#gonna make a United Nations on my strap

[yourivygrows13]

Ticketmaster, Monopolies, and why The Eras Tour shitshow is not Taylor's fault, but Ronald Reagan's

Alright tumblr. I'm not an economist, but I took IB Econ SL in High School and still talk to my teacher so I'm enough of one for tumblr. I also have ADHD, and my hyperfocus loves to research, and I have been an obsessive music fan since birth and have been going to concerts regularly since my dad deemed me old enough to sit through one. I've also worked in radio for many years and I'm a music journalist. There are my credentials.

So strap in and let's discuss what the fuck is happening right now with Ticketmaster, The Eras Tour, and the outrage. This is gonna be a long one.

Ticketmaster as it stands now is the result of a merger (With Live Nation) that shouldn't have happened and is a capitalistic monster that needs to be taken down. Full stop. So why did Taylor Swift choose to use them for her tour? The simple answer is she had no choice if she wanted to tour venues that could adequately meet the demand she generates. Ticketmaster has such a chokehold on the ticketing industry, that venues are incentivized to use them as their ticketing service because Ticketmaster sells the most tickets. Yes, venues can use other services or even their own, but a massive stadium probably doesn't have the developers and engineers needed to handle events with 60k+ capacities. Pre-merger with Live Nation, these larger venues had more options. But since the merger in 2010, there is not a single ticketing service that can touch Ticketmaster. When Taylor is planning a tour, she and her event promoter (AEG) have control over some things like stage design and ticket prices (which, the face value of the tickets for The Eras Tour was very reasonable BEFORE FEES and BEFORE DYNAMIC PRICING. When you take into account just how much putting a tour on costs just in the sheer amount of people you have to employ $899 for the most expensive VIP level ticket is a lot of money, but it's 2022 and there is serious inflation going on. Taylor doesn't control the entire global economy. Dynamic pricing shouldn't be allowed in my opinion and artists should not opt in for it in my opinion. I have no idea what logistics go into opting out and I'm sure Ticketmaster does everything they can to incentivize people not to. But yes, as far as I am aware, dynamic pricing is a choice artists make so if Taylor had dynamic pricing, that was a decision made internally. I can't say I would make the same choice, but I'm not a touring musician. Also, I say IF she had, because in my experience of trying to buy tickets for this tour my friends and I did not encounter any dynamic price shifts for any of the shows we attempted to get tickets for.) She and her event promoters do not have a say in who sells the tickets. That is decided by the venue. Taylor is at the point in her career where she can't not play stadiums. There is just too much demand. For example, she's playing three dates at Lincoln Financial Field in Philadelphia. On her reputation tour she played to a total (across 2 nights) of 107,378 people. (Her stage for The Eras Tour is much bigger than the rep stage, so that capacity goes down a bit). But using that as a number: For The Eras Tour, by selling out 3 dates she'd play for roughly161,067 people. If she were to play Wells Fargo Center (the arena in Philadelphia. She started playing stadiums during speak now. She hasn't played places this small in the US in YEARS) she'd have to play 7.5 shows in Philly alone to play to the same number of people.

And most arenas still use Ticketmaster. But you get my point. She would have to basically never stop touring if she wanted to play for the same number of people on a stadium tour, in smaller venues. Using Philadelphia as an example, as that's a mid tier venue for her capacity wise: To play to roughly the same amount of people on The Eras Tour if she did arenas instead of stadiums she'd have to play 390 shows in the United States alone. She's incredible, but that's unreasonable to ask of ANYONE. She has to sell her tickets through whatever service the venues use. The vast majority of NFL stadiums use Ticketmaster. Her hands are tied. Could she straight up not tour? Yes. But if you actually expect her to do that, or any artist for that matter, you need to lower your expectations. It's her job. That argument is going to get people nowhere. We live in a capitalist society. That needs fixing before we can expect people to operate outside of it. So. Anyway. Why can any of this bullshit happen at all? Great. Fucking. Question. In the 1890s, The Sherman Act was put into place to essentially keep big corporations from gaining a monopoly over the market. It was decided that for everyone's best interest, we needed policies in place that would keep prices as low as possible by fostering healthy competition. Yes, this largely concerned things like oil and other big shit that controls our society. It all goes back to that shit. There have been other acts as well, btw. But for the sake of tumblr I'm sticking with a high level overview.

Fun fact: At the time, and into the "Golden Age" of antitrust policy (the 1940s to late 1970s), keeping competition in the market was seen as a remedy for fascism, and antitrust laws enabled that remedy. Antitrust policies started to fall in the late 1970s. Another fun fact: Ticketmaster started in 1976. I have no proof to back this being more than a coincidence, but do with that information what you will. In the late 70s, the Chicago School of Economics(/Antitrust Laws) began to popularize the idea that courts weren't super efficient at regulating these things and that inefficiency was holding us back and bigger wasn't necessarily bad. I'm simplifying. But that's it in a nutshell. Their school of thought became known as the "consumer welfare standard." If the whole purpose of antitrust policy was to keep prices low--which, at the time, was seen to equate maximum output, efficient allocation of resources, and thriving competition--then why did that mean that every single move that increased the price of goods had to be deemed unlawful if markets could self-correct? Which is how the Chicago School viewed them.

So in their eyes, only the most outrageous monopolies and forms of "anti-competitive conduct," basically anything that would keep markets from self-correcting, needed to be regulated. Their thinking was that some large mergers would indeed result in lower prices and efficient allocation of resources, and blocking everything was actually hindering that. Reagan was super on board with this, and his administration did a lot to reduce government regulation in business affairs. Now, the US presidents following Reagan didn't do much, if anything at all, to revert the changes that happened during this administration. And guess what? Markets do self-correct, but if a monopoly is big enough and if enough are allowed to happen, the market can't self-correct. Look at Ticketmaster/Live Nation. They are so large and control so much of the live events industry from owning venues to intense contracts that eat up entire cities, that there is literally nothing that can become enough of a competitor to correct the market to any level of "consumer welfare standard." Live Nation/Ticketmaster has absolutely zero incentive to do anything to improve customer experience, lower prices, loosen contracts, or put any measures in place to stop scalpers. Literally zero. Because no matter what, at the end of the day, if artists want to tour and if sports teams want to play and the general public wants to experience a live event of any kind in the United States, it is almost impossible to do so without involving LN/TM. There isn't an artist in this world big enough to take them down. Taylor Swift has a massive platform and a lot of influence. She cannot do anything about this alone. BTS don't have enough power to make a difference to an American based company. The Department of Justice and demanding governing officials and legislators to investigate and break up Ticketmaster is the only way this will ever change.

What the Reagan administration did in the 70s and what US Presidents have continued to do since, makes blocking these mergers from happening extremely difficult and not worth the time and energy. The fact that the Penguin Random House/Simon & Schuster merger was blocked is a miracle (and the Penguin/Random House merger should have never been allowed to happen!! The Kroger/Albertson's merger shouldn't have happened!!) So breaking up an already existing merger that created an unstoppable monopoly? That's even more impossible. So where does that leave us? Well, tired. Upset. Wondering how the hell Ticketmaster could just cancel the general on-sale for The Eras Tour when they explicitly state that there are still tickets left. But we can do something about it. Sign petitions. Call local legislators. Back the Tennessee District Attorney looking into it. Back AOC if she makes moves to do something about it. Our world is completely different than it was in the 1890s when The Sherman Act was put into place. It's completely different than it was in the Reagan Administration. It may seem silly to put effort into something like this when there are so many other things we have to fight for as well. But fighting for monopolies to be broken and blocked and fighting for antitrust policies to actually be upheld in ways that benefit TODAY'S society is important. You can be mad. You can scream. But at the end of the day, directing that anger and energy toward anyone but Live Nation/Ticketmaster isn't going to do anything. Let's fucking take down The Man. Resources if you want to learn more: Federal Trade Commission Department of Justice WP Article LA Times article from 1986 when shit was happening Rolling Stone article from 1995 about Pearl Jam's fight against Ticketmaster

#Taylor Swift #Ticketmaster #The Eras Tour #Taylor Swift Tix #Fuck Ticketmaster #Economics 101 #did the board game monopoly fuck up our society? #it's just a question #did a board game give us brain worms thinking monopolies are good #taylor swift the eras tour #taylor nation #live nation #break up ticketmaster #take them down #we got her to give us the all too well 10 minute version #we can make the government finally do something about this monopoly #swifties are a powerful group

[getthebutters]

HOW GAY SEX CREATED THE BUTTERS

Many companies have inspirational or motivational origin stories. The Butters, is not one of those companies. Our origin story is solely based on my desire for more homosexual anal sex. Frankly, I wouldn’t have it any other way!

The Butters spawned from collision of necessity, curiosity, and a lack of funds in the winter of 2015. I’d just got in a new relationship as a 20-something Libra and honestly lube was becoming a line item on the budget. I needed an affordable lube that wouldn’t dry out, get sticky, or irritate my guy’s bottom.

I was just tryna stroke away unencumbered but the options available didn’t want me to be great. I did want me to be great. So, I figured I’d see if I could make something myself.

I ended up making The Butters Lube Aloe X Shea. It was fucking fantastic, 100% vegan and made my skin hella soft. I wondered if it would be a good body moisturizer. It was an incredible moisturizer but a little too slippery. With a few tweaks, voila, The Butters Original Body Moisturizer was born. Both were instant hits with friends. So, I made more and more; I also made a lot of people really, really happy, to my surprise.

I love my destiny’s children, but the positive reception still shocked me. It also convinced to me keep working. Within a year The Butters Hygienics Co. became a thing. 6 years, 60,000 jars of lube, and 40,000 units of everything else later, it’s clear I’m on to something.

The Butters exists because you’re not crazy. Store products suck. With The Butters, it’s my goal to provide high quality, personal solutions that truly don’t for the queerest among us, starting with myself.  

Despite what national brands tell you, it’s really their size and complexity that limit the quality and value of their products. On the other hand, The Butters is a brand based on simplicity, honesty, ingenuity, and horniness. Our products rock cause we’re our own discerning-yet-excluded customers first. We know what anal lovers, fisting fans, strap-wielding-scissor sisters, bators and other queer, kinky, colored fuckers need. We are you.

This ethos and intuition bleeds into everything we make. Lube, PMS* Rescue, Bruise Soother, Happy N’ Nappy, Face Oil made to care for folks on hormones; like come on. What other brand is out here caring for your mind, body, and holes? No one. And we’re gonna keep at it for another 6-600 years.

On a personal note, thanks for being here for this queer and his band of merry Butter Maids. As a 34-year-old mentally ill & disabled fat black gay boy from metro Detroit, the statistics say I’m supposed to be in jail, dead or dead inside. While I was never gonna let that happen, it took a lot of hard work and support from others to make it this far. Support from people like you! Thank you.

I’m literally living gay pride, black history, queer liberation day by day. With my highly gay staff and support of local queer youth orgs, I’m geeked to be helping lift other queers as well. We still have a long way to go but you can rest assured that at least 5 young queers are living better and safer because I was horny, and so are you. I think that’s pretty fuggin’ gay and by gay, I mean amazing, astounding, outstanding, and groundbreakingly gay.

In peace, moisture, & punk faggotry

Jerome

[nsfwhiphop]

Incoming Text for Natalie Portman:

Hey, Natalie!

Walden is a billionaire who lives in a beach house, Malibu Beach.

I'm a billionaire who lives in the ghetto, you call it the woods, I call it the ghetto.

Walden is not a warrior but guess what? I'm a warrior, that's why I live in the woods, it's the perfect place to fight back against these greedy predators who want to subdue us and force us to submit to them.

That's what I call them: "GREEDY PREDATORS"

They want to own my wealth but guess what? I refuse to submit to these greedy predators.

Greedy predators be like: "Hey, Angelo! Why don't you submit to us and give us your immense wealth?"

Angelo replied: "I refuse, now tell me, the fuck you gonna do about it? You ain't gon' do shit."

I refused to submit, they will have to come here with their fire power and we shall respond with equally strong armed forces, we have fire power too.

They can't touch me, I'm not their puppet, I will never be their puppet.

I'm an AREA 51 gang member, I'm afraid of no one.

Tell them to bring it, we are waiting for them.

I have so many nations ready to come support me, they are fucked.

I have the United Nations diplomats chillin' with me in Alsace.

Why do you think, I'm still alive and I'm still free, because I have fire power, I fight back, I never make it easy for them. I make it so difficult for them, they cry at night like little bitches because I'm too strong.

These people scare only the weak and the unprepared but they can't scare someone with knowledge like me.

I encourage you to ask them, have they ever met me?

Their answer will be: "No, we never met him"

Do you know why they never met me? Because I'm not their puppet.

No one owns me and they will never own me, they can try but they will always fail, do you know why?

Because the armed forces are involved and trust me when I tell you this, if the armed forces are involved, they all run away from me.

These people can't touch the military because we all know the military is filled with soldiers who are ready to die.

They can get away with scaring civilians but they can never get away with scaring soldiers because when you threaten a soldier, he fights back with all that he's got, he will die defending his freedom.

So, yeah, here's my reply to your "Life in the woods" joke.

I live in the woods because that's where the enemy can easily be killed and ambushed.

When you live in society, the enemy rules like a King.

But when you live in the woods, the enemy becomes an easy target.

Angelo be like: "The fuck you doin' here? So, you thought you could come here and take some shit? Is that what you thought? Look around you, we are all strapped in this hood, everyone got guns here. No one is afraid of you clowns, get the fuck out of here before we call the armed forces on you clowns."

So, please forward this message to all my enemies and tell them that the United Nations armed forces have been waiting for them to do something but until now, no sign from them.

So, what does this mean? It means I'm overpowering the enemy.

The enemy can not force me into submission when I live in the woods, it is the opposite that happens, I force the enemy into submission.

You have no Military intelligence knowledge, but I do, I know all the tricks that the enemy uses to subdue his weak targets.

They can't subdue me, I'm the undefeated champion.

I have so many soldiers ready for war. They are fearless.

I hope this message helps you see more clearly.

I'm not a puppet, never was and never will be.

I'm a freedom fighter, I'm not an actor, I live this shit for real.

Okay, this chat was fun.

Love you, Natalie! Have fun, big hug for you!

P.S.

Say hello to Gal Gadot and Sacha Baron Cohen, I encourage them to resist too, never surrender, always fight back.

Do you want 95% of profits in your pocket. and 5% for the enemy?

Or do you want 5% of profits in your pocket and 95% for the enemy?

This choice is very easy and simple, isn't it?

If you want 95% of profits, you have to resist.

That's why I never surrender. They can't touch me.

I never sit with them, I don't need them, I'm self-sufficient.

These people are greedy predators, they want to own 95% of your wealth.

Don't surrender to these greedy predators.

You have to resist, it can take us 20 years of resistance but you must never surrender, always resist.

You have a lot of women to support you and I know you have a long list of powerful women to help you resist these greedy predators.

Stay strong sister.

Watch this video about Aramco Oil Company:

#Youtube

[fahrni]

Saturday Morning Coffee

I struggled to get started this morning. Not because I didn’t want to write. There’s just so much going on at Twitter I could fill today’s post with all Twitter news stories. That could still happen. I haven’t decided yet.

Get that cup ready and strap in. To quote the legendary Forrest Gump. ☕️

“Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.”

Martin Fowler > “In the United States, we have midterm elections coming up. Many people aren’t interested in politics, or feel there is nobody worthwhile to vote for. If you’re an American inclined to skip voting in these mid-terms, I’d appreciate it if you read this appeal.”

It seems that every election from now until we can rid the country of Trumpism will be the vote of our lives.

I have no doubt there are folks I interact with every day worried about the future of our great nation. Im terrified and fully expect a Civil War to erupt. That will happen if Republicans take over the House, Senate, and Presidency lead by TFG.

I predict if he returns the eight year Presidental term as defined will be overturned. TFG will become our dictator and the greatest Democracy every know will fade into the dark of a new dystopian America.

So, let me get this straight. You can’t hand out water and snacks to people waiting in line to vote, but you can station yourself armed, in full tactical gear, and intimidate people trying to drop off a ballot?

— John Collins (@Logically_JC) October 29, 2022

Los Angeles Times > “Chilling new details continue to emerge about last week’s attack on House Speaker Nancy’s Pelosi’s husband, Paul Pelosi, at their San Francisco home as the suspect faces formal charges on Monday.”

We absolutely need to call this what it was: an assassination attempt.

TFG and his MAGA, Q loving, base are out of control and have to be stopped.

Almost all my family are Republicans. We’ve disagreed about a lot throughout the years but I never thought they were cruel. This isn’t my parents’ Republican party. MAGA-Republicans are a bitter, lonely, and violent bunch. When we need compassion they choose cruelty. https://t.co/Njvdd4XUAJ

— Rep. Eric Swalwell (@RepSwalwell) October 29, 2022

Tech Crunch > “On Thursday evening, all employees received an email stating that they will be informed of their employment status at 9 A.M. PT on Friday. Each email will be sent with the subject line “Your Role at Twitter.” If an employee is keeping their job, they’ll be notified via their work email — if they’re let go, they’ll be notified on a personal address.”

The Washington Post > “As Twitter advertisers run for the exits, the world’s richest man has apparently decided to set his $44 billion investment on fire”

Musk is a strange bird and was forced to buy Twitter even after he realized he’d made a terrible mistake. Twitter lawyers wrote a bullet proof deal after Musk declared he didn’t care to have any due diligence on the deal.

Major blunder. Now he’s playing games with peoples lives. Laying off up to half of the Twitter staff.

The teams around making Twitter less of a hellscape are gone. I have one good programmer friend, who joined the company in May of this year, who was let go. He was barely getting started and had already contributed a great deal to improving internal iOS dev process and tools. He’ll be fine and I’m trying to get him to come back to WillowTree, wish me luck. 🤞🏼

Stripe > “Today we’re announcing the hardest change we have had to make at Stripe to date. We’re reducing the size of our team by around 14% and saying goodbye to many talented Stripes in the process.”

While it’s not fun to go through a layoff compare and contrast how Stipe handled it vs. Twitter’s ham fisted version. It’s night and day different.

Stripe is taking care of those effected. Go read the piece. This is a very compassionate, empathetic, way to do something so devastating.

Jalopnik > “Four years ago, Dodge showed up at SEMA with a thousand-horsepower crate engine that you could just buy off the shelf.”

Raw unadulterated power. Don’t get me wrong. I want to save the planet and get rid of all carbon emitting gas guzzlers, but this engine gets my heart pumping.

Daring Fireball > “The gambling/casino-related ads were so dominating the auctions for these new ad slots that they were even being presented at the bottom of the product pages for apps intended to help people with gambling addiction.”

Apple becoming a home for advertising feels so, so, dirty. They make all this stink about privacy and go about destroying Facebook (whom I could care less about) by using the power of their platform to disallow the tracking necessary for them to survive. Then they say “Hey! Look over here! We do safe ads with a captive audience on a platform with 50% market share in the US.”

Steve is rolling in his grave and Tim Apple is running his hands together like Mr. Burns with a giant smile on his face because shareholder value.

Just stop.

Can you imagine having $48.2 billion cash on hand and YET still thinking "ah yes, those House of Fun Casino ads will grow our bottom line, let's do it" pic.twitter.com/j1k6WT8i2H

— Federico Viticci (@viticci) October 26, 2022

The Exeter Sun > “VISALIA – Quesadilla lovers across the country should be excited as Quesadilla Gorilla begins their journey of spreading peace love and dillas throughout the states one store at a time.”

I had to add this story this morning because I love this little speciality dining experience. It’s simple, it’s just quesadilla’s, but they’re really good.

If you ever have one make sure you get the Liquid Gold sauce for dipping. It’s absolutely delicious. 😃

[aspidities]

How do you feel knowing there are women all over the world that are horny for you?

Feels correct

#ask me #lmao #y’all flatterers #I doubt all over the world but y’know what I’ll take that flag #gonna make a United Nations on my strap #anon love #flirts

[deadpresidents]

We Remember: When 9/11 Forged a Genuinely United States of America

Today, we remember.

We remember that the weather was perfect throughout nearly the entire country on that Tuesday morning. We remember where we were when we heard about the first plane hitting the tower. We remember what we thought as the new just began to trickle in. We remember our horror as we watched the second plane hit the South tower. We remember the evacuations -- people running out of our monuments of freedom and democracy, our centers of government and finance, and spilling out on to the streets of our nation’s capital. We remember the dust and debris chasing thousands of New Yorkers through the streets of our most iconic city. We remember the smoke rising from the Pentagon. We remember that impact site in Pennsylvania -- a smoldering hole in an empty field instead of the rotunda of the U.S. Capitol building because Americans decided to fight back. We remember watching the towers fall.

We remember the fear, the chaos, the sadness, and the feeling of not knowing what was happening or when it would end. We remember a feeling that Americans were not used to experiencing up to September 11, 2001: the helpless feeling of being attacked as went about our normal lives. We no longer remember what it felt like on September 10th.

Do you remember pointing fingers? Do remember placing blame? Do you remember partisanship? I remember patriotism. Not bumper sticker and window decals. Genuine patriotism. I remember flags and candles and donating water and giving blood and having a new appreciation for first responders. I remember that, for at least one week, we weren’t Democrats or Republicans. I remember that we were Americans. I remember that we cared a little bit more about each other for at least a couple of weeks.

When Democrat Lyndon Johnson was the Senate Majority Leader and Republican Dwight Eisenhower was President of the United States, LBJ -- one of the most intense, passionate, partisan political animals in our history -- never attacked President Eisenhower. It wasn’t because LBJ agreed with Eisenhower’s policies. It wasn’t because LBJ was scared. It was because, as LBJ explained in 1953 in a comment that has an unfortunately haunting connection to 9/11, “If you’re in an airplane, and you’re flying somewhere, you don’t run up to the cockpit and attack the pilot. Mr. Eisenhower is the only President we’ve got.”

The only President we’ve got.

We all want to head in the same direction. We all want to move forward. We all want to progress and be happy and healthy and safe. But now, more than ever, our country’s prosperity is crippled by divisive partisanship. As World War I and World War II approached and the world realized that we are clearly connected on a global level, the people who seemed the most out-of-touch -- the people who were wrong -- were the isolationists. In both of those great wars, the isolationists were proven wrong. Yet, in the span of our grandparents’ lives we have regressed to the point where most Americans have become individual isolationists -- not isolationism on a national level, but on a personal level. We’ve tried to disconnect from the people in our own country -- especially if they look, love, or think differently than us. Don’t you remember how powerful it felt after 9/11 to be united? Don’t you remember how we helped each other in so many different ways?

I guess I could be cynical. I guess I could remember the look on President George W. Bush’s face when his Chief of Staff, Andrew Card, whispered news of the attacks in the President’s ear as he sat in a Florida classroom. I guess I could remember The Pet Goat, and the fact that Bush didn’t immediately get up, sprint from the room, and change out of his Clark Kent clothes into the Superman suit. I guess I could remember Air Force One zig-zagging across the country, the only plane in the air besides military escorts and combat air patrols over our major cities. I guess I could remember the surveillance videos of the well-dressed hijackers walking through airport terminals that morning before they turned our planes into weapons. I guess I could remember that the passengers of Flight 93 didn’t actually get through the cockpit door and force the plane to crash into that Pennsylvania field. I guess I could remember our government’s alphabet agencies -- the FBI, CIA, NSA, and everyone else listening in on our world -- being unable to work together and stop the attacks from happening in the first place. I guess I could choose to remember those things, but that doesn’t make me feel better. It doesn’t make 9/11 anything but a success to those who tried to frighten and frustrate and intimidate us through terrorism.

This is what I choose to remember:

I remember that the passengers of Flight 93 tried to get into that cockpit. I remember that their plane didn’t make it to Washington, D.C., and even if they never actually breached the cockpit and physically forced the plane into that meadow in Pennsylvania themselves, they certainly fought back and forced the hijackers to abort the mission that they had planned. That plane didn’t crash into the White House or the Capitol, and that’s not because the hijackers got lost.

I remember driving to the wedding rehearsal for two of my best friends on the Friday after the attacks, feeling bad for them that they were getting married in the shadow of 9/11. I remember being amazed at thousands of people in the streets of Sacramento -- neighborhood after neighborhood, thousands of miles away from any of the attack sites -- holding a candlelight vigil. I remember that it was then, as I drove through the silence of these peaceful vigils, with flags and flames and tears all around me, that I thought, “We’re going to be okay.”

I remember George W. Bush -- a President I never voted for -- who, like all of us, was a bit unsteady with his words in the hours immediately following the attacks as he processed the magnitude of what we were living through. But I remember how he found his footing and found his voice quickly and began to speak for all of us. I remember him returning to Washington, D.C. that night, against the wishes of his government and his Secret Service protection. I remember how this President -- a President I didn’t agree with, a President I never cast a supportive ballot for or whose campaign I ever donated a cent to, a President whose beliefs were diametrically opposed to almost everything that I believe in -- went to Ground Zero and met with the families of those who were dead or missing, and gave them all the time they needed with him.

I remember how that President visited the rescue workers at Ground Zero. I remember, more than anything else, how President Bush climbed on to a pile of rubble from the fallen towers of the World Trade Center, grabbed a bullhorn and began to speak, but was interrupted by the workers yelling, “We can’t hear you!”

I remember that the President -- the only President we had at the time -- shouted to these exhausted, weary, grieving, heroic rescuers, “Well, I can hear you! And the people who knocked these buildings down are gonna hear from all of us soon!” I remember that it was genuine, that there was nothing manufactured about that moment, and that, despite all of his faults and deficiencies, George W. Bush said exactly what those people -- our people -- needed to hear. As the workers chanted, “USA! USA! USA!”, I remember thinking that I didn’t vote for him and I won’t vote for him in 2004, but at that moment he was my President and I was proud of him.

As we look back, we can’t help but think about everything else that has come out of 9/11 -- the interminable war in Afghanistan, the unjust and unnecessary war in Iraq, the humiliating and annoying experience that flying in an airplane became in this country -- but I think about that stuff pretty much every day, and I feel like this should always be a day where we think differently.

So, even if it’s just for this day, I’m going to think about those flags and candles and President Bush on top of the rubble of the World Trade Center with a bullhorn. I’m going to think about being an American -- just like I was in the weeks following 9/11 -- rather than who I voted for or what team I like or any of the millions of things that divide us and can get back to tearing us apart tomorrow like they did yesterday.

I’m going to remember thinking, “That’s my President,” as President Bush spoke to the rescue workers, just as I did a few weeks later when he went to Yankee Stadium for Game 3 of the World Series, strapped on a bulky bulletproof vest under his FDNY jacket, walked to the pitcher’s mound, and with millions of Americans watching on television, with thousands of rabid New Yorkers watching in the stands, and with Derek Jeter’s words of warning (”Don’t bounce it or they’ll boo you”) rattling around in his head, threw a perfect strike.

I’ll remember thinking, “That’s my President,” about a guy I never voted for and didn’t agree with, and I’ll hope that you do that when the guy you didn’t vote for and didn’t agree with says the right words, does the right things, and throws a strike when our nation needs it -- not because you’re a Democrat or a Republican, but because you’re an American and that’s the only President we’ve got. We don’t have to disagree about everything just because we don’t agree about most things, and we don’t have to like everything about one another to understand that, sometimes, we need each other.

What do you remember?

#September 11th #9/11 #September 11th Attacks #History #Personal #Politics #Americans #20th Anniversary of 9/11 #Never Forget #Never Forgot #I Remember #We Remember #George W. Bush #President Bush #Bush 43

[thiscastielhasflown]

day one of j&kcreatorfest (with @expectingtofly)— prompts: diner and road trip cas is a human, he goes on a road trip with dean (who secretly loves guy fieri) and they visit jody who is honestly just a third-wheel. (2.4k)

"Can you move more towards my left?"

Cas stares blankly at Dean who is holding a vintage Polaroid camera up to his eyes and frantically gesturing with his other hand indicating which side for the other man to move towards. Blinking rapidly, Cas nervously looks from side to side before planting his feet in a new spot, kicking up dust onto his newly acquired pair of tennis shoes.

"No no, a little bit more to the right now. Just one more step—"

Cas awkwardly takes baby steps while watching Dean, making sure he's on the right track. His legs still getting used to walking again after their non-stop drive from a small town outside of Billings, Montana since earlier that same morning. Dean insisted they get a head start to the first location before the families end up "taking all of the good parking spots".

This is their first solo hunt since Cas became his current human form, something he still isn't entirely confident with yet — and most likely never will be. After giving himself about a month to recuperate and time to get used to his "new" body, it was probably about time to get back into the swing of things again. Hunting, the only sense of prior reality that has continued to follow him into his new life.

It was clear to Dean the change in Cas' demeanor, noticing that he was sulking around the bunker more often (only during the times when he actually leaves his bedroom), and a certain spark he used to have no longer made its presence. Ultimately, it was Sam who suggested the trip, mentioning that a hunter friend of theirs had called to inform them about a vampire infestation near Billings and politely asked for extra support.

Cas insisted that Sam should be the one to take his place, even offering to stay back in the bunker to give it a deep clean it so desperately needed. In standard Dean Winchester fashion, he patted Cas on the back and said that they'd make a mid-summer vacation out of it. Of course, at this point, Cas had no say on the subject and woke up the next morning with a backpack pre-packed ready for him.

"Ah, there! Perfect! Now stay exactly where you are, don't even think about moving a muscle. Hold your breath if you have to."

With no hesitation, Cas sucks in an exaggerated deep breath and inflates his cheeks to keep the oxygen inside his mouth. Dean rolls his eyes behind the camera before pressing the shutter button that lets out an audible CLICK and coinciding blinding light of the flash going off.

Once the polaroid ejects from the camera, Dean pulls it out and gives it a light shake, letting his camera dangle around his neck by its convenient strap.

"Well, that's as good as we're going to get it,” Dean closes the distance between him and Cas, walking up to turn him back around so he's facing the correct side of the landscape.

The two stand next to each other looking off into the vastness of terracotta-colored canyons carved into the earth below them. Cas has to contain every bone in his body from reaching out to grab the hand of Dean's already brushing up against his.

“Here, can you hold onto this?” Dean hands over the undeveloped photo to Cas, who nods and grabs onto it delicately.

They stand in silence for a couple of minutes basking in their panoramic view, the sound of gleefully screaming children and stern parents echoing around them until Cas finally speaks up, "So where exactly are we again Dean?"

Dean gasps in exaggerated surprise, "Badlands National Park in South Dakota Cas, one of the greatest wonders in the United States and possibly even the world. I'm serious. Take a look here—"

Dean pulls out the complimentary map of the park and flips to the back page, "—a man named Frank Lloyd Wright called the badlands an, “inescapable sense of mysterious". Only a badass like him would make a comment like that. Have you been anywhere else in your life this awe-inspiring?"

Cas pauses, "Yes. Galaxy GN-z11 located about 13.4 billion light-years from here."

Dean opens his mouth to say something before shutting it promptly, giving himself more time to formulate a response, "Well. Alright Mr. Showoff, anything else you wanna share with the class?"

"You asked, so I answered," Cas answers in a monotone voice, "I guess, now that I'm a human, it's the second most beautiful thing I've seen."

"Huh. Then what was the first?"

Don't say it. Cas swallows his inner thoughts and shrugs his shoulders, "It's a secret."

Dean shoves Cas playfully to the side and laughs, "Since when have you started keeping secrets from me?"

Cas fakes a laugh in response and lets his head hang down to cover the tinge of a blush creeping across his face.

"I didn't just bring you here for the scenery, does the name sound familiar to you?"

Cas tilts his head to the side in interest, "Name, Dean? What name?"

Dean sighs and shuts his eyes for a second, “Bandlands, like the movie. I made you watch it."

"Oh yes, I do remember. Starring Martin Sheen and Sissy Spacek as star-crossed murdering lovers," Cas turns his head to look at Dean, "Are you insinuating we're like them?"

"N-no, well—not exactly? I mean, we've both killed...things before but I'm not insinuating we should go on a murdering spree. Unless we come across another pack of vamps. But this is our vacation with no work allowed, you hear me?"

Dean claps at Cas' shoulder, giving it a good squeeze before letting go, "Time to head out buddy, better to get on the road now so we can make it to the Corn Palace before it closes."

Cas stands confused as he watches Dean take off on the path towards the area they parked the Impala, "Corn Palace?"

****

Staring into the sun setting over the horizon in front of him as he drives, Dean reaches into his pocket to pull out his cell phone and holds it up to his ear. He lets his eyes raise to look out the rearview mirror while the phone rings.

"Hey Jody, are you home right now?"

Jody hesitates on the other side of the phone, "Odd question but yes I am. Everything okay?"

"We're about an hour out from your homestead and were wondering if the two of us could bunk over tonight.”

"Of course! You and Sam are always welcome to stay over anytime."

Dean looks over at Cas fast asleep in the passenger seat next to him, a souvenir foam cob of corn hat from the Corn Palace gift shop functioning as a comfortable barrier between his head and the window, “No, it’s uh—Cas and I. Sammy isn't with us.”

"Well, that's a change for once. Regardless, I'll leave the front door unlocked. Just come in and make yourself at home."

"Will do, see you soon. Bye," Dean hangs up the phone and places it back in his lap, absentmindedly tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to pass the remaining driving time.

Once Dean turns down Jody's familiar street corner he calls out into the darkness of the car, "Cas, can you wake up for me? We're almost at our stopping point of the night."

Cas stirs, making a low humming sound but continues to sleep. Dean curses under his breath and turns into Jody's driveway and parks the car, thinking of the best plan to get not only their bags — but Cas — into the house in one piece.

He decides on starting with the bags first, reaching into the backseat area to grab them off of the floorboard carefully as possible without bonking Cas' sleeping body. Holding onto one in each hand, he exits the vehicle without trying to disturb his sleeping passenger.

"Hey there Dean, good to see ya!" Jody leans in for a hug and Dean maneuvers with the bags to give her a proper hug back, "Where's Cas?"

"Dead asleep in the car. I gotta go—" Dean signals towards the door with his thumb, "wrangle him out of there."

"I'll go put these bags in the guest room, take as much time as you need."

Dean walks off back towards the car, formulating a plan in his head. When reaching the car, he slowly opens the passenger side door and Cas instinctively leans away from it, cuddling up against the center console.

"Cas. Hey Cas, we're at Jody's house," Dean leans in to unbuckle Cas from the seat, jostling him enough in hopes of waking him up, "come on now, if you get up now you can go right back to sleep in a comfy bed."

Cas sleepily grumbles and holds out his arms, to which Dean grabs a hold of and pulls him up from the seat. The corn hat in the process toppling off of his head and onto the seat behind him. Dean pulls Cas' arm around his shoulder and locks his arm around his waist for stability, marching with him up towards Jody's house.

Jody holds the front door open for them, giving Dean a sympathetic look, and whispers, "The guest room is the first door on the right."

With the covers already pulled back, Dean plops Cas into the bed and adjusts his legs, pulling the covers up along with, "Good night," he murmurs before walking out of the room and closing the door quietly behind him.

Jody stands in the area between the living room and kitchen stirring a cup of tea, yawning slightly when Dean enters the living room, "I'm gonna head off to bed, there are leftovers in the fridge so help yourself. You look beat."

Dean scratches at the back of his head in exhaustion, "Been a long couple of days. I'm ready to stretch out on this couch and watch the back of my eyelids."

"Oh, you aren't..." Jody points in the general direction of the guest bedroom.

Dean's eyes widen in embarrassment, "No! I-I mean, Cas is in there, and uh, we didn't get time to talk about sleeping arrangements. So. Yeah. The couch."

"Sorry for...insinuating anything—something. There's a basket of blankets for you to pick from in the closet and I'm going to leave you be now. Get some good sleep, Dean."

"You too Jody, see you in the morning," with a slight wave of his hand, Dean awkwardly watches his friend retreat towards her bedroom. He plops down on the couch and sighs, putting his head in his hands.

****

Cas, Dean, and Jody sit at a tiny table located by the kitchen entrance in one of Sioux Falls’ biggest up-in-coming foodie restaurants, Bread & Circus Sandwich Kitchen — thanks to the exposure from being shown on Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives, one of Dean's favorite shows. The place was packed to the gills, the trio even had to wait for 45 minutes before getting a table. They only got in this soon because Jody managed to bribe the host with her position within the city.

They skim over the menu, making comments on certain dishes before the waiter finally approaches the table, “Hey there, I’m Jeremy. What can I get y’all to eat?”

Without hesitation, Dean speaks up first, “Guy’s fried chicken sandwich and a side of fries for me.”

Jeremy nods and writes down the order on a pad of paper before point his pen in the direction of Jody, “And for you Ms. Mills?”

“Oh Jer, you should know my usual at this point. The curried cauliflower with an extra side of sauce.”

“Perfect perfect…” he nods his head while writing before flashing a smirking smile at Cas, “Last but not least, what are you havin’?”

“Could I get just the standard burger? Oh, and a side of—”, Cas pauses and leans in closer to the menu to read, “—‘Naughty Fries’ please.”

Dean’s eyes narrow at Jeremy’s clear flirting, but he internally thanks his friend for still being so naive to pick up on the implication.

“I’ll go put these orders in, if you need anything else just flag me down,” Jeremy reaches for their menus and Dean takes this opportunity to shove his at the man a little harder than he should. Payback is sweet.

While their food cooks, the group takes this time to do some catching up with each other. Jody asks about how Sam is doing (“He’s trying to grow a beard and he looks like a grizzly bear” says Dean — Cas agrees to this statement), hunter-related gossip, and about their trip so far.

When Jeremy returns with the food, he sets them in front of each coinciding person before wishing them "good eats" and walks away to tend other tables.

"I've been waiting for this moment for months now," Dean licks his lips before holding the sandwich up to his mouth and taking a decent bite of it, letting out a pleasing crunch sound. Within moments his face changes its expression, lips pursing together with food squished in between each.

“You don’t like it, don’t you?” Jody asks, studying Dean’s reaction to his first bite.

Dean nods and reaches for his drink, using it to wash down the rest of the chewed-up sandwich, “It’s...alright. Not as good as I thought though. Guy made it look a lot better.”

“Switch with me,” Cas speaks up.

“What?”

Cas grabs ahold of Dean’s plate and switches it with his own, picking it up right away and taking a bite of it. Jody looks intently between the both of them, choosing to say out of what’s going on before beginning to eat again.

Dean is left staring with his mouth wide open before looking down at the burger now in front of him, “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You ordered a burger because you knew I wouldn’t like the sandwich, right?”

Cas shrugs and continues to eat his new food. Dean shoots a look at Jody to points at the plate in front of him, signaling him to 'eat', which he complies.

Once they're all finished, Jody insists on paying for the food and after arguing at the table, she ends up paying regardless. Wrapping up their conversation, Jody gets a phone call for "official business" leaving the both of them with hugs.

Dean excuses himself to go to the bathroom, telling Cas to go wait for him at the front entrance. Wiping his still-damp hands on his pants, he approaches Cas who is shuffling through complimentary postcards.

"You should get one of those."

Cas jumps and turns to look at Dean, "I can't choose though. Help me?"

Dean grabs one that looks almost like the same part of the badlands they looked out on yesterday, "This one, so you'll never forget."

"I'll never forget this Dean."

****

(original photos i took on my nintendo dsi during my own south dakota bandlands trip that i still somehow have -- dated august 7, 2011)

#j&kcreatorfest #deancas #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #ficlet #jace is typing... #this is the first long fic i have written in almost 10 years #so please be kind to me #but i do love how it turned out

[trentaafcsblog]

Little Miss Heartbreaker

Chapter 6 - Angel Or Devil?

You’re entering your new office with James’ arm draped across your shoulder, trying your hardest not to tell him to stop blowing in your face with each step as he huffs and puffs over someone standing on his toe, rolling your eyes with each wince of ‘pain’ and mumble of ‘it fucking hurts’.

“Sit down” you spit as you gesture towards the bed, dumping your medical kit on the floor bedside him and instructing him to take his boot off.

“Ooh, someone’s a bit moody” he’s laughing as he throws his sock at your head. The material bouncing right between your eyebrows before falling down into your lap, drenched in sweat and littered with a few blades of grass that had clearly made their way into his shoes.

“Fucking hell, if looks could kill!” he’s giggling as you move your gaze from the sock up to his icy blue eyes, piercing straight through them and giving him a warning of ‘don’t you fucking dare’ as you shuffle yourself forward on the office chair, the wheels running over your foot and making your eyes water as you do your best to disguise the fact that you’re now the one with a dodgy toe.

Batting his hand away when it comes to rest on the back of your head whilst you lean over and inspect his foot. Getting him to roll his ankle and wiggle his toes as you feel around for any potential broken bones, not that there are likely to be any because it’s obvious that he’s overreacting. Pushing yourself away from the bed and skidding across the tiled floor to the mini freezer, rummaging around for an ice pack and hissing when your finger gets stuck to it and a burning pain shoots through your hand. Picking it up and making your way back over to James who’s clearly enjoying the view of you nose deep in the freezer, a little smile on his face before his eyes are dropping down to your knees and it’s slowly fading away.

“How’d you do that?” he’s asking, a tone of concern running through his voice as you look up and follow his gaze back down to your bruised knees, not even noticing they were so purple, despite getting changed into a pair of shorts about half an hour ago. The embarrassment of half of the England National Team seeing your baby pink thong clearly enough to distract you.

“Oh, I tripped over earlier” you’re muttering, cheeks heating up again at the reminder of your awkward fall, realising that it must’ve been then that your ass decided to make an appearance through the seam of your jeans, hence why Jadon had been looking at you funny when he came up to your room earlier on.

“Not really selling yourself as a doctor, are ya?” James smiles as you let out a breathy chuckle at his comment, “I saw you run your foot over with that chair and burn yourself in the freezer too, I’m not stupid” he’s winking as you mumble a quiet ‘shut up’. Giggling along with him as you finish strapping his foot up and put the tape and cushioned pads back into your medical box.

“I, um, I’m sorry about earlier, I shouldn’t have said anything about your underwear” he’s saying as he pulls himself up and dangles his legs over the edge of the bed. Locking those same blue eyes that you developed a hatred for in the space of two words with yours as you give him a tiny smile and look back down at the ground.

Flicking your eyes back up when he hobbles past you and heads towards the door, steadying himself on the shelving unit as he pulls the handle and looks over his shoulder in your direction, wondering how the hell someone looked so fit with red and purple splodges all over their knees and a bit of hair sticking right up, but he wasn’t gonna tell you that, not after the way he’d made you feel earlier.

“Thanks for your help, Y/N” he’s smiling before putting one foot out into the corridor, turning and getting ready to head back outside before your footsteps are chasing after him and you’re shouting his name.

“James!” you’re saying, leaning up against the door frame and holding the wooden door open with the side of your foot as you watch him turn around and take a few steps back in your direction.

“Who whistled?” you’re asking, fiddling with the sleeve of your hoodie and nibbling your bottom lip nervously as you wait for him to answer.

“Whistled?” he’s replying, studying your face and wanting nothing more than to reach out and brush that stupid little tuft of hair down, but he’s fighting the urge and keeping his hands to himself, not wanting you to smack him away like you did earlier.

“Whistled at my arse, you idiot” you’re saying as cackles at your very matter-of-fact tone.

“I, um, I said I wouldn’t - I don’t, um, know” he’s stuttering as you furrow your eyebrows together.

“Yeah you do, just tell me” you’re saying gently, realising that raising your voice and being forceful with him wasn’t gonna get you anywhere.

“It was Trent” he’s whispering as your heart drops in your chest. Not even flinching when he finally smooths the wispy bit of hair down on the side of your head, taking two steps back and letting the door close on its own accord in front of James’ body. Flopping down into the office chair and taking a shaky breath as you try to hold the tears back. Shaking your head in disbelief at the man that was supposedly an angel round here. Angel? Yeah right.

#little miss heartbreaker #trent alexander arnold #jadon sancho #marcus rashford #jesse lingard #dominic calvert lewin #dele #ben chilwell #james maddison #ruben loftus cheek #england nt #football blurb #football imagine

[rosierocks30]

Hidden: Ch. 20

Chapter 20: Dancing with the Devil

(Levi/Arne)

It was dark and smelly. He can hear drops of water from wherever he was placed. Arne woke up from being knocked out at the tarven. He realized this was a cell and his wrists were cuffed to the wall. The son of farmers felt anxious from wanting to know where his wife was. Is Ingrid safe? Are they harming her? Is their unborn child safe too? So much fear of what ifs ran through his mind. 

Arne heard noises of the guards coming towards his cell. The sound of keys shuffled as the guard inserted the key into the lock and unlocked the cell’s bar. Once the guard opened, he shouted at Arne. “Prisoner, I see you’re awake. We’re moving you to the other dungeon.” 

Arne barely noticed the guard had a dark mask on his head. Probably concealing his identity. As Arne was uncuffed from the chains, the guard dragged him away from the cell. His body was a bit weak from who knows what they use to knock him out. 

The silence was killing him. All he saw the cold hallways leading to the other parts of the dungeon. The dark haired prisoner glanced at a room where a wooden like table was in the middle. 

Two others went to grab Arne and placed him on the wooden table. They strapped him down tightly with thick leather belts. 

“As a punishment for crimes, the king made you his labrat for risky experiments. The scientist will arrive soon.” The guard said. 

Not too long, a man arrived and looked at Arne. “Aw this is my latest subject?”

Latest? So there were other unfortunate lads before him? He won’t be surprised if none had survived from whatever sick experiment the king had approved. 

“Hello there! I’m Gabriel Hange, the king’s new scientist. You looked well fitted than my previous subjects. Good good. We’re gonna need a healthy one. Hopefully, you will be my breakthrough!” He giggled with excitement. 

Arne was already irritated with this mad lad. The scientist Gabriel dismissed the guards when they left the room. Now it was him and this deranged man. “It;s just you and me. Before I start, what questions do you have?” 

Arne does have many questions but most of them won’t get answered as this scientist might not know it. “What do you plan on doing to me?” He asked. 

“You’re a man of getting to the straight answers? Well, let’s start at the beginning. The king had wanted a loyal knight to serve and obey him only. So I was granted an audience with him when he heard about my theory of it’s possible to create a titan in it’s human form without shifting into one of the nine titans or being pure mindless ones.” Gabriel explained to Arne. 

“So basically I will become a weapon?” Arne said. 

“Yeah, something like that if you survive.” The scientist said. 

Arne doesn’t have a choice since he was tied to the table. He closed his eyes to pray to the gods and goddesses to protect his wife and their unborn babe. “Let’s just get this over with.” He mumbled. 

“Yes, yes. I hope you make it through, sir.” The dark brown haired man said. 

“I’m not a knight. Just a peasant farmer.” He glanced at Hange the scientist. 

“Of course, then what shall I call you?” He said. 

“Call me Ackerman.” Arne said. 

Gabriel nodded in accepting the other’s request. “Alright Ackerman this will hurt.” 

Arne took a deep breath to mentally be prepared for the pain he will endure. As he felt a burning pain inside his veins, Arne grunts from trying to not let this pain consume him. Gabriel had injected a small dose of blue liquid into the bloodstream of Arne’s veins. The scientist wanted to start off a small dose before giving the all the blue serum like fluid to his test subject. The dark brown haired man with glasses watched how this man endures the pain. Usually, the other test subjects begin to scream for mercy. Their bodies become purple as the serum slowly deteriorates their organs and melts them until blood comes out from their noses, eyes, ears, and mouth. It looked like a deadly poison killed them. Technically, this serum is like poison. This prisoner hasn’t shown signs of bleeding from nothing of the areas the scientist had seen with others. 

“You are strong for enduring this small dose. Let’s see if you can handle half of the serum I have.” Hange said. He connected a bag with serum to the tube that’s connected to a needle on Arne's arm.  He slowly squeezed the bag as the fluid went into Arne’s bloodstream. Arne felt sweats and heat from his body raising its temperature for trying to kill off the foreign fluid inside his body. Finally, the scientist finished the bag. 

“Alright, all done. We’ll just have to wait until the next day if you make it or not to add another bag of fluid into you. For now, I will observe how your behavior and symptoms react to the serum.”  He said. 

Arne couldn’t answer him as he still felt his body on fire. He began to scream when the fluid began to boil in his blood. Oh gods, this is the worst torture ever. He was thinking death would be more pleasant.

No...he can’t think like that. He must get this through to escape and find Ingrid. Ingrid and the babe need him. He must survive. He’ll live and protect his family. 

The sequence turned white and Levi Ackerman woke up with sweats and fever. The raven haired man grunts from the fever and the pain he felt from his body. Davos and his assistants rush to get him stable. Levi’s vitals were going off the chart. The captain felt hallucination of seeing a familiar blonde beauty that he loves and cherishes. 

“Historia….” His wife’s name whispered breathlessly from his dry chapped lips then darkness greeted him. 

Levi’s eyes opened slowly as the view was not the white room nor the dungeon cells. Where the fuck is he? Where did they move him this time? He slowly sit up and heard heavy chains move. He glanced down to see his wrists were cuffed and chained to the bed. He could smell sterile and medicine. Did they put him in a hospital? A figure appeared before him. The figure was an old man with few hairs on his head. He has a genuine smile on his face which Levi senses this man must be the doctor from the uniform white robe they wear. Right next to him was a familiar brat he used to kick the shit out of him to save his life. 

“Had a nice nap, Captain? The doctor had to make sure you won’t die on us, but you are Humanity’s Strongest. You’re too hard to die anyways.” Eren smirked. 

Eren is lucky Levi was chained and weak at the moment from kicking his ass again. Levi glared at the Titan Shifter. 

“How unpleasant to see you, Jaeger.” He mumbled. 

“You might find it hard to believe but I’m not the enemy, captain.” Eren said. 

Levi scoffed as he does find it hard to believe. “Tch.” 

“We have a lot of catching up to do because Historia has begged me to help you out to escape the palace and sent you back to the Assassins and the soldiers.” Erren whispered. 

Levi glanced at him in confusion. Is this a joke? Eren had decided to play the good guy? Levi doesn’t want to fall for this brat’s tricks. Did Historia contact Eren to help out?

“Look Levi, Historia and I made a pact to help you get out of here. Most of the soldiers are planning to strike soon. I am spying for the military and the assassins. I had to convince Davos to let the doctor check up on you. As to him and the templars, you’re valuable to them.” Eren said. 

“Didn’t you want the whole world to end to save Eldia or some fucked up shit?” Levi finally spoke. 

“I did, but my perspective had changed.” Eren’s thoughts were on Natasha when he said that. 

“You have done fucked up shit. So give me a reason why I should this time believe you have changed?” The assassin may be weak from recovering from a high fever but his tone was dark. 

Eren frowned; he remembered the atrocious he had committed for the sake of freedom to the Eldians. In his mind, he had to become a great villain for the world to be untied and defeat him while freeing the curse. Now, his selfish desire had altered his destiny. He wants to do whatever it takes to protect his girl and their unborn. He wanted to give them peace and freedom without causing the majority of the world into chaos. 

“We both have something in common.” Eren said. 

“Like what?” Levi said. 

“Being a father. My kid will be born in nine months and I want this mess that I create be dealt with before he or she comes into this world. I want to keep my family safe. I know you want that too for Historia and your son. So, this is what’s going to happen. While most of the people are busy attending the ball, me and two others, Rick and Reggie will help you out to sneak away from the city. But I won’t go out of the city since I need to be here to play the “good brother”.” Eren explained to Levi. 

“What about Historia? I am not going to leave without her.” Levi hissed. 

“I understand you want to take her away from this hell, but she needs to be here in order to work. Her alibi will be the ball as queen she will be too busy attending guests at the ball. I promise to you that she will not be harmed. The Brotherhood and Paradis needs you as much this nation needs the soldiers. Marley finally regains their country from the Templars’ soldiers. Reiner is one hella Commander in Chief.” He chuckled.  

“The Armor Titan was made into a Commander? Didn’t know Marley had sympathy to allow an Eldian to rise from the ranks.” Levi said. 

“Yeah, I guess it was the templars who made this side of the world more united than I did.” Eren chuckled darkly. 

“Promise you will keep her safe if I go?” Levi finally gave in. 

“Yeah, I’ll make sure she will be safe.” Eren confirmed. 

Levi nodded. “Alright, but I’m holding on to your promise, Jaeger.” The shorter man said. 

Both men begin to plan out to sneak Levi away from the Templars’ grasp. It’s a good thing the King was still out of the country to deal with some templar business. 

(Gilbert)

Ever since he accepted Alexander de Lorenzo’s offer, Gilbert had been receiving expensive gifts from many places around the world. Whenever he meet up the Grandmaster, they had an amazing sex. It felt exhilarating and forbidden. Gilly still received love letters from Nathaniel as the king was on a business trip along the Grandmaster. But Alexander somehow convinced Nathaniel to let Gilbert be in charge of the templars and the people of Paradis even by law it should be the queen. As if he’ll let that man stealing harlot gain more power than him. He had worked his ass off to get where he is. Right now, he had to attend the ball along with her. Ugh they have to work together to make this charity ball successful. This will show both of his lovers that he is capable of taking on a big role. He will not fail. The tailor was adjusting Gilbert’s outfit for the ball. It came from Italy where Alexander was from. 

“My Lord, this suit is at it’s finest. Such a luxurious material can’t be found on this side of the world.” The tailor praised him. 

“Yes, this is one of a kind.” Gilly gloated. 

“It’s all set to be used at the ball. I hope you have a wonderful time. You will be the center of it tonight!” The tailor said. 

“Yes, of course.” he smirked. 

The ball had started and Gilbert was wearing a viper mask made of gold and crushed diamonds which it’s one of the gifts Alexander gave him. The guests had arrived with their masked on and the outfits were filled with so many colors. The tables of food from all over the world were displayed. The music plays with joy to dance and mingle. So far the ball was looking perfect. It would be magical if this bitch next to him was locked in her room and not greeting the guests. This was supposed to be his night instead the guests praised the queen how beautiful and breathtaking she looks. She was wearing a silver ball gown with the top silk material and the hem was puffy with flower patterns. The chest of the gown was shaped into a heart as her breasts were pushed up a bit. It would be inappropriate but since the Templars took control, Alexander had encouraged Nathaniel to bring in modern fashion and lifestyle even though Nathan wanted the old ways when King Karl had reigned in this island.  

Historia’s mask looked like a delicate swan with white and silver. The eye shape had dark shade. She was a Swan Queen as the nobles and Higher class praised. After greeting, he took a glass of champagne to drink and tried to not let her ruin the rest of the night. He will be praised and admired by the end of the night. 

(Hange)

Today half of the people are heading out of the walls to prepare to meet their allies across the sea. It’s clear Mikasa had made Hizuru their allies again. Marley had become their allies as well. This was a historical moment. For centuries these two sides were enemies until now. 

The Commander of the Survey corps had been alone writing her journal since who knows if her journal could end up in some museum or used as a school research paper.

She and William had been strategizing to give a surprise attack to the templars. But first they are waiting for Eren helping Rick and Reggie to sneak Levi out of the palace. Once it is done, they will give their second base which it’s at the coastline of this island. To let their allies in and heading towards here to take back their home. If Marley was capable of winning their nation so the Paradisian can. 

(Sasha)

The female Eldian soldier was having the time of her life residing in the city that never sleeps. New York City was so pretty with light during nights. She had tried many cuisines of different cultures. She was in heaven. The baby had been so far easy to take care of. Atticus had been a good boy. He rarely cries unless it’s necessary. He was a curious baby when toys were given to him to play. Only soft ones as he is just a month old. For a month old, he was a big boy. Sasha thought this kid will be tiny like his parents. Maybe the prince inherited a tall gene from somewhere. That would be funny if the baby grew up to be taller than both of them. 

Sasha was strolling with the baby stroller to enjoy nature in Central Park. It’s not like the nature she grew up with back home in her village, but this will do. She spotted a nice big tree where she can place a big blanket and have Atticus lay down to enjoy the fresh air. He had been cooped up in the house for weeks. A child should start embracing nature at this age. Sasha's parents had taken her outdoors when she was days old. As it was tradition back at her village. 

She may not be a pro at raising babies but she will from now raise the boy as the way she was raised. Once the blanket was spread Sasha placed the big bag on the blanket then gently picked up Atticus who giggled with joy from being picked up. He loves being carried. This kid was definitely a prince. 

“What a cute boy you are?” She coos at the infant. 

Atticus squeals in delight. He was laid on the blanket. Then Sasha places his toy jungle gym over him so he can kick and play. Today was a clear warm day with a breeze. Is this what it feels like to be free from discrimation, oppression, war, titans and corruption? This was a true paradise. Sasha didn’t have to worry for her life, but she felt guilty because back home her comrades and family are there where danger lurks. 

Sasha smiled at Atticus who was too entertained with his toys dangling over him. She didn’t notice someone’s presence when her mind was drifted away from thinking nostalgia memories with her friends from Levi’s squad. 

“What a cute baby you have?” The man looked at Atticus which the infant stopped playing to glanced at the stranger. 

Sasha quickly sits up to be on alert if this man gives any bad intentions. “Yes, he is cute. Isn’t he?” Her brown eyes stared at his brown eyes. 

“I mean it makes sense since he got his cuteness from his mother.” The man gave a flirty smile at her which Sasha responded with a blush from his bold comment.

“Thanks but I’m not his mother. I’m just his auntie well sorta. It’s really complicated.” She chuckled. 

“Oh I’m sorry, I thought he was yours, but that’s a good sign because you’re not with anyone, right?” He grinned. 

“I- right. I don’t have a boyfriend if that’s what interests you.” She said while her brow raised up. 

“That definitely interests me. By the way, the name is Niccolo Browns. What’s your name?” The man with blonde short wavy hair smiled. 

“My name is Sasha Braus and this cutie is Atticus Ackerman.” She glanced at the baby who was again busy playing with his toys. 

“Oh what a beautiful name you have, Sasha. The kiddo got a cool name. His parents must have out a lot of thought into his name.” Niccolo said. 

“Thank you. Your name sounds fun to say.” Sasha repeated his name especially because she likes the way his name sounds. 

“Thanks, I’m glad my name sounds fun to you.” He laughs from hearing her saying his name in different ways. 

“So, I notice you’re not from here? Your accent is hard to figure out where you’re from.” Niccolo had been thinking where her accent came from. It’s definitely not any European country. Is she from a Marleyan colony region? 

Sasha paused to think if it’s safe to tell this man where she’s from? There’s a chance he may not have heard the Eldian people and the conflict the Eldians dealt with most of the nations from the other side of the world. She took a glimpse at Atticus. The female soldier made a promise to protect the prince at all cost. She can’t let her selfish desires jeopardize the child’s life. 

“I’m from an unknown country that not many people knew about.” Sasha said. 

“Ah I see...trying to be mysterious?” He grinned. “It’s fine. You don’t have to tell me yet.” 

“Sorry, I’m a refugee so this place is still a culture shock, but the food here feels like heaven.” Sasha felt a drool escaping from her mouth at the thought of food. 

“Oh a refugee? I’m sorry to hear that. I bet it’s hard to adjust to a new life here? Hold on, you’re a foodie? This makes it easier to woo you.” Niccolo crossed his legs to sit on the grass to be comfortable. 

“It’s ok. One day, I will be able to go back home.” Sasha was curious what he meant about wooing her with food? “You know good places to eat?” 

Niccolo’s eyes sparkled as she asked him where are the best places to eat in NYC. “I have a restaurant in the Upper East Side.”  

“Wait, you’re a chief? That’s so cool. I will happily be your food taster.” Sasha grinned with joy. Food was her passion. She loves to eat that sometimes her friends have to drag her out from a tavern before they get kicked out. 

Niccolo was happy to hear she will taste his food whenever he creates a new dish for his customers. 

“I would be honored for you tasting my food. Maybe this weekend, I'll show you my restaurant and I’ll make a spectacular dinner. You’ll be the first to try a dish I have created recently. What do you say? A date?” Niccolo glanced at Sasha in hoping she accepted to have a dinner date with him. 

Sasha contemplates whether to go on a date with him or not. If she asked her new friend to babysit Atticus maybe she’ll agree to go on a date. 

“Yes, it’s a date.” She smiled. Niccolo was pleased she said yes. 

(Eren)

It was now the perfect hours to get Levi out of the clushes from the enemies. He had a little meeting with Reggie and that Rick guy. They plan on meeting him and Levi with a carriage full of metals. 

The green eyed Titan shifter had Levi dressed up as one of the Jeagerists. Both former comrades could hear the sound of the music and the people chatting. Eren thought of Natasha being there probably bored. He remembered her telling him how she hated going to social events. She dealt with her boredom by drinking and probably flirting with some random guy to where she takes him home for the night. Of course, this is different. She’s with his child. He hopes this escape plan with Levi will go smoothly. Eren wanted to be with his lover to hold her and give sneaking kisses. 

The quad holder titan shifter stared at the entrance where the ball was held. Right where Queen Historia was greeting, Eren spotted the woman he loved was also greeting and talking to the arriving guests. He was struck by what Natasha was wearing. Her dress was hugging her body. It looked like it’s her skin, only there were sprinkling diamonds on the top of the dress. Down where the hem of the dress was split on both sides to let her legs exposed including a bit of her thighs. Her mask was a gold and emerald venetian butterfly shape. It covered the upper part of her face. To Eren, she looks mystifying and beautiful. 

Levi interrupted him from gazing at Natasha so far away. “So is that your woman huh?” He whispered. 

Eren glanced at the captain then nodded to confirm. He could tell that Levi was also staring at Historia so far away. He understood how painful it was to not be with their lover without putting them in danger. 

“We’ll get through this, kid. One day, we’ll be with them, but right now we need to be focused.” Levi’s tone was compassionate towards Eren. Long ago, Levi was like a mentor and older brother towards Eren during the time when he was a soldier with one purpose to destroy all titans to free humanity. Now that purpose has changed overtime from learning the truth. 

“Right…” Eren takes in this rare moment of Levi being understanding. 

Both men resume to walk away the entrance of the ball before they get caught. By the time they exited the palace. Rick and Reggie were already on the carriage with leftover materials covered by a heavy cloak. Quickly, Eren led Levi to hide under the cloak where the materials are. 

“Alright guys, be safe and careful. There are many guards tonight because of the ball in this city, but once you get out of the city, you’ll be fine. Send me a letter when you guys make it so the queen can know this escape plan has worked.” Eren said. 

Rick and Reggie nodded. “Understood.” Reggie the assassin said. However Rick had one thing on his mind. 

“Eren, please let Eve and Maggie know that I couldn’t make it to the ball.” Rick said with a guilt on his expression. 

“Alright. I’ll let them know.” Eren said. 

“Oi, we should go now before we get caught.” Levi said from under the cloak. All four nodding then the carriage begins to stroll away. Eren watched them leaving the palace. As he can’t see them anymore, the former leader of Jeagerist goes back to the palace. 

While Eren was walking to go to his room, Floch stopped him. “Hey Eren, your brother was looking for you.” The green eyed man glanced at the red haired man. He noticed how Floch’s face was covered with bruises and a swollen eye. His cheeks were puffy due to being kicked repeatedly. This looks like how he had looked when Captain Levi beat the living shit out of him to save him from being executed during the first trials of the discovery of being a titan shifter. 

“What the hell happened to you?” Eren looked at the red haired Jeagerist. 

“Eh, it was some bitch that was playing hard to get.” Floch mumbled annoyingly. 

“Playing hard to get or you can’t take a no?” Eren’s sly comment made Floch glared at him. Once upon a time, Floch was one of his loyal followers. This guy admired and praised him like he was some god. When he came back to be a spy for the Assassins, Floch’s behavior became estranged and mad. He assumed power got over his head. As Floch now became the second powerful man in the Jaegerist group, Eren can see him being too entitled, especially having women coming to him. Of course, he had heard rumors Floch won't’ hesitate to cross the line if a woman doesn’t respond to his advances. It disgusts Eren to the core. Floch reminded Eren the First Fritz King when he took Ymir the Founder as his concubine/consort. 

“Shut up, Eren. You can’t say shit when you use Belia to warm your cock.” Floch scowled at him. 

Eren’s facial expression became dark. He didn’t hesitate to pinned Floch to the wall to remind him who is still in high rank.

“Whatever me and Belia had was an agreement we used each other to fulfill our needs behind closed doors.” His hand gripped tightly on to Floch’s neck. Between him and Floch, Eren is stronger than him. The power of being a titan holder gave him abnormal strength. The only who can compete with a titan shifter’s strength are the Ackermans. They were created to defeat a titan shifter or a pure titan. 

He watched how Floch’s eyes widen with fear. The coward forgot not to pissed off a titan shifter like Eren Jaeger. 

“T-that’s not what she told me. She thought you and her were together.” The other growled.” 

“And you believe her? You know what, don't answer that. Like I said, there was no us between me and Belia so you can tell her to stop with her lies and tell everyone we’re together. She’s too delusional.” Eren scoffed and dropped Floch as he wouldn't waste his time on Floch nor whatever Belia had been telling the Jaegerists. He should have not pursued sleeping with Belia in the first place. It’s one of the main reasons he distanced himself from her. She’s just batshit crazy. 

“Of course, she is my cousin, you fucker.” Floch coughed while being on the ground. 

Eren didn’t bother to give him attention. He kept walking to find Zeke. Finally, he entered Zeke’s study room which Nathaniel provided him when their alliance was formed. He knocked on the door to hear his brother to tell him enter. His hand turned the knob to open the door and saw Yelena there. It’s rare to see Zeke without Yelena being with him. Even when Eren needed to have a private discussion, she was always there. It irritated him. 

“Ah little brother. I’m glad you’re finally here. Make yourself comfortable.” Zeke glanced to see Eren entering. 

Eren goes to lean against the wall instead of sitting on a chair. He waits for Zeke to say whatever it was. 

“Eren, had you visited Ymir through the Path lately?” Zeke said. 

“No, I haven’t. She has been quiet lately, but I will try tomorrow night.” The younger Jaeger brother said. 

“That’s strange. She usually keeps in contact with you. Yes, try again when you can. You should wear something formal for the ball, little brother.” Zeke was already dressed in his suit for the ball. His mask was laying on the desk. 

Yelena was for once wearing a dress and not a suit like she usually does whenever she attended a social event. Her dress was surprisingly shiny where the flowers pattern spread from the top to the bottom of the gown. Probably, Zeke convinced her to wear something nice for this ball. She was already wearing her mask. 

“I’ll think about going to the ball or not.” He said. 

“Ah come on Eren. Live a little. You need to have fun once in your lifetime. You dance or flirt with some pretty girl at the ball. Maybe take Belia with you. I heard you two have been very familiar with each other alone.” Zeke grinned. 

The dark hair titan holder scoffed when he mentioned Belia. He will have a talk to her. This was all a misunderstanding. If Natasha hears any of these rumors, his chance with her will be over. That’s something he can’t allow. He won’t let anyone come between him and her and their unborn child. 

He pushed himself off from the wall. “Is that all you wanted to talk about?” 

Zeke noticed how his brother got irritated when he mentioned Belia. What Eren doesn’t know? He had spied on him and the handmaiden girl, Eveline Potts. It makes all sense how Eren behaves around her. His eyes were full of love and compassion. Something he had never seen his little brother act. This had worried him since there’s a chance his brother might not go with their plan. There’s two alternative plans both Zeke and Yelena could do. Either offer Eren to let his child born if he continues the plan or cause an accidental death of Eveline Potts. Something Levi's words had sunk in his mind. His little brother is a hot blooded man and he did spend so much time with Eveline, but he also spent time with Belia. Maybe he should ask Yelena to check if Belia is not with a child too. Zeke will only let one child from his brother exist. 

“Yes, we are done here. You can go now. Oh, if you do have fun tonight make sure you are extremely careful. You don’t want to end up having some poor bastard child born into this hateful world.” He said. 

This made Eren’s hand shaken on the doorknob. He was now suspicious what his older brother meant by that? Maybe it was nothing since he had once slept with Belia many times. Yeah, that’s what Zeke meant.

“Don’t worry about that. I am careful.” Eren opened the door then walked out. He shut the door. He was panicking inside. Does Zeke find out about Natasha and the baby? Damn it. He should have made Natasha leave with Rick, Levi, and Reggie. Fuck what Rico and the others will say. His growing family’s safety is his main priority. Guess he’ll be going to the ball to talk to her about leaving the palace. 

When Eren reached his room, he saw a suit already laid out for him to wear. Next to it was a mask for the ball. He sighed then began to get ready for the ball. 

(Eve/Natasha)

Earlier that night as the ball had just begun, Eve finished getting ready as she put on the emerald earring studs her grandmother let her borrow for the night. For the final touch she slipped the ring that Eren proposed to her. His mother’s ring was perfect for the dress she was wearing. It’s too controversial, but the Templars wanted to bring a modern lifestyle to this island. Let’s see if the crowds are ready for her entrance. Natasha is a Stark and the Starks are the center of the attention. Tonight, she is the late Tony Stark’s granddaughter. 

After being ready, she went to Historia’s chamber, who gasped seeing how beautiful Eve looked. Eve blushed from receiving praises from her own grandmother. Of course, Eve complimented Historia’s gown. She looked like a queen in her own rights. 

“Are you ready, your majesty?” Eve said. Historia gave a smile and nodded. 

“I am. Let’s leave. The guests should arrive by now.” The blonde woman came out of her bedroom and saw a few of her ladies chatting excitedly about the ball. One of them was Belia who happened to be a Jaegerist. What Natasha researched on Belia? She is the daughter of some lord and a mistress who’s related to Floch. Basically, both Olivia and Floch are cousins. That woman had given Eve hateful glares. It doesn’t bother the female Ackerman, but it all makes sense how they resemble each other. 

At the moment, Eve ignores her and focuses on the queen. The queen was in lead. Eve was almost next to her but a few inches behind her the rest of the ladies were behind Eve. She won’t be surprised if they all were offended in why the queen allowed a handmaiden in front of them who are noble blood. Eve may have royal blood but this time era no one knows beside Eren. By the time, they all entered the ballroom. People made eye contact with them, especially when the queen had arrived at the scene. The guests praised the queen on how beautiful and elegant she looks tonight. The brunette could hear the noble ladies were giggling and enjoying the attention they are also getting. Natasha was walking like the ballroom floor was the runaway. She may not have been a model but she was a fast learner whenever she had attended a Fashion show with her nana long ago. 

The queen began to greet the guests along with this guy Gilbert. Eve was quiet waiting patiently for the queen to be finished greeting. Meanwhile, she observed the crowd. She spotted Eren all the way at the hallways before entering the ballroom. He’s probably busy dealing with whatever a Jaegerist does. Finally, the greeting was over and Historia gave her ladies including her a dismissal for them to enjoy the event. 

Now, Eve goes to find her friend and his girlfriend. They were supposed to be here by now. As she was browsing through the crowds, some men had their eye on her. She can see the way they look at her like she’s some prize to possess. Eve noticed she was not the only one wearing a controversial outfit. Oh god, she hopes they don’t come towards her to ask for a dance. Just when luck was not on her side, a man approached her with confidence while sipping a glass of champagne. Wonderful. She is craving for a glass or more of champagne. 

“Hello you, majestic beauty. I haven’t seen you before. Shall I be your first to dance?” He smirked. The pregnant woman was about to reject the man but a certain obnoxious woman decided to step in for her. 

“Yes, she would love to dance with you, my lord.” Belia pushed her towards the nobleman which he caught her from falling. Eve can feel his hands on her waist. The heiress glared at the other woman who had a smirk. 

The man dragged her to the dance floor. Eve observed how the people are dancing. It looks like waltz so she positioned herself to dance. His hand gripped on her hip which he was supposed to place it on her back. She glared at the man. 

“Hey you’re supposed to have your hand here.” She removed his hand from her hip to place it on her back. 

“I do apologies, my lady. It seems my hand has a mind of its own.” He grinned. 

“Huh right.” She rolled her eyes but started to waltz around the dance floor. The music was playing as she danced with this stranger. 

While she was dancing, partners were switched to the nearest pair. Eve was dancing to another stranger then once again she was switched. 

“Ms. Potts, what a delight to see you here?!” Zeke smiled as he led the dance. 

“Oh hello Mr. Jaeger. Yes, I finally decided to come to the ball.” She said. 

“I’m glad you decided to come. You look beautiful like a butterfly. I’m sure you have already got some suitors wanting to dance with you.” He smirked. Zeke noticed her gown was revealed on both her legs and shoulders. Even he can’t help how irresistible she looks tonight. His brother has a good taste. It’s a shame. She’s taken by his little brother. The way her dress was tight around her body, it seems she isn’t showing yet of her pregnancy. 

“Thank you and you look handsome as a bird?” Eve couldn’t tell what kind of mask Zeke was wearing. 

“It’s a peacock.” Zeke said. 

“Ohhh I see now because of the feathers.” She said. 

“Miss Potts, I’ve always been curious about where you're from?” Zeke wanted to fish for as much information from her.

“Where I’m from?” This caught her off guard. “I’m from Trost District. I’m curious why this interests you?” She felt a bit suspicious on why Zeke wanted to know where she’s from. 

“It’s the way you behave towards people. It’s not how a native of this island acts. I know you’re not from Marley or other nations where Eldians are being segregated.” Zeke said. 

“And where do you assume where I’m from, Mr. Jaeger?” Her brow raised up as she suspected where this would lead. 

Just when he was about to answer, Floch interrupted their conversation. “Zeke, you don’t mind if I steal this gorgeous creature?” 

“No, you can dance with her.” Zeke said, feeling disappointment their conversation was interrupted. He let go of Eve and bow to end their dance. “It was a pleasure to dance with you. Miss Potts.” Zeke left her with Floch which she was not pleased being alone with this creep. 

Floch already grabbed her hand and placed his on her lower back close to her bottom. He led the dance as a different song was playing. It was a bit faster to waltz. 

“What do you want now, pig?” She hiss at him. 

“I suggest you don’t make a scene. You’ll embarrass yourself in front of this stuck up rich and noble people.” Floch glared.

“Apparently kicking your ass once wasn;t enough for you to leave me alone.” She cynically responded. 

“Listen bitch. It wouldn’t get to that point that night if you give in. I would have made you crave my touch.” He leaned in to whisper seductively. 

This guy doesn’t have any self respect or to anyone if he thinks she’ll just let him do whatever he pleases. “You’re full of yourself if you believe I’ll beg for you to fuck me? Why are you so stubborn to want me? There are other ladies who gossip in wanting to get fucked by you.” She scowled. 

“Because you’re the mysterious woman every man in this palace wants to have. I will be the first to have that taste before any other man. Beside, that dress; you’re making it difficult not to ignore you.” Floch’s eyes stared up and down slowly. She felt he was undressing her with his eyes. How repulsive he was to her? 

“I’m not some sex object for you to keep being persistent like a child who doesn;t get what he wants.” She was about to free herself when a familiar voice cut in. 

“Floch, you heard the woman. She has no interest in you.” Eren placed his hand on Floch’s shoulder which the red haired man flinched cowardly. 

“Fuck off, Eren. She just hasn't been with a real man.” Floch tries to be brave and not let Eren take this woman too.

Eren ignored Floch’s hostility as he preferred to give his attention to Natasha. “Eveline, may I have this dance?”  

She gave a warm smile to her lover. Yes, she may be mad at his actions from a week ago but seeing him here may her heart beat fast. He always has a way to make her melt and he doesn’t try to do anything. 

“Yes, you may have a dance with me, Eren.” To free herself from Floch’s grip, she stomped his foot a bit hard to cause him hiss from pain. He let her go and Eren grabbed her hand to pull her away from him. 

Both couples left Floch alone as they headed away. Eve sighed in relief. “Thank you for saving me from not kicking his ass again.” She said.

“Again? He- oh it was you who gave him those bruises? What did he do to you?” Eren realized she was the woman who caused Floch pain for a week. 

“Let’s not talk about it. We’re at a ball. Let’s enjoy ourselves tonight, my love?” She doesn’t want a fight to break out if Eren finds out what Floch had tried to do with her that week ago. 

Of course, Eren sensed she was deflecting his question and became insistent. “Babe, tell me what did he do to you? Did he try to hit on you?” Eren’s tone was getting a bit aggressive yet it was low enough for only them to have a private conversation. 

“Eren, please can we talk about it after tonight? I promise I will tell you, tomorrow. I know you will cause a scene and fight him which the ball will be ruined.” Eve pleaded with him. 

Eren scoffed annoyingly but accepted her plea. “Fine, but tomorrow promise you will tell me then I will happily kick his ass.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh my hero.” Her tone was sarcastic. 

He smirked and leaned into her ear. “I can be more than just your hero. “ His tone was husky. Eve felt her body getting warm from how it reacted from his tone. 

Damn it her pregnancy hormones are acting up. She had read it’s possible that pregnancies can cause sex drive but randomly. She took a better look at what he was wearing. He wasn’t wearing a suit like other men were wearing tonight. 

“Why aren’t you wearing a suit?” She asked. 

“Oh, Zeke or Yelena had chosen an outfit for me but I used a black dress shirt that I bought earlier and a black dress pants. I picked the devil mask cause it represented me.” He said. 

She does see the horns from his mask. He does look like the devil which it made more difficult for Natasha not to make it obvious she desires him right now. They danced the fun happy music until it’s over. 

The group on the dancefloor clapped. Eren noticed the ring Eve was wearing on her finger. He gently grabbed her hand and smiled. “I’m happy that you’re wearing my mother’s ring. You make it look beautiful. And your dress. You love making people eye on you huh?” He teased her. 

“It goes with the earrings. That’s why I’m wearing it tonight.” Eve said. She was trying not to give him ideas of him being forgiven. Her fingers playing with the ring on her other finger. This jewel had gone through so much and yet it still looks good as new. 

Eren couldn’t help himself to brush a strand of hair from her elegant loose lower bun hairstyle. He carefully observes every detail of her. 

“What are you thinking, my love?” he whispered to her. 

“I am thinking of wanting a glass of champagne.” Her lips pouted when her steel eyes glanced at a waiter carrying a tray of glasses of champagne. Eren chuckled how adorable she looks. 

“You know you’re not allowed to. It’s bad for the baby.” He still whispered. She groaned and rested her head on his chest. 

“It would be simple if I feel repulsive like most of the foods I eat. Seriously, your kid doesn’t let me enjoy meals without throwing up.” Eve peeked up at Eren. 

“You should tell the kitchen staff to serve you mashed potatoes with lemon water. It will help the food go down to your stomach and the water will stop the nausea whenever you eat.” Eren said. 

Eve was amazed how Eren knew this vile information. “Where do you learn from?” 

“Remember my dad was a doctor? Sometimes as a kid I used to go with him to see his patients including Mikasa’s mother when she was pregnant.” He explained. 

“Oh right. Hmm, would you be a doctor if you didn’t choose to be a soldier to fight the titans?” In the background, a new song was playing to dance slowly which both pairs danced together. Eren held her hand to spun her gracefully. Once she spun, Eren pulled her against his body. 

“Probably or I might be a military doctor instead.” He admired the way her dress flowed when she spun around. 

“But instead you chose to fight alongside.” Natasha said. Eren nodded. Both remained quiet as they danced. 

“Wait for me here. I have a request to make to the musicians.” Eren whispered to her ear. She nodded but was curious what kind of request he would ask of them.

Eren let go of her then walked away from the dance floor. Eve was alone as others around her danced to the soft music. At first it felt awkward standing around alone until the music had changed to a melody that it sounds familiar but doesn’t remember where she had heard this song. It felt time had stopped and only saw Eren walking towards the dance floor. She noticed the dance floor was empty. Her thoughts wonder how she is going to dance this song which sounds medieval only a touch modern.  

“What song did you tell them to play?” Eve asked him. 

“Volta.” He said. 

Natasha didn’t know how she knew the dance moves to Volta but her legs began to carry her away. She danced around him in a way seducing her partner to dance with her. His emerald eyes focus on her. Once she made a few dance steps around him, he bowed mockingly. Natasha smirk then curtsy  to him. Her arm reached out for Eren to grab on. Natasha moved towards him but stopped as she held his arm. She slid her hand down to his hand. The heiress let go of his hand to dance around him but much closer. 

Eren could feel her warm alluring presence as his eyes watched her like a predator. Her dress flows from the twirls. Her legs exposed as she showed her dancing skill. In his eyes, he was looking at the temptress that seduced him from his once destiny to cause chaos to save humanity and his people. Eve was charismatic and mysterious which had intrigue some of the men in the palace. That irritated Eren by listening to them talking about his woman. Then his train of thoughts were interrupted as he felt Eve’s hand clap on to his front throat. She squeezed it but stroked up to his chin and held on to his jaw while her silver eyes gave off her seductive stare. Oh he knew what she wanted from him. Both could feel their lips hover teasingly. 

They can feel the desire and passion for each other as their dance turned into a battlefield of sexual tension. If it was possible, Eren would take her right here on the dance floor. He took a few steps forward making her take a few steps back. Their sights on each other haven’t broken once. The music begins to pick up the beat a bit fast. They may not hear the crowd excitedly watching them dancing, but they were aware of how their dance will give them something to talk about after the ball. 

Eren held her hand to spin her around then stopped her while her back was facing him. In the crowd, few faces watched with different expressions. Historia smirked with joy as she knew who was the person behind the devil mask dancing with her handmaiden. Zeke and Yelena had neutral expressions. On the other hand, Floch was making a distasteful expression. It didn’t take rocket science to know both Eren and Eve have a strong chemistry for each other. The red haired man glanced at his cousin who had a dark look. Belia understood why Eren had not given her divine attention. All this time he had someone and it was this lowly handmaiden. How dare this lowly harlot took what belongs to her. Just when Belia was thinking about the truth of these two, she noticed Eve made eye contact with her and gave a victory smirk. 

Belia’s mood became sour as she quickly snatched a glass of champagne from a waitress and gulped down furiously.  It looks like war had been declared between her and Eve. The noble woman didn’t bother to stay until the dance ended.

Natasha was pulled to have her back pressed onto Eren’s body as his hands moved to grope her breasts then slide down to her hips. She turned around to face him and took a few steps back to walk fast towards him and hop. Eren lifted her to have her legs wrapped around his waist while he spun both of them around. He places her down but holds on to her arm when both spin together again. He made her spin towards her to latch his hands onto her waist. Natasha could feel his warm breath on her ear which makes it hard to stay composed. She heard him whisper something huskily but her trance of euphoria prevented her from understanding what he said. Whatever he said, she instantly nodded. Once again he lifts her up but a bit higher and spins around. Eve was lifted up in a lying position until he let her down. Her hand movement was elegant and graceful and she was placed down.  Both intertwined their arms to have their hand pressed together while spinning slow. Carefully, his arm snaked around her waist as she leaned back to arch her body. He let his fingers to caresses from her neck down to her breasts. Finally, one last turn to Eve facing away from him but their bodies pressed each other. Her face was tilted away while regaining her breath from their intense dance. As the music stopped, the crowd applauded and cheered for them for the entertainment they provided. Their trance was broken when reality abrupted their own world. Both pulled away from each other and smiled at the crowd. 

Eve leaned to him to whisper. “Meet me outside by the hall that’s connected to the royal garden.” Just like that the Eldian-American left Eren alone. He gave her a smirk and waited until she disappeared from his view. Once a few minutes passed, the titan holder make way to meet his lady. 

(Eren)

The night sky was clear with stars twinkling. The weather was cool. Eren walked through the open hallway outside of the palace. He saw her leaning against the big pillar by the edge of the garden. The emerald eyes man walked towards his lover. She was still wearing her mask. Eren lifted up her mask to see her face completely. 

“You took a little long.” Eve said while she pulled him to her. Her lips crashed against his to passionately kiss him. In response to her aggressiveness, he pinned her to the hard surface pillar. His hand groped her thigh to lift up and place on his hip. Both lovers breathe heavy from the fiery intensity for each other. His fingers brushes on her exposing thigh then down to her leg and up back to the thigh. Eve let out an erotic moan. Eren smirks from her reaction. 

He breaks away from their kiss to sloppy kiss down on her neck to the valley of her breasts. He noticed her breasts looked  bigger than what he remembered. His hand pulled down the top of her dress to have her breasts free. Eren cupped one of them to greedily latch on to her nipple and suckling. Eve’s eyes widen while whimpering from how sensitive her nipples are from the changes of her pregnant body. It may hurt but the adrenaline and lust she felt turned into pleasure. Her hand stroked his dark brown hair then gripped harshly the move he sucked and pulled her nipples. 

“E-eren, which room is the closest?” She tried to form a sentence as her moans were increasing. 

“Mmmm my room is not that far from here.” His voice became raspy. 

“Take me there.” She mewls when his finger makes way where her wet core is. 

Eren chuckled how demanding she was being when she was at his mercy. “What’s wrong here? The night sky looks perfect for a passionate love making.” Just like the devil, he encouraged her to give in right here. His finger circles her clitoris teasingly. He could feel the amount of slick she produced. She was probably wet when they were dancing the Volta. He let his thumb attend to her clit while his two fingers entered into her hole to finger in a slow teasing pace. Natasha closed her eyes as she took in the pleasure he was giving. Her hips buck to rock against his fingers. 

“Dollface, if you can contain yourself  while I taste you, we’ll go to my room to resume our fortification.” He said then Eren pulled his fingers out to suck on them. She never disappoints him with how delicious she tastes. 

He kneel down to the ground and place her leg on his shoulder. Her back leaned comfortably as her eyes gazed down to watch him lifting the hem of the dress. She bit down her lips when his tongue stroked her core. Subconsciously, her hand gripped and pulled his hair while he feast between her legs. This will be harder than she expected for her not making any noises. He continues to ravish her until a wave of orgasm rush into her. A small whimper escaped from her lips which Eren pulled away from her core then got up to take a look at his work. Her face was flushed while her chest rose up and down from regaining her breath. Her hair came undone. He felt satisfied in leaving her like this. His hands help pull down her dress. He helped tucked her breasts back into the top of her dress. 

“Can you walk to my room?” He gave her a grin. 

She glared playfully then smirked. “Of course I can.” 

With that, both of them quickly walked to Eren’s room to finish off what they had started. 

(Alexander) 

He picked up his phone while it rang. Once the phone was answered, a breathless man began to speak. 

“Sir, Subject 18 had escaped.” The Grandmaster frowned at this news. 

“How did you let that happen? Your job was to make sure Subject 18 was locked with tight security. You have failed me. I will immediately take a leave back to Paradis. Once I arrive, you better find the culprit who let him escape.” His tone was dark as this news had ruined a perfect day in his villa home in Italy. Alexander hung up and sipped his wine trying to calm down. He will need another descendant to complete data if they can’t find Levi to bring him back. If his theory was true, the Eve had led the revolution to free humanity. With her memories, he could find a particular item to dominate the world. 

A/N: If you guys needed an idea how the Volta dance looks like, I use the one in The Tudors where Anne and Henry danced together in a small gathering. You can find it on YouTube. Other than that, enjoy this chapter. 

#eren jeager #jaegerists #oc female #OC: Natasha #sahsa braus #niccolo #sasha x niccolo #historia reiss #levi ackerman #crossver #Asassin's Creed #and others

[youhavereachedtheendofpie]

Talk to me about Bucky and Sam. I'm not even into Marvel like that but I love them, your honor.

-NA

and what’s not to love! sry this is a marvel blog again now 😅

okay, let’s talk my boys samuel t wilson and james ‘bucky’ barnes. the sidekicks that made it. we love a dynamic duo. we love it even more when they bicker like an old married couple. I am stoked, I am excited, if marvel messes this series up I am legally allowed to set fire to their ceo or whatever who’s with me!

but seriously, I love them, your honor 🥺 

samuel thomas wilson, the falcon, our new captain! told a fascist to shut the hell up and then beat the shit out of him. jumped out of a collapsing building and into an airborne helicopter. legend. he’s not even superpowered as such, he’s just really awesome like that. like that’s all natural. remember when he brought nothing but himself to a gun fight, then got a knife and destroyed a whole bunch of fuckers? he. did. that. also, can fly. flies regularly with just a jetpack with wings strapped to his back. like he volunteered for a special pararescue unit to try out that kind of experimental equipment. presumably because he’s equal parts thrill-mad daredevil and big, caring ‘helping ppl is my purpose in this world’-heart. worthy and heroic. saw a national legend recently brought back to life on his morning jog and said to himself ‘yep of course I will break into a secure government facility with you but I’m also gonna give you shit about it.’ also funny as hell, which is always important in a man. 

james buchanan ‘bucky’ barnes. looks like your regular dashing popular boy, is really a big nerd who had one (1) friend and takes dates to science fairs. because he likes science. went through more than anyone ever should but still is just so good at heart. like seriously dude had his brain scrambled on the reg for decades, was manipulated and used and still came out the other side with his sould severely bruised but somehow still intact. both a snarky lil shit and loyal to a fault. never wanted to hurt anybody (except fascists, which is extrememly valid) and feels understandably broken up abt it, but trying his best to make it better, even though that’s an insurmountable task. a lesser man would buckle under the crushing weight of all that guilt, but he pushes on. all others have lost so many, but he lost even himself. 

in conclusion: they!

#pie replies #nasa anon #sam wilson #bucky barnes #thank you to the gif makers #Anonymous

[leverage-ot3]

notable moments from The Radio Job

leverage 4.17

Nate: “We’re” not going anywhere -- I am. It’s personal. (leaves)

*later, hardison has information pulled up on the monitors. the screen literally reads: “where nate is going”*

Hardison: I’ll tell you where he’s going. He’s headed to the United States Patent Office in Alexandria, Virginia. Nate even cleared out his browser so we wouldn’t know. It’s adorable

- - - - -

Hardison: Uh, what doesn’t he want? A cure for the common cold, warp drive, a water engine. People, everybody knows the government is sitting on futuristic technology at the patent office.

Parker: They are?

Hardison: Oh, damn straight, girl. Under the invention secrecy act of 1951, the US government has sealed away over 5,000 patents that they say is a threat to national security. It’s all just sitting right there chillin’, locked away in a super-secret vault.

woah that’s fucked

Parker: Is there a time machine?

Eliot: There is. Yeah. Yeah, not so much a machine as probably a portal, though. You don’t really sit down as much as --

Parker: I’m gonna go get that portal, and I will go --

Sophie: Okay, okay, Guys!

okay I LOVE how enthusiastic the ot3 gets over this

- - - - -

Sophie: Fine. Off to the U.S. patent office, then. Let’s go steal a –

Parker: Let’s go steal a time machine.

Eliot: No, you don’t steal –

Parker: I’m gonna steal the time machine.

Eliot: Messing with this damn time machine, man!

Hardison: That’s just on TV. There’s no real time machine, is what I’m trying to say.

this is such a chaotic ot3 moment I love it

- - - - -

the ENTIRE rappelling scene

Hardison: This is the plan?

Parker: Uh-huh.

Eliot: Mnh-mnh. (heads back up the stairs)

Parker: Get ba—

Eliot: Hey, hey. Eliot: Get back down here!

Parker: Go get him.

Eliot: Damn it, Hardison!

we love ⅔ of the ot3 being exasperated by the other ⅓

(A few minutes later, Hardison is strapped into a climbing rig and attached to a rope with Parker and Eliot checking his harness)

Hardison: Why y’all always pushing me off of stuff? Don’t I get a say? I vote no!

Parker: We don’t have a lot of room for error.

Eliot: You can do it if you stop squirming, man. Just stand still.

Hardison: Hey, hey, hey. Where’s Nate, okay? Frank Petrino, arson investigator, was a rock-solid alias.

Parker (to Eliot): It might be easier if he’s asleep.

Eliot (to Parker): Want me to put him to sleep?

Hardison: Hey! I’m standing right here, okay? It’s not my fault y’all can’t spoof a CCTV.

Parker: Relax! (grabs his shoulders) We’re gonna lower you really slowly, but if you bump into anything, the walls, the windows, anything, you will set off the alarms.

Hardison: Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it. It’s like the game “Operation,” except I’m the tweezers. Look... Whatever you do, do not drop me. Come on. I’m tired -- I’ve had it. Being pushed off of damn buildings and stuff and windows.

(Eliot and Parker share a look and push Hardison off the ledge)

poor hardison

Hardison: Wh-o-o-oa! (comes to a stop inches from the floor) Really? It’s not funny. It’s not funny. I see you laughing. I see you laughing. I’m a person... Human being! I got feelings, and I don’t feel none of this. I’m tired of being pushed off of stuff. We all having a serious conversation when this is over with. (takes a step forward) This is... s-squishy. Oh, peed my pants. All right

my sweet summer child hardison

- - - - -

Jimmy (referring to radio): Do you believe this guy? Blames all our problems on immigrants. (turns off radio)

bruh that’s america for you

- - - - -

are you fucking KIDDING ME eliot beat people up with a role of duct tape ???

- - - - -

Eliot: Hang on. I want to tell you something. If you wouldn’t have been so selfish, you could have had another pro here just like yourself, and I’d be fighting two guys instead of just you. This may have turned out differently for you. I’m just saying.

Thug 3: Aaah!

(Thug 3 swings again and misses, Eliot blocks and hits him several times, knocking him back to the ground)

Eliot: You got to learn to share. Where do they get these guys?

I LIVE for the conversations eliot has with the goons he fights

- - - - -

parker working with nate and his father being a mastermind in training

- - - - -

[Patent Office Warehouse]

Hardison (going through items on a shelf): “Run a radio play.” A radio play takes a week to set up.

Parker (riding something down the aisle behind him): Incoming!

Hardison: Hey! Trying to make a radio play using... whatever.

Parker (backs the item behind him): Whoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!

Hardison: Woman!

Parker: What? (rides the item back down the aisle) I’m trying to help you?

Hardison: You know what? Then you want to help? Get me something that I can actually use...

Parker (holds up a Mr. Butler): Oh, hello. I’m Mr. Butler. You like a sandwich?

Hardison: Yes. Thank you

parker is a child and I love her for it

- - - - -

sophie with the fake pregnant belly (and how it freaked her out earlier in the episode)

+

Paramedic (listening to the Belly): Okay, well, heartbeat sounds... normal. Absolutely, perfectly, almost mechanically normal.

Sophie: 👀😬

- - - - -

Eliot (walking away from window): Welcome to the party, pal.

Eliot (tosses radio to the floor): Yippee-ki-yay, mother--

eliot is a nerd who quotes action movies

- - - - -

eliot, hardison, and parker army crawling behind nate like little ducklings

- - - - -

Sophie: Where do you think he’s going?

Nate: I don’t know, I-I—

Parker: Where? Don’t you mean when?

[Flash]

(Jimmy walks out of the building holding some sort of device. He dials 1962 on the display and disappears)

[Exterior Street]

Hardison: Now, why would he go back to 1962?

Nate: Don’t encourage her

never, ever change parker

- - - - -

Parker: What is that?

Hardison: It’s a bow tie. Bow ties are cool

hardison is ALSO a nerd and we love to see it

- - - - -

Jimmy: Tell them -- tell them…how much Jimmy Ford loves his son

HAHAHA IM NOT CRYING YOU ARE

- - - - -

how eliot screams nate’s name and the panic on his face

how the team rushes to get nate after the explosion

- - - - -

this episode in summary:

wHaT tHe FuCK

#leverage #leverage 4.17 #leverage 4x17 #the radio job #jimmy ford #mine #notable moments #leverage season 4 #season 4

[warofshadowstheorder]

Chapter 13

The sudden blaring of “(White Man) In Hammersmith Palais” over the iPod/clock radio in Alexis Bledsoe’s room snapped her out of the deep sleep she had been enjoying.  It had taken her a while to fall asleep the night before; she couldn’t help feeling like she was being watched.

She didn’t think she’d ever get used to the idea of not going to work.  The mere thought of spending entire days without the routine she’d constructed for herself left her almost paralyzed inside.  She’d eventually gotten to sleep, the image of the one who jumped her at the pavilion still dominating her dreams, and had consigned herself in the knowledge that she had her investigation to keep her busy.  Her mission in life now was to find him and make him pay for what he’d done.

Her apartment was fairly small, but was all that she needed.  Besides the bedroom and bathroom, it only consisted of one all-purpose room with an adjoining kitchen.  She got out of bed and changed from her pajamas into a sports bra, a pair of blue running shorts and a white tank top before putting on some socks and a pair of running shoes.  She let the radio continue playing while she dressed and enjoyed the music.

Her bedroom was decorated with pictures and other memorabilia.  She had her full-ride acceptance letter and degree from Yale framed and hanging on her wall.  She also had a picture of her with her parents and brothers at her graduation, as well as a similar picture taken at the family ranch in Rory.  There were also framed wedding portraits of her brothers and parents, along with a recent family portrait.

Posters of the “London Calling” album cover, and movie posters for “Joe Strummer: The Future is Unwritten,” and “Way of the Dragon” also adorned her walls.

In the next room, a giant poster of Bruce Lee and a shooting target showing very impressive results with a date handwritten by Bledsoe herself in the bottom right corner decorated the wall adjacent to a black Everlast punching bag hanging from the ceiling, a chin-up bar bolted to the wall beside it, and a Mook Jong.  Some handwraps and grappling gloves were on the floor just below where the bag hung.

Adjacent to the bag was a small table with a large combination radio/cassette player/CD player/record player stereo.  A cardboard box filled with several vinyl records, along with a few stacks of CDs and a shoebox with several cassette tapes, most of which were homemade mixed tapes, were underneath the table with each item inside sorted into alphabetical order.

After she finished dressing, she turned off the radio just as the song was concluding.  She then removed the iPod and strapped it to her left arm, carefully putting in the earbuds.  She got her keychain and used the miniature carabiner on it to clip it onto the iPod strap.  She took a reflective belt and put it across her shoulder, and lastly got some cash and stuffed it into a small pouch on the strap.

She did a few stretches, and then made her way out of her apartment.  She locked the door behind her and went outside.  It was early enough in the morning that it was still dark outside, and she relished the opportunity to run during a time when most people were still in bed.

She did some stretches, walked around for a bit to warm up, and then started running.  Her favorite way to start her morning was with a jog around the mall area, on this particular day she was also using her customary jog to clear her mind and focus on planning the rest of her time away.

“Safe European Home” played in her earphones as she continued on her way and took in the familiar but still captivating sights of the area around her.  She always liked running early in the day because of the quiet and serenity that the area offered at that time.  She ran around the Jefferson Monument and always stopped there to take a break and spend some quiet time reflecting.

She thought that monument had the best location and loved how it was away from the main part of the mall.  She particularly loved it when the Cherry Blossoms were in bloom but always enjoyed her stays there regardless.  She sat on the steps of the Monument and paused her iPod before gazing out over the water.

She figured that the disc and information she’d requested from Andrews would be waiting for her when she got home and was considering what to do first.  Given that she had the whole day ahead of her, she decided that she’d make an appointment with the Coroner, then go over the disc, and then go see the body.

She continued looking out over the water, and wondered if she should leave town for a few days on a real vacation.  She thought of going back to the family ranch and visiting with her parents and oldest brother Matt, who was preparing to take over there.  But she knew that first she had to resolve what had gotten her to the point she found herself in professionally.  After several minutes, Bledsoe started her iPod and ran back to her apartment.

She noticed a few other runners passing her as she returned home, which further reminded her of why she went running as early as she did.  There was one more stop to make before finishing her run.

There was a newsstand not far from her apartment, laden with several magazines and newspapers.  It was run by a husky Polynesian-American man in his late-fifties named Bernard Ka’ahanui but known as Bernie to his friends.  Before he opened his newsstand, he’d served honorably in the U.S. Army for twenty-three years and retired as a Sergeant Major with combat tours in Vietnam and Operation Desert Storm.  He served with the 1st Cavalry in Vietnam and their unit crest prominently adorned the back of the newsstand.

He had ended his career serving in an administrative capacity in the Pentagon and grew very fond of the area.  After he retired, he and his wife bought a home near the District and Bernie opened his newsstand mostly to keep from going crazy after retirement.  He didn’t have as many customers as he would have liked, but he did have a few loyal regulars.  The loyal customer whose visits he most looked forward to was Alexis Bledsoe.

Bledsoe’s breathing was labored when she approached the newsstand, she would have been completely exhausted had it not been for her lengthy experience as a distance runner and ability to pace herself.  A big smile came to Bernie’s face as Bledsoe approached, and it only increased when she came to a stop in front of the stand.  Bernie immediately handed Bledsoe a bottle of water, which she stopped to drink while walking in place as Bernie spoke.

“Good morning Alexis,” Bernie greeted brightly, “nice to see you back again.  I’m sorry for all the troubles I’m sure you’re having at work.”  He said the last sentence with a tone of sympathy while gesturing toward The Washington Post with the headline of “Nation Still Reeling in the Wake of Saunders Assassination.”

“Thanks Bernie,” Bledsoe said between heavy breaths and another drink of water, “but I’d rather not think about that right now.  Trust me, you have no idea the kind of shit I’ve been through these past few days.  Right now, I’m just out for my morning constitutional.  I figured I’d catch up on the important stuff if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course,” Bernie said with a smile as he reached down to the floor on his side of the stand and brought up a small stack of Rolling Stone and Black Belt magazines along with the latest copy of The Washington Post.

“Do you want the latest editions as well?” Bernie asked.

“Sure,” Bledsoe answered, “I’m going to be doing some work at home for the next little while and could use some reading material for breaks.”

“Good call,” Bernie answered with his same upbeat tone, adding two more magazines to the stack.

She set the stack of magazines and her newspaper gently on the road as she continued walking in place and chatting with Bernie while she drank her water.  Her conversations with Bernie were about the only purely casual ones she had on a regular basis with her work schedule, especially after joining the protection detail.

“So,” Bledsoe asked after a while, “how was the Luau?”

“Oh,” Bernie said brightening up even more, “it was great.  I think I overdid it on the Pork though.”  Bernie put his hands on his stomach to emphasize his point.  “But it was great having the entire family together and doing something from the islands.”

“I bet,” Bledsoe said with a smile, “it almost sounds like the last time I went to the ranch.  Only over there it was barbeque and stuff from the heartland of America.”

“Eh,” Bernie said, “it’s a Melting Pot Culture.  What are you gonna do?”

Bledsoe laughed and Bernie joined in.  She and Bernie went back and forth until a little while after Bledsoe finished her water.  At that time, Bledsoe bid Bernie a fond farewell and paid him for the merchandise before making her way back to her apartment.

After entering her apartment building, she unclipped her keys from her iPod strap and unlocked her mailbox at the front.  She put a few envelopes of junk mail and a catalog into a recycling bin conveniently located nearby, and to her delight saw a package from Andrews.  She made her way back to her apartment with her mail in hand.

Her first stop was her sink where she filled a pint glass with water and took a long drink.  After draining the glass, she left to take a shower.  Following her shower, she dried and brushed her hair, changed into jeans and a t-shirt, and went directly to the coffee maker in her kitchen.  She poured some water into the reservoir and got her container of Folgers out of her pantry.  She scooped a significant amount of grounds onto the filter, having inherited her rancher father’s penchant for strong coffee.  While the coffee maker did its work, she completed her breakfast by preparing a bowl of Cocoa Puffs; looking at the front of the box differently after Odin’s comment at Gitmo.

She opened the package from Andrews and saw a small DVR in a case, and a piece of paper with a phone number and the name of the Coroner.  She dialed the number and had a brief conversation with him in which she set up an appointment to come over and view the body that evening.

Satisfied, she hung up the phone and turned her attention to her big-screen HDTV.  She grabbed the remote and turned it on, waiting a moment when she saw a news program talking about the Saunders assassination and it’s still powerful aftermath.  The coffee maker having finished, Bledsoe transferred it to a mug and poured a small amount of thick cream into it to complete the mix.  She then poured some milk on her cereal before sitting down and eating while she watched the report.

She couldn’t help but feel partly responsible for what had happened, and guilt came over her hard when she saw interviews with people who’d been affected by her failure.  She continued to eat her cereal and drink her coffee while watching the report, using the guilt and sadness she felt to motivate her to find the people who were responsible.

After she finished her breakfast, she put the DVD into the player, she poured what coffee was left in the pot into the mug to top it off and switched the TV to the appropriate input for her BluRay player.  She stepped back and saw that the disc started from quite some time before Saunders had even entered the Pavilion.  She sat down on her couch and watched closely looking for anything out of the ordinary, occasionally sipping from her coffee.

After seeing Saunders enter the Pavilion, she watched even closer.  She’d been on Saunders’ detail for several months, but this was the first time she noticed how much enthusiasm he inspired in the people.  She watched them stand and applaud for him and felt herself stiffen up emotionally at the prospect of what she knew was about to happen.

She watched the recording, paying close attention to everything that was happening.  She felt herself stiffen inside as every moment that passed on the tape brought her closer to reliving the horribly tragic event she knew was set to occur.

Since she was incapacitated at the time of the event itself, she had no idea as to exactly when it would happen.  The only clue she had was that she knew Saunders had started speaking before he was shot.

Bledsoe could feel her pulse beginning to rise as the event progressed.  Her hand that was holding her remote control was trembling and she could feel her teeth chattering as her lips quivered.  The anticipation of what was coming and the memory of her failure to stop it was bearing down on her.

She stopped the disc and took several frantic and labored breaths.  She felt dizzy and could have sworn that the room was spinning around her.  She closed her eyes and brought her hand over them before resting her arm on the arm of the couch.

Bledsoe’s pulse continued racing as her breathing became heavier.  She didn’t want to continue watching the proceedings, but knew that if she wanted to catch the ones who had done the killing that she would have to pick up whatever she could from the tape.

After a few minutes, Bledsoe calmed down and once again faced the TV monitor.  The scene was still frozen, taunting her.  She could only sit motionless, as frozen as the scene she was facing, and prolong the inevitable.  Relenting, and knowing that the only way to move on was to catch the shooters and that in order to do that she had to witness the terrible event; she took a deep breath, finished her coffee and pressed the play button on her remote.

Although it was very difficult to watch, she did her best to look for anything out of the ordinary going on, regularly pausing the disc to observe every detail of the scene as it unfolded.  She tried to see something, anything that would help her better understand how the assassination happened.

She remembered Taylor’s accusation about the assassination being an inside job and hated to admit that it made a lot of sense.  She began to keep her eye out for suspicious activity among the agents on the detail.  The most suspicious thing she noticed was when Cruz quickly picked his nose.

When she got to the point where she heard the shot, she quickly skipped ahead to a point when the camera turned in the direction of where the shot had come from, not wanting to see the event itself and not thinking it to be necessary.

She remembered the famous incident from the Kennedy assassination where a figure was seen ducking away from a window in the Book Depository building.  She was hoping for something like that from what she was watching, and she scrutinized every frame of it trying to find anything she could use.

She watched it at normal speed first, then in slow motion, and then she watched it frame by frame zooming in as close as she could.  Before she knew it, four hours had passed and she hadn’t found anything even resembling a clue.  Frustration was setting in by this point, and she was beginning to question her decision on how to spend her time off.

When the thought of stopping her private investigation crossed her mind, she remembered seeing the people on the news that had been crushed by the terrible tragedy and her vow and commitment were instantly renewed.  She glanced at her watch and saw that her appointment with the coroner was still a little while away.  She poured herself a glass of water and started watching the disc again from the beginning, keeping her eye on anyone sitting in the pavilion that left their seat and making sure that they returned before the shot was fired.  She examined the footage a little more, and then got up to use the bathroom.

Unknown to Bledsoe, someone else nearby had been spending his day in his main room intently watching something.  However, this person had not been watching any kind of program but rather had been watching Bledsoe.

To keep up the appearance of his cover, he ate breakfast in the hotel lobby and left the building.  Unnoticed, he scaled the building via a blind spot and had been observing Bledsoe from a handheld device while sitting on the roof until his room had been cleaned.  Then, he reentered via his window and continued his vigil through the nearly microscopic surveillance cameras he had installed the night before while Bledsoe slpet.

Olcán kept the curtain in his room drawn and the area around him completely dark.  He hadn’t slept since arriving.  His evening had consisted of dawning one of the black bodysuits he and his compatriots used to turn invisible to infiltrate Bledsoe’s apartment and plant the cameras in key areas.  He then went to an all-night grocery store after testing his equipment and formulated a plan of action for the duration of his assignment.  He spent the time before Bledsoe woke up training and exercising, keeping an eye on the laptop for signs of movement.

After Bledsoe woke up, Olcán had begun his observations.  Olcán had been detailing Bledsoe’s schedule on a notebook, detailing when she had gotten up, when she left to run, when she got back, and her subsequent activities.

After Bledsoe left, Olcán used the time to get in a workout of his own at the hotel gym before cleaning up and having his breakfast.  When he heard the cleaner coming down the hall, he quickly put the surveillance laptop into its case, slung it on his back, and went to the roof.  While on the roof, he looked over the notes he had taken up to that point and took a moment to enjoy the view.

Olcán went back into his room as soon as he heard the cleaner close his door and walk away, having seen Bledsoe get home not long before.  Later, as Olcán observed Bledsoe’s own observations, he made a note about her close scrutiny of the footage, and that she didn’t appear to have found anything incriminating.  Bledsoe continued scrutinizing the video, and Olcán patiently observed Bledsoe like an Eagle perched on a high cliff scanning the ground below for prey.  Bledsoe never watched the actual shooting, but she scrutinized every other second of the recording.

Bledsoe stared at the screen, it seemed to be daring her to continue watching.  She decided to clear her head and went back to her room.  She changed into a pair of boxing-style trunks and a black short-sleeved Under Armor shirt before tying her hair back in a tight ponytail.  She picked out a CD labeled “Warmup” and put it in the stereo.

A few moments later, the strains of “Silent Lucidity” echoed through the apartment as Bledsoe slowly stood up and took a few deep breaths.  Once the introductory portion of the song concluded and the drums began, Bledsoe began to gracefully move in time with the music around her living room area.

She bounced and twirled in time with the music, doing so on her toes for several seconds at a time.  If Queensryche had ever composed a ballet, Bledsoe’s movements would have comprised the choreography.  Her focus became solely dedicated to allowing the music to dictate where and how she moved, and the increases in the tempo only served to goad and encourage her.

She moved with the music, showing off her flexibility, stamina, and overall skill to an invisible audience as she moved toward the chin-up bar.  As the song led to its climax, Bledsoe jumped and grabbed the bar and spent the duration of the climax doing chin-ups in time with the music.  Anger and frustration added to her usual intensity as she completed more repetitions than normal before letting go and using a momentary lull in the music to take a relaxing breath before resuming her dancing for the remainder of the song, ending with a brilliant ballet-style finish.

At the conclusion of the song, she found a CD labeled “punching bag” and put it into her stereo.  She downed most of a bottle of water before wrapping her hands with a pair of reusable wraps and selecting a specific track, “Gimme Shelter” on her CD.

During the first part of it she put on her grappling gloves and did some stretches, letting the music flow through her and loosening up inside.  She moved slowly to the music and lightly bounced up and down on her feet.  When the song began in earnest, she let loose on the bag with punches, kicks, knees, and elbows as The Rolling Stones set the tone and pace of her barrage.

She was borderline savage in the way she attacked the bag; completely aware that she wasn’t just using her time on the bag to clear her mind, but also taking out her frustrations.  She was a more than formidable fighter in any circumstance, but when she had pure rage fueling her she was like a tornado tearing through a trailer park.

Her footwork was as precise and flawless as the strikes she landed as she moved in time with the music.  She only stopped pounding on the bag long enough to allow the transition from “Gimme Shelter” to Metallica’s “Some Kind of Monster” to complete.  She then went back to ruthlessly destroying the bag.  Her barrage sped up and slowed down to the music, Bledsoe allowing the music to dictate the pace and ferocity of her workout.

What Bledsoe was doing was far from lost on the man watching her from his hotel.  Olcán couldn’t help but be somewhat impressed at the sight before him.  He wondered about Bledsoe’s abilities before and could see that she measured up to the descriptions of her field performance that he’d read in her dossier.  He dismissed how skilled she appeared by reasoning that hitting a bag was one thing, but real combat was something else entirely.  Regardless, he made a note to approach her with caution if he needed to engage.

As “Some Kind of Monster” concluded Bledsoe jumped up, grabbed the chain above the bag, and brought one knee after another into the upper part of it with enough force to knock out a man three times her size.  At that point Bledsoe was caked in sweat, and with her energy depleted she decided it was time to get back to work.

She took off the gloves and wraps, and then her shirt before making her way to the shower.  It took every ounce of discipline Olcán had acquired through his years of training and service to remain focused on his mission.  But despite his best efforts, he used the time Bledsoe spent cleaning up to take a shower himself…although the one he took was much colder.

Bledsoe finished her shower and continued to go over the tape until the sound of the alarm on her watch reminded her of the upcoming experience with the Coroner that she was sure was going to be anything but pleasant.  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  Images of the prone and lifeless form of the man she had been trusted to protect lying motionless on a slab looking up at her with lifeless eyes were already beginning to haunt her.

Knowing that she needed to go through with it in any case, she cast her fears aside and went into her room.  She dressed in some more formal attire then went out to her car and started off for the Coroner’s Office.  She played U2’s “One” on her car stereo to help her relax and continued on her way.  She stopped at a red light and used the moment to let the music completely enfold her.

For the briefest of moments, she felt the calming symphony that had gotten her through so many assignments come over her again.  Once again, she was abruptly snapped out of her symphony when she could have sworn that she felt her car sink slightly and then rise up to where it had been before.  The sinking only lasted a moment and would have gone unnoticed by most people.

Bledsoe however was not a normal person.  She felt the sink and, being especially jumpy ever since the Pavilion, quickly turned her head to look at the back of her car.  She saw nothing, and she hadn’t heard a sound accompanying the sink.  She briefly considered getting out to check the trunk, but then the light turned green.

Not wanting to obstruct traffic, she drove through the light to the Coroner’s Office.  She frequently glanced at her rearview mirror to check the trunk, still unable to shake the uneasy feeling that the sink was more than a figment of her imagination.

After a few minutes, she arrived at her destination.  She shut off the car, then popped the trunk.  She quickly moved to the rear of the car and threw open the trunk.  Nothing was in it other than the usual items she kept there.  Flares, a first aid kit, some collapsible road cones, a roll of duct tape, a Maglite flashlight, a green wool blanket, and a 3-gallon can of gasoline.

Bledsoe looked on confused.  She was sure she’d felt something when she stopped at the light, and her experience at the Pavilion when Saunders was killed only convinced her to never doubt her hunches.  She took her flashlight and turned it on to take one last thorough look in the trunk bed, carefully looking for any kind of evidence that something was out of place or different in any way.

After looking through for two solid minutes, Bledsoe was satisfied and comfortable in the notion that the sinking feeling had been nothing worthy of note.  She closed the trunk and returned to the front of the car.  She picked up a notebook and pen she had there and locked the vehicle before walking to the office door.

She’d never been to a coroner’s office, and the anticipation of the experience and what she was about to see and do filled her with a sense of grim anticipation and dread.  The apprehensive feelings inside her intensified with each step she took.

She opened the door and walked in.  After checking in at the front desk, she was told where the morgue was and made her way there determined, but slightly hesitant.  Her determination outweighed her dread as she stepped closer to the element of her investigation that she was looking forward to the least.

When she got to the office she immediately found herself awash in new and unique sights, and especially smells.  The only similar smell she’d encountered to what was now perforating her senses before this was when she helped her dad and brothers carve an entire steer and then deliver it to a meat locker.

She heard music after opening the door.  She recognized the music as Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini.  Two slabs with shrouded bodies caught and held her attention.  She wondered which one was Saunders.

For a moment she considered walking out of the office and abandoning her investigation.  The moment was short lived when she remembered the aching feeling that accompanied the fact that she failed in her mission and was now on suspension because of it.  That coupled with the burning desire to bring the guilty parties to justice renewed her resolve.  After a moment, she heard the sound of a flushing toilet followed by running water from a sink.  A door in the back of the room opened and the Coroner stepped out.

The Coroner was a man about two inches shorter than Bledsoe.  He had thinning brown hair and sunken dark eyes.  He carried a brown paper towel and finished drying his hands before picking out a couple of latex gloves from a box on a counter and beginning to put them on.

Upon noticing that he had company, his eyes opened wide for a moment.  On the phone he hadn’t been expecting anything like what was in front of him.  He’d imagined some kind of hard-nosed pants-suited ball-breaker professional type, possibly with a hygiene problem.  Instead, he found a very beautiful and pleasant-looking young woman.

“Agent Bledsoe?” the man asked in a slightly nasally voice, unsure of who the goddess facing him was.

“Yes,” Bledsoe answered as she approached him, “and you must be the Coroner.  I’m sorry,” she said politely as she extended her hand to him, “but I didn’t get your name when we spoke on the phone earlier.”

“I’m,” he said extending his hand and tensing up slightly, “I mean my name is Jonah Greeley.”  It was apparent by his demeanor and the way he spoke that Greeley didn’t have much experience with women, at least ones who were alive.

“Pleased to meet you Doctor Greeley,” Bledsoe said as they shook hands.

“So,” he said after a few moments of awkward pause, “Director Andrews tells me you want to see Senator Saunders’ body.”

Bledsoe tensed up and focused her gaze to the tables behind Greeley.  A myriad of images of what awaited her when the sheet would be removed ran through her head.  The apprehension returned, but her iron will allowed her to push that aside and nod in response.

“Ok,” Greeley said as he held out a pair of latex gloves, “put these on and I’ll show you the body.”

“I apologize in advance if the smell bothers you,” Greeley said, “it can be a little overwhelming when you aren’t used to it,” Bledsoe nodded in understanding as Greeley put on his other glove.

“If you’re ready,” Greely said using the opportunity to take a moment to marvel at Bledsoe’s beautiful face, unable to resist admiring the sight before him despite the serious expression she sported.  He was so taken with his visitor that he didn’t realize over ten seconds had passed since Bledsoe had given him a nod indicating that she was ready to proceed.

Bledsoe was still not looking forward to the task at hand, so she didn’t say anything.  She had become accustomed to people staring at her, she didn’t like it but knew she had to accept the fact that she was beautiful and people would always stare.  After a while, Greeley’s staring was making her uncomfortable.

“Doctor Greeley?” Bledsoe asked in a polite tone.

“Oh, sorry,” Greeley said apologetically, “he’s this one.”

He gestured to the closer table and walked to the end where the head was with Bledsoe following close behind.  The feeling of grim anticipation she had had while walking up to the office returned tenfold as she approached the table.  Greeley slowly walked to the other side of the table and took the highest corner of the sheet.

“I should tell you,” Greeley said, “that what you are about to see will be very gruesome.  Do you have a strong stomach?”

“Yeah,” Bledsoe answered, attempting to mask the nervous trembling that threatened to manifest inside her.

“Okay,” Greeley said cryptically, “here we go.”

Greeley gripped the other side of the sheet and slowly brought it down to Saunders’ waist.  Bledsoe’s eyes shot open and she took a gasping breath as she staggered for a moment from the sight before her.

The initial shock for Bledsoe was to see the body that she had seen filled with life so many times for so long now motionless and devoid of life.  After she mustered the courage to look at the hope of the nation that had now been reduced to a corpse, she was grateful that what she said about her stomach was true.

Saunders’ skin had gone pale with the complete loss of life.  There was dried blood on the front of his torso, and his right shoulder was dislocated.  As her eyes made their way upward, the blood on Saunders’ body increased.  There was some other material mixing in with the blood, and Bledsoe’s eyes stopped when they got to the base of Saunders’ neck.

She closed her eyes, turned her head down to the ground, and took a few drawn out breaths.  After a few moments, she took one last long breath and quickly looked up.  What awaited was far worse than anything she’d anticipated.  She was afraid to see Saunders’ head looking mangled or dismembered in some other way.  Instead, she saw his brains and other pieces of his head in jars above his neck.

“Have you ever seen a dead body before?” Greeley asked.

“Yes,” Bledsoe said between short gasps as she took care not to vomit, “just nothing like this.”

“I understand that,” Greeley said callously, “I thought the same thing when I first saw it.  And I’m sorry for the smell, but I was told to tamper with the body only minimally until I can determine the exact cause of death.”

“I mean,” Greeley said in a joking voice, “I can tell what the cause of death was.  They just want me to be able to get some more detail.”

It was obvious that Bledsoe didn’t share Greeley’s sense of humor about the situation, and Greeley immediately regretted his moment of levity.

“When you feel comfortable taking a closer look,” Greeley said returning to his professional tone, “there are a few things I want to show you on the body that you should see if you’re investigating.”

Bledsoe nodded in response and continued to breathe slowly in an attempt to calm herself down.  She found herself able to focus when she remembered the Prussian blue eyes she’d seen at the rally and felt renewed with a resolve to bring in the killer.  The hatred she felt in that moment far outweighed her apprehensions.

She took one last deep breath before turning around to face Greeley.  She gave him a nod, which he returned.  Greeley then turned to face the body on the table and Bledsoe moved next to him, grateful for the material underneath her nose.  Every time Bledsoe felt herself getting queasy, she remembered the eyes and got the resolve to continue.

“Obviously the first thing I noticed,” Greeley said pointing to the remnants of Saunders’ head, “was the huge extent of the wound.”

Bledsoe looked where Greeley pointed.  Being in the Secret Service she was very familiar with the Kennedy assassination and knew exactly what Greeley meant about the wound.  Now that she’d gotten past the initial shock of the scene in the office, Bledsoe was able to focus much better and could observe the body as she’d planned.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Greeley paused for a moment before adding, “to even fathom this kind of damage is…the guy that did this has to be the best shot in the world.”

“Were you aware that this was a two-man job?” Bledsoe asked having recovered her professional demeanor.

“I read the report that was provided,” Greeley answered, “but there was only one shot and we only found enough material for one bullet.  It may have been pulled off by two men, but only one of them actually did the deed.”

“I figured as much,” Bledsoe said remembering how much she’d seen from where she was against the wall that night, “what kind of angle do you figure the bullet came in from?”

“Well,” Greeley said pointing to Saunders’ head and tracing a trajectory, “it’s obvious that the shooter was facing him.  I figure that it was a straight-on shot.  This guy’s aim was amazing.  It couldn’t have been better placed if he’d fired through some kind of tube that led from where he was to the point of entry.”

Greeley let out a sigh as he looked down at Saunders’ body.

“It’s really too bad though,” he sighed, “I was planning on voting for him in November.”

“A lot of the people I work with were planning on doing that” Bledsoe replied.

They both paused, Greeley thinking about what might have been if the man on the table was still alive.  Bledsoe couldn’t help but blame herself for the sight before her.  As the feelings of guilt and remorse began once again rising inside her, she quickly got back to business.

“Do you have any idea what kind of weapon was used?” Bledsoe asked.

“It was definitely a high-powered rifle,” Greeley said as he walked over to a nearby desk and picked up a small glass container, “but no one found it.”  Greeley handed the container to Bledsoe.  “We were able to recover this from the body after we performed the initial autopsy.  Some of it’s also from the crime scene.”

“So,” Bledsoe said after taking a quick look at the dust in the container, “what do you make of it?”

“Well,” Greeley said pensively pointing to the main wound, “this looks like it was done with a 50 caliber round.”

Greeley leaned in closer to the body, Bledsoe remained where she was.  Greeley looked closer then looked back at Bledsoe, gesturing for her to move in next to where he was.  Bledsoe moved in and tried to hold her breath as much as possible.

“Now this,” Greeley said pointing to what was left of Saunders’ head “is what I can’t understand.  The only thing I’ve seen capable of any tissue damage remotely like this is a hollow-point round.  But,” Greeley continued gesturing to the same area, “I’ve never seen a hollow-point, or anything for that matter, take someone’s head completely off like this.  And, from what I’m told, the head exploded.  There’s nothing I know of that can do that, especially at the distance indicated in Director Andrews’ report.”

Bledsoe never studied medicine when she was at school, but she had picked up on some basic points concerning ballistics.  She knew enough to know that everything Greeley said was right on the money, she continued to observe and listen intently.

“The other thing that bothers me,” Greeley continued, “is the fact that the shell was reduced to dust.”

Greeley grumbled a little, and it was obvious that this topic was a constant source of frustration for him.

“The only possible explanation I can think of is that the bullet used was some kind of exploding round.  But the only time I’ve ever even heard of one of those was when I saw ‘Day of the Jackal.’”

Bledsoe could only look on in confusion and couldn’t suppress a sense of wonder and dismay at who she was dealing with.

“This guy wasn’t only the best shot I’ve ever seen,” Greeley said, “he’s probably also the best equipped.”

“How do you know that dust is from the bullet?” Bledsoe asked.

“I told you we analyzed it,” Greeley said, “and we found traces of gunpowder mixed with whatever the shell is made out of.  If you look closely at it you can see some of the fragments shine.”

Bledsoe took the container and examined its contents.  There were some metal pieces, obviously the remains of the bullet that ended the life of Senator Saunders, but nothing stood out at first glance.  After looking at it for a moment she noticed the metal bits shining in the light.

“Do you have any idea what material this is?” Bledsoe asked holding the container up so that it was between her and Greeley.

“We have no idea what it is,” Greeley answered, “it’s some kind of metal that we’ve never seen before.  It certainly isn’t lead.  All we can determine is that it’s not an alloy, it seems to be composed of a single element.”

“You really have no idea what it is?” Bledsoe asked.

“None whatsoever,” Greeley said with a shrug mingled with genuine frustration.

Bledsoe let her gaze shift downward, looking for any excuse to not look above the Senator’s neck.  That’s when her eyes caught something she hadn’t expected.  She gazed at the senator’s downturned right arm, and saw stained blood surrounding the lower part of it between the tendons of the wrist.

“What’s that?” Bledsoe asked pointing to the area she’d just noticed.

“Oh,” Greeley answered, “I was so wrapped up in the little mystery up here that I forgot to go into the other one.”  He came next to Bledsoe and turned over the Senators’ forearm.

“I have no idea what the element making up the bullet is,” he stated, “but we think it might be composed of some kind of element that causes an adverse effect in the bloodstream.”

“What makes you say that?” Bledsoe asked equally intrigued by the wound on the forearm as she was of the shining metal shards in the container she was still holding.

“Take a look” Greeley invited as he finished turning over the arm.

Bledsoe set down the glass container and walked back to the table.  She let out a slight gasp at the sight that awaited her.  There was a long slash on the forearm that looked like it had been made by a thin, sharp knife.  The slash was bathed in dried blood and Bledsoe couldn’t take her eyes off it.

“There’s blood around it,” Bledsoe observed out loud, “that means it must have occurred around the same time that he died.”

“Exactly,” Greeley replied, “that’s why we’re looking into any kind of element or mineral that could cause disruption in the bloodstream.”

“What was the extent of this wound?” Bledsoe asked after she’d recovered enough from the initial shock.

“Hold his arm like this,” Greeley instructed almost sighing.

Bledsoe nodded and moved to where Greeley was standing and held Saunders’ arm in the same way Greeley had.  Greeley walked back to the desk and picked up a pair of tweezers.  He walked back to the forearm and carefully used the tweezers to move back the flesh around the slash.

Bledsoe noticed that there was a great deal of loose flesh, and that the right forearm was noticeably more defined than the left.  After a few moments Greeley had peeled back all the loose flesh and was now using the tweezers as a pointer.

“You see the flesh here,” he said to Bledsoe earning a nod, “well the only possible answer for this is that sometime after the bullet entered the head some kind of material entered the bloodstream.  Then, after entering the bloodstream, this mineral made an extremely precise cut and slash on this forearm and no other part of the body.  And finally after all that, caused an explosion strong enough to dislocate the adjoining shoulder and send blood shooting out of the slash onto the pavilion floor and the torso region of the victim’s shirt.”

There was a pause between the two of them as Bledsoe processed what Greeley had just said.  She looked at the wound and then over the entire body remembering all that had happened starting with when she’d looked into the haunting blue eyes floating in the darkness.

She took a good long look over the entire body of Senator Saunders, careful to take in every detail and embracing rather than shying away from the more shocking or gruesome aspects of her present task.

“Would you mind holding his arm?” Bledsoe asked Greeley, “I want to take some notes before I leave.”

“Not at all,” Greeley said moving back and deliberately attempting to smoothly brush his hand against Bledsoe’s.  She was so engrossed in her final observations and getting down all the information she could that she didn’t notice Greeley’s clumsy pass.  She was so consumed that she would not allow herself to feel uncomfortable or queasy.

After a few minutes she looked over her notes and the body one last time and decided that she was finished.  She closed the notepad and turned to face Greeley, extending her hand to him.

“Thank you Dr. Greeley,” she said politely, “you’ve been very helpful.”

“My pleasure,” Greeley said fighting off a blush, “if there’s anything else I can help you with,” Greeley handed her a business card, “give me a call.”

“I will,” Bledsoe said taking the card, “thanks again for everything” she added with a smile.

She walked out of the room, fully aware that Greeley would be staring after her.  She was so consumed with all she’d learned and going over what she should do next that she forgot about her gloves.  The gloves getting in the way of her opening the door out of the office brought her back to the present.

She took off the gloves and threw them away in a nearby trash can.  The smell of the substance Greeley had put on her still permeated her senses.

She went to her car and took a moment to clear her mind and think about what her next course of action would be.  She immediately knew that she had to watch the recording again, but this time she would have to watch the shooting itself.

Greeley was motionless in his office, still enjoying the lingering scent of Bledsoe.  He paused for a few moments, then went to the phone in the office and dialed a number.

“Hi,” Greeley said after a few moments, “you told me to let you know if anyone came snooping around…”

Dread mingled with frantic need filled Bledsoe’s mind as she sped off back to her apartment and the ordeal that awaited her there.  She barely noticed the traffic lights and other barriers between her and her destination as she drove.  Once she parked her car she quickly got out and ran back to her apartment, locking the car via remote as she sprinted back.  The pressing need to see the moment she’d been intentionally skipping over consumed her.

She turned on her TV with the disc from the rally still loaded and immediately fast forwarded to just before the shooting.  She let it play at normal speed and waited, oblivious to everything else that was going on except for every move that Senator Saunders made.  Her need to see what happened overpowered the internal stiffening that had previously come to her at that point.

She saw the Senator thank the crowd before seeing the graphic mess that occurred when the assassin’s bullet hit its mark and his head, along with the bullet itself, exploded.  Bledsoe struggled not to close her eyes and watched Saunders, the man who it had been her assignment and sworn duty to protect, fall to the ground.  She broke down inside at the reminder of her failed assignment, and her eyes watered with tears as the complete flood of memories of all that had transpired that night, beginning with the eyes that haunted her thoughts, came back to her.

She continued to watch the disc until it ended.  She couldn’t help a few more tears welling up in her eyes at seeing the moment when the hopes and bright future that Saunders had represented died with him, and remembered that it had been her post that was used to bring that about.

Bledsoe would have been weeping for hours, but she knew she had to be tougher than that.  After taking a moment to regain her composure, she backed the disc up to just before the shooting.

This time, she focused all her attention on the Senator’s right forearm.  She held her gaze, happy that she had something to focus on besides the gruesome sight of the Senator’s head at the moment of impact, and waited.

After a few seconds, she gasped in surprise as a quick, unnoticeable except for anyone who was watching that specific part, flash visible only at the end of the sleeve emanated.  This was accompanied by a bulge in the sleeve that Bledsoe was certain was the blood splash.  Saunders’ right arm jerking violently as if by some kind of explosion focused only on that limb followed, the ordeal concluded with his body falling to the ground.

Bledsoe moved the disc back to before the shooting, zoomed in as close as she could while still maintaining a view of the forearm, and played it at the slowest possible speed.  Her eyes widened in surprise at what she saw.

The moment the bullet hit Saunders, Bledsoe saw the beginning of the perfectly straight line she’d noticed at Greely’s office materialize just above the heel of his hand between the tendons on the forearm.  Bledsoe saw a grey mist exit through the jacket sleeve before the explosion of blood and arm jerking.  After she could tell that the bizarre show with the forearm had concluded, Bledsoe stopped the disc and stood up.

The expression on her face reflected that Bledsoe had no idea what to think.  She desperately attempted to formulate any explanation for what she’d just seen happen.  Bledsoe’s knowledge of the medical field was limited, but she knew enough to know that what she’d just seen was not normal or even feasible.

She considered taking the disc to Greeley to see what he thought.  Then, she thought of calling Andrews and telling him what she’d seen.  She was so awash in her sea of thought that it took the sound of her window shattering behind her to bring her back to the present.

#novel #action-adventure #fantasy #historical fiction

[deannesen]

Storm Before The Calm

This love between us gives me power. Po-wer, po-wer, po-wer!

The muted song played on a tiny screen hidden under a desk. Sakura's fingers hit the buttons on her Versa handheld in a rapid fire. Her instincts matched every button to every beat. She could her the chime of each synchronized note in her head. Meanwhile, her ears pricked up on the words Ms Limon spouted out.

"That's the end of this chapter, The Fourth Spirit Burst. That will be all today. Remember to take care as you head home."

Sakura hit the last note, relieved another school day was over. Her body was wrecked with boredom and fatigue. She watched her classmates flow out of the classroom as she stuffed her Versa between the books in her schoolbag. Their chatter was white noise to her ears. She paid no attention to it. She only heard her own thoughts running down a list of what to do once she got home. New episodes of game shows, another comic update, and a whole new area to explore in her favourite RPG. Her best friend Angie stretched beside her.

"All the notes I had to take for you," she whined. "You owe me, Sakura."

"No way, it's totally fair."

Her fingers dog-eared a page out of the manga resting on her lap before slipping it back into her bag. She zipped it closed and sat back with Angie. "You were gone last week and I had to take your notes. It was awful."

"I was sick that time!"

Angie's cheeks flamed. Her exaggerated pout and furrowed eyebrows made her laugh. It reminded her of a furious chipmunk.

"I remember. I'm sure your flu made it hard to play Dancing Rave 6000."

The tiny girl opened her mouth to defend, but it closed back in defeat. Sakura knew her too well. She held back a snort and Angie hit her shoulder.

"Biiiiitch."

"Dumbass."

They laughed in unison. Sakura then helped her pack up so they could go back together. Cramming books into Angie's tiny pink satchel was a two person task. Angie arranged her books and papers neatly against each other. She waved a stack of notes in front of her face before slipping it into the bag.

"Look, Ms Limon went on and on about this unit. You'd think it happened to her yesterday with all things she said."

Sakura thought about it, resting her head on her arm. Her gaze lingered on the view outside the window. Dark clouds clumped in the sky. A rumble threatened her ears. It hadn't rained for weeks, and now it seemed a storm would come. The spirits were undoubtedly in tune with them. Her skin prickled with cold.

"You know what they say, spirit bursts are like rainy days. We might as well prepare for when it will happen again," she mused. "Still...it could be days or centuries for the next one. We just have to wait and see."

Angie blew a raspberry. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. Her eyes stared at the ceiling. "I know that. I won't lie, I think it would be kind of cool to have something shake things up. I'm tired of the same old, day in, day out," she chuckled bitterly. "With our luck, it'll happen once we're old and wrinkly."

"Yeah, I get it," she mused quietly. "Still, we probably shouldn't wish for things we don't really know about."

"Are you kidding? With all the studying we've done, I think we can qualify as spirits."

They shared a giggle at that. Then came the unmistakable sound of hard objects hitting the roof above them. First it was one clunk after another, but it soon devolved into a flurry. A commotion erupted outside.  Angie shot her a frazzled look. Sakura snapped her gaze back to the window. It was raining white.

They grabbed their bags and rushed outside. A stream of students flowed to see what was going on. Sakura saw Yukika's white bob of hair right at the edge of a pillar. She was still, with her hand out to inspect the falling specks. They elbowed their way around and made it to her.

"What the frick-a-dick is happening?" asked Angie. Yukika held her hand out to them. Small icy orbs nestled in her palm.

"Hail."

"Damn," said Sakura. She leaned forward to take a closer look. They were big for such an unexpected onslaught. She poked one of them and her skin hissed at the near-frostbite. She swept them off Yukika’s hand to let them fall to the ground. "Who would have thought. How are we gonna get home?"

Yukika took out an umbrella that was in her bag's pocket. She opened it up and it fluttered open to barely cover one head. She held the umbrella out to check. The hail bounced off upon contact. They looked at her blankly.

"I'll call my dad," said Angie. "Hopefully he pick us up soon."

"Good idea."

They went down the stairs. The sea of students made it hard to keep their balance while moving around. Angie and Sakura managed to squeeze through tiny spaces, however Yukika had a harder time slipping through. The good thing was that she could shove people away very easily. Sakura heard speculations and whispers of why a hailstorm was happening in the middle of April. The anxiety was making it harder to keep steady. She nearly slipped a few times on melted hail that people dropped.

She didn't have the faintest idea. Angie would have said it was a perfectly scientific reason, but the energy in the air told her otherwise. It might have been unstable winter spirits lurking in springtime. Or perhaps cloud spirits holding onto the cold. Why, she couldn't guess.

They managed to make it to the back gate with only dirty stares in return. Sakura leaned against the wall. Her heartbeat thrummed along with the hail. It sounded as if it had slowed after the initial flurry. The hail falling was now smaller than what Yukika showed them. Hopefully it meant that the journey home wouldn't be as much of a spectacle.

Angie tapped away at her phone. She held it up to her ear.

"Hey dad. Can you pick us up? Yeah, it just started raining hail - I know right? Wait, Mr Oman said what? That's so typical of him-"

Sakura tuned Angie out as she started to gossip with her dad. The anxiety in the air made her heart clench. She closed her eyes, leaning against the wall. Thump, thump thump, thump. Yukika put her hand on her shoulder. It was cool to the touch.

"Are you okay?" she whispered.

"Yeah," replied Sakura.  A breeze blew past her ear. She caught a whisper of fear. Her forehead warmed up. A malicious smile glinted in her mind. She steeled herself and opened her eyes. Yukika looked troubled. Angie walked towards them, slipping her phone in her pocket.

"He should be here soon. Sound good?"

She nodded. They sat down at a bench to wait, watching the hail slowly cease falling. Sakura did her mathematics homework in the meantime, letting numbers blur her thoughts. Graphite clashed on the thin sheets. She never liked the defined numbers and answers laid out for her. It was so stiffening, so rigid. Her brain was boxed in with the formulas circling inside. The numbers dancing on the paper nearly lulled to her sleep with the cold gale.

What's the total surface area of the dome? Perimeter x height x slant height... wait, no.. dome... circular.... sphere... dome.. not pyramid... dome.... dome...

In a sleepy haze, the equations floated around her consciousness. Her pencil lined down the page again and again, barely keeping her awake. She was only on question number three. She couldn't sleep yet.

Hmm, dome, dome...

Don't.

Dome.....

Don't. Don't.

DON'T GIVE IN. THEY'RE COMING.

"Sakura."

A hand clamped down onto her shoulder. She jolted back awake. Yukika was looking at her. She was standing up with her schoolbag hanging off her elbow. There was an ambiguous look in her eyes. Her foggy mind could hardly register her.

"Come on, let's go home."

She stood up, rubbing her eyes. A yawn stretched her mouth. She rubbed her eyes again. How long had it been? Angie was nowhere to be seen. She looked up at the grey sky. There was no more hail falling, but the cold air was biting her skin.

"I'll take your bag, you're still tired," Yukika decided. She shook her head, but Yukika was already walking ahead of her to the gate. She sighed and followed.

The door of the car awaiting them was wide open. A blast of warm air greeted her as she saddled up next to Angie, who was already preoccupied with texting her virtual boyfriend. Yukika closed the car door and the car lurched off. Her dad smiled at them in the rear view mirror. He passed a lot of his traits onto his daughter, skinny with an oval face and slant eyes.

"Thanks for picking us up, Dad," said Angie without looking up from her phone.

"No problem kiddos," he said. "Scary that a hailstorm happened out of nowhere, are you all alright?"

They all nodded. She leaned back in her seat. It was weird being in the middle, strapping on the seat belt. Yukika looked outside the window. Angie leaned on her shoulder. She looked down at her feet. Her ears picked up on interesting words bouncing off the radio.

Reports say that an increase of spirit disturbances have occurred nationwide. Citizens are advised to check the spirit forecasts and leave weekly offerings to their local shrines. The Spiritual Union of the Nation -

Angie's dad changed the station a few times and settled on one playing a mindless pop song. The words slurred together after she figured it wasn't one she liked. She took out her Versa. She tapped at a notification that popped up.

DEFCON ZERO

The page was a black screen with her sign-in details in pale green text. A slashed white eye stood as a logo above it. She tapped to sign in.

User : TinyThunder / Server : 03 - Creation

When your body is at your weakest, your spirit burns brightest.

Enter combat?

Stage 125. Recommended level : 70. Your level : 55. Proceed?

She looked at her setup of low leveled units. The map was a rough terrain with a gigantic boss. She could make it. Determination pulsed through her fingertips.

Yes.

Hlíf, the unit on the first defense line nearly died at the opening boss strike. She stood her ground, knowing the opening move was greater than its following attacks. The damage gave her enough power to unleash her ultimate move early on.

Unstoppable Shield!

She charged forward, knocking enemies down with her infallible shield. Her remaining strength was focused into running as far as she could. She coughed up blood onto her armor. In her final sprint, she crashed into the boss giant and fired her gun five times. An ally plane picked up her body before she fell.

The second defense line rose to tank the next hits. Blood Moon stood by as a medic, streaming enchanted blood to heal each wound. A mage team descended, breaking down the enemy defenses bit by bit.

Defenders blocked the line. Nimble melee soldiers dodged blows, swinging their weapons despite gashes where their defenses failed. The enemies fired heavy ammunition and cut with mighty swords. In their bloody fight, the defenses were close to falling. Seeing the opportunity, Rasputin rose his hands to the sky and unleashed his powers. Seeing the signal, a firework of skills illuminated the battlefield.

Death Dance.

Rasputin levitated above the ground. Icicles fired from his hands and planted themselves into the heart of the giant. It roared in pain. Every mage in his range felt their powers heighten. They directed their magic towards melting the remaining advancers. One by one, fighters fell, but not without taking several enemies with them. Rasputin encased the enemy in ice and delivered a final blow. It exploded, and he fell to the ground, surrounded by the dead army. The mages ended their assault, breathing heavily.

VICTORY.

She sighed in relief. Her muscles relaxed from being tightened with anxiety. The car was slowing down.

"Hell yeah."

"Nice work," said Angie. She gave her a teasing grin and punched her shoulder. "Wish I had Rasputin. You're lucky."

"Wasn't easy with you staring over my shoulder," she shrugged. The car stopped. She looked out and saw her familiar driveway with her mother's car gone. "Great timing."

Yukika opened the door and got out. The evening air was warm and inviting. Sakura breathed it all in.  She stepped out of the car and waved to Angie's dad. Angie shut the door and waved as well.

"Thanks for the ride, Mr. Allende."

"You're welcome. Take care."

They drove off. Sakura watched the car disappear from the lane, the silver polish glinting in the waning sun. It was nice to have a different ride back home. She turned and saw Yukika staring at her phone. There was a frown on her face.

"Akira messaged me to come home."

She cocked her head to the side curiously.

"Will you be staying the night?"

Yukika tucked her phone into her pocket. She smiled to her. It was unnatural to see Yukika smile with that grimace still in her eyes.

"There's nothing she can do to stop me," she said, steel in her voice.

She believed Yukika's words. She didn't want to ask any more about it. There was always bitterness in her when her mother was involved. She held out her hand to take her schoolbag. Yukika gave it to her, but didn't give her own bag. She walked away, her back straight.

Sakura opened and closed the gate behind her. She arranged her shoes on the shoe rack before jiggling the doorknob and finding it unlocked. The door was opened.

She looked up and sighed as she saw their old babysitter, Cleeve, standing as tall as ever. She smiled down at her. Her warm green eyes were comforting to see. She ushered her in. Everything in the house was spick and span. Even her comfy cushions were angled against the couch. A delicious aroma of cauliflower rice wafted from the kitchen. Her stomach rumbled.

"Sounds like you're hungry. Want an early dinner?" Cleeve offered.

"Don't have to tell me twice," Sakura said, rushing into the kitchen. Her socks almost made her slip on the tile floor. Cleeve caught her in her muscly arms and she chuckled sheepishly. Cleeve had bulked up since the last time they saw each other. "Oh, um, also, what are you doing here?"

Cleeve set the table. She placed down the nicest plates in the house and the shiniest forks and spoons. Sakura pulled out a chair. By the time she sat down, Cleeve had already spooned a hefty serving onto her plate.

"Your mother heard about what happened, so she called me to make sure you guys were okay."

She put down a cold glass of lemonade before sitting down opposite her. She had a small plate of rice and a glass of water. Sakura dug into the food, chewing quickly to speak again. Spices and tastes in her mouth danced as well as she remembered. Cleeve shook her head in amusement.

"She worries too much. News travels fast, huh?"

"That's a mother's job. But where's Yuki?"

"Her dearest mummykins called." Her spoon pointed next door. She forked another bite into her mouth. The rice was rapidly disappearing from her plate.  Cleeve nodded in understanding. She wolfed down the rest of the plate while and washed it down with the lemonade. Cleeve nibbled down at her serving, seemingly thinking of something. "Great as always, Cleeve."

She slid back her chair. Her dishes were loaded into the dishwasher. She grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.  She flicked the channels. There was a new show to catch, Replica. She heard the critics were raving about the young actress Reese Choi. She huffed. Talent was never equally distributed, it seems. She pressed 'record' so she wouldn't miss it.

Sakura rushed up to her bedroom. She shut her door with a satisfying thump. She took off her vest, tie and socks. Her bag was flung to the side. The light  from her window was quickly fading away. She jumped onto her bed. The fluffy mattress embraced her tired body. A bout of sleepiness overcame her. It had been a tiring day. She could afford a nap.

#writing #beta reader #era:entropy

[xoexoxhoe]

On The Hill

A/N: This is LITERALLY one of the most interesting things i’ve ever read. My Co wrote this based off of her love for political angst/dramas, and honestly, it’s really good guys, TOTALLY WORTH THE READ. We hope you enjoy this little piece by Momo (@sailor-baek )

Characters: Park Seonghwa (ATEEZ) & Reader (Y/N), featuring another ATEEZ member! 

Theme: Political AU, angst, love affair, political drama 

Nothing comes easy when you work for the President of the United States. Especially when it involves Park Seonghwa. 

💥Warning: Angst💥

The processional march was colorful noise in your ears as you followed closely behind the big man. It got older every time you heard it, which was, quite regrettably, every first Friday of the month. Really, anything would be better than the obnoxious blaring of-what was it? An oboe? You had no idea but it sure didn’t sound like the Chopin Nocturne op.9 no.2 you had to turn on every night to sleep.

“You’re doing it again.”

You didn’t even remember getting on the floor, a communications intern behind the press caucus chuckled. Carrie Ann. George Washington University undergrad and poli-sci masters at the good ‘ole Harvard. You made a mental note to fire the little shit as soon as this thing was over. Your attention turned to the man, still waiting for a complete introduction at the podium.

“Doing what, sir?”

“That frown thing with your eyebrows. You’re gonna get wrinkles, Y/N. What was that cream thing you use? You better stock up before Big Pharma gets their hands on the patent or I’ll have to call you...what is that new movie with Oprah?”

“A Wrinkle In Time, sir.”

“Yes, that one! A wrinkle-”

“It’s a childrens movie; nothing to do with premature aging, sir.”

A little huff escaped his lips and a slight tug appeared on yours. The press secretary was clapping now signaling for your boss to give his address.

“I’m sure your daughter will be happy to watch it with you tonight. Mr. President, you’re up.”

“Ah yes, it appears so.”

You watched as he made his way up to the center; flurries of camera flashes turning the west wing corridor into a light show. This is the time when you would check out. His speech was solid, you had looked it over yourself the hour prior. Today, however, there was a particular bump in your paved smooth travel down the hill. A rather large bump, by the name of Park Seonghwa. He was standing to the right behind his Prime Minister with the cheekiest smile plastered across his face. Bilateral economic relations didn’t warrant this kind of happiness, it oozed off of him like fucking honey. You had heard your greenies gushing over him earlier that day. The hot speech writer from the embassy. Why was he even here? Stupid question, you knew it was because he was Prime Minister Cho’s nephew. Nepotism at its finest. You had to use that one later. It would definitely sting. When clapping resumed again you made your way to the podium to rally the cameras back into the hall.

“Coverage of the reception will be permitted. I’ll have the details sent over via secure line. Until then please wait in the briefing room for further instruction. Thank you, everyone.”

You turned the corner still trying to shake that stupid smile from your mind when Carrie Ann caught your eye at the coffee corner. Before you could stalk all the way over, someone called your name.

“Ms. Chief of Staff...sir?”

God, you had forgotten your interns had project due today. “One sec, hun.”

You pivoted straight into a paper cup of coffee. “You look like you wanted to, um, talk to me.”

“Carrie Ann, do I amuse you.” The cup was warm in your hand now; sickly sweet aromas filling your nose. A little sip of the searing liquid confirmed your suspicion, too much liquid sugar. The poor girl had gone white.

“More specifically, my face-does it...does it make you want to laugh in a room of every major news outlet in the Pacific?”

“No ma’am, I didn’t mean to-”

“But you did.” You took a longer sip and gave her one last canvas before turning back to the little crowd that had gathered. “This coffee is wonderful by the way. Just a little suggestion, though; go easy on sweetener. You’ll need to remember that when you start at the local Starbucks.” You relished the gasps all the way to your office. It wasn’t until someone cleared their throat that you remembered you weren’t alone.

“Shitty morning, my greenies. Tell me something that won’t make me want to throw you off of the east wing balcony.” A lazy finger point at the intern that had tapped your shoulder earlier opened a flood of updates.

“The KORUS coverage just hit air and it’s already trending on Twitter and Facebook.”

“Washington Governor Townsend has agreed to the state park expansion plans in Olympia; we should have the contractors’ bids on your desk no later than noon.”

“The writer guy is waiting in your blue room, ma’am. Said he has an appointment.”

Messy papers were strewn all over your desk; draft bills for POTUS to look over and countless testimony from the bane of your existence that was the municipal aide fund. You didn’t even look up. “I know plenty of writers, Joshua, you need to be more specific.”

“The hot one, ma’am. Tall, Korean, windswept hair look-”

“You need not go on, dear, this is the White House, not a middle school cafeteria. Send him in.”

The group trudged to the door. “Wait. I want all of you to finish up those Arbor Day submissions from the kindergartners. Pick a winner too.”

“The criteria, ma’am?”

“I don’t know, pick one that colored the trees unrealistic colors. I support impressionism and nothing says ‘Happy Tree Day! Thank you for the oxygen!’ more than a purple ficus.”

“Got it, ma’am, purple ficus.” You shoo-ed them off with the hope that the president would get a chuckle from handing a five-year-old artist a certificate for a periwinkle disaster on national television.

“That girl from earlier. I passed her crying on the way here; such a harsh way to be let go.”

You scoffed, “I might just call secret service to drag her out. Why are you here, Mr. Park? You didn’t have an appointment.”

Seonghwa sauntered to your desk, unbuttoning his suit jacket while easing onto the varnished oak and cocking his head to the side, “Hm…” he grabbed the bow cascading down your blouse, rolling the silk in his fingers, “I never imagined something so frilly on someone so…”

“So what?”

He glared down at you, dropping the bow and retracting his fingers, grabbing the pocket square out of his suit, “So… disdainful.”

You smiled unevenly, “Sometimes I wonder where you learn words like this, but then I remember you went to college here and I can’t one up you with pretentious vocabulary.”

A smile spread across his face, “Do you want it in Korean? 경멸적인.”

“Why should I respect you, Seonghwa? I’m the White House Chief of Staff; not the eager college girl that gets you a cream cheese bagel in the morning.”

The way he got under your skin was criminal. Bad enough that he still hadn’t answered your initial question. What was the question? You were getting too old for this. “Your speech on NATO was cute; Prime Minister Cho did well for the press.”

“Did you like it?”

“Oh, I did. In fact I have a particular word in mind to describe it.”

“What would that be?”

“쓰레기.”

“Ah! She knows Korean now; such a dynamic personality.” His index finger tapped against his palm, “First off, we have a condescending Chief of Staff, who, with no mercy or remorse, loves to fire her perky college interns. Second, she must be achingly smart because she dragged my Korean speech-”

“I’ll stop you right there. Perky? Not exactly the word I’d use to-”

Seonghwa stood, readjusting his suit, “Let me finish, Y/N. Finally, for someone so beautiful, you sure do have a terrible temper.”

“You came here to be an asshole; is that it?”

“Takes one to know one, ma’am.”

“You’re the one that called it a dynamic personality.”

He paused, clasping his hands together, “I simply came to ask if I’d be seeing you at the party tonight.”

“To gawk at your latest arm candy? Don’t count on it.”

◎

The Secretary of Commerce had always rubbed you the wrong way. From the beginning of the appointment, green shadows in his hollow eyes had made his motive clear. Sure, the trade renewal was beneficial to everyone. It was especially so to one certain senior official that had poured half the budget into the Korean subsidiary of a Chinese chemical manufacturer. You weren’t a god, neither was the president. The things that were sacrificed in the name of universal well being wouldn’t keep you up at night. Besides, the geezer talking your ear off had to pay for his estate in Great Barrington somehow. You felt a hand slip around your waist.

“It was a pleasure, Mr. Secretary. Congratulations on the agreement.”

Pulled away without much more than a nod in his direction you turned your attention to your companion. “How did you know I was dying of boredom?”

“Y/N, dear, you wear your heart on your sleeve. It couldn’t have been more obvious if you had screamed ‘insolent plutocrat’ in his face.”  

You gravitated towards the bar and took the cucumber vodka Yunho held out. He was every bit the man your parents had expected; fitting the description a 9 year old you had mapped out and stuck to the fridge. Doctor Jeong Yunho; Chief of surgery at Georgetown, specializing in neurology. How else could you describe Yunho but simply strapping. Heels didn’t challenge his height. His goofy smile never faltered and his bright eyes followed you like a puppy. Walking into any function with him felt like a cold drink laced with ecstasy; only mildly dangerous and the biggest ego booster. He made you feel powerful.   

You leaned in to begin a whisper into his ear.

“My my my, what do we have here?” If Yunho was ecstasy, Seonghwa was the dirtiest mephedrone on the black market. That hand found your waist again. The woody scent on Yunho’s lapel invaded your senses. There came a time every woman had to face the music; you hadn’t wanted it to be tonight.

“Mr. Park, I don’t believe you’ve met my fiancé.”

“Park Seonghwa, right? I’m Yunho, nice to meet you, man.”

The newest patron took his hand, giving it a firm shake. “Likewise, Doctor. I assume congratulations are in order.” You cast a sidewards glance to Yunho who was playing idly with the silver band on his finger. The whole ordeal was suffocating.

“So when’s the big day?” Seonghwa’s eyes were on you now, still full of the morning’s mischief.

“End of June; we’ll make sure to send you an invitation.” You scooted a little closer to Yunho, letting his guarding presence hold you upright. A shrill beep sounded from his breast pocket; one that you had heard many times. He cleared his throat a little and reached for the pager. Duty always called. It didn’t matter even if you had just helped to divert a nuclear crisis. If someone had their head cracked open on an operating table, Dr. Jeong would be there to patch them up. You took a long swig of the sweating cocktail and set it down.

“You should go, honey. It sounds urgent.”

He offered you a sheepish smile. Seonghwa just turned to face the bar, sloshing a drink in his hand.

“Multiple trauma crash on the 95. Baby, I’m sorry.” Yunho lightly grabbed out your hands that re-did the buttons of his suit.

“I of all people know that work is work. Don’t sweat it kid. I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?”

“You’re not coming home?”He met your lips in a chaste kiss.

“I fly to Mumbai first thing in the morning and I still have lots of stuff to do before then.”

Yunho just nodded with understanding and bent down to peck your cheek one last time. “Text me when you land.”

“Will do. Drive safe.” When he was far you heard a snicker come from the side. Rolling your eyes you motioned the bartender over for a refill. It was Bruno tonight. Thank god. He always kept the good stuff on the side for you.

“Work is work, huh?”

“Precisely.”

The brooding man eased towards you slightly, still looking forward. “Are you working me?”

“For what reason would I do that? I have nothing to gain.”

He downed his dark liquid. “We both know that isn’t true.” and with that, he was gone into the crowd of tipsy politicians. Dim chandeliers and the gaudy presentation was suddenly becoming too much. With swift steps you made your way to the president’s table, a pleasant smile plastered on your face.

“Sir, I’m going to head out for the night; lots to do for tomorrow.”

“Of course, Y/N! Send my regards to Yunho on his surgeries. I saw that he left earlier.”

It was that obvious, huh? “I will. Thank you, Mr. President. Congratulations again on the agreement.” With a quick side hug to the misses and last goodbyes, you walked to the back entrance. Your night detail was waiting at the door, purse and coat in hand.

“Evening, ma’am.” You took your purse and got into the car.

“Hello, boys. I’m so ready to sleep.”

“Home, ma’am?”

“Not tonight, Sarge.”

“Of course.”

The ride to the Regis was short. Without much thought you were in your suite; draped in silk and nursing a vintage malt the adorable concierge had given you. And you had tried so hard to not come off as an alcoholic. How disappointing. The door clicked open but you didn’t pay it any attention as you were still enthralled by the itinerary in front of you. A hand pulled the pin out of your makeshift bun sending hair cascading over your shoulders.

“You work too hard, Y/N.”

“I am my work. It runs my life” The humming in your ear made a familiar heat rush to your chest. It flared out down your arms in little tingles.

“This here isn’t work. I think this is something you’re doing all for yourself.”

You reached behind you, bringing lips hard against your own. There was a little cut on the bottom one from a consistent bite the owner was likely not aware of. Sucking on the spot elicited the deepest moan you’d ever heard. Music on par with Nocturne op.9.

“Add selfishness to the qualities of my dynamic personality.”

You turned around in your seat and found a firm grip on your ass pulling you flush against a rattling chest. “He seems like a great guy.”

“Don’t talk about him, Seonghwa.” Stepping off the chair you pushed him towards the bed. He fell onto the plush surface without a sound of protest.

“You definitely have a type. The press would have a field day.”

Settling over the cocky speech writer that had been tugging on the edges of your mind all day was satisfying to say the least. You fit there perfectly; taking everything that was Park Seonghwa in until it made you dizzy. Though not as dizzy as he became when you abused his neck with abandon. You always adored his icy veins threatening to pop in restraint. His hands fumbled at your hip, willing you to move against him. He was too busy getting off to shameless moans of his name in his ear to feel your knee press down hard on his clothed dick.

“If anything gets out to the media, prepare to have this handed over to your uncle on a silver fucking platter.” His breath hitched and you swore the bulge in his pants only grew. You replaced the knee with your hand and used the other to rip open his now wrinkled button down. Your favorite surface. Not as broad as Yunho, but Seonghwa would say the filthiest things to get you to paint trails down his chest until he couldn’t breathe. That’s the difference between your choice of drugs. The most dangerous ones were the most addictive. So when he captured your mouth again, a fresh whimper on his lips, you had no intention of backing up the threat. Seonghwa. Seonghwa. Seonghwa. Pure honey to taste.   

“Please, just fucking ruin me, Y/N.”

“I serve at the pleasure.”  

#park seonghwa angst #park seonghwa smut #ateez political au #ateez #ateez park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #ateez smut #ateez angst #ateez writing #ateez imagine #ateez au #ateez one shot #ateez hongjoong #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho #park seonghwa #writing by momo #sailor baek

[something-in-the-seas]

November 18th, 1968

Ryan proves that he has not learned a thing since Bioshock. 

“Sally can say whatever she wants, just because she was one of the millions born today does not give her authority over me.”

One would think that after nearly ten years of dealing with Andrew Ryan, Jack would be immune to his rants and demands, but his father was exhausting. Truly exhausting. Just attempting to have a simple conversation with him was draining.  He could say the sky was blue and Ryan would then argue that the sky was actually green. Or, he could say that the weather was nice, and Ryan would then complain about how it was too hot or cold for his liking. Nothing ever satisfied him.

Jack supposed it was to be expected given how devoted he was to his beloved city. He put his heart, soul, everything he had into its creation, including his billion-dollar fortune, which, in turn, kept him trapped here; with them. None of his rich buddies in New York cared enough about him, Ryan alienated practically every ally he had there by considering them too ‘simple’ for his grand utopia. Besides, if any of them were as callous he was, they would have laughed him right of the city for daring to ask for a handout. Hell, not even the media cared. When word got around that he had somehow been spotted on the shores of Saratoga Falls after nearly twenty years, the only mention of it was a small paragraph in The National Enquirer. The grand return of the prodigal son was instead a fizzle; unbefitting for the once richest man in America.

 And so, Andrew Ryan was stuck in a small town, full of people he loathed, depending on his ‘greatest disappointment’ to provide for him in his senior years. It was like some twisted purgatory for him, but instead of somehow learning from this and bettering himself as a person, he decided to make everyone as miserable as him. If he couldn’t be happy, no one could.

How very collectivist of him.

“Dad, it’s gonna take five minutes tops,” Jack said as he rubbed his temples. Yep, there was that migraine. “Come on, all she wants is for everyone to be here.”

“Everyone will be here, and when they arrive, they can go to the fridge and take a slice,” Ryan replied with a wave of his hand. “I’m sure there will be plenty left unless your wife sucks them down like the human vacuum cleaner she’s become lately.”

Jack scowled. “You don’t talk about Elizabeth like that, you got me?” he warned, wagging his finger.

And the older man crossed his arms and huffed, as if he were a child being scolded. “General Hospital is almost on, it is the one fulfilling thing I have left in my life, so I demand silence while I watch it.”

“You want to watch your soap opera? Fine, you can watch your soap opera. I’m sure Sally will compromise with you and we can do cake during a commercial break.”

Ryan shook his head. “No, that will not work.”

“What do you mean that won’t work?”

“ABC’s commercials are only thirty-seconds long, I’d miss too much in the time it takes for you to gawk at the cake, snap unnecessary pictures, and harmonize off each other like hyenas in coitus.”

Leta, who had been silent the entire time, cringed at that lovely metaphor. She looked at her father to see what he was going to say next, but frankly he didn’t know how to respond. His blood pressure was sky-rocketing. It was taking everything in him not to lose his patience, which was exactly what his father wanted so he could have the upper-hand.

If Ryan’s stubbornness was genetic, Jack was really going to be in trouble in the next few years with the baby.

Thankfully, what sounded to be a herd of elephants stomping down the steps meant that his two other girls. Sally and Masha, were coming down, and with them, his wife. Finally, a united front. Dealing with Andrew Ryan was a family affair and he desperately needed reinforcements.

Ryan reacted appropriately for a man of his age when cornered by his son, his pregnant daughter-in-law, and three teenage girls. He huffed like a toddler during a tantrum. It was a pitiful sight. For a man who used his wealth and talents to build the most advanced societies ever conceived to get away from welfare to pout in his bathrobe and bunny slippers as he relied on his son to survive must have been humiliating.

But, Andrew Ryan would never admit defeat. That would take away the last shred of dignity he desperately clung onto. From an underwater city full of deranged addicts to soap operas and birthday cake, he’d go down kicking and screaming, never admitting being wrong or pinning the blame on someone else.

Sally’s the first one to speak. Unlike the other girls, who were much more combative and aggressive when it came to ‘debating’ with their grandfather, she had a different approach. “Grandpa, I know you want to watch your show,” she began as she sat on the edge of the kitchen table, playing with one of the straps of her faded, pink denim jumper shorts. “And, of course, your happiness matters. So, we can do cake after your show is over, how does that sound.”

Ryan paused for a moment. His brows furrowed as he put a hand to his chin. Jack was impressed. It was looking as if she had him, a nigh impossible feat. “No.”

“What do you mean no?” Sally, taken aback, asked incredulously.

“What, you can’t spare five minutes of your time to sing?”

“No, I cannot, Elizabeth,” the older man replied matter-of-factly.

Leta, who had been silent since entering the kitchen with Jack, finally chimed in. “You get to watch your show, though? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“After the show is over at nine, it will be my bedtime.”

“Bedtime?” Masha scoffed with a smirk. “What are you? Five?”

“No, it is called aging, Masha!” Ryan snapped, his eyes narrowing at the fifteen-year-old. “And while it may be hard to understand due to your youth and the seemingly infinite energy that comes with it, as people grow old, they get tired earlier. Therefore, they have to go to sleep earlier.”

“Oh, so you’re Benjamin Button, then? Got it, with every passing year, you turn more into a man-child.”

“Very smart, Masha. I’m surprised you knew that reference. I would think it’s too old and complicated for your small, feeble mind, unlike, say The Beatles high on whatever brain-frying drugs they take to spew their bolshevik propaganda garbage-”

Elizabeth put her hands on her hips. “Sally’s willing to hold off and wait until your show is over, and here you are, doing what you always do: being selfish and inconsiderate of everyone else around you!” Her lips pursed. “One day. That’s all we were hoping for. One day of you just going with the flow and not arguing-”

“Well, then let’s just do cake now then!”

“We’re waiting for Janice and Rosie! I want everybody here so we can all do this as a family!” Sally said, though her sweet facade was beginning to crack and show a hint of annoyance.

“And there will be plenty of cake left for them when they are here!”

The stress-induced migraine Jack had finally reached its boiling point. He was putting his foot down, figuratively and literally. He pressed his finger into his father’s chest. “You’re doing cake with us no matter what time we do it, and that’s final,” he hissed. “I don’t care if it’s three in the morning, your ass is going to be there.”

“Or what? You’ll drag me out of bed?” Ryan asked, staring down at his son’s much larger finger as if it were a joke. “Frankly, this country may be a husked shell of what it used to be, but I know I am well within my rights to go to bed when I please and you can’t force me to do anything.”

Jack scowled. His index finger poked deeper.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You thought that ten years ago,” the younger man said. “You really want to test that hypothesis again?”

That seemed to change Ryan’s tune. His bemused, smug expression dropped as his brows raised and eyes shot open. He glanced down at the finger jammed into his chest and then back up at his son’s frown for a few seconds before slowly brushing away his hand. “I see, you have made your point.”

“I know what’s going on.” Masha chortled, nudging at Leta with her elbow. “He doesn’t want to meet Janice’s new boy-toy, Daniel-”

“David,” Elizabeth corrected.

“Yeah, sure, David,” Masha continued, rolling her eyes. “Why else would he want to do cake now and run up to bed with his tail between his legs?”

“I’m not running with my tail between my legs. As I recall, I am not a dog, but a human being, Masha, and human beings do not have tails-”

“Oh, shut the fuck up-”

“Hold on, this is what the problem is?” Jack put his hand up, silencing everyone. Now it was all starting to make sense. “Janice’s boyfriend? Really?”

Ryan crossed his arms. “You know how these college kids are today! They all fall into the collectivist group mentality and are pumped out by schools to hate the free market! The very same system that has given their mommy and daddy wealth and the cushy, comfortable life they have!” He turned his head away and huffed. “Especially in California, the breeding ground of parasitic degenerates like those goddamn hippies.”

“You haven’t even met the kid and you’re already got him out to be a bum!” Jack cried.

“Oh, but I have heard plenty about him! He’s from California! I bet he’s ‘free-spirited.’ A real ‘bohemian.’” Ryan said with finger quotes. “The last thing we need is her bringing a hippie into the house. They don’t bathe because they believe all the water on Earth is going to magically dissipate, so they roll around in their own filth. Like bringing a farm animal into your home.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Janice wouldn’t date a slob, Andrew.”

“You don’t know what that college has done to her! It’s changing her!”

“Whatever you say.” Jack shook his head. “Listen, they’re going to be home in the next ten minutes so I’m expecting you to be on your best behavior-”

Ryan was flabbergasted. “I am not a child, son-”

“Then stop acting like one,” he replied as the group began to disperse. “You’re going to be there for cake and you’re going to be nothing but polite to David. End of discussion.”

“Now, wait a minute-”

Jack wrapped his arm around his wife and led her out of the room, but not before waving his hand, his back turned away from his father. “No, no, this discussion is over.”

And before Ryan could open his mouth again to argue, he was alone in the kitchen. He turned his attention down to the floor, where Spot, the nine-week-old Australian Shepherd laid, completely exhausted from barking at a beetle an hour prior. The puppy blinked at him.

“I’ll tell you this,” he said. “I’m not shaking that parasite’s hand. I’d rather not risk getting the bubonic plague, thank you.”

Spot tilted his head. His big ears flopped over. 

“Well, at least you listen.” 

#aftershock #bioshock #andrew ryan #jack wynand #jack ryan #elizabeth comstock #sally ryan #leta ryan #masha lutz #masha ryan #spot #in which Ryan proves to be awful #1968

[troughtonmedia]

What’s going to happen to us?

There’s a vast amount of things that can happen to our world and it’s based on the decisions we make.  It’s like one of the Goosebump books you read as a kid that has alternative scenarios.  Pre School, Kindergarten, Elementary School, Middle School, High School, College, even Grad School or Law School.  Have you ever thought about how supremely educated our nation actually is?  Any one of our average students would outperform their top performers.  

Where we live in the United States of America is truly the envy of the modern day planet.  This entire scenario with Iran.  It can go really good or can go really bad.  First off, I need to think of my person.  How are my surroundings going to change?  I am too old to draft but if the cause were right I’d fight in a militia.  A militia fights the enemy at home.  After my person is clear I think of the exterior environment; how will things change?  Well, because of this Middle Eastern crisis gas prices are gonna go way up.  Will we have to ration food?  Probably not, America is fat.  

So then what?  Is Iran going to invade our nation with airplanes and cargo ships?  Definitely not this sounds like a War you want to end quickly.  We have been in Afghanistan and Iraq long enough for the youth born Post 9/11 to be over 18.  It’s a cause that’s been around longer than they have.  It is someone else's war.  

The true enemy to mankind right now is straight up demonic possession.  I was once possessed and it resulted onto my father calling 911 where I was taken down by some good officers and sent to the hospital strapped down in an ambulance.  I punched a doctor and got hit with a horse tranquilizer.  The next month wasn’t fun unless you like mental hospitals.  This was 2010 the same year I graduated with no future.  

I share that story because I believe it can help people.  I survived something that several demonically possessed people do not.  While I was in the hospital Jared Loughner tried to assassinate Gabby Giffords.  I believe he was possessed himself.  Then James Holmes.  Then Adam Lanza.  Then the night clubs, the outdoor concerts, the festivals, Walmart, really anywhere they think they can get a good shot.  I have been actively seeking peace here with tce070 the ameba virus.  My manifesto has been emailed to half a thousand journalists.  Thousands more were introduced at colleges, churches, and places of business. 

I call it a virus because it has the power to destroy modern day society.  Or at least the parts we don’t like.  Bureaucracy is up there for me.  I did not need to learn everything I did to accomplish what I need to do.  I think school should be teaching more trade jobs.  A business only needs so many salesmen and women.  The driver who drops off the commissary at the place I work makes over $100,000 working 4 days on 3 days off and he even drives up to Tahoe.  Delivering pizzas is no way to make a living but I’ve been trying to make it work the past couple years.  So what’s going to happen to us?  

I know aliens exist because I’ve had some paranormal experiences with them.  I’ve always seen them as the end of human kinds evolution.  The only way for them to survive the end of the universe is to go back in time.  They go about their business and we go about ours and boy is it fucked up right now.  A Boeing 737 went down in the already delusional boundary lines of Iran.  I saw it on video.  170 people perished and a whole mess more are waiting their turns.  I’m getting scared not just for my own life, but for people I know and their families as well but a mass amount of change is about to happen and it’s holding up like the Hoover Dam.  2020 could be the year everything changes.

#Life