsion.” Sexual misconduct. Keith wanted to scoff. “Misconduct” wasn’t being so overcome with emotions of want and love that everything else around you vanished–stifled moans and skin-against-skin being the only anchor left. The rush of adrenaline had pumped furiously through him, giving him tunnel vision, eyes set on one person and one person only.

“Now, Kogane, there’s something else we need from you. You aren’t the only other party in this situation and we need the name of the other partner.” Iverson was being diplomatic to start but Keith heard the undertone. Keith was ready for a fight, fear from earlier fading into courage.

He stayed silent, not breaking eye contact and maintaining his indifferent attitude.

Iverson sighed, “Look, Keith, it is important you cooperate with us. Are you protecting him? Did he maybe force himself on you?”

“It wasn’t like that!” Keith blurted, leaning forward in his chair. Both Iverson and the other officer straightened in their chairs, ready to be on the defensive. Keith huffed and threw himself against his chair’s backrest, hands clutched around the arms of it. They didn’t know who it was, but the thought of them accusing Shiro of forcing himself on Keith was ludicrous. They had no idea how willing Keith had been, how he threw himself into strong, caring arms. They had held him in all the right ways, hands delicate as they caressed him over his trembling body. Deep kisses turned Keith into a writhing, pliant mess, wanting more than he was getting. Keith’s breath came out shaky as he exhaled, the memory playing intensely in his head.

“Okay, so he didn’t force himself on you, but if it was another officer we’ll have a bigger problem on our hands. It could lead to their possible discharge from the garrison, and it could be worse for you since you refuse to tell us who.” Keith held his silence. Concerns had been voiced about Shiro’s position in the garrison and the possible ramifications, hushed as they lay in scattered blankets and sheets that spilled over their hips. But he had held Keith’s hand in his, intimate and close, and kissed everyone of his knuckles. Solicitous whispers of “I’m not afraid” and “I won’t let you go” dared Keith to believe that he meant what he said, and that he would come back to Keith after his year in space was up.

Iverson speaking again brought him back, “It’s interesting that you’re 8 weeks along,” he said as he shuffled through the folder, “The Kerberos mission launched 8 weeks ago as well.” The implication in his tone left no room for what he meant. The air soured as Keith tried to maintain control of his breathing, going over the exercises Shiro’d given him to keep himself grounded.

“You and Lieutenant Shirogane seemed awfully close in your short time here. I suppose that’s on me, though, for assigning you to him in the first place.” Keith’s knuckles were white around the chairs armrests, unsure how much longer he could keep his cool in the suffocating presence of these men, these men who had him figured out. All they needed was a confession straight from Keith’s mouth.

“All we need you to do is tell us Shirogane’s the father and then we can cut a deal.”

“A deal?” Keith didn’t ask in interest, but in quiet incredulousness.

“You’ll be able to stay at the garrison but...” Iverson glanced at the other officer, “you’ll have to terminate the pregnancy.”

Keith’s eyes almost bugged out of his head.

“Of course only authorized personnel will be aware of this and no one outside of that will have to know.”

Anger was beginning to grab hold of Keith, ire unforgiving as his body trembled and eye sight blurred with unwanted tears. How could they ask that of him? What would giving Shiro up do for them when they also wanted Keith to get rid of his child? Their best pilot was hundreds of miles away in space yet on earth they had some sort of conspiracy against him. What did they want?

Through his tears, Keith stared again at the frames on the desk. Did they have a picture of Iverson’s family? A partner. Kids. People he loved.

None of this was in his favor. He either lost his unborn child and the most important person in his life, or lost his entire future and means of living with no support from anyone outside. Even as he mentally weighed his options, going through the pros and cons, it all seemed moot. It didn’t make it any easier, the inability to see beyond what was in front of him hindering any sort of positive outlook. Tears streaked hot down his cheeks but he didn’t sob or cry out. All he had left was the burning embers of his rage at the unfairness of it all. A future to look forward to and someone who wanted him by his side, ripped away all at once. With Shiro gone, he didn’t have anyone, no family, no other friends, just the growing life inside him reminding him of who wasn’t there.

It’d been minutes since a word had been spoken, sniffling the only sound filling the empty space. He used his sleeve to wipe away the wetness on his face and around his nose. Iverson and that other officer hadn’t bothered to move in the growing time of silence, as if willing to sit there all day if it called for it. But Keith didn’t have all day, he had just this moment and the lives of two futures on his hands. Things were never meant to be easy for Keith, he figured that out at a young age, but to have to choose between his child growing up in uncertain conditions or Shiro losing everything he’d worked hard for shook Keith to his core.

But in the end, Shiro’s happiness has always taken precedence over his own, and Keith wouldn’t have made it this far if he hadn’t taken “improvise, adapt, overcome” and utilized it to his full advantage. Keith’s been wanted before, but never needed, and selfishly he knew this child would need him and would connect him to the very person who wasn’t there. Maybe Shiro wasn’t afraid, but neither was Keith.

The tears stopped and Keith breathed in and out, even intakes calming his heart rate and neutralizing his anger. No, things weren’t easy for Keith, but he’s survived this long–one more hurdle won’t take him down, especially not with out a fight. Shiro will be back and Keith will bring him their child and they will be reunited once more.

Keith stood from his chair, both sets of eyes following him, “I’ll go pack my things.”

A/N: I’ve always enjoyed playing with the idea of Keith getting pregnant while at the garrison but I’m so bad at long/multi-chaptered stories I just sit on them. So here’s a small scene instead :)

Also posted on ao3!

#sheith #keith #shiro #my writing

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chasholidays · 6 years

Note

I would absolutely LOVE anything in the What Kind of Day It's Going to Be verse. Either a timestamp, alt POV, or sequel would be a dream come true! Thank you soooo much!

Original fic here!

Bellamy never thought he would quit a job for a relationship. It was one of those things that happened on TV and always struck him as unrealistic: short-sighted, dramatic, and, ultimately, dangerous. He’s never been so well off that he thought he could gamble his livelihood for, well, romance. He was old enough to know better when he was twenty, when he was thirty.

Which is probably why he doesn’t tell Clarke right away when he does it. Because it feels so juvenile, some big gesture that he’s dumping on her, like a cat bringing a dead mouse to its owner’s doorstep and expecting them to be impressed at its thoughtfulness and not horrified.

“Yeah, when you put it like that, it was a shitty idea,” says Wells.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Bellamy remembers that the president of the United States is giving him feedback on his love life, and it’s surreal.

Mostly, though, he can forget.

“Seriously, what the fuck am I supposed to say to her?”

“I got a job at the Newseum. That’s–” He counts on his fingers. “Seven words. Easy.”

“And then she asks why I quit, and I give her fifteen good reasons that aren’t I’m fucking in love with her and sick of having a conflict of interest.”

“If you don’t tell her you’re in love with her, it’s a waste.” Wells claps him on the shoulder. “I have to go be the president. Congrats on the new job. Same time next week? If you haven’t told her by then–”

“I’m not leaving for a month, I have plenty of time to tell her.”

“The sooner you tell her, the sooner you can ask her out,” Wells points out, not unreasonably. “I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go run the free world.”

Obviously, Wells does not make up a political scandal just to force Bellamy to talk to Clarke, but Bellamy can’t help combining the two. It’s his job to talk to Clarke about political scandals. Wells doesn’t give him enough details to break the story even if he wanted to, but the simple, “It’s about our parents; I think tomorrow’s going to be rough for her,” is more than enough for him to go by. He hadn’t like Wells at first, back in college, because President Jaha was, from everything he’d seen, kind of a dick, and it’s no surprise that the guy was kind of an asshole.

But Wells is good, and he and Clarke don’t deserve to have to deal with this stuff.

“Get to the White House as soon as you can,” he tells Monroe in the morning.

She frowns. “I haven’t heard anything.”

“Trust me, it’s going to be a busy day. Good time to show you how to trick interns into talking to you. But I’ve got other stuff to do too.”

“Connections to leverage?” she teases. She’s always very impressed that he and Wells went to college together.

“Something like that. See you there.”

He stops by Casa Coffee on his way in, grabs enough supplies to get Clarke through at least the first couple hours of her day, and he makes it in by eight. As he hoped, Monroe is already there, and Clarke looks about ten seconds from strangling someone.

“I will actually murder you,“ she says when she sees him, confirming his suspicions.

He loves her a lot.

“Good morning to you too. I brought you coffee.”

It takes a second for her eyes to focus on the cup; her night must have been rough. “I don’t accept bribes.”

It’s automatic to deny it; he always denies these things. “It’s not a bribe, it’s–no, actually, it’s a bribe,“ he amends. "But it’s so you don’t kill me, not because I think it’s going to get me advance information.”

She accepts the coffee and drains what looks like half of it. “I won’t kill you yet.”

“That’s the best I ever hope for. Where’s your intern who doesn’t know how to shut up? Myles? He’ll tell me what’s happening, right?”

She glares at him, and he finds himself beaming, feeling kind of stupidly happy, considering the circumstances. It’s going to be a rough day for all of them, but–this is probably his last major crisis before he leaves this job. It’s just a little bit fun.

“Nothing is happening,” says Clarke, like he has ever in his life believed this.

“Wow. That’s really what you’re going with? Really? You look like you haven’t slept and you usually at least let me be an asshole before you start threatening to kill me. Wells doing okay?” he adds, remembering the weary, defeated tone in his voice last night.

“President Jaha is fine,” Clarke snaps, which means it’s true. “You can wait for the press conference like everyone else, Bellamy.”

The worried look he pastes on his face is complete bullshit, and they both know it. “So now I can’t even express concern for my old friend on what’s clearly a–” Her elbow hits his ribs, and he laughs. “Fine. How long to the press conference?”

“I still haven’t made up my mind to not murder you.”

“If it’s more than an hour, I’ll bring you another coffee at nine,” he says.

She makes a show of thinking it over. “Make the next one a latte and we’ll talk,“ she says, and that’s about as much as he was expecting.

He’s got another hour and a half before the press conference; plenty of time to do his job before he comes to flirt again.

It’s a predictably hectic day. He makes time to get Clarke another coffee and a muffin, but this is Monroe’s first really busy day, and he needs to show her the ropes, which leaves him with a lot less time to flirt and fret than he’d like.

"Shouldn’t you be introducing me to the press secretary?” she asks, over lunch. “She’s your main point of contact, not her interns.”

Bellamy considers. “I haven’t told her I’m leaving yet,” he admits. “So I can’t really introduce her to my replacement yet. We’ll do it when it’s less, uh, like this in here. You don’t want her to remember you as the reporter who decided to introduce herself in the middle of a crisis.”

“Isn’t there always a crisis?”

“Less of a crisis. Or a less personal one.” He wets his lips. “Trust me, this is a bad day for it. I’m going to try to butter her up for you.”

“Does she get buttered up?” Monroe asks, with a wariness that is probably warranted. “I heard you’re her favorite and she still doesn’t really like you that much.”

“She loves me,” he says, without thinking, and doesn’t let himself think about the statement too hard. “She’s fine, once you get used to her. Mostly bark. I promise, I won’t let her kill you.”

“Wow, I feel so much better.”

“I’m buying her a sandwich to remind her that she likes me and everything.” He flashes her a smile. “Trust me.”

“That’s even worse,” she grumbles.

She’s going to be so good at this job.

He doesn’t make it back to Clarke until well after four, which makes him feel like a bit of an asshole. He wasn’t planning to go without checking in for so long, but their schedules are off, and it’s not his actual job to take care of her.

Which might be the biggest reason he needed a new job, honestly. He’s at the point in his life where he wants to prioritize people over his career, and Clarke is one of his most important people. Wells, too. And he’s tired of them having to talk around what’s going on with them because he’s a reporter, tired of knowing they can’t and shouldn’t trust him. It should be his job to be there for her.

She’s sitting down when he gets to her, which is a good start. Her eyes are closed, and she looks more exhausted than he’d expect, given someone could see her.

He sits down next to her, shoulder brushing hers, offers the sandwich he bought at lunch, and she opens her eyes to give him a wary look. “At what point did we decide I can’t feed myself?”

It feels like a bigger question than it really is, but it feels like the right time to answer a bigger question. “Wells called me last night to fill me in,“ he admits.

Her jaw actually drops, which he didn’t think was an actual thing humans did. “But you didn’t–”

“I didn’t break it. He didn’t call because he was giving me an exclusive. He was worried about you.” He clears his throat. “I quit my job.”

“When?” she asks still stunned.

It’s not the question he was expecting. “Three days ago. Wells knew, which is probably why he called me. I’m staying on until the end of the month to train the new kid, tie up loose ends, etc.”

She shakes her head. “I feel like I missed half this conversation. Are you–” He can see her swallow. “You’re not leaving DC, are you?”

“Nope. I got a job at the Newseum.”

“The Newseum?” she asks, dubious. “Seriously?”

“What? The Newseum is cool.”

“You’re a Pulitzer-prize-winning journalist.”

She sounds almost offended on his behalf, and he has to smile. He is her favorite, he knows that. “It’s a good job. Kind of different, yeah,“ he admits, when she just looks dubious. "But if it sucks I can probably convince another newspaper to hire me. Or write another book. I’ve got options.” He rubs the back of his neck, unsure. She still hasn’t asked the big question. “But, yeah. I’ve got three more weeks at the Post and then I’m done.”

“I still feel like I’m missing something,” she says, because somehow, she still is.

“I thought you would be having a shitty day. And you don’t deal well with direct displays of affection, so I figured I’d just bring you coffee and pester you until you felt better.”

She scowls, but not really at him. Just at the world. “And then you disappeared.”

“Like I said, I am theoretically training a replacement. I was teaching her how to trick Myles into giving away state secrets.”

“Don’t you just ask him for state secrets and he starts talking?”

He has to smile. “You really need to work on your hiring process for interns, yeah. Your boss says you are required to leave at five,” he adds, showing her the text message he got half an hour back. There’s no way anyone else is leaving at five, but he’s not sure Clarke would ever leave, if Wells didn’t kick her out.

“You could have faked this text,” she says, finally.

He rolls his eyes. “I could have. You still look like you haven’t slept in days, though. And,“ he adds, careful, deliberate, "I think I owe you dinner.”

It feels as if the whole world freezes, but he’s pretty sure it’s just the two of them–her, then him. “Are we really doing this now?” she asks, soft.

“I was going to wait, but, yeah. I’m kind of worried about you. The stuff with your mom can’t be easy. I won’t–I’m not looking for an exclusive here,” he tells her, and it feels so good that it’s true. “I just want to help you.”

“You couldn’t have told me that this morning?”

“I didn’t want to distract you.” She frowns, clearly confused, and he feels heat race up his neck. “I was hoping finding out I was quitting my job would distract you,” he admits.

That finally gets through to her. “You didn’t quit your job for me, did you?”

“Not just for you,“ he says, which is true. "The hours are better too.” He doesn’t want her to respond, so he stands again, changes the subject immediately. “So, five? Dinner’s on me.”

She’s starting to smile, and he feels years of tension start to drain from his chest. “You bought breakfast and lunch. I can cover dinner.”

"Okay,” he says, grinning. “It’s a date.”

"Where’s your replacement?” she asks, standing herself.

“Weird subject change. But talking to your intern, I think.”

“I want to meet her.”

“Now?”

“Today was a nightmare,” she says. “I’ve got half an hour left, I don’t want to actually keep dealing with this. My shitty interns can do it. I want to meet your replacement and then I want to go home and make out with you until we’re ready to order dinner. Unless you have something else going on.”

He lets out a surprised laugh. “That’s a very specific plan.”

“That’s what I’ve wanted to do every single time we’ve had a crisis for the last two years,” she says, looking him up and down with an unsubtle heat in her gaze. “If I finally get to to it, I’m going leave early for it.”

“So let’s just go,” he says. “I bet you’ve been here since five a.m. You can meet Monroe tomorrow.”

She bites her lip, clearly torn, and then, to his shock and delight, she grins.

“You know what? Fuck it.” She tugs him down and kisses him, and he laughs against her mouth.

“We should at least go home first,” he reminds her. “Anyone could see.”

“Wanted to get it out of the way. Text Wells for me, will you?”

She slides her hand into his once they’re on their way out, and he couldn’t stop grinning if he wanted to.

Me: Your press secretary is leaving early to get dinner with me.

PRESIDENT JAHA!! 🦅 🏴 🎉: Thank fucking god

#thisismyoverthemoonface

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megacircuit9universe · 4 years

Text

November Outlook

WED SEP 09, 2020

With the election now less than two months away, it’s a good time to look at the different moving parts of history’s machine at this point, and see what we can gleen about how things may go down on election night, and in the many weeks to follow before inauguration on January 20th.

We’re going to start here with the assumption that Trump will, at this point lose any remotely fair election... and will lose by a significant margin.

Biden has been leading him in both national and state polls for months, and now that both conventions are behind us... there’s been little change. Trump is behind in all the battleground states by several points, and within the margin of error in some states normally thought to be safe for the GOP.

His path to victory is incredibly narrow, whereas Biden has many paths to victory. He’s in a position such that if he lost several different battleground states, he’d still win.

Now, Trump is the incumbent... a status normally considered to be a huge advantage... but incumbency is a huge disadvantage, when everything is going straight to Hell... because you’re to blame for it all.

Clever incumbent politicians have tools use if a disaster strikes on their watch in an election year, such as... rallying everybody to come together in the crisis... and accepting responsibility in advance... two things Trump is not physically or mentally able to grasp.

So... what I’m saying is, it’s nigh impossible for things to change in a way that flips Trump’s approval ratings so late in the game... given that he’s the incumbent.

He’s presiding over a huge pandemic death toll with no end in sight (for which he’s directly to blame, because he’s resisted any and all efforts to flatten the curve*), nationwide protests, nationwide violence, a tidal wave of unemployment, a tidal wave of evictions and foreclosures (for which his pals in the Senate are to blame, for refusing to provide any aid in this crisis), and a pandoras box of fresh scandals, being exposed by the press, by whistelblowers, in a slew of new books, and... just by holding rallies at airports with no socal distancing or masks (all for which, he is, again, directly to blame).

Can all... or even any of that go away... or even simmer down between now and November 3rd? I would say no... it’s impossible.

Meanwhile, is there any chance that some turn of events could tank Joe Biden? Some scandal? Some terrible miscalculation?

Again, I would say no. But let’s take a second to examine why...

Firstly, Trump was impeached because of an attempt to collect dirt on Biden so... that strategy already blew up in his face. It’s no longer an option.

Secondly, Biden was the walking dead candidate who stood zero chance of surviving the first Super Tuesday... yet he’s now the nominee, so... miracles seem to be his specialty this year.

Now, I’ve said before, that miracle was more likely the work of Obama, pulling strings behind the scenes, but... as a former two-term President (and a highly intelligent man) Obama probably didn’t pull those strings just to help out an old pal.

He likely foresaw, not just the type of candidate required to beat Trump on election night... but more importantly... the one who could win against Trump in the battle to follow election night, in which Trump wages an all out scorched earth campaign to remain in power.

And that... is the subject of this entry.

Our first assumption, above, was that Trump will lose handily... but now, our second assumption must be that everybody... from the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, and the top brass at the Pentagon, on down to the poorest, most homeless voter on the street... knows this will not be over after the votes are cast.

We’ll assume, everybody knows... Trump will reject the election results, and refuse to step down. He will, to put it bluntly, attempt to establish a dictatorship... ending the Consitution, and democracy, in the United States.

So it would be silly to think that there isn’t a plan to stop that from happening.

The Supreme Court, for example, already signaled very loudly and clearly last month, that Trump will have no ally in their house, should he attempt to challenge the election process in endless litigation... same goes for the lower Federal and State courts... they’ve all been ruling against him, and his agenda, this whole year... even DESPITE... the Republican lead Senate approving every judge he’s nominated over his term.

Nobody likes a despot... not even a conservative Judge. They take their oaths seriously... even if the Mitch McConnells who ram their appointments through, do not.

Which brings us to the military... also known for taking the same oath, to defend the Constitution against all threats, foreign and domestic... deadly seriously.

Last weeks blockbuster article in the Atlantic, in which Trump was exposed (it’s been confirmed by four other sources by now) as believing all members of the military are, “suckers,” for joining up, cuz what do they get out of the deal? And, “losers,” for dying on battlefields... has utterly destroyed any chance he may have had at getting them to cave in the face of unconstitutional orders... such as he would have to issue to establish any successful coup to stay in power.

This is critical, because if you don’t have the military... you don’t have a coup.

And Trump does not have them, at this point.

Military culture drills it into their heads that they do not have to follow unconstitutional orders from anybody, even the Commander in Chief, which means that if there is already a, “Commander Elect,” with a transition team in the wings, who DOESN’T think they are suckers and losers...

...in fact a Commander Elect who they know well, because he already served under the previous Commander in Chief as his second in command for eight years...

They’re gonna have all the footing they need to refuse any coup related orders outright. And I believe they’ll be eager to do so, under the present circumstances.

As I’ve noted in an earlier entry, it was the miltary who forced Trump to wear a mask in public while visiting a military hospital... because they were already pissed off about how he duped them at Jefferson Square, earlier this year.

Trump himself, seems to be aware that he’s lost the top brass, both retired and active... which is why he made a public remark last week that the old generals don’t like him, but the troops still love him.

All I’ve seen is evidence to the contrary on that point, but that was Trump’s desperate dog whistle to any sympathizers he may have in the lower ranks of the military, to please... please steal some tanks and bazookas to join the fight?

Recall I wrote about, “Beta Force,” a while back... consisting of rogue law enforcement officers, Homeland Security troopers, and regular citizens with weapons and other resources... well, he’s hoping he can woo some legit military troops to join Beta Force, should there be a showdown.

That scenario, right there, would be the much prophesied Civil War 2, but as I’ve said for years, such a Civil War 2 will be short lived... a couple weeks at most.

Recall the thugs he sent into Portland to terrify and abduct protesors... using locally rented vehicles, and presumably staying at local moetels. Trump is nowhere near ready for a showdown with the full might of the US Military, on our own soil, no less.

You can bet your ass the legit military are gaming this scenario right now, and that if pressed, they will shut that shit down and have Trump in a cell with a bag over his head faster than you can say, “what the fuck?”

The rest of the two weeks will just be putting down random assholes with assault rifles here and there across the country... but they’ll all be hauled in, don’t you worry. And they’ll all stand trial for treason in broad daylight.

In this scenario, yes, innocent people are going to die... as they have been dying on the streets at the hands of rogue cops, school shooters, caronavirus, and other systemic abuses, or neglects, for a long time now.

There is no scenario here, where everybody just says, “Whew!” and we’re all good. But that’s been the case for quite some years. We’re all pretty used to life threatening danger on a daily basis, and the courage required to face it by now.

Which is what leads me to the next big fear, being promulgated this past week...

...The so-called, Red Mirage.

Red Mirage is a prediction about election night 2020, in which nearly all the states on the election map turn red, because only the in-person votes have been counted, while the mail-in ballots are days or weeks away from being counted.

Trump seems to believe in the Red Mirage prediction, given his statements in recent weeks about an election that could take, weeks, months, or even years to sort out**. Couple that with his repeated assertions that mail-in voting is inherently fraudulent (seconded by his Attorney General, Bill Barr) and his recent attempts to knee-cap the post office... and you have a President who likely is betting everything on Red Mirage.

The plan would be just to run with election night results, declaring himself the victor by the biggest landslide in history... then beat that drum loudly while quashing any attempt to ever count the absentee votes... demonizing them as fraudulent, and demonizing anybody who doubted his victory as dissidents who must be imprisoned or something.

I’ll admit... it’s a terrifying scenario!

...on paper.

But the Red Mirage prediction is founded on the sophomoric conceit that all Trump supporters will vote in person... because they do not fear the pandemic... and all Biden supporters will vote by mail... because they don’t want to risk getting Covid19 by venturing out in public.

This, to me, is laughable... because it really does assume that 100% of the electorate are total idiots.

The Trump voters are all idiots who will vote like there’s no pandemic to worry about... and the Biden voters are also idiots who will, out of an abundance of caution, and a blind trust in the postal system, all vote by mail.

No Trump voters are gonna stay home... because they think it’s in the bag? No Biden voters are gonna just wear a mask and vote in person, knowing democracy itself is on the line... knowing of Trump’s attempts to knee-cap the post office... knowing it’s better to risk an infection when the stakes are this high, than to stay healthy but live under a dictatorship the rest of their lives?

Really?

Based on what I witnessed in November 2018... together with what I’ve seen this past year, with both Millenials and GenZ waking up to the dire importance of voting... together with the cleverness and bravery of protestors across the nation risking life and limb nightly just to express their outrage, while wearing masks to stay safe from infection (successfully)... together with half the GOP turning against Trump.. and everybody in agreement this time around that third party votes will get you cancelled...

I’m expecting a Blue Tsunami on November 3rd.

Trump will shout that it was all rigged, the next morning... but he won’t have any red election map to hold up and wave around.

And once Biden has secured that title, as President Elect... all Trump can do is try to incite his disaffected trolls to violence... and then turn his thoughts to damage control on the legal front.

Michael Cohen, Trumps former fixer, this week in interviews, predicted that Trump will resign if he loses, so that Mike Pence can issue a, “blanket pardon” in the few months before Biden takes power.

It’s anybody’s guess as to whether such a pardon could really protect Trump from the many New York State criminal charges awaiting him, as soon as he leaves office, but my guess is... no it won’t.

Trump will pay, for all that he’s done, and all he’s put us through.

He’s got nowhere to run. Nither Russia, nor China, nor South Korea will take him in exile... nor will any other nation on the planet. Like every two bit crime boss before him... he will end up behind bars.

And that will not only beef up the radioactive potency of House impeachment for another two hundred years... but make Trumps single term in office the cautionary tale for generations to come... of the idiot President... who dared to fuck the Consitution... and had his ass handed to him in prison.

I’m sure there are some moving parts I’ve missed in this analysis tonight... and I’m sure you think my conclusions here are overly rosey... but I have looked at this from many angles... and I do keep coming back to Trump dying in prison without a second term.

Make of it what you will.

For tonight, however... it’s time for bed.

*[THU NOV 10] Bob Woodward (of Watergate fame) released tapes of Trump the night I wrote this which did not fully hit the media until a day later. Tapes in which Trump is talking to Woodward over the phone, and which make very plain that Trump Knew the virus was airborne, that it was worse than the flu, and that it would be very difficult to contain... before the rest of us knew it... and before he went out and started playing it down in public, saying it would go away like a miracle in April, and refusing to wear a mask, or social distance, etc.

It’s been an incredibly damning development, because it’s Trump’s own voice, and it prooves he didn’t just botch the pandemic out of stupidity... but deliberately mislead the public about it, at the cost of hundreds of thousands of lives.

He also obstructed states from getting PPE and ventilators, attacked governors for doing lock downs, gagged the CDC, and covered up hospitals’ reporting of Covid related numbers to the public.

And all of this he did, apparently, for the sake of the economy... thinking that was the way to win in November.

This is a crime against humanity!

**The 2000 Election results hinged on the electoral votes of one single state, Florida, which was too close to call on election night. Nobody knew who’d won for several weeks as Florida went into automatic hand recounts of the ballots, many of which were ambiguous because of, “hanging chads,” or, not fully punched out holes.

However, on th strength of Fox News calling Bush the winner, his legal team sued to stop the Florida recounts, in the Supreme Court, and successfully took power, even though it was found... years later, that Al Gore had actually won Florida, and thus, should have been President.

Red Mirage anticipates this same scenario to play out again on a national scale, in all states, not because of hanging chads... but absentee ballots... and assumes that the Supreme Court might call the end to vote counting once again, because Fox News called it for Trump on election night.

This is not the way history works.

This is not the way anything works.

This is not what will go down in November.

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mst3kproject · 7 years

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K18: The Million Eyes of Su-Muru

I've never seen this one as an episode, mostly because I can't find the damn thing, even on YouTube. The Wiki has a capture of the title card, but it looks terrible – I did my best to clean it up in photoshop, but the result was still so ugly that I didn't want it on my blog. Instead of the MST3K version with the English title and the silhouettes, you guys get this one captured from a bootleg copy with the German title: Sumuru – die Tochter des Satans.

The dastardly Su-Muru has a plan! I'm... not totally sure what that plan is. It might involve having her agents marry the most powerful men in the world so they can run everything behind the scenes, or she might just plan to kill all the men and continue the human race by cloning. I guess one could be a stop on the way to the other. Her plan does not appear to involve freezing the world's oceans, so at least she's more practical than Fu Manchu. However she gets there, the desired end result will be “a world of peace and beauty, ruled by women.” Given that men have had thousands of years to rule the world and this place is still a fucking mess, she might actually have something there.

However, she has reckoned without smug jerk Nick West and his idiot friend Tommy Carter. They are drawn into Su-Muru's web of deceit through a ridiculously convoluted series of events that end in West being taken to her private island near Hong Kong and blackmailed into facilitating the assassination of the lecherous Boong, President of Sino-Asia – I didn't write the movie, okay? The assassin chickens out and escapes, leaving West to take the blame for her failure. His only hope is that Carter can bring the military in for an all-out assault on Su-Muru's fortress of evil. Or for one of the women to decide she'd rather fuck him before she kills him. Or for a volcanic eruption. How about all three? All three is good!

The tone of this movie is really weird. Su-Muru and her followers seem to behave as if they're in a serious movie, even if some of what's going on – like their petrification guns – is ridiculous. West and Carter, on the other hand, apear to think they're in a comedy, even when they're finding a corpse in their hotel room. Both men crack jokes that occasionally poke at the fourth wall, to the point where the Wiki claims Joel had to chastise the film for riffing itself. It all feels like the guys aren't taking the threat to world security very seriously, and makes it very hard to be interested in their fates when they're so flippant about everything. The Million Eyes of Su-Muru really needed to pick a genre, either spy thriller or self-aware comedy, and stick to it.

It also needed to pick a plot. It was quite difficult to write that summary, because most of the time I had very little idea what was going on. The movie was written by Sax Rohmer and produced by Harry Allen Towers, just like The Castle of Fu Manchu... was confusion just a feature of one or the other's work, or of both in concert? The entire first half of the story seems completely irrelevant to what eventually turns out to be the main conflict, and a lot of it has nothing to do even with anything else in the first half. Take the opening, for example, in which the heirs of the 'richest man in the world' are killed at their father's funeral. What's that got to do with anything? Nothing at all.

What about the bikini girl who gets drowned on the beach? She must be the one Su-Muru was talking about in the previous scene, who has been blacklisted by the sisterhood for falling in love with a man. Is she the same person as Colonel Medika's murdered secretary? Neither he nor President Boong seem particularly upset about her death – Medika talks about it mostly in terms of the threat he believes it represents to Boong himself. If either of them had been her lover, surely they'd show more grief. Maybe she wasn't the same person... but in that case, why were we shown her murder if it's not related to what we see later?

Then we finally get something reasonably relevant, as West follows the ambulance that has kidnapped Colonel Medika. Su-Muru's agents at the hospital try to drug and kidnap West as well, but he gets rescued off-screen and we learn almost nothing from the entire incident. There's no sense of this all figuring into somebody's master plan. It's more as if the movie has two or three false starts before it finally figures out that it's going to be about the assassination attempt on Boong.

But who, exactly, is President Boong? Su-Muru wants him dead because he's a womanizer who goes through girls like he goes through cigarettes, never keeping a single one around long enough to let her influence him. That actually makes more sense than most things in this movie, but we don't know anything much about Boong or his imaginary country, so his life or death don't mean anything to us. You'd think we would at least find out what his policies are, since that's what would matter to Su-Muru, but we don’t. I'm honestly not even sure if we're supposed to like him – I think he's supposed to be 'charmingly eccentric in a foreigny kind of way' but the way Klaus Kinski plays him teeters on the edge of 'camp gay'.

I'm also somewhat confused about whether Boong and Su-Maru are supposed to be East Asian. Boong is played by a German actor in some kind of unflattering brown makeup, while Su-Muru is blue-eyed Shirley Eaton without even that. I started to write something here about how 'Su-Muru' is probably not her real name anyway, but then I realized I was thinking about this way harder than the stupid movie deserves. As in Castle of Fu Manchu, the plot would have been racist regardless of the casting, so it's probably not worth the headache.

If we're gonna talk about actors and characters, we have to come eventually to our so-called hero, Nick West. Apparently no matter what movie George Nader was in, he always played the same oily misogynist. Roy in Robot Monster? “You're so bossy you ought to be milked before you go home at night!” Glenn in The Human Duplicators? “Here's one I wouldn't mind having under surveillance!” And now here he is in The Million Eyes of Su-Muru. “I'll take twelve of each!” Was he just typecast that way, or was he actually a smarmy asshole in real life?

While Boong is played kind of gay, George Nader actually was gay, which you'd think would be an advantage when trying to take down a female supervillain who works by seduction. Too bad The Million Eyes of Su-Muru portrays a world in which heterosexuality is the only option. In a movie so steeped in the male gaze you might expect there to be a few hints of lesbianism even if only for eye candy, but there's nothing. Su-Muru monologues about how woman's only weakness is her susceptibility to falling in love with men. Another woman claims she cannot resist 'the physical presence of a man' and apparently she means it, because despite the fact that she caught West sneaking into Su-Muru's compound, she makes out with him rather than shooting him or turning him in. I think that's supposed to be a joke, but I'm not so certain about the bit where Su-Muru also has sex with West, and claims that as a woman she needs to be dominated.

All this implies that a woman's instinct is to bow to male authority, at least sexually, and that they are incapable of resisting the temptation to do so when it is offered. On more than one occasion West or Carter's life is saved when a woman who hasn't seen a man in months just can't keep herself from jumping his bones before killing him. Imagine the trouble Su-Muru could have saved herself if she'd just issued vibrators to her all-woman army! This also, of course, makes the women out to be indiscriminate, willing to sleep with any man they come across – but I'm gonna give the movie a pass on that because all the men are the same way. West, Carter, and Boong each have multiple partners over the course of the story, and all are willing to sleep with women they know are their enemies, because boobies.

I have to say, for living on an island where there are no men, Su-Muru's agents sure wear a lot of sexy miniskirts and midriff-baring blouses, and devote an awful lot of time to sultry smoking and lounging around. Their initiation ritual requires the new recruit to be topless, and the traits that make one eligible to join include youth, beauty, and health, which are all listed before a vague reference to 'giftedness'. Some of the women must be brilliant scientists, to create things like those petrification darts, but even they appear to have had their looks taken into consideration. That's why I described this movie as 'steeped in the male gaze'. Sax Rohmer did not bother to think about how women would conduct themselves as they plotted to take over the world in an environment with no men (I'm guessing there would be way more pajama pants and way less shaving), only how they could look totally hot while doing it.

I guess this movie isn't quite as bad as The Castle of Fu Manchu. I still don't know what the characters want or what's going on, really, but I'm not actually angry at it for wasting my time... maybe that's just because my standards are getting lower. The Castle of Fu Manchu kind of felt like somebody wrote an outline and they just made the details up as they went along. The Million Eyes of Su-Muru comes across as slightly more polished, as if it got to the 'first draft' stage but nobody ever went back and made sure the beginning fit in with the rest; it still sucks, but at least it did more preparation. I guess that's gotta count for something.

#mst3k #reviews #the million eyes of sumuru #60s

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guwop-aye-bro-blog · 7 years

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Some thoughts on the Facebook Killer and how we reacted to it.

Nothing good stems from Facebook live. The only time I remember it exists, someone is getting murdered on it. Sometimes I wish I could see the meetings that hatch these ideas. Does every social networking company gather around solely to ask each other how to (slightly) repackage what the other one is doing? Are Snapchat, Facebook and Instagram all under an umbrella, in some clandestine cabal? Let me know if I am on to something. Apparently, it took Facebook two hours and 14 minutes to take down the video of Robert Godwin Sr.’s murder. Mark Zuckerberg, likely reflecting on what a shitty idea Facebook Live is, said they’ve “got a lot of work to do.” Well, Mark, I’d suggest faster moderators. More importantly, however, a watchlist for whoever shares an article from Thought Catalog. The cesspool that resides in any and all Facebook comment sections, though? Beyond repair.

A little background on Sunday’s events. The 45 hour manhunt started with Steve Stephens going on Facebook live and literally killing somebody for the world to see. The victim, Robert Godwin Sr., 78, was a stranger. Stephens forced him to say his ex girlfriend’s name (Joy Lane) before shooting him. I haven’t seen the clip and don’t plan on it. However, I unknowingly heard the audio when 93x played it on Monday morning as part of their news segment. I would ask who was responsible for letting a snuff film play on the airwaves, but then someone would say 93x and I’d believe them. In a nutshell, he lost it over some relationship troubles and decided to take it out on the world. Almost two days later, Stephens was caught at McDonalds when he was waiting for some nuggets and fries, per the request of the quick thinking employee. This was the only sensible thing he did. If I’ve mustered up the lack of shame to order McDonalds, I will wait until the fries are ready, even if I’m on the run. All jokes aside, the idea of an elderly man being killed in cold blood on Easter shakes people up, understandably. In this instance, though, it shook them up enough to strip themselves of empathy and politicize it immediately. Good work.

The state of discourse is warped. Given the short shelf life for stories, stormy political climate, and ideologies weaponized ad nauseum, a productive approach to the conversation is, at best, uncommon. If you’re a rational person, this isolated, domestic incident is better left apolitical in its early stages. Even if your argument holds weight, you’re just going to piss people off. During the last election cycle, however, I’ve noticed the Internet throwing their two cents in all at once, hoping to be the first with a take. Some immediately shoehorn an agenda, which is obviously the tasteful option. Others, become forensic detectives and blood spatter analysts overnight. Ever heard of a crisis actor? A stranger with an Android screenshot wants to tell you about it. All of this, of course, under the guise of empathy for Godwin Sr. and his family - or in their words, “that old man that died on Facebook Live or whatever.”

If you’ve spent any time on Twitter lately, social justice is as present as ever. Saying anything deemed “problematic” will make you go viral in the worst way. You don’t want those problems. Frankly, they aren’t out of line most of the time. I’ll always encourage mobilizing against racism and careless language. A few of the younger users tend to virtue signal and leave it at that, but whatever. When I was 17, I liked Ron Paul. They’re far better off than I was then. But, we’re all at risk of getting lost in the sauce.

Within an hour of the story breaking, there were tweets pinning the Cleveland shootings on complex things like hypermasculinity. For the record, it’s no secret that patriarchy played a role here. Men will be destructive, selfish and crazy and still manage to do the mental gymnastics to blame a woman. It’s a tried and true trope. However, “snapping” over a woman versus commanding a stranger to recite their name before ending their life is a little different. Call me crazy, but I think Steve had some screws loose.

Twitter user GeauxGabby, dubbed “The Most Annoying Person On Twitter” by the good people at Bossip, had this to say:

“14 people were just murdered because this man is hurt over his girl. THAT IS HYPERMASCULINITY.”

This was part of a rant about men being murderers. I’ll never attempt to invalidate a woman speaking up about something like that, but it took a strange turn when she got specific. Suddenly, she started to focus solely on black men. I didn’t know who she was so I decided to do my Googles. In a few articles, GeauxGabby is named as a “member” of Black Twitter, although I don’t think she is warmly embraced as such. Her bio is adorned with a #BlackLivesMatter hashtag, as well as a reminder that a retweet does not mean an endorsement. The latter may come as a relief to many.

One of the (deleted) tweets in the thread said “N*****S ARE PISS” echoing sentiments shared with Darren Wilson, George Zimmerman and probably the entire Trump administration. She came to this conclusion so early that the information isn’t even correct - we’ve yet to hear about the 14 other murders. Usually I’d give a pass for misinformation when a story is developing, but not when it’s used to support flippant, dangerous accusations. It’s disheartening to see a valid critique of hypermasculinity mutate into an attack on black men. There’s a lot of opportunities to be thoughtful being squandered by “drag culture.” Nobody wants to unpack ideas when they’re wielded as social currency and provocation.

On the other side of the spectrum, Pepe frogs were doing what they usually do. The reactionary right wing response was expectedly tone deaf, clamoring for a response from Black Lives Matter. How stuck on semantics can you be? An organization against police brutality and systemic oppression isn’t obligated to speak on some lunatic. Immediately, conservative pundits began digging for evidence that Stephens was affiliated with BLM and Islam. It’s almost like they’re trying to smear people they hate, if you can believe that. A comment on the Blue Lives Matter website (I got there on accident, don’t bother visiting unless you want to buy a wristband or something) said that they were expecting an “outcry” towards police when they catch him. How nauseatingly out of touch (or just plain racist) do you have to be to assume that the same people that defended Eric Garner are going to be crusading for this asshole?

Finally, the conspiracy theorists. Now that Alex Jones is doing the pump fake in court, I was worried that I’d be without my dose of crazy when I need it. My fears subsided when I saw a Facebook page juxtapose Christopher Dorner and Steve Stephens, suggesting they were the same person. This was after someone posted an anecdote about their Dad breaking down why the video was fake. Usually I trust Dads, but I don’t think everyone is Dexter Morgan. There were points about the blood drying too quickly, the shot not being realistic, etc. In fact, this theory is dumber than “Dexter” got after John Lithgow called somebody a c*nt. That’s saying something.

These conspiracy theories imply that professional actors are used by the government to deceive the public. They believe that the same people are used in multiple instances. For example, the Boston Marathon bombing and the Sandy Hook massacre were theorized to use the same Academy Award winners. They have gone so far to personally attack the parents of children slain in the 2012 school shooting, and I’m assuming the same will be done to Godwin Sr.’s family if history is any indication.

I’m at a loss as to why they would hire the same person to appear in multiple publicized tragedies and events. Wouldn’t it make more sense to keep a few on retainer? Can they not afford more actors? Actually, can I be a crisis actor? If someone could suggest a template for a resume or do some press shots for me, I’d really be interested. All I have to do is show up and cry, which is what I usually do when I log on to Facebook anyway.

All in all, I don’t really have a thesis here. Sorry to say, but these knee jerk reactions rendered Godwin Sr.’s death into a contest to see who was the loudest in the room. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure whether we project our narcissism whenever we can or have just turned into desensitized shitheads. Look at the president - both options are viable. Regardless, someone died, and I was a bit disturbed (albeit not shocked) at the immediate attempts to politicize and twist the situation to fit a narrative. It’s not a bad thing to just write someone like Stephens off as crazy and leaving your critique to the wayside while families mourn and communities heal. In fact, it may stop us from treating the news like a microwave.

John Dorcy

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weekendwarriorblog · 4 years

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Why Have Movie Theaters Become So Divisive?

I’m probably going to regret writing about this, but someone has to, so it might as well be me. After all, I’ve only been writing about this for months now, and 90% of the people who have attacked me for my opinion on reopening movie theaters probably have only read a few tweets I’ve made without ever reading a single word I’ve written beforehand for any sort of context.

Most people already know where I stand on this debate, an argument that believe it or not (shocker!) doesn’t have a “right” or “wrong” side to it. You can stand on your high-horse soapbox all you like, but as I’ve said before, movie theaters are no more dangerous than any other public activity when it comes to spreading COVID.

I’m not going to repeat myself over and over but when you compare movie theaters even to outdoor dining, the former offers many more opportunities to see whether they’re spreading COVID (and how to stop that spread) than sitting around with friends drinking, eating and jawing away in close proximity to others. (NYC has had these outdoor dining areas, many which are barely six feet across, open for months now with no huge spikes so...) The thing is that you know where I stand, so you should know that I’m writing this from an extremely biased place, too? Got it. Good. Let’s go on...

What’s interesting and actually kind of infuriating is how what should be a discussion about getting movie theaters reopened safely -- just as it should be about getting movie and television production restarted so there’ll be content when they do finally reopen -- has turned into this huge argument where there are two clear sides: The people who want the option to go to movie theaters to see movies and the people who not only refuse to go to movie theaters themselves until there’s a vaccine, but they’ll spend their time writing long pieces about why they won’t do their movie-related jobs until that’s the case. (Few of them have the excuse of being “high-risk” themselves, let alone being around “high-risk” relatives.)

By the way, I’m going to put this caveat here because I have probably said it 100 times already and oddly, when I say this, people completely ignore it to focus on anything else I may be saying: NO ONE IS FORCING YOU TO GO TO A MOVIE THEATER. Got it? Just because I or someone else says that people who want to return to movie theaters should be allowed to do so, if you don’t want to go, then DON’T GO. Half of the non-critics complaining about movie theaters rarely were rarely more than once a month to movie theaters pre-COVID. They are outliers. But don’t start railing against me or others for wanting to have the option to make our own decisions.

Let’s make no mistake. Like everything else in this county, this “debate” is first and foremost a political one. It’s the left vs. the right, the liberals vs. the conservatives, the Democrats vs. the Republicans, and it mostly comes down to a President who is saying to reopen businesses to Democratic Governors saying “Hold on, we have to do this sensibly.” And that last statement actually makes absolute perfect sense, and it’s one I outright agree with, too. Yes, things need to be reopened safely in a way that doesn’t create or elevate the spread of COVID, but why are movie theaters specifically being targeted as the “worst possible scenario” for COVID spread? Especially after I’ve written literally thousands of words stating why that isn’t the case.

The latest development is that Fauci the Fearmonger (as I will be referring to him from now on) was interviewed by actress* Jennifer Garner on Instagram (*I don’t want to demean the profession but Garner, while a lovely person who I’ve met before, is not a doctor or a journalist), and she asked Dr. Fauci about returning to theaters to “see people on stage” and he responded by saying that he doesn’t think that even with a vaccine, people will be safe to return to regular activities until mid-to-late 2021. How does say something like this help ANYTHING? What’s happening is that what Fauci said, which again, is not specifically or directly about movie theaters, is being twisted into something that assholes like Cuomo can now use the next time he’s asked about reopening movie theaters. He’s already made it clear that casinos, gyms and the fucking Mets museum are more important than one of the more popular (and safer!) forms of public entertainment.

But even the support for Dr. Fauci is political because Republicans and even Trump have spoken against him, despite him being the leading and foremost authority on COVID... according to the people who support him. It’s kind of amusing to see how influential Fauci is on the public but he couldn’t convince a number of high-powered officials who he was around every single day the last six months to wear masks, to do something earlier to make sure people knew how serious COVID was? That was his JOB and if you’re going to blame COVID fully on Trump than you also have to blame Fauci because he was complicit and didn’t stand his ground when it came to making sure COVID didn’t kill hundreds of thousands of Americans.

So is this just a matter of a bunch of anti-Trump liberals fighting back against the President? Nope, it’s also a number of people who want to fight back against corporations that are quite desperately trying to reopen. Everyone goes after AMC and Regal and Cinemark and the other big chains for wanting to reopen and you know, not got bankrupt, because they see their desire to reopen theaters as “greed,’ as the big bad corporation trying to capitalize on the poor hard-working moviegoers who are desperate to get out of their house and spend time around other people, even if it’s wearing masks and being six feet apart.... which anyone with half a brain agrees is the best way to put an end to the spread of COVID in a pandemic.

People also have repeated attacked Warner Bros and Christopher Nolan and the movie Tenet itself as the worst offenders of greed... this big powerful white male director flexing his muscles to get his way because he believes in the theatrical experience, and anyone who has backed him on this (including other filmmakers) are similarly attacked. The narrative against returning to movie theaters and sitting at home watching the dozens of streaming networks you subscribe to has been so pervasive so of course, no one is going to want to go back to movie theaters since they’ve been badgered and bludgeoned by the people with a voice who want to make sure people know about “aerosols” and enclosed spaces (even when they tend to have less than 30 people spread out), etc. When Warner Bros. reported the first North American numbers for Tenet and they were lower even than the lowest expectations, the theatrical naysayers were back making their jokes on Twitter and saying, “See? No one wanted to go back to movie theaters, so we were right this whole time!” (Granted, many people out there may not have even realized that movie theaters were open in their region. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t seen a single movie commercial on television in over six months, other than for movies on streaming services.)

But make no fucking mistake. This whole argument is basically about the haves vs. the have nots. It’s about the people who can afford to own a car and go to a drive-in whenever they please, vs. those who don’t drive and are accustomed to taking public transportation everywhere. It’s about the people who can lounge around at home watching movies on their 70″ (or 80″ if you go by Sam Rockwell’s boasting) television vs. those who can’t afford such luxuries who maybe live in tiny apartments where something like that wouldn’t even be physically possible. It’s about the people who can afford to pay $100+ a month for every streaming service and all the new and old movies they may ever need to watch vs. the people who work hard all week to shell out $15-20 for a ticket to the latest blockbuster in theaters. But more importantly, it’s about the people who literally are delivered every movie they might watch for FREE via digital screeners they can watch at home whenever they want without having to go out in public and be around other people (which I will freely admit, I am one of them!) vs. those who have to pay to see movies and who don’t have some of those other options (which oddly, I am ALSO one!)

So you can see why I might feel a little torn about this debate and how I’ve landed right in the center of it, because I’ve chosen not to shut up and be bullied by the vocal minority on #FIlmTwitter who think they know better than everyone else (and not just on COVID or the reopening of movie theaters either.) I’ve decided that I have gone to enough movies and movie theaters over the past 20 years that I consider myself an expert on the pluses and minuses of being allowed to have that experience. I’m not one of those people who never goes to the movie theaters anymore because of “texting” and “talking” and “lazy underpaid teenager workers who don’t care enough to do their jobs properly.” That last complaint is what has really gotten me riled because it is literally one of the most elitist statements in this argument I’ve heard about why movie theaters can’t reopen safely. They attack the corporations for forcing their employees (who probably need those jobs and money) back to work in a “dangerous environment” even after being told REPEATEDLY all of the safety precautions being taken over and over and over.

The next time someone interviews Fearmonger Fauci, they should ask him when was the last time he went to the movies pre-COVID. For all we know, he is such a germaphobe by nature that he wasn’t a fan of being places like movie theaters for LONG before COVID showed up. I’m willing to bet that he has no concept of the benefits of the theatrical movie experience for those that still believe in it. Due to a few casual comments about a possible vaccine, politicians like Cuomo now have even more ammo about keeping movie theaters closed. Who knows why Cuomo is so hesitant because the only time Cuomo was asked, he was so flippant and dismissive of the idea, that maybe there’s more going on. Maybe he feels that places like AMC or Regal don’t pay their fair share of New York State taxes for some reason, and doesn’t see them as an important part of the New York economy despite the hundreds of millions of dollars sold in movie tickets in New York pre-COVID. Who knows? There’s more going on there than anyone is willing to admit, and until I’m allowed into one of those press conferences to grill him about it, we may never know. All I know is that if you want to know what the PUBLIC, what real people, think of what’s going on. Follow one of Cuomo’s press conferences on Facebook and read some of the comments. People are outright ANGRY with him right now.

Listen, this argument isn’t going away. I’ve already lost friends over this and lost respect for a number of people who I cherish having in my life. Losing some of these friends hurts more than others, but the point is that no one seems to be able to even TRY to agree or see another point of view besides their own. You want peace in the Middle East? Bullshit. We need peace right here in America, and it isn’t the alt-right racist pro-life conservatives who are all at fault here. It’s just as much the people (on both sides) who refuse to listen to anyone who has any opinion ... or religious or political beliefs, for that matter ... than themselves. If you’re not willing to listen (or in my case READ) what others are saying, then don’t come back to me with “Oh, but the aerosols!” or anything else you’ve read in the papers that to be honest, I have read, too. I read a lot, believe it or not.

But I also know that this argument doesn’t have a right or wrong. Your desire to do something that you love doing, whether it’s going to the gym or going out to eat or gambling at a casino or riding the NYC subway system “just for fun” and yes, going to see movies in theaters in a better setting/environment than sitting on your futon watching on your 13″ laptop... that is or at least it should be one of your rights as a human and as an American. Someone who has a car or a 70″ television that allows them to watch with their families (another thing some of us don’t have) shouldn’t be making your decisions for you, and in some cases, bullying you or shaming you for disagreeing with them.

Like I said, this was always going to be a biased piece, but after being attacked repeatedly by people who don’t know me, and don’t know where Im coming from, and worst of all: NEVER READ A WORD I’VE WRITTEN BEFORE RESPONDING TO A SINGLE TWEET I MAKE, forced me once again to put “pen to paper” and address the situation. Hopefully, someone reading this will think, “Hey, you know what? This is a stupid argument. Why am I getting so riled up by someone saying they want to go to movie theaters if they feel safe? Why am I railing against an industry that has allowed me and my family to live comfortably under a roof and allowed me to buy this car and large-screen television?” But that won’t happen. Because the people who need to read this, won’t read this, just like everything else I write. They’ll just wait for me to make a short statement on Twitter and then retweet it with whatever context makes them feel better about themselves and/or makes others think worse of the person having an opinion and standing up for their rights to express it i.e. me.

Because that’s what it comes down to. Unlike that frivolous lawsuit against New Jersey to reopen movie theaters (which it actually has now), this argument is about the First Amendment, and it’s also about people who have been paid way too much money for way too long to be deemed “movie experts” who thinks that makes them experts on anything and everything else.

Look, I have a lot to say on this subject. If I’m ever allowed to be around people again, I’ll gladly have a conversation about it, but I don’t even have that option. I have seen exactly ONE person from the film-writing/entertainment community in the last six months... and I had to take a train out to Connecticut to do so. If screening rooms were allowed to reopen, I’d gladly have this discussion with anyone who can break themselves away from their HDTV at home to actually go out to see a movie that’s projected on a screen, as they should be. Believe it or not, I’m always open for intelligent discussion, but only when it doesn’t involve outright attacks on me, my opinion and where I stand on a subject that I’m quite passionate about... and mostly by people who are too lazy or indifferent to read a word I have to say about movies at any other time of the year with or without a pandemic.

#MovieTheaters

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theliterateape · 6 years

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The Women of the Democratic Party Have One Year Left to Keep Screwing Things Up

By David Himmel

Before we dive in, let’s be real clear up front: The Patriarchy and all its ills must burn and die. But if the future is female, then the women of the Democratic Party need a Come to Jesus Moment like no other.

In two weeks, the Democratic Party might win enough seats to turn the House blue. That’s a good thing for the balance of power and it’s a great thing to help slow any further dangerous actions President Donald Trump hopes to take during the rest of his first term. This victory, I’m concerned, will be short-lived. Unless the Democratic Party can unglue its head from deep within its bowels, it will not win the Senate or the White House in 2020. And it will probably lose the House.

For a party claiming to be pro-gun control, the Democratic Party has shot itself in the foot with everything from .30-caliber muzzle loaders to AR-15s to .22-caliber wheel guns. The fault should be shared by all elected Dems currently serving in the United States Congress and those associated with the Democratic National Committee (DNC). But lately, a small section of the party’s most influential women leaders have been screwing things up for the rest of us. Rep. Maxine Waters, Sen. Dianne Feinstein, Sen. Elizabeth Warren, Former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton and Rep. Debbie Wasserman Schultz have said and done things that have fractured the Democratic Party, alienated moderates and true believers alike, and fed the beast that is President Trump and his supporters. All of this has led to heating up our Cold Civil War and put the Dems in a position to receive another ass lashing in 2020.

That said — and this is important — the screw ups we’re about to get into do not justify any violence or attempted violence against anyone. The packages sent to members of the Democratic Party last week is abhorrent. Good people who do dumb things do not deserve to be hurt or threatened by some dongbucket who thinks he’s doing America a favor.

“But what about the men of the Democratic Party, David?” Like I said two paragraphs above, they’re culpable, too. However, the men of the Democratic Party have been feckless in recent years. Tim Kaine is their spirit animal. The real leaders of the Party right now are the women, which is why their screw ups are so alarming.

The mid-terms are important. The election in 2020 is more important. It’s two years away, which means that the women of the Democratic Party have one year left to keep screwing things up before it’s too late to save the sinking ship.

To fix the problem, we must address the problem. Let’s look at the culprits and their crimes.

Rep. Maxine Waters Back in June, Maxine Waters became the Left’s champion of divisive politics, unseating Hillary Clinton, when she said “If you see anybody from [Trump’s] Cabinet in a restaurant, in a department store, at a gasoline station, you get out and you create a crowd and you push back on them and you tell them they're not welcome anymore, anywhere.” We saw it happen in restaurants with White House Press Secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders, Sen. Ted Cruz and Sen. Mitch McConnell. And that’s just the big three we know about. I don’t like the politics or demeanor of any of them, not one bit, but why aren’t they welcome?

If I owned a restaurant, a department store or a gasoline station, and Huckabee Sanders, Cruz and McConnell walked in, I wouldn’t kick them out. I might spit in their soup or keep bringing them the wrong item of clothing or shut off the gas to their pump but I wouldn’t protest against them. And if I did, that would be my choice as the owner of the private establishment. In the actual instances, the owners didn’t tell them they weren’t welcome; it was patrons, strangers off the street — people who had no right to tell anyone whether they were or were not welcome in a private establishment.

It’s bad sportsmanship. It makes the Left look like assholes. If the Right is the place where the hateful assholes live — and it might be, because when you consider the broad opinions of the base on issues like race, LGBTQ equality, police brutality and bro-country music, they do — the Left needs to stop appropriating their behavior.

Sen. Dianne Feinstein Fully acknowledging the immeasurable love I have for my grandmothers (ages 94 and 82) and that this sounds a little ageist, there are just some things the elderly shouldn’t do. This includes, but is not limited to running with the bulls, learning to rollerblade on a rocky hill covered in ice and legislating for a first world country. Feinstein, who is 85, was elected to the Senate during the first Year of the Woman in 1992 following the Clarence Thomas’ confirmation hearing to the Supreme Court that turned Anita Hill into a harlot. Feinstein has been around long enough to know better, which is why I hold her 100 percent responsible for allowing history to grossly repeat itself with the debacle that was the Brett Kavanaugh confirmation hearing.

Dr. Christine Blasey Ford submitted her concern over Kavanaugh’s temperament to Feinstein in July when Kavanaugh was still on the short list. Ford wanted to remain anonymous. Feinstein could have and should have brought those concerns quietly to the Senate Judiciary Committee and any other area of government to prevent the alleged sexual assailant from becoming the nominee. There were other conservative stooges on that short list who would have caused less of a fight and fuss. Instead, Feinstein held onto it until Ford’s identity leaked and Feinstein used the accusation as a Hail Mary play to discredit Kavanaugh and embarrass the Republican Party.

We all know that’s not what happened. What happened was that things got worse. Sexual assault victims of all stripes are now perceived by many to be liars first, sluts second and Clinton operatives third. Feinstein never cared about Ford or about women or sexual assault victims. She was playing party politics and it backfired. Hard.

Sen. Elizabeth Warren Elizabeth Warren thought she was President Barack Obama. She thought she could shut down insults from Donald Trump by proving that she was, in fact, of Native American descent. But where Obama brandishing his birth certificate removed all ability to doubt and insult (save for the morons) Warren’s genetic test revealed nothing. She’s as Cherokee as the rest of us, which is to say, not at all. Not enough to claim that heritage, anyway. My wife, Katie, who was raised evangelical Christian, did not convert to Judaism when we married, has never been to a bar or bat mitzvah and does not believe in God, is more a Jew than Warren is Cherokee.

This move, as Hall wrote last week, was the truest display of submitting to Trump’s bullying and, thus, playing right into his hands. Warren revealed herself as someone too concerned with the shiny penny glistening on the sandbar when she should be focusing on the squall overhead and the bull shark headed straight for her. There’s a lot of talk about Warren running for president in 2020. I used to think she wasn’t a bad option, but now, no. Warren can’t be president. She’s too entrenched with the Liberal American pettiness that continues to fraction the Left and the Democratic Party and embolden the Right and the Republicans. And it’s now clear that she’d make a losing opponent to Trump because she’d crumple at every jab he threw. What’s most concerning is that this kind of behavior is what alienates the undecided moderates — the very people the Dems need if they’re ever going to win again.

Former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton Where do I start? OK, first, HRC would have been a perfectly fine president. Yes, she would have been dogged by accusations from the Right every single waking moment of her presidency but she is a knowledgeable, experienced public servant. She knows the world and the world knows her. And while a sizable clot of America hates her, the rest of the world doesn’t mind her. She can get along with people. Sort of.

HRC is the only person in the known universe who could have lost to Donald Trump. She’s too polarizing; been in the Washington game too long; has been beaten down by the media over the last 30 years so bad that she’s barely human. It is unfortunate and unfair. And because of that, she was a horrible candidate. Would have been a fine president, but fine presidents can’t be horrible candidates. Her campaign should be used in political science, marketing and advertising classes as an example of what not to do. Ever.

“I’m with Her” is not about the country. It’s a decree of a cult of personality. That campaign slogan makes her election to the Highest Office in the Land about HRC and not about the future and benefit of the United States and its people. It is egotism at best and Trumpian narcissism at worst. (And just a quick comment on Trump’s campaign: You know what helped him win? “Make America Great Again.” That slogan was brilliant. It was about the country, and maybe for the first time in his life, not directly about Trump. It was specific enough that people could envision a great America but vague enough that it required no hard supportive evidence. Trump’s campaign followed the exact same marketing logic as Barack Obama’s in 2008; “Hope” is just as specifically vague and made the American people feel good and, yeah, hopeful about the future of their country.)

“Love Trumps Hate” is bad copywriting. One rogue apostrophe and she’s rooting for the other guy. And for Christ’s sake, why would anyone in her campaign sign off on using the other guy’s name in their campaign materials? Why would you ever allude to your competitor when trying to get people to think about you? It’s just stupid.

When HRC came down with the flu, she hid the truth for no good reason. Now, this is less about her poor thinking as it is the result of decades of having to protect herself from possible attacks over the smallest of infractions. The system broke her and this flu denial thing was the sad result. But she had an opportunity to rise above it. If she had said outright, “I had the flu and pushed myself too hard,” most people would understand. We’ve all had the flu. Hell, admitting it from the start would have humanized her — something she desperately needed. But instead, HRC and her campaign ducked and dodged the assumption out of concern that Trump and his people would accuse her of being too ill to be president. That is, of course, ridiculous. And anyone who worked “But her flu symptoms” into their “But her emails” arguments would most likely be perceived, rightfully, as a fucking moron. However, by hiding the flu fact, HRC managed to do what HRC does best, give credence to the fear that she’s hiding something can’t be trusted.

Only a member of the 1919 White Sox and Butch Coolidge — people who want to lose — would think insulting the electorate was a good idea. No doubt that every presidential candidate from George Washington on up said some pretty wretched things about their opponent’s base, but never in public. Calling Trump’s base deplorables only empowered them. And, I’m afraid, it encouraged the Them vs. Us Cold War we’re in right now.

And then there’s the alleged collusion with the DNC to cheat her way to the nomination…

HRC is unquestionably a leader. She should set the tone here. She can start by backing off the campaign trail. She is much like Trump in that all her presence does is rile up the loyalists and upset the opposition. She’ll never win over the desperately needed moderates and undecided voters.

Former Chairperson of the Democratic National Committee Rep. Debbie Wasserman Schultz Allegedly, and quite obviously, in this writer’s opinion, Debbie Wasserman Schultz was part of a coordinated attempt to manipulate the outcome of the 2016 democratic primary race for president favoring Hillary Clinton over Bernie Sanders. Even Elizabeth Warren believed there was collusion. This is problematic because it’s cheating. And the only reason anyone has to cheat is if they know they can’t win. Part of the allegation is that the Clinton people bought the support of Wasserman Schultz and the DNC. Sanders would have likely won the primary, and because HRC was the only person on the planet who could lose to Trump, the Dems blew the whole lot. If Wasserman Schultz had let the electorate of her party speak instead of (allegedly) manipulating the odds to favor a deeply flawed candidate, we might not be living in Trump’s America. Although, that would mean Stormy Daniels would likely have never received a book deal, which would have been unfortunate for her and a travesty for historians who will look back and laugh their assess off at 2016–2018 America.

✶

As I said at the start of this piece: the Patriarchy and all its ills must burn and die. But if the future is female, then the future needs a Come to Jesus Moment like no other. If they don’t, the future will be lost to the mongrels currently in the lead. Scoundrels in the image of Sen. Orin Hatch, Sen. Lindsey Graham, McConnell and Cruz will be the future. If this occurs, the Dems will have no one to blame but themselves.

Even if the Dems pull off a win in 2020, if the Party’s most prominent don’t stop acting without thinking of the consequences, the future may indeed be female, but it will be a future led by women who are just as self-serving and stupid as any man ever has been.

I hope they can get their act together. I’m rooting for them.

#Maxine Waters #Dianne Feinstein #Nancy Pelosi #Hillary Clinton #Debbie Wasserman Schultz

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smokeybrandcompositions · 6 years

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Evolution

I just read an article about how Americans don’t want socialism. That the trappings and failures of capitalism are far and away better than anything Socialism can bring to a country. Tell that bullsh*t to those Nordic countries. I concede that communism is designed to crate dictators; anytime to coalesce that much power into one person, there’s a problem, but socialism is different than communism and most people don’t understand that. Especially in America where anytime you mention anything with any semblance of sharing, it’s a goddamn fight. The thing is, though, we already have socialist policies. What the f*ck do you think Social Security is? I mean, it’s in the f*cking name! Beyond that, whenever there is a deficit or something in the budget, what’s the first thing the cut? Social Security! So, I mean, Socialism is bad, right? But it’s always used to bail us out though, right? So, which one is it then?

This article used examples like Venezuela and Russia to articulate their reticence but, I mean, of course they would. The thing that really got me was, immediately after this, they f*cking said it was because of corruption that these “socialist” governments failed. Bro, corruption ruins everything. By definition, that’s what it does. Venezuela is failing because the people in charge have no accountability and hoarded the country’s wealth. Same thing with Russia, but to a lesser extent. Their money was charred around by a set of oligarchs, funneling the scraps to the people. With a cat like Putin in charge, of course Socialism isn’t going to work. Dude is all about consolidating power and wealth is power there. Another failure cats like to throw in my face is Cuba. See, the thing about Cuba is, if they haven’t had all of those sanctions imposed by America on them for 60 f*cking years, Cuba would be a legit paradise. Cuba has some of the highest level of literacy in the world and they get that schooling for free. They have some of the best doctors in the world. The only reason their country is in such bad shape is because NATO decided their regime was toxic and blocked trade for decades. Cuba is an island. It has finite resources. They NEED that trade to survive. DO you honestly believe that, if Cube had the means to feed their people with traded goods, people would want to flee? I dunno, man, Havana is gorgeous.

But, okay, let’s say those examples are the worst, that Socialism failed miserably because it doesn’t work there. With dictators at the helm. What happens when you have elected officials running a country with checks and balances to the social programs? You get f*cking Denmark. You get f*cking Sweden. You get f*cking Amsterdam and Scandinavia. You get literally the happiest countries in the world. Let’s look at Denmark a little closer because I just read an article about them trying to debunk their $20.00 an hour minimum wage and it didn’t do them any favors. Sure, it’s a little expensive to live there but, with those taxes they pay, Denmark residents don’t really have to pay for anything but f*cking food. The effective buying power of that 20 bux is roughly 11.50 in real time but they have free education, healthcare, and daycare. So that right there cuts out student loan payments, exorbitant child care costs, and any ludicrous medical bills you may have to pay. That frees up a MASSIVE amount of capital for you to do whatever with. Seriously, you’d have a bout a grand extra, every month, to do what you need to do with. On minimum wage. Minimum. Wage. They have one of the healthiest economies in the world so there’s a good chance you’d make more than that, easy, especially if you graduate from a free college. You’re instantly pressed into the workforce in your major upon graduation and serve a 4-year term, for the government, in your field. Afterward, you’re free to leave or continue with that gig. So not only did you get a free education, they got you a paying job in your field, not an internship, fresh out of college. And it gets even better. Since the clear majority of Denmark citizens have a higher degree, there’s much less crime. The Nordic countries are some of the safest in the world. I wonder why? It’s almost as if economic imposed poverty breeds criminal activity or something. When you have less of that, you have less crime. Who’d have thought?

Democratic Socialism works. If some asshole isn’t in the big chair as we run that system, we’ll be fine. We’ll probably be great. Every time socialism fails, it’s because of a dick. Like the one sitting in the big chair now. Trump is actively ruining America. His is the most corrupt administration since Nixon, on both a national and private level. Everything he’s done has bolstered his brand and tanked the country. Seriously, how are we any better now, than W? How is the country in any better position, globally, than under Obama? He’s getting played by North Korea. He just publicly kissed Putin’s ring and lied about it. I’ve literally heard this man say, “Don’t trust what you see or read in the news.” Bro, what? That sh*t is textbook Nazism. It’s how you create dictators. It’s how Putin runs his whole system. The installation of mistrust in free media is how it always starts and you’re telling me Socialism is a problem? That Democratic Socialism will be the end of America as we know it? Nah, our county is already in decline and it’s not even a socialist has nothing to do with it. It’s this god-awful capitalism that has us to the brink. Wage disparity has never been higher. 80 percent of the GDP is being pocketed by, like, 20 people. Contrary to Gordon Gecko’s mantra, Greed is, in fact, NOT good! Crime is insane and literacy is down historic levels. Crime is insane BECAUSE literacy is down historic levels! Cats are out here turning on each other over dumb sh*t like race, politics, and religion, instead of uniting against the forces that have very real ill intent; the mother*ckers that are making the laws taking away your rights and protections.

America has an aversion to Socialism because the powers that be have orchestrated one of the most insidious propaganda initiatives I have ever seen. They hammered the red scare into our grand-parents, who fed that sh*t to our parents, who have distilled it into us. The thing is, though, we as the next generation have had access to information that the others have not. Propaganda like that doesn’t work on someone who understands haw to think. Most cats with a reason and common sense can see the way things are now, can’t be sustained. Why not give socialism a hot? But the intricate social engineering that has been enacted for decades has it’s claws in enough of this country’s people that making headway is nigh impossible. Abortion has nothing to do with government or religion. A chick has the right to do with her body, whatever she wants because it’s her body. If she doesn’t want to carry a tumor in her womb to term, that’s her business, not the f*cking senate, president, or Supreme Court judge. No one is coming to take your guns away if there ever is reform. What the f*ck do you need an AR-15 for anyway? It’s an assault rifle. Assault. It’s designed to take as many human lives away as possible because it’s a tool of war. You expecting war, my man? A two-party political system and the electoral college are tools created to perpetuate a false narrative that keeps us Pigeon hold to a corrupt system who’s only interest is to pocket as much wealth as possible, not move the country forward in the people’s interest. Competition is the mother of innovation so why is it there are only two options who, more and more, look the same? Capitalism doesn’t work in the way it should because the people in charge are assholes who kowtow to massive private interests and conglomerates. America is strong enough to secure itself, protect its national interests, and supply free education, healthcare, and a decent living wage without batting an eye. California, alone, is the 6th largest economy IN THE WORLD and we have 49 other states and a handful of territories that contribute as well. How is it we’re first in crime, last in education, and running point in wealth disparity again?

Its obvious capitalism isn’t working the way it should anymore. I think it’s because society has evolved beyond its principals. I think my generation is more interested in advancing society, not nationalism and I think the generations before us, the Baby Boomers and backward, are terrified of this change. They’ve been suckling at the teat of the all-knowing government machine since their youth and it terrifies them that the faith they gave to the watchers, has not been upheld. Trump feels like a panic play before the real wave of change hits. We’re already seeing it. Puerto Rican ma out in New York beat a 20- year Democratic incumbent. She’s democratic socialist and is very vocal about her views. We got a 24-year-old out in West Virginia running on an identical platform and he’s beating out a millionaire Republican. Bernie Sanders was a DNC sabotage away from being the Democratic nominee for president, and he was beating everyone in the field by double digit points! Hell, record numbers of cats 30 and younger have registered the vote in Florid for the first time in forever. You think those kids are going to follow the national trends? Millennials terrify the establishment because we hate the establishment. We see how terrible it is. We live how terrible it is. We have had access to other forms of government our entire lives. The globalization of the world and the fact that I can get instant information on my phone has given us a means to usurp the blind patriotism generations before us held dear. WE know America isn’t the greatest country in the world. There are facts that back that up. But it can be. And it starts with a vote toward universal healthcare. It stars with gun reform. It starts with a flat tax rate and government supplemented college tuition. It starts with a form on socialism that is both sustainable and realistic; a model that Denmark has followed for decades.

It starts with us.

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littlemarysue · 7 years

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Comatose: Wedsnasday

I woke up and went to see if my dinner was all down the drain, it wasn't so I dumped more bleach down it, the rest of the bottle in fact. While I waited for it to drain I took care of other business. My alarm, to tell me that I needed to leave, went off, great. Rushing I pulled on the clothes I left out the night before, jeans and a loose band tee, before running upstairs to pull on socks and kiss my mother and sister good bye. Everyone else had left already, to their designated daily routines. I grabbed my binder, jammed my feet into my black spiked boots and ran out the front door. Jogging up the hill I heard the bus pull up to the first stop warning me that I had two minutes to reach mine.

I sprinted up that hill as fast as I could. Arriving at the top I saw Ruby and Ariel run in behind me. Be all doubled over out of breath as the bus arrived. Stumbling on, I sat in the front seat where my friend Audrey waited. She was listening to some modern rock band. She smiled and handed me the zen doodle we had been working on for weeks. It was my turn to fill in a bit. Selecting colors from my pencil box I started when a text from my girlfriend arrived. I set the pencil down and looked at it. A request, she wanted me to bring her coffee, I'd grabbed some chilled stuff from the fridge before sprinting to the stop. I'd have to buy chocolate milk when I got to school, she hates black coffee. I shot her back saying I would be there in ten minutes with the coffee.

The bus pulled up and I handed Audrey the zen doodle back. I walked into the building and headed straight to the cafeteria. I set my things on the table and went to grab breakfast. I saw everyone arrive from the line. I got my food and rushed back. Trinitee was sitting in her usual spot. I popped the lid off the thermo and poured milk in before handing it to the petite girl.

"'Bout time, fat ass." She growled out. So it was one of those days today. I wisely shut my trap and ate my food. I know pushover much but she really is nice, sometimes. Maybe....... Don't think like that! It'll get better soon. It's not like I'm fat or anything either, I'm tall and slightly chubby, but to her, I can see why I look fat.

† ‡ † ‡ † ‡

The bell finally rang dismissing me from P.E. I have never been so grateful. It was nearly a hundred and two degrees outside, and Coach wanted us to run our end of the year mile. I stumbled inside to the changing rooms to towel off and change. Because this cheap school has showers but who has the time for that with our break time? Making sure that I don't smell like sweat I picked up my stuff and hurried to math.

Ah, advanced mathematics, one of my favorite subjects. Truly it's the one thing I can do right. You get this sense of pride when you're the only eighth grader in a class of freshmen. The only person smart enough to handle the advanced core or at least the only one for this period. I had aced my big final with most of the class behind me only Josh and Rachel beating me. We got to party while those who needed to take the remediation test went to the other classroom to work. I chatted with Josh and we listened to some Icelandic death metal band he chose.

The period ended and I walked to the arts hall for the last period of the day. Ceramics. I would be getting my mask back. I have taken a plaster mold of my brothers face for a face before shaping the mask to fit him. It was a Venetian masquerade mask styled after a mask our grandmother had. It had made it into the school showcase and was admired in a state wide youth art show.

I plunked down next to Rosaline, she and I had gone to the state show together and I have to admit her peacock feather Venetian mask was amazing, decked in a gold glaze with silver lining the eye holes and marking the perfectly painted eyebrow, the lips exquisitely sculpted and painted a rosy pink, and over one side of the face was a peacock, she had gotten huge feathers glued on after it was completely fired and glazed. She, unsurprisingly, had won the optional competition to see who was going to compete in nationals, and whoever won that went to meet the President.

I had decided not to enter due to my lack of a reason to want to compete, Rosaline thought this was weird because I'm the most competitive person she knows. What she didn't know is if I had entered, I got the feeling Trinitee would feel like a worthless failure again.

"Ugh! I'm so done with school right now." She flopped down onto the table and groaned again. I agreed by following in suit.

"Can't it just be over now instead of in two weeks?"

"Why is school so long?"

"Why is summer so hot?"

We kept exchanging complaints until the bell rang starting class. Miss. Parkinson walked in and greeted everyone. She told us to work on early finishers we had done throughout the year so that we could take them home.

I had done everything so I just read for the period waiting for class to finish. The bell chimed ending school. I ran to the back of the room to pick up my masterpiece when some of the boys who had been harassing me all year came up behind me and took it from my hands.

"What's little Piggy got here a mask to hide her ugly face?" Said the lead dickwad, Zander. He, even though it is was only eighth grade, was already notorious for being a playboy, fuckboy, asshole and would screw anything with a heart beat.

"Zander I'm not in the mood today please give my mask back."

"Ooh begging already little Piggy?"

"Please that is really important to me and I would like it back."

"Alright if it really means all that much to you I'll give it back." relieved I reached out for my mask. He raised it above his head and before I knew what was happening he threw it at the ground. All of my hard work lay shattered on the floor. The shells I had painstakingly laid out and glued onto the mask the weeks of slaving over it so I could have something nice to give my brother for his birthday gone in a flash.

I didn't know I was crying or falling until I felt the shards dig into my knees. I only half registered the laughing and walking away. I picked up the biggest shards and cradled them like that. I don't know how long I was sitting there bawling but Miss. Parkinson walked In to find me like that sometime later.

She saw that my knees were bleeding pretty bad and ran to get the first aid kit in the front of the room. I think she got Mr. Davis next door to put me on a chair but I don't remember much, I was too caught up in my thoughts. Raymond, the little voice of my depression was having a grand ol' time with what just happened. His favorite activity seemed to be making me feel like shit. And believe me, I can't, for the love God, shut him up when he gets on a roll like this. The two teachers fixed my knees and cleaned up the broken shards.

Shaking my arm Miss. Parkinson asked me what happened and I weakly explained what the boys had done. I could see in her eyes that she was pissed off. As a student, I know that when someone intentionally smashes someone's work she takes it as a personal offense. I shook myself out of my stupor long enough to tell her I had to go meet a friend. Before grabbing my stuff and running to the front doors where Trinitee was waiting for me.

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