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corpsebasil · 3 years

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Easily Replaced | part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

Kaz Rietveld didn't need a reason.

You knew this, of course, as you always had, but it was most clear the day you, Jordie, and Kaz stepped foot into Ketterdam. The two brothers were, as long as you’d known them, ambitious. Ketterdam would fuel that ambition.

"For you, Sankta." Jordie Rietveld laughed, and covered your eyes with his hands.

He was thirteen—much too old for you, as you were only eight, and though you were teased back in southern Kerch for hanging around with him so much Jordie was something like a brother to you. Your own parents were gone—your mother a woman who died too young and your father a mystery.

"I thought you were getting me food." Kaz scoffed, plucking the wrapped omelette out of your hands before you even had a moment to see it.

"Kaz!" You shrieked as you tore out of Jordie's grasp, lunging for the food, but Kaz simply laughed in return, looping his arm around your shoulders and tugging you along, sharing the omelette between them.

The omelette stands in Ketterdam were Kaz and your favorites.

"(Y/N), wait." Jordie called and you paused, turning to glance over at him. His expression was wide and happy—the happiest he'd been in a long time, since he and Kaz's father had died. "Welcome home." He said, and you smiled.

"WAIT!" You yelped, lurching into sitting position so fast your head spun.

He was there, you thought, still blinking away the image of Jordie from behind your eyes.

Your heart raced and your eyes stung as you stood, scanning the streets several stories below you. You’d fallen asleep on the window pane after sneaking into your room at the Slat—if Kaz wanted you gone that night, you’d be gone by morning just to spite him. If only so you had more time to snoop around.

You weren’t expecting the dreams again.

You wiped your hands over your face and sighed, blinking away the remnants of sleep and forcing Jordie to the back of your mind. Jordie Rietveld would always stay in the very back of your mind, in the dregs; you’d think about him only during your last breath, and wouldn't let yourself do it one moment before then.

You crept out of your room and glanced around its interior once more, hefting your satchel over your shoulder. You’d miss this place—you’d miss Ketterdam, but if leaving helped keep certain memories at bay and kept a certain someone from bashing your head in it was worth the risk.

Your feet were silent when you finally dropped to the streets outside and ran, taking back-ally's and fire-escapes and rooftops as you traveled across Ketterdam on a route few knew. Your mask was pulled up and your hood rippled behind you, your shape merely a black speck against the moonless sky.

When you reached the Crow Club you ducked the guards and snuck through a window at the top. If there was anything to be known about the heist for one million kruge the Dregs had been murmuring about, Kaz would know about it. And if you were anything you were vengeful, and you’d get that prize to earn your freedom or you’d die trying.

"The Orchid isn't Dime Lions turf." Kaz's rock salt voice reached you and you paused, one foot sinking into the plush carpet of your old friend's office.

"Well, it's a new acquisition." Another voice purred, and your blood ran cold.

You knew that voice.

That voice had haunted you for years.

"You heard it here first." The voice continued, and you dropped into a crouch, tugging your hood over your head as you crept towards the office.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

Kaz was being held on his knees by a nondescript man with a sneer on his face while Pekka, Pekka Rollins, clutched Kaz's cane like he owned it. Your stomach rolled as you took in Pekka's face and you barely stopped yourself from gagging.

It was him.

It was the man who killed Jordie.

"Now, I know you saw Dreesen," Pekka continued, oblivious to the assassin hardly ten feet away who was contemplating his inevitable death. "You got the jump on whatever job he has. I don't know the details...obviously, just that you have a little travel hazard ahead of you. So. Here's the deal: you can do nothing—walk away from it. I'll tell Dreesen I'm taking over for you." He paused, a cruel smile on his face. "Then we're even."

"Not even close—" Kaz began, and you tensed. You knew the man holding him, touching him, was causing him agony.

You had to stop it. You had decided long ago that Pekka Rollins' death would be slow. You could make it last for hours—could make blades sing until he was nothing left but a scrap on a table, but something fast might have to do.

"The other option is..." Pekka began, leaning forward to press the beak of Kaz's cane against his jugular, and you lunged. "I'll cave your head in with your own—"

"Let go of him." You snarled and, quick as an asp, had one of your many blades nestled dangerously against Pekka's throat.

Kaz let out a sharp breath and tensed as the man holding him pulled out a gun, pressing it to his temple to balance the odds.

"Sankta Riipka," Pekka mused, seemingly unaffected by the knife against his neck. "it's nice to finally make your aqu—"

"Shut up, pig." You spat and dug the blade in deeper, your eyes snapping up to the man next to Kaz. You felt steel against your head and froze—

—you’d forgotten about the other member of Pekka's trio.

"By the time you kill me," Pekka began, oozing calm that made to your blood boil, "my friend here will shoot your friend. And then you." He made to twist in his chair and you tightened your grip, stilling him. You knew you were drawing blood. "You ought to make the wise decision here, Riipka."

"Let him go." You repeated, heart pounding violently, refusing to look at Kaz even as you felt the gun against the back of your head push harder. "Let him go or I swear on all Saints I'll slit your throat right here."

The room was quiet for several beats before the man holding Kaz shoved him, knocking your friend—was he your friend?—to the floor. You made no move to remove the knife—your chest was tight and your breathing uneven. Jordie's face was flashing behind your eyes and this moment, this moment, killing Pekka, was what you had been waiting for.

You could do it.

Why couldn't you do it?

You could—

"Stop." Kaz breathed and you froze, meeting his stare. His face was serious but his eyes—they were filled with pain. "Just stop."

"You should listen to Mr. Brekker." Pekka crooned and your gritted your teeth, biting back a snarl as you removed the knife and swung, knocking the gun out of the man behind you’s hands.

He threw his arms up and froze but Pekka simply laughed, eyeing you like you were a monkey at a circus. You felt small and, for the first time in a long time, like you were eight years old again, sweating with a burning illness and being sheltered by a widow who had no kids of her own.

You felt like you were eight years old, managing to survive the plague and stumbling down to the docks, half-drunk with a barely broken fever and finding Kaz laying drenched in sea-water on a dock, screaming at you in agony.

It was Pekka's fault.

It was all his—

"No one has to die today, Riipka," Pekka smirked at whatever he saw in your eyes and brushed past, chuckling to his accomplices as they left the office and slammed the door behind them.

The room was silent for several moments before you turned, watching Kaz as he stared at the floor, making no move to stand.

"Let me help you—" you began, reaching out to offer a gloved hand but he jolted, deer-in-headlight-eyes flashing to yours.

"Don't touch me." He snapped, face flushing, and the knot in your throat threatened to burst.

He pushed himself awkwardly to his feet and scrambled for his cane, one hand absently on his leg as he winced. It was terrible to watch—he was strong all the time, and so serious but this...

...this was him broken. And you weren’t sure if you could handle seeing it.

"I should've killed him," you started over, hands trembling as you resisted the urge to reach out to him. You didn't know if you wanted to help or if you just wanted, needed, his touch. "I should've—"

"You should've been gone by now." He swallowed roughly as his cane hit the floor with a thud, eyes snapping back to yours. "I had it handled. We all could've died tonight because of—"

"Don't you dare blame me for—"

"Well if you had just left when I asked—"

"I'm not leaving you!" You shrieked, yanking off your mask and hood so that you could breathe better. "You can boss me around and yell at me and treat me like Jordie was my fault all you want but—"

"I don't think that," he interrupted, his face stricken as he stared at you. "Saints, (Y/N)." You were silent for a moment, both breathing heavily, before he shook his head and turned away. "If you're not going to leave me alone, at least leave the Club. I can't—" he paused, sighing exasperatedly. "I can't deal with this tonight."

Without waiting for a reply he strode out the door and shut it, locking it behind him so you’d have to leave out the window. You waited for several moments until you were sure he was gone, strode over to the spare couch around the corner and screamed into the pillow until your throat hurt.

@iamnoobmaster69 @emil7y @balmasedas @euphoniumpets @subjecta13-thefangirl @itisroe @thefandomplace @ambrosia-v-black @i-padfoot-things @kaitlyn2907

hiii sorry I know this one was kinda angsty but it’s gonna spice up soon HA

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #wattpad #shadow and bone #six of crows #angst #Ketterdam #kanej #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #freddy carter #Jordie Rietveld

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flis-posts · 3 years

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List of Disney Films

From Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs to our latest box-office smashes, here’s a complete list of Disney films. Click here find out more about all things Disney-from A to Z.

1. 1937: Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (G)

2. 1940: Pinocchio (G)

3. 1940: Fantasia (G)

4. 1941: The Reluctant Dragon

5. 1941: Dumbo (G)

6. 1942: Bambi (G)

7. 1943: Saludos Amigos

8. 1943: Victory Through Air Power

9. 1945: The Three Caballeros (G)

10. 1946: Make Mine Music

11. 1946: Song of the South (G)

12. 1947: Fun and Fancy Free

13. 1948: Melody Time

14. 1949: So Dear to My Heart (G)

15. 1949: The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad (G)

16. 1950: Cinderella (G)

17. 1950: Treasure Island (PG)

18. 1951: Alice in Wonderland (G)

19. 1952: The Story of Robin Hood and His Merrie Men (PG)

20. 1953: Peter Pan (G)

21. 1953: The Sword and the Rose (PG)

22. 1953: The Living Desert

23. 1954: Rob Roy, the Highland Rogue

24. 1954: The Vanishing Prairie

25. 1954: 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (G)

26. 1955: Davy Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier (PG)

27. 1955: Lady and the Tramp (G)

28. 1955: The African Lion

29. 1955: The Littlest Outlaw

30. 1956: The Great Locomotive Chase

31. 1956: Davy Crockett and the River Pirates

32. 1956: Secrets of Life

33. 1956: Westward Ho the Wagons!

34. 1957: Johnny Tremain

35. 1957: Perri (G)

36. 1957: Old Yeller (G)

37. 1958: The Light in the Forest

38. 1958: White Wilderness

39. 1958: Tonka

40. 1959: Sleeping Beauty (G)

41. 1959: The Shaggy Dog (G)

42. 1959: Darby O’Gill and the Little People (G)

43. 1959: Third Man on the Mountain (G)

44. 1960: Toby Tyler, or Ten Weeks with a Circus (G)

45. 1960: Kidnapped

46. 1960: Pollyanna (G)

47. 1960: The Sign of Zorro

48. 1960: Jungle Cat

49. 1960: Ten Who Dared

50. 1960: Swiss Family Robinson (G)

51. 1961: One Hundred and One Dalmatians (G)

52. 1961: The Absent-Minded Professor (G)

53. 1961: The Parent Trap

54. 1961: Nikki, Wild Dog of the North (G)

55. 1961: Greyfriars Bobby

56. 1961: Babes in Toyland

57. 1962: Moon Pilot

58. 1962: Bon Voyage

59. 1962: Big Red

60. 1962: Almost Angels

61. 1962: The Legend of Lobo (G)

62. 1962: In Search of the Castaways (G)

63. 1963: Son of Flubber (G)

64. 1963: Miracle of the White Stallions

65. 1963: Savage Sam

66. 1963: Summer Magic

67. 1963: The Incredible Journey (G)

68. 1963: The Sword in the Stone (G)

69. 1963: The Three Lives of Thomasina (PG)

70. 1964: The Misadventures of Merlin Jones (G)

71. 1964: A Tiger Walks

72. 1964: The Moon-Spinners (PG)

73. 1964: Mary Poppins (G)

74. 1964: Emil and the Detectives

75. 1965: Those Calloways (PG)

76. 1965: The Monkey’s Uncle

77. 1965: That Darn Cat! (G)

78. 1966: The Ugly Dachshund

79. 1966: Lt. Robin Crusoe U.S.N.(G)

80. 1966: The Fighting Prince of Donegal

81. 1966: Follow Me, Boys! (G)

82. 1967: Monkeys, Go Home!

83. 1967: The Adventures of Bullwhip Griffin

84. 1967: The Happiest Millionaire (G)

85. 1967: The Gnome-Mobile (G)

86. 1967: The Jungle Book (G)

87. 1967: Charlie, The Lonesome Cougar

88. 1968: Blackbeard’s Ghost (G)

89. 1968: The One and Only, Genuine, Original Family Band

90. 1968: Never a Dull Moment (G)

91. 1968: The Horse in the Gray Flannel Suit

92. 1969: The Love Bug (G)

93. 1969: Smith!

94. 1969: Rascal

95. 1969: The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes

96. 1970: King of the Grizzlies (G)

97. 1970: The Boatniks (G)

98. 1970: The Aristocats (G)

99. 1971: The Wild Country (G)

100. 1971: The Barefoot Executive (G)

101. 1971: Scandalous John (G)

102. 1971: The $1,000,000 Duck (G)

103. 1971: Bedknobs and Broomsticks (G)

104. 1972: The Biscuit Eater (G)

105. 1972: Napoleon and Samantha (G)

106. 1972: Now You See Him, Now You Don’t (G)

107. 1972: Run, Cougar, Run (G)

108. 1972: Snowball Express (G)

109. 1973: The World’s Greatest Athlete (G)

110. 1973: Charley and the Angel (G)

111. 1973: One Little Indian (G)

112. 1973: Robin Hood (G)

113. 1973: Superdad (G)

114. 1974: Herbie Rides Again (G)

115. 1974: The Bears and I (G)

116. 1974: The Castaway Cowboy (G)

117. 1974: The Island at the Top of the World (G)

118. 1975: The Strongest Man in the World (G)

119. 1975: Escape to Witch Mountain (G)

120. 1975: The Apple Dumpling Gang (G)

121. 1975: One of Our Dinosaurs is Missing (G)

122. 1975: The Best of Walt Disney’s True-Life Adventures (G)

123. 1976: Ride a Wild Pony (G)

124. 1976: No Deposit, No Return (G)

125. 1976: Gus (G)

126. 1976: Treasure of Matecumbe (G)

127. 1976: The Shaggy D.A. (G)

128. 1977: Freaky Friday (G)

129. 1977: The Littlest Horse Thieves (G)

130. 1977: The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh (G)

131. 1977: The Rescuers (G)

132. 1977: Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo (G)

133. 1977: Pete’s Dragon (G)

134. 1978: Candleshoe (G)

135. 1978: Return from Witch Mountain (G)

136. 1978: The Cat from Outer Space (G)

137. 1978: Hot Lead and Cold Feet (G)

138. 1979: The North Avenue Irregulars (G)

139. 1979: The Apple Dumpling Gang Rides Again (G)

140. 1979: Unidentified Flying Oddball (G)

141. 1979: The Black Hole (PG)

142. 1980: Midnight Madness (PG)

143. 1980: The Last Flight of Noah’s Ark (G)

144. 1980: Herbie Goes Bananas (G)

145. 1981: The Devil and Max Devlin (PG)

146. 1981: Amy (G)

147. 1981: The Fox and the Hound (G)

148. 1981: Condorman (PG)

149. 1981: The Watcher in the Woods (PG)

150. 1982: Night Crossing (PG)

151. 1982: Tron (PG)

152. 1982: Tex (PG)

153. 1983: Trenchcoat (PG)

154. 1983: Something Wicked This Way Comes (PG)

155. 1983: Never Cry Wolf (PG)

156. 1984: Splash (Touchstone) (PG)

157. 1984: Tiger Town (G)

158. 1984: Country (Touchstone) (PG)

159. 1985: Baby…Secret of the Lost Legend(Touchstone) (PG)

160. 1985: Return to Oz (PG)

161. 1985: The Black Cauldron (PG)

162. 1985: My Science Project (Touchstone) (PG)

163. 1985: The Journey of Natty Gann (PG)

164. 1985: One Magic Christmas (G)

165. 1986: Down and Out in Beverly Hills (Touchstone) (R)

166. 1886: Off Beat (Touchstone) (R)

167. 1986: Ruthless People (Touchstone) (R)

168. 1986: The Great Mouse Detective (G)

169. 1986: Flight of the Navigator (PG)

170. 1986: Tough Guys (Touchstone) (PG)

171. 1986: The Color of Money (Touchstone) (R)

172. 1987: Outrageous Fortune (Touchstone) (R)

173. 1987: Tin Men (Touchstone) (R)

174. 1987: Ernest Goes to Camp (Touchstone) (PG)

175. 1987: Benji the Hunted (G)

176. 1987: Adventures in Babysitting (Touchstone) (PG-13)

177. 1987: Stakeout (Touchstone) (R)

178. 1987: Can’t Buy Me Love (Touchstone) (PG-13)

179. 1987: Hello Again (Touchstone) (PG)

180. 1987: Three Men and a Baby (Touchstone) (PG)

181. 1987: Good Morning, Vietnam (Touchstone) (R)

182. 1988: Shoot to Kill (Touchstone) (R)

183. 1988: D.O.A. (Touchstone) (R)

184. 1988: Return to Snowy River (PG)

185. 1988: Big Business (Touchstone) (PG)

186. 1988: Who Framed Roger Rabbit (Touchstone) (PG)

187. 1988: Cocktail (Touchstone) (R)

188. 1988: The Rescue (Touchstone) (PG)

189. 1988: Heartbreak Hotel (Touchstone) (PG-13)

190. 1988: The Good Mother (Touchstone) (R)

191. 1988: Ernest Saves Christmas (Touchstone) (PG)

192. 1988: Oliver & Company (G)

193. 1988: Beaches (Touchstone) (PG-13)

194. 1989: Three Fugitives (Touchstone) (PG-13)

195. 1989: New York Stories (Touchstone) (PG)

196. 1989: Disorganized Crime (Touchstone) (R)

197. 1989: Dead Poets Society (Touchstone) (PG)

198. 1989: Honey, I Shrunk the Kids (PG)

199. 1989: Turner & Hooch (Touchstone) (PG)

200. 1989: Cheetah (G)

201. 1989: An Innocent Man (Touchstone) (R)

202. 1989: Gross Anatomy (Touchstone) (PG-13)

203. 1989: The Little Mermaid (G)

204. 1989: Blaze (Touchstone) (R)

205. 1990: Stella (Touchstone) (PG-13)

206. 1990: Where the Heart Is (Touchstone) (R)

207. 1990: Pretty Woman (Touchstone) (R)

208. 1990: Ernest Goes to Jail (Touchstone) (PG)

209. 1990: Spaced Invaders (Touchstone) (PG)

210. 1990: Fire Birds (Touchstone) (PG-13)

211. 1990: Dick Tracy (Touchstone) (PG)

212. 1990: Betsy’s Wedding (Touchstone) (R)

213. 1990: Arachnophobia (Hollywood Pictures) (PG-13)

214. 1990: Ducktales: the Movie, Treasure of the Lost Lamp (Disney Movietoons) (G)

215. 1990: Taking Care of Business (Hollywood Pictures) (R)

216. 1990: Mr. Destiny (Touchstone) (PG-13)

217. 1990: The Rescuers Down Under (G)

218. 1990: Three Men and a Little Lady (Touchstone) (PG)

219. 1990: Green Card (Touchstone) (PG-13)

220. 1991: White Fang (PG)

221. 1991: Run (Hollywood Pictures) (R)

222. 1991: Scenes from a Mall (Touchstone) (R)

223. 1991: Shipwrecked (PG)

224. 1991: The Marrying Man (Hollywood Pictures) (R)

225. 1991: Oscar (Touchstone) (PG)

226. 1991: One Good Cop (Hollywood Pictures) (R)

227. 1991: What About Bob? (Touchstone) (PG)

228. 1991: Wild Hearts Can’t Be Broken (G)

229. 1991: The Rocketeer (PG)

230. 1991: The Doctor (Touchstone) (PG-13)

231. 1991: V. I. Warshawski (Hollywood Pictures) (R)

232. 1991: True Identity (Touchstone) (R)

233. 1991: Paradise (Touchstone) (PG-13)

234. 1991: Deceived (Touchstone) (PG-13)

235. 1991: Ernest Scared Stupid (Touchstone) (PG)

236. 1991: Billy Bathgate (Touchstone) (R)

237. 1991: Beauty and the Beast (G)

238. 1991: Father of the Bride (Touchstone) (PG)

239. 1992: The Hand That Rocks the Cradle (Hollywood Pictures) (R)

240. 1992: Medicine Man (Hollywood Pictures) (PG-13)

241. 1992: Blame It On The Bellboy (Hollywood Pictures) (PG-13)

242. 1992: Noises Off (Touchstone) (PG-13)

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evien-stark · 3 years

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✧I Need You✧ Chapter 200

The last Sunday of the month had invited all the charitable rich to another gaudy event. Having your picture taken as you entered was really the only price worth paying. Six digit donations were nothing to people with deep pockets. They wanted adoration. Acknowledgment of their good deeds for humanity. Rich people were the worst. And you and Tony were as rich as they came. So you would know.

And one thing you certainly knew was how much you absolutely hated these events. The fake smiles, the cheesy laughter, the shows for cameras lined outside an obvious event carpet. Paid paparazzi and news outlets parked every inch of the way. Walking the generous mile (at least it definitely felt that way) into the event where, once safely inside away from all the cameras and microphones, the pretending would stop. They’d preen and dote upon one another and forget the reason for even being there- if they even knew which charity they’d made an appearance for at all. Usually just personal assistants writing out the RSVPs and picking outfits, calling cars, and writing checks.

These people didn’t care about anyone but themselves. ...but money was money.

And money they wouldn’t even notice was gone going to help people that were in definite need was worth something, right? It was worth slugging through these events multiple times a year. It was just rude to send money and not show. No- you were part of the show. So you had to go. Much as you were too busy and too uninterested in being anywhere near this social circle the rich and famous had crafted for themselves. Safe and familiar away from the less fortunate that they were celebrating-

“You alright, honey?” Tony had probably noticed your mean-mugging and glassy eyed stare from across the room as you looked at yourself in the vanity mirror.

That was signal enough that all the fussing about was over. Both hairdresser and makeup artist taking their cue to put on the finishing touches and scurry away. “I’m just tired.” Feeling safe to say this once the two of you were alone in the bedroom again. This was your answer more often these days, which was probably not a great thing.

Standing up, you discarded your robe and went to unzip your overly ritzy dress from its garment bag. While Tony was still half turned away getting himself dressed, you stepped into it. A gorgeous entirely too-expensive dress, as always for something like this. It was black with champagne-gold colored details. A snugly fitted mermaid line with a slightly large train at the bottom. The arms and extremely deep v-line were all sheer mesh, giving the illusion of bareness, gold leaflet details spreading across your collar bones, lining the cups of the dress and the V shape, down over your hips, some across your arms, and many lining the bottom. Perfectly matched, of course, with Tony’s black and exact same champagne-gold tux. Black pants and suit jacket, black button up with a gold waistcoat, pocket square, and bow tie. One he was currently fumbling with. Or pretending to. As he always did. You went to his aid (as you always did), reaching up to tie the fabric to expert perfection. His smile was grateful and warm. “What would I do without you?”

“I shudder to think.” Teasing him a little before you turned opposite him, gently guiding your expensively-done hair forward over your shoulder. “Would you mind?”

The tips of his fingers were warm and soft as he glided them down the length of your exposed back. Turned away, you didn’t mind the flutter of your eyes as they closed. But hiding one expression from him didn’t help- as you breathed out softly, probably in that overly telling way. You could hear his smirk without even having to look at him. “Zipper’s already down. I’m sure you could get out of the rest of it without my help, but… since you asked…”

He went so far as to drift his hands back up and slip them underneath the shoulders of your dress, like he actually might take it off you. You turned your head back and were too amused to make the sentiment as serious as you would have liked. “Tony, stop.”

“Should I?” His brow arched in that high delicate line. “You don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go…” So why not stay here? A question left unasked. Not that it mattered. You just ended up shaking your head. “Well, we have to. It’ll be less trouble that way.” If you paid your charitable entrance fee and then didn’t show, somebody would make a stink about it come tomorrow. And that was just more headache than you needed.

“You say that- and yet-” Protesting, even as he finally acquiesced, hands dropping to pull your zipper up all the way. Practically sealing you into your dress. Maybe locked was the better word.

“Let’s not tempt fate.” All you had to do was get in, take pictures, pretend to be happy talking to any number of people who would bother you that night, maybe drink a glass of wine, have a dance, and then leave. How much trouble could happen between all that?

As you laid your hand on his chest, he put his over yours, just holding you there for a second. His smile then was brief. “You’re right.”

But it was already too late for that.

---

This being the first public event the two of you had attended since letting everyone in on the engagement, Tony seemed to be hamming it up more than usual. Sure, he was a shutterbug and seemed to enjoy posing for cameras (thumbs up, peace signs, grand gesturing as was his way), he was now involving you. And no doubt he’d be looking over the photos that came out of this event in the morning.

He seemed to switch his handedness- usually he’d be throwing up signs with his right, as came natural to him, but now he made every move with his left. Displaying his ring proudly. Making it obvious and clear- look, we’re engaged, this is going to be my wife, I get to be her husband. To say that he was glowing would be putting it mildly. His smiles were more genuine than they’d ever be for something like this.

Because he had you at his side. And he was showing off. While the two of you walked down the outside aisle to the event, he had an arm around your waist. And when you stopped to pose for the cameras, he’d take your hand in his and press a kiss to the back. Yes. Even calling it showing off was putting it mildly. Tony Stark was strutting as a new-fiance. And maybe that made all of this worth it.

But letting your guard down for even a second or believing that the evening was going your way invited trouble. Trouble in the form of a woman in an all white dress storming her way to you. In contrast to your sharp and gorgeous lines she was wearing a billowy frock that seemed a little hard to move around in. You guessed she was going for some angelic vibe.

The second Joy Meachum stopped- not in front of you, but at your side, purposefully so the cameras and press could hear and see the both of you clearly, you held a hand up to her. “Don’t do this here.” Whatever she was planning, whatever she wanted to say, you wanted no part of it. But especially not in front of the hungry press.

Tony’s hand squeezed yours but he maintained a calm and watchful air. Joy just grinned. “Why not? They’ll eat this up. It’s good for business.”

“Not yours, certainly.” Trying to scare her away with a steely-eyed stare. “And unlike you, I’m not a dancing circus monkey. I don’t take pride in putting on a show just for press points.”

This incensed her quite clearly, but underneath that there was a certain wave of fear. Hm. So Joy Meachum was frightened of you. As she should be. But putting on a brave face. “I just wanted to say that I think it’s extremely nasty, what you’re doing. Women like us should prop each other up. There are so few of us in the business. Attacking me-”

“I made a simple statement about the affairs of your business. Nothing I said was untrue, either, by the way. And if it were, you’d have already tried to slap me with a lawsuit. Grandstanding will not pull you out of this hole you’ve put yourself in.” You remained expertly calm, not giving in to this theater she was putting on.

But she just couldn’t help herself. “I know you’re helping the guy going around pretending to be Danny Rand. I think it’s tasteless and some sort of power play for-”

“Please. If I wanted Rand Enterprises I’d have it tomorrow. You’re lucky I don’t want to be associated with the kind of overpriced drugs you sell.” Okay. You were giving in just a little. But she wanted a fight. “Go away now, you’re making a fool out of yourself.”

Her hands went tight into little fists at her side. “You have no idea what I’ve been through to bring this company where it is. I was born into this. I belong here. You just slept your way up.”

The roll of your eyes probably wasn’t dramatic enough. Tony seemed like he had a mind about him to say something but you finally gave him a return squeeze to keep him at bay. You could and would handle this yourself. “You can’t preach to me the merits of friendly business feminism in one breath and then in the very next call me a slut- but- let’s pretend for a second that that’s even true. It at least goes to show how much more work I put into my career than you did with yours. You don’t get credit for falling out of your mother onto a pile of money.” Shock was a bold color on her, and a dozen non-starters escaped from her mouth as she grasped for something to say to that. Instead of letting her attempt to defend herself you finished with, “What matters is what you do with that after the fact, and so far I have seen nothing to indicate you have anything worth being proud of.” With that you gave Tony a little tug and he was quick to your side as the two of you turned. But he did offer her a little wave. “Nice seeing you, Joy.”

The two of you played completely unaffected. Her creepy brother came to her aide, something you saw just out of the corner of your eye, as you and Tony were making your way- finally- to the entrance. He couldn’t help one last hammy action, leaning in to press a dashing kiss to your cheek with a wide smile. You couldn’t help yourself, either, turning the other way to catch him next, raising your left hand to cup his cheek, as you held him there in a brief but full kiss. He found something funny; you knew exactly what. And, as he pulled away, you let him know. “I warned you I’d put her in her place if she tried anything.”

His chuckles seemed to go straight through you. “Yeah. Someone should’ve warned her.”

---

A crowd of asskissers was immediately imminent as soon as you two made your way inside. It was exactly why Tony pressed another kiss to your hand and then let go. “Can I buy you a drink?” You smiled in an amused and fond way. “Now, you wouldn’t be trying to abandon me so that you don’t have to talk to anybody, would you?” He made such a face of hurt. “I would never.” But as the footsteps drew closer… “I’ll call you over from the bar. Then you can escape, too. It’s a good plan.”

Leaning up on tiptoe you pressed a kiss to his cheekbone. “Just a glass of wine, please.”

The usual hemming and hawing came all around you as Tony made a quick exit to the back of the room. For a change, the usual familiars that pretended to care about your life weren’t asking about the next social event they could catch you at- now they were asking for much more intimate details. What is your ring made out of? How much was it worth? When’s the wedding? Where is the wedding? Who will be designing your dress? Do you have an event coordinator yet? Wedding planner? Menu? Bar? It all gave you a headache. All these questions were detached. Completely impersonal despite how they seemed. They were designed for one reason. To ask how much was being spent. As if that was the only mark of love that either Tony or you could impart to each other. Spending money on one another.

They didn’t want to know when he proposed- or when you had. They didn’t want to know why you’d chosen the design of his ring or how he’d chosen yours. They didn’t want to know how long you’d been in love or if you’d always known you were going to get married. They didn’t care about your relationship with him. They cared about the wealth and the fame. The extravagance that should have been a Stark Wedding.

...maybe Tony had been right about eloping all along. Maybe you should have gotten married on that beach in Fiji. The world was waiting for the two of you to say your vows. Not because they cared of their contents but because they all wanted to live vicariously through the both of you. And not for the love or the bond that you shared. Just for a window into the supposed life of luxury. Tony turning from the bar with two drinks in hand was all the excuse you needed to walk away. Which was what you did. Literally. No polite excuse me or I have to go to speak to someone you just… left. Let them call you rude later. Start gossiping about you. What did it matter? Appearances only went so far and you had long since cared about what any of these people had to say about you.

As you met back up with Tony and gratefully took your glass of wine from him, he sipped lightly at his own glass of bourbon and seemed to be watching you. Until, finally, “What did they say now?” Seeming to sense either your upset or just how drained you suddenly were.

For him you managed a smile. “I was just thinking about how almost seven years ago those exact same people refused to believe when I said we’d come to an event together. And now… all they care about is how much money we’re blowing on a wedding.” The art gala at Basel. A lifetime ago. As most things felt these days, looking back. Some of those exact same people that night, in fact, who had laughed and waved you off, offered to stay with you when Tony left without you- and then tried to flirt with him… Now their tunes had changed but only so much. They were still interested in Tony. And his fortune. Maybe, more importantly, what he was doing with it.

You were unwisely already half finished with your glass when Tony’s smile caught you off guard. When you looked up at him questioningly, he held out his opposite hand for you. “Can we dance?”

That’s what you’d asked him that night. In front of all the disbelievers. You’d asked him to whisk you away, not only just to be rid of them but to prove to the world that- yes- Tony Stark loved you of all people. And you loved him. Now, so many years later, you were done doing any sort of proving. You didn’t need to. You didn’t want to.

You recalled the way he looked at you that night, when you’d asked that. And you also remembered him immediately coming to your rescue when he answered- the same way you were now- “Absolutely.”

The both of you finished your drinks. Too quick to be anything other than a mistake. But you weren’t really planning on staying long enough for it to matter. And you had him looking out for you anyway. And you for him.

He escorted you by the hand out to the dance floor where couples were shuffling back and forth, watching people out of the corners of their eyes while a live band played softly. But when the two of you stepped there, when he put his hands at your waist and you laid your arms up along his shoulders and touched your hands along the sides of his neck, they were all watching you. But none of them mattered. All that mattered was the way Tony kept you in time with a gentle sway, the way he was looking at you. Deep, soft brown eyes and loving smile. The way he warmed beneath you. He deserved a little credit. Your hands crept up a little further, touching into the back of his hair as you let the thought out into existence, “The world seems to be waiting for us to throw some big gaudy wedding but… I think maybe you had the right idea all along.” It was dangerous to tell him he was right about anything but…

Ah, what did it matter. Tony knew (and definitely thought) he was right all the time anyway.

His lips curved more into a quiet smirk but there was a sudden light in his eyes. “Had a change of heart? You wanna go sign some papers tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow but… I think I’ll keep putting off planning a wedding. And we’ll just keep being engaged.” Trying to be honest with yourself, and him.

He gave a little shrug. “Not the worst thing in the world. Not my favorite idea, but. Not the worst.”

Finally you looped one arm loosely around him, moving the other down to lay against his chest. Over his heart. “It’s not that I don’t want to.”

“I never suspected that.”

“It’s just… I don’t know when will be the right time. And… I want everyone to be there. That should be there.” Saying this hurt your heart a little. Thor was gone almost all the time. He’d be happy for the two of you, no doubt. But there was also Bruce. Nobody knew his whereabouts. Still. Was it right to just continue living life when he’d been gone for so long? Surely if he was alright he would have made contact by now, wouldn’t he have? Tony and he were so close…

A sure blue formed over Tony then, and that smirk disappeared almost instantly. “Yeah.” Said out on a sigh. “Seems like we’re caught in the middle of conflicting ideologies here.”

Making you realize you both said you may have wanted to just call it quits on a wedding and get married soon and that you wanted to delay until it felt right. Which one was it? It couldn’t be both. “...there’s no rush, right?” Asking him this almost guiltily.

Something that seemed to sadden him. “Of course not. If I made you feel that way-”

“You didn’t.” Assuring him of this quickly, not wanting him to take the blame for your messy feelings.

He stopped moving in time with the music, moving his right hand from your hip so that he could take yours from his chest. Lifting, he pressed a kiss to the back, and then to the side, and then just over your knuckles. “I love you. If you wanted to sign papers tomorrow, we’d go. If you want to wait a few more years to make it official, we will.” Because Tony would do whatever you wanted.

...but…

“What do you want?”

“I want…” He was almost quick into answering this but stopped himself. Seemed like he really wanted to consider this before whipping an answer out. “I want you to be happy.”

This answer was was both satisfying and yet completely unsatisfying. “I want you to be happy, too.”

“You being happy makes me happy.”

This was getting absurd. And when both of you realized that, the smiles and laughter weren’t too far behind. In fact, as his eyes closed with that breathy bout of chuckles, he pressed the rumbling noise against the inside of your palm. It was too much to ask that you didn’t fall apart over him. “I love you, Tony.”

“I love you.” His answer was immediate and genuine. “It’s a wonder anything gets done around here.” The two of you only just realizing, somehow, that you let a lot (if not all) of your actions be guided by the sense of how it would affect one another. How was it then that you didn’t just circle endlessly?

“I think we’re doing alright.”

He leaned in, lips just barely touching yours. “I think so, too.”

---

Another hour slipped by, most of which was filled with one-and-a-half more glasses of wine that was still a mistake and woozy, lovey dancing. You weren’t worried about your consumption of alcohol or what it would do to you because you had Tony with you. But because you had Tony with you, that hour later and some blood alcohol level higher than when you started was pointing you in the direction of home. You wanted to be free from this environment and just be home. With Tony. ...but that wine in your system was also pointing you towards the bathroom. Which would be wise before you got into a car and went back home. So you asked Tony to hold your clutch for you and wait somewhere fairly close. You wouldn’t take long. And you didn’t. ...at least you were sure you hadn’t. Just a quick pee, a reasonable amount of time washing your hands, drying them, getting the little lotions and the… whatever else the bathroom attendant was telling you. The words went in one ear and out the other- and she had a lot of them. It seemed like she just couldn’t stop talking. Politeness eventually ran out and you excused yourself from her presence. Lucky for you your dress had pockets and you were not a fool. Not tipping was one of the worst faux pas one could commit. Especially after running off.

While you were sure you hadn’t been in there too long, Tony was nowhere to be seen when you emerged. Which was strange. And probably also a red flag. You thought he may have gone back to the bar for a quick drink before the two of you called Happy for an escort home- but he wasn’t there either. ...however. You did spot Ward Meachum there. Joy’s weird older brother. Fawning over two glasses of champagne. He had his back mostly turned. And another second later you wouldn’t have cared why or even paid any attention. Except seconds were running a little long for you- and you saw him half turned away- breaking a capsule open over one of the glasses. It was then your duty to keep an eye on him- to warn whatever poor girl he was about to hand that glass to- whomever he was planning on dragging out of here tonight. Surprise, surprise. That girl was apparently you.

He headed one way, looking for you, and then turned in your direction, spotting you. For a moment you felt glued in place. He couldn’t be serious, right? Maybe you hadn’t seen that correctly… maybe your vision was just as impaired as your judgment.

His smile was cold. And his guts were nervous. That told you about all you needed to know. He called your name a few feet before closing the deal. Sticking you in your spot. There against the wall where his figure stood over you. Blocking you from view. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I can’t imagine why.” You tried to be careful and calculating, but your brain was a little mushy. Ward had put something in a drink he seemed like he was about to hand off to you- ...no, that couldn’t be, right? He just… he wouldn’t do that-

“I wanted to apologize for the way my sister acted earlier. She often feels like it’s her against the world, so I hope you didn’t take it too personally.” He was still smiling. You said nothing. Which made him uncomfortable. Maybe it was just the way you were looking at him. “Look- I uh… I know we haven’t spent much time around each other, but I think this whole Danny Rand business is a perfect time to get to know one another.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you seem to be helping him. And I can’t imagine why that is.” He delivered this with such cruelty. Like he had something over you- or at least he soon would.

“Maybe I believe him.” You tried to draw yourself up tall and strong, straightening out your spine, putting a hand on your hip.

“So you admit it.” Like he’d caught you in a trap.

You simply smiled back at him then, something serene. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Maybe not. But I also think you’re not a fool. So I’m having trouble figuring out how this crazy man off the street duped you. You’re at the top of your game. You’re smart. You’re cunning. Yet you’re wasting money on this sham?” It was obvious what he was doing. Trying to butter you up.

Regardless of if everything he was saying was true- and it was. Which was exactly why you weren’t falling for this act.

He took your silence as permission to keep prattling on. “Aren’t you busy? Don’t you have better things to be doing than entertaining psychosis?”

“And what should I be doing with my time?”

“Spending it with me-” He finally held out that glass. “-in a purely professional sense, of course. I’m not a fool to get in between you and Stark. But I think it’s long overdue that Stark Industries and Rand Enterprises had a sit down.”

Ward Meachum was handing you a glass of overly expensive champagne that he’d drugged.

You knew this. You knew this- so you had every defense against it. There was no reason to be frightened of him. But you were. Because he was doing this. In the middle of a party. Where everyone and anyone could see him. He was doing it in a place where Tony was probably not very far away- and if he got caught, he was liable to be murdered. At the very least thrown in jail-

But he was doing it anyway. Because he had every intention of you swallowing that down and then whisking you off somewhere to do god knew what with you. He felt safe. He thought he could get away with it.

...that thought alone was terrifying.

It was why, when you stood there. Stuck. Staring at that glass, he smiled again, and tried to press it into your hand. “That’s a glass of 1914 Moët & Chandon. Figured I’d get something expensive to celebrate our potential partnership.”

With a steady hand you reached out to take that glass, and sensed the writhing satisfaction inside of him. Because he was getting away with this. That was at least until you looked away from that glass, finally, and up at him. “If you seriously drugged this champagne, Danny Rand coming back from the dead will be the least of your problems.” Promising him this. Warning him.

His victory died. Immediately. Instead an icy fright wormed its way through his veins. He quickly took the glass back. “That’s- that’s quite an accusation. I know your other job probably has you paranoid but-”

“What? You thought you’d just get away with that?”

“Get away with what?” Tony had finally reappeared, just behind Ward- and of course, an out of breath Joy was in tow. Tony had probably come looking for you when he’d realized he was being bamboozled. Joy had taken him away so that Ward could come get you.

And- with the safety of Tony there- his protection and… the frightening and mortifying thought that Ward Meachum had had plans to do something with you- you kind of… lost it a little. Your voice raised and your point was just short of frantic. “He just tried to give me drugged champagne.”

Ward was suddenly sweating. “She’s- I think you need to take her home. She’s had one too many.”

Tony’s focus was laser sharp. Dark and intense. And… terribly angry. “Give me the glass.” Demanding. Basically laying down the sudden law. Ward seemed like he might actually do it- as if Tony had powers of authority he just couldn’t deny- but Joy shifted around Tony and then bumped into Ward. Shoving him, more like it. He dropped the glass in an act that was entirely see-through. It shattered on the floor. He then held his hand up. “Ah- we’ll have to get someone to clean that up- come on, Joy…” Trying to make a hasty exit.

The siblings were quick to leave, and Tony stepped forward with a mind to grab Ward. Probably by his collar. Or his throat. But you put your own hand around his arm to stop him. Causing a scene here was probably their plan-B. The problem was, Tony was overwhelmingly furious. And he now had nowhere to put it. “You saw him put something in your drink?” Not asking you because he doubted you. Asking you so that it would give him permission to go after them. And while you didn’t want him to do that- not here, anyway- you nodded. “At the bar. I know I’m a little drunk, but not that drunk. Joy carted you off- and I think they paid off my bathroom attendant, she wouldn’t let me leave.” All in an attempt to isolate you and give Ward enough time to do the deed.

The serious look Tony wore was not one of your favorites. He then crouched down without another word, shifting his arm forward to reveal his watch from underneath his sleeve. He tapped on the front screen, activating it. It was similar to the one he’d given you- the one meant to be an interim defense mechanism while he was still working on your new Reactor. Two plates shifted out from the face. He then dipped his fingers in the liquid pooled on the floor and touched it against the glass sticking out of the left side. “FRIDAY, give me a full compound analysis.”

“Yes, boss.”

People were staring. Tony Stark was practically kneeling on the ballroom floor after Ward and Joy Meachum had run away. With some new shiny gadget activated. What was going on! How exciting!

FRIDAY was quick. “Assuming you’re not looking for the beverage details, but I’ve found-” A small holographic chart beamed to life. “-muscarine and scopolamine. Enough to be fatal about three hours after consumption.”

You didn’t know what those two compounds were. You didn’t really need to. The way Tony’s heart felt like it was twisting told you all you needed to know. It wasn’t that he intended to have you drink that glass and dump you in an alley to die. There were three whole hours before that.

Hours he had probably been planning on filling with-

“Let’s go.” You put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. The way he was looking at you… he wanted you to give him permission to go after Ward, still. In fact he needed it. But you couldn’t let him do that. “...please.”

It took him a moment, and it was only through great strength that he ignored his instincts to throttle the man that had intended to drug you. But finally he stood. His hand found yours in a tight hold. “Why would he do that? And why here?”

“They thought they could get away with it.” That was really the only answer you had. Why else would they? You had threatened their business and propped up a potential king to their throne. They wanted you gone.

But so did everyone else. So they’d have to get in line.

---

The ride home had been quiet but intense. As soon as you’d gotten upstairs into the penthouse, the two of you had sat down on the foyer couch, still in your evening wear. You’d snuggled up to him, legs underneath you, head on his shoulder, and his arm had come around you all the way so that his fingers could sink into your hair and work against your scalp. Dvahli had not waited long to curl up across both your laps. Tony was the braver of the two of you- or perhaps he was just still unable to process that mountain of anger the right way. He had nowhere to put it. Didn’t know what to do with it. “Let’s put a story out to the press tomorrow.” -...and going with paparazzi buzz was certainly not his style.

“They’d eat it up, for sure.” If the Starks accused the Meachums of trying to pump you full of date rape drugs, the entire world would be foaming at the mouth for more, more, more. What a sensational story. ...you didn’t want to deal with all that. You weren’t sure you could. Wouldn’t that paint you as an unwitting victim? Wouldn’t it make it seem like that was possible? It shouldn’t have been… “But. They’re in the middle of a losing battle.”

The breath out of him was tight. “You have eyes on Rand?” He wasn’t really asking if you’d been following up with what he was doing. He was asking if there’d been any sort of progress. Or if it had panned out the way you wanted it to. “No.” Being truthful. After you’d sent him on his way you’d tried not to involve yourself anymore.

“Then how do you know that?” This cut you a little, the way he was just short of accusing you. The feeling must have slithered between you because he was quick to correct himself. “It’s not that I don’t believe you- if you say the guy is Danny Rand, then he is. But look at what they just tried to do to you. Think of what they’ll try to do to him.”

He had an excellent point. As always. “You’re right. But. Danny’s not normal. He’s not going down without a fight.”

You watched as Tony’s opposite hand waved around while he spoke. “Right. Because he’s been palling around with Lando in Cloud City. I remember.” Tony’s annoyance was now mixed with his overwhelming frustration. He was getting sassy. At you. So you sat away from him, unfortunately disturbing Dvahli who made a sad noise over it. But you looked at him. He looked at you. Dvahli looked between the both of you. Tony broke first with a frown. “I’m sorry. I just… what am I supposed to do?”

Asking you this earnestly. He’d just been told that the love of his life had been on the end of a scheme meant to drug her and murder her. What was he supposed to do with everything he was feeling?

Settling again, you turned, putting a hand on Dvahli to comfort her, and then did the same to Tony, holding his face in your other palm. His hand reached up, closing around your wrist. Holding tight to you. “Let’s… think about the alternatives.”

“Let’s not.”

“No, let’s do.” Trying to urge him. He quieted when he sensed your resolve. “Let’s pretend we live in a world where I would have been stupid enough to take even a sip of that champagne. I know Joy had been trying to pull you away, but I also know you were waiting for me. I never would have left with him. You would have stopped us. And you would have realized something was wrong with me. Taken me to the labs. Worked on a way to fix me. Like you always do.”

In this fabricated world where Ward Meachum had gotten away with this, Tony still would have rescued you. You knew this. And you knew he knew it too. This wouldn’t have ended with your shame, your humiliation and degradation and then death. It just wouldn’t have. Because of him.

...but apparently he wasn’t feeling confident enough to buy into this. “What if I hadn’t?” Fixating on the worst possible outcome. Probably because he couldn’t stop himself. “What if I hadn’t seen you coming out of the bathroom. Or him talking to you. Him taking you away. What then?”

Then… Then Tony would have been responsible for your death. That’s how he felt. And that feeling was very heavy and terrible.

“But more than that-” He continued, eyes watching yours. Pleading. “More than these hypotheticals- you want me to sit here when they planned to do that and not do anything about it?”

You wanted to let them get away with it. That’s what he was implying. Second only to begging to understand why he couldn’t go after them over this. They hadn’t gotten away with it, but they’d still planned to do it. Didn’t that deserve some kind of action?

Again when you didn’t answer, he spoke. “What if it were me?”

This was a dirty play. Because only a few days ago you’d told him exactly what you would have done. According to you, you would have scorched the earth for him. And now you were denying him the chance to return that. That wasn’t very fair. And it was eating him up inside. He wanted something.

...so…

Leaning forward, you rested your forehead against his. “Please… let’s see how this Danny Rand stuff pans out.” He sucked in a breath to try and argue with you, but you put two fingers against his lips. “And if it doesn’t… you have my permission to drag Ward Meachum to a defunct SHIELD blacksite. And after that I don’t wanna know.”

Tony was not a murderer. Not like that. But because it was you… who knew the lengths he would go to. This was all talk. So that made it okay. And he needed some feeling of release. This seemed to grant it to him.

He eased, lips curving into a tired smile against your fingers. When you let your hand away from his face, “Thank you.” Then, now feeling better, he found the strength to joke. “Is it so much to ask that I be able to murder the people who try to hurt my wife?”

“I guess not- but- I’m also not your wife.”

“Not yet. It’s been proven that if I bug you enough about something, eventually you’ll give in.” His grin was sweet and handsome. “You’re already thinking about it.” Going to just sign papers, he meant.

Eloping. And he was right. Maybe he really did have it all figured out. “Yeah. Well. I still have some more thinking to do yet.”

The way he was gazing at you made your heart melt. But it was his calm, quiet yet deep tone that had you yearning for him. “I’ve got time.”

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter Two Hundred #ah holy shit #what

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stone-man-warrior · 3 years

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Timeless

https://twitter.com/BBCPolitics/status/1329803055051788290

The Pope's Crucifix and use of it for saying and plotting terror updates, commands, marching orders:

There is a shire called Liecester in UK, and another one called Gliecester there too.

So, for this, specifically, Liecester & Glieseser are places that represent positions on the vertical axis of the Pope's Crucifix. There is a range that exists between Liesester & Glieceter.

Liecester = "The people who lie"

Gliecester = "The people who sing"

Gliecester are whistlebowers, reporters of crime & terrorism to law enforcement. Liecester are the people who the whistleblowers in the Glee Club of Gliesester are reporting about.

The liars of Liecester don't like being reported about, they don't like songs written about them.

On the vertical axis of the Pope's Crucifix, the liars of Liecester plot the depth's of knowledge about them, and other information about Liars and Singers in the Glee Club, so that other Liars can stay out of trouble, in Liecester.

The Glee Club does not have suitable representation at places where the Pope's Crucifix can be viewed.

There could be Tweets of the past to look at, to find instances when the range that exists between Liecester & Gleicester becomes smaller. If the Gliecester Glee Club has ever been reported to have performed in Liecester, that was bad for Liecester's Liars. The result may have been that the Glee Club from Gliecester could have been boo'ed offstage, or Worcestershire, tomatoe throwing could have happened. If tomatoes are thrown at the Glee Club while in Liecester, there is no way for the Glee Club of Gliecester to survive the incoming tomatoes when hurled by skilled liars of Liecester.

When things turn to the Worcestershire, then they start to go sideways, onto the horizontal axis of the Pope's Crucifix, for plotting. Worcestershire sauce, is made of fish. That's right, little tiny sardines are what the Worcestershire sauce is made of. Tastes good, somehow, but is made of old, fermented fish. It's fish wine, non-alcoholic, is like coffee without the caffeine, decaffeinated. So what is the point of having Worcestershire fish wine if it has no alcohol?

They will gladly show you the Worcestershire points, when it gets sideways at the Glee Club Concert from Gleicester, performed to the Liars of Liecester.

They pour the Worcestershire sauce all over the Free Range Chicken.

After the show, a Ox driven cart rolls through the streets of Liecester, picking up the debris left from tomatoe fight. The cart is driven by a Mongolian man who speaks Russian. There is a Japanese slave who is chained to the cart, picking up the remnants from the Choir Concerto. The Japanese man has a Hibichi bar-b-que on the cart, but no matches. The Ox, is a Canadian named Bleau. The Organ Grinder plays the bellows while his monkey collects valuables left by the crowd. The monkey ties the items onto the sides of the Ox Cart, as it goes clanging and klunking through the cobblestone streets of Liecester, until it's out of view, but can be heard, as it makes it's rounds.

This is the part where Catsup, is supposed to turn into Ketchup. Unfortunately, the Ketchup continues to lose ground to the Catsup at the store. It's Different Sauce. Happens when things get Worcestershire in Liecester. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MBUu5HwIr8k

Bydio, the Ox Cart, happens at 11:12: (To read terror comm better, learn these titles to these songs, close your eyes, listen, and see the music in your mind. Let the London Symphony Orchestra, guide you.) (why are the Russian composer's titles all in French language? Hint: There is no Russia. There is Quebec, and, there is Mongolia. One has nothing to do with the other.)

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https://twitter.com/ReutersUK/status/1329848272568131584

The air-money is visible, cresting.

A crest is a crown. Sssshhhush, it's a secret.

Ever play air-guitar?

Air-money is like that, for Royals.

Monopoly money.

Have you ever been to an auction?

They have "lots" there. You can buy 'em.

You have to compete with other bidders, unless no one wants a lot. The auctioneer, says: "all this for one money" as he points to the lot. Then, real quick: "Going once, twice, souled!"

Someone gets a lot, for one money.

The auctioneers are "Yoddelers"

They sell someones baby, the estate where someone lived. They are "Baby Yoda-lers"

The baby Yodalers sell the baby, lots of them, all for one money. There is a Ox Cart that comes by, filled with air-money, to pay for the baby lots at the auction.

Someone sees that the money is fake, is air-money, chases the Ox Cart. The Ox Cart goes to the JP Morgain Chase Bank, the place where the air comes from, to turn up the gain on the air-guitar hi-gain crunch channel on the Pope's Flying V Guitar Rig, for air-guitar performance, through a stack of Marshall’s. The Pope, is the spokesperson for "The King", turns loose some lions where the chase happened.

Bit Coin is born. The Pope collects the souls, with a different Ox Cart. The auctioneers celebrate, they have a parade, and give thanks to the Pope and the King.

The have a feast. Thanksgiving to the Pope.

Then, there is an auction, where there are lots for sale, you can buy 'em.

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https://twitter.com/ABC/status/1329911713295179776

Mayfair = Mayflower

A boat.

The boat is filled with pirates at the Malls of America, where there is a circus, a carnival, Ferris wheel is inside there, has a theater, can get some pop corn if you want, and a large Soda for me and my friends and family on Black Friday. AAAaaarrgghhhhhh!

Wisconsin = wind; cons; sinning

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vxd4Hjun--s

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Must be a space auction.

Air-guitar.

Comes with a Cole Clark Angel, natural blonde, Acoustic Guitar from Zzounds Music, with a crooked tuning machine on the headstock at the small E string.

(See Tumblr post from a couple of days ago for more about the Air Guitar Bit Coin Money Machine. This is a bigger terror event than most. It’s important.)

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(Tumblr made me do this space addition twice so I could show you how terror is communicated, they don’t like it when the Glee Club sings songs about them or their friends in Leicester)

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Things to consider include that Space Blonde Angel has been up there for about twelve years, and no one has noticed. You have to trust your own memory for that, they purged all of the information, photos and videos of her from the internet. In fact that whole mission happened about twelve years ago, was presented again as new. The purpose for the rerun is that the information contained in it, combined with a plethora of other reruns on twitter, are Global Domination attack orders that already worked good in the past, so, rather than reinvent the wheel in the sky, they just do a rerun, while insisting it’s all new, just happened, is fresh, when more than a decade has passed since the introductory command order presentations of attack plans. Twitter news media, powered by Google from Verified Accounts makes it happen.

===========================

https://twitter.com/CBSNews/status/1329936822231822336

Go find the things I wrote about “Space Karen” and how “Space Karen Trending” on Twitter was a set-up of communication from Twitter, so that terror operatives associated with the Wisconsin Mall Event could find further comm, about the planned event, to use for yet more comm, after the event, contained in a Tweet made by Bill Karins. who is the real space Karin that Musk Space Karen was pointing to.

Here, we see that the Wisconsin Mall event happened in Wuawatosa Wisconsin. That is the connection to Bill Karins and his terror crew at nbc/Universal/Comcast on Twitter as @BillKarins.

The connection can be seen in my previous observations and in depth reporting here on tumblr from a few days ago, where I pointed out that there was a Wah-Wah and a Hua Hua contained in information about a “Greek Hurricane” in nicoragua called “Iota”.

I suggested that “You have to bring your own Chi” about the Hua Hau that was happening in nicoragua at the time, per Mr. Karins, the real Space Karin for this Space Auction Yodelling at the Mall of America.

It all boils down to physical slaughtering of people somewhere on earth. We cannot know where the slaughtering is occurring by reading the information on Twitter, because it’s all old reruns, all of the news was presented long ago, the exact same tweets were reposted as new more than twelve years after the first introductory posting of them.

How are we to determine where the actual current Global Domination slaughtering is happening now?

You have to go to Rockefeller Center, find Lester Holdt, and make him talk. That’s how. Find David Letterman, and Jay Leno, make them talk.

Do that tonight before the show is over. Bring your own hospital. Bring your own Chi.

=======================

Observation of the Mall of America Black Friday pre-show includes that CBS posted two 25 second clips of remarks made by the officer there, in rapid succession, one after the other. The two clip’s are identical to one another, but the text of the Tweeted information is different.

Worcestershire sauce happened at the Mall of America Black Friday Pre-show event. There were Free Range Chickens involved, I am confidant.

Other observation includes that the familiar “Schul Schut” news conference arrangement, stance, formation of multiple Public Safety Offices Representatives, is not present that I can see, so far. That translates to: “no ground was gained”

My assessment of those arranged news conferences where the representatives all stand in formation around a central speaker, is that what ever event that occurred and was being reported about rendered some ground somewhere. The more agencies present, then the more overtaken by Global Domination terror army is the geographic area of subject, which may not be the location of the news event. I want to advise that such events are arranged ahead of time for taking over substantial targets, such as entire LE offices, courthouses, schools, hospitals, county, state and federal buildings, so the staff at those places can be replaced with SAG Actors at the management and leadership levels, and Canadian terror soldiers who compose the majority of staff replaced.

I also want to advise that these kinds of takeovers have been going on for more than fifty years, so, over time, there are fewer real pubic safety, and increasingly more fake public safety, making very dangerous conditions for the remaining real public safety personnel.

Some speculation that may provide advantage to the real public safety is about Google and Sundar Pichai, and the news that is about Mr. Pichai. Sundar

Sunned Aarrgghhh!

A blessed terror leader, blessed by the Sun, the Pope. Both, are pirates who say: AAAaarrrggghhhh!

Pichai

Pitch. To throw. “The throw before the toss” from Ronnie James Dio and “The Last in Line.

AI = Artificial Intelligence. That means “Imposter Police” and the information such police say, command, order, carry out... all bullshit, Sundar is a major contribute to the bullshit presented by imposter police.

When the news stories are about the Google parent company called Alphabet, the news is somehow about orders from “The Text”, the Vatican, the one who blesses Sundar Pichai, Pope Francis, The Bergoglio.

Bergoglio

“Berrrrr but it’s cold here.”

Gog is short for Google.

Lio is the Lion, the King,

The Bergoglio is at the Vatican, controlling Google, with stings attached to Sundar Pichai, the Pitcher at the Baseball Ballgame.

They take US Military bases with use of the nitrous gas weapon, and mideaval tactics that are greatly enhanced with modern technology, commanded from the Vatican and Britain House of Lords. The orders reach Hollywood Terror Command at Screen Actor Guild, where the orders are transformed into workable planned screenplay ahead of time. Canadian terror army soldiers are provided to the SAG for carrying out the orders to attack, and take, valuable strategic targets without being detected.

Watch out for news about Alphabet.

“The Alphabet” when used openly in terror speak, is the conglomerate of all of the public safety agencies combined. FBI, nsa, ATF, USMC, USAF, USn, USPS even fits in there along with DHS (Dept. of Human Resources; Department of Health) and EVERY other agency where rules and regulations are generated, and enforced, so, DEQ, DMV, and the dog catcher, are inclusive of the proverbial terror alphabet.

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https://twitter.com/Pontifex/status/1329763925190172672

This looks like commands to purge old embarrassing and revealing information from the internet to me.

The Papal Panty Raid Like is another indication of the same terror comm. The order was preceded by a advisory statement to the Papal Pirate HQ from Epiphone at Hollywood terror command HQ, who saw that there was a problem, and made the advisory through promotional email from the music industry, Vatican Choir HQ. Before that, the advisory came from other, lower ranking members at Chicago Music Exchange, where the advisory seems to have been originated from. The logo for these is the one Epiphone normally reserves for there student models. It's a pair of girls panties.

This below is the same terror message presented with Different Sauce.

https://twitter.com/BBCNews/status/1329984769069899776

https://twitter.com/ReutersUK/status/1329862169022894080

These and other ways to say the same thing seem to be a call to Sundar Pichai to purge specific information from the internet, not just from the search capabilities, but to seek and destroy particular terror evidence from the internet.

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sparklyaxolotlstudent · 5 years

Text

The Ladybug Puppet Show

How to Succeed Thanks to Spite Part 4

Inspiration striked me.

“And then Chat Noir asked my little sisters if they could sign their drawing. He really loved it.”

Alya was telling her friends about her encounter with the heroic duo, and how they had given her their blessings for their video. She had even gone to school with her red shirt with black dots. Nino had a black shirt, and Rose had brought cat ears for him.

“This is embarrassing”

“Nah, you look Pawesome bro” Marinette side-eyed Adrien after that pun.

“We’re filming after class. You’re more than welcome to join us. You can be Hawk Moth”

Adrien almost choked on his drink.

“Sorry, can’t do, I have a photo shoot”

“Really?” Marinette took out her phone and looked at her calendar. There was no scheduled thing, so it meant that Adrien was uncomfortable playing Hawk Moth. Not that she could blame him.

“Besides, Father wouldn’t like me appearing in a video without his approval”

“Your dad is no fun. What about you Girl? Want to join our circus?”

“I’m not good in front of a camera. I don’t think having Hawk Moth interpreted by a girl would be…”

“You’re gonna make Hawk Moth a girl in your video?” asked Juleka. Rose was at her side with hopeful eyes.

“Well, our first choice was Adrien, but since he’s not available… and since we’re making a parody, we might as well go all out. You wanna be Hawk Moth?” Alya eyed Juleka. She was already wearing purple clothes, so she could just use a Butterfly mask and she would be a nice and girly Hawk Moth.

“No, Rose wants to”

“WHAT”

“Well, Hawk Moth uses Butterflies, and I have that butterfly costume from last year’s festival, I could totally be a Butterfly villain!” Rose said, twirling and posing.

The group looked at each other.

“Rose that is… BRILLIANT! Do you think you can get your dress for after classes so we can film it?”

“Yes! I’ll call my mom right away!”

<('-'<) ^('-')^ v('-')v (>'-')>

“This isn’t working!”

Alya was frustrated and exhausted. Turns out, making a voiceover was much much easier than performing the stunts necessary for the video, even if they were just pretending.

Most of the class was with them, including Adrien, whose photo shoot was “cancelled” at the last minute, Ivan, who was reusing his suit from the movie to represent an Akuma. The others were extras or working behind the cameras.

Or at least tried to, as Alya reviewed their video so far; the first cameraman had been Max, who somehow forgot to record their performance. The second had been Kim, who got distracted and started recording a squirrel that somehow got inside the school. The third had been Mylene, who managed to record the whole thing, but was nervous and thus the footage was all shaky. The fourth had been Markov, who had managed to do a decent job, but by that try they all were tired and irritated, so the whole thing had been a waste of time.

“We could try again” said Nino hopeful, but catching his breath from the last stunt. Even with their daily parkour practice, this was still too much. “After we take a break”

“Yes, Ladybug, enjoy your little break, because once it is over, I will have your Miraculous! MWAHAHA” everyone looked at Rose. Despite the Fairy Princess Unicorn Butterfly Star costume, she made a scarily convincing Hawk Moth. “Sorry. Going all evil monologues is fun.”

“You should include more world play tho. Like ‘Enjoy your little break, because once it’s over, I’ll give you a lesson and get your Miraculous’” Now everyone looked at Adrien. Marinette wondered why everyone seemed to be good with evil monologues.

“ANYWAY. It’s useless; we bit more than we could chew.”

“Why don’t we try another approach?”

“Like what?”

“Well, we could edit the videos of Ladybug that you have taken…”

“I doubt we could get a coherent narrative using only fights with Akumas. Even for a Parody”

“Why don’t we make a ‘Top Ten ways the Eiffel Tower has been destroyed’?”

“For the last time Alix, we are not asking Chat Noir to destroy the Eiffel Tower just for footage”

“Spoilsports”

“Why not a web animation? There are tons on the net, and some are actually good”

“Because only Nathaniel and Marinette can draw and only Max and Markov can code, and none of us can animate. Plus, if we do a crappy one That Guy could gloat that we’re nothing without his ‘awesome’ movie.”

“Why not middle point? Not live action, not animation”

“… CGI? That’s even more difficult”

“No, I mean, we can use Marinette’s dolls” everyone looked at Kim as if he was joking, but then they turned to Marinette. “I mean, she already has Ladybug, Chat Noir, and a couple of Akumas. But not Dark Cupid, even though it is the Best Akuma.”

“We are not having that discussion again.” Alya eyerolled. “And the dolls, while awesome, would be difficult to control especially if we go with stop motion”

“Why not puppets?” suggested Max. “They’re a valid form of entertainment and if we make them right we will be able to control their motion in an accurate manner”

“The Muppets are fairly popular and even if we are clumsy, we should be able to make a decent show with them”

“Hmm… That would give us some suspension of disbelief in certain things…”

“Well, I don’t like bragging, but I’m an expert in theatre, and have worked with the Muppets before. They wanted me in the movie, but thought I was too young and casted Amy Addams instead.”

“Wonderful! You should go and ask the company and see if they can help us with some Muppets, or at least some patterns to make them”

“Err.. I…”

“C’mon, don’t be shy, I’m sure Kermit will be glad to help, and the sooner you ask for help, the sooner we can start filming”

“I don’t have their number in my cellphone”

“Oh, don’t worry, go home and call them there if you want”

Lila mumbled something and left. Marinette was annoyed that Alya seemed to still believe the lying liar who lies.

“Ok, now let’s be real. A puppet show is probably the way to go, but the only one who can make them is Marinette, and she is loaded with commission work for Jagged, Clara, Austin Moon and Kitty Section. It would be unfair to ask Marinette to do all that work and for free.”

The members of Kitty Section gulped. Marinette smiled at her friend reassurance, and the fact they were now playing Lila instead of the other way around. “Well, it’s not a problem, but with my other responsibilities, it would take at least a couple of weeks… a month, even.”

“Can’t you just cut your current dolls legs?”

“I’d cut your legs first. Puppets and dolls are very different things. Even if I reuse the dolls, I still need to design the patterns for a functional puppet. Once I have it I would need to tweak it for the different characters.”

“We can help with the sewing” Offered Juleka. Rose and Mylene nodded. Ivan nodded too. Everyone just looked at him.

“Mom taught me how to knit. It’s relaxing. It’s different from sewing but I can help.”

“I can assist Marinette with the engineering of the puppets” offered Markov. Max nodded.

“We can do the backgrounds” offered Alix, pointing to Nathaniel.

“And Marc, Adrien and you can do the plots and dialogues. Nino can be the director.”

“Yeah, we all can help in one way or another!”

Alya thought of that. A puppet show was a little low brow, but it was for fun and everyone was willing to chip in. Even Lila could probably help if she didn’t lie her way out of it, or got akumatized first.

“We can try that.”

Everyone smiled and cheered for their new group (plus Marc) project.

“Ahem” Chloe cleared her throat. Everyone turned their attention to her. “I couldn’t help hearing…”

“Because you were spying on us”

“… I couldn’t help hearing on purpose that you’re planning a Ladybug show made with puppets.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I want in.”

“Really? You think you can just come in, spy on us and demand to be included in our show? Just like that?”

“I’m paying for all expenses, including material for the puppets and the time Dupain-Cheng spends making them, the props, and anything else you might need. I need to approve of it, though”

“… what would you gain from it?”

“My only demands are: Marinette makes me a Queen Bee doll, Queen Bee gets to be a regular in the show and I voice her”

“You won’t interfere with the plots or try to change dialogues to make you look better?”

“I understand what a parody is, thank you very much, so as long as you don’t single out Queen Bee as a loser or butt monkey, I’ll play the part as written”

Alya thought about it. They doing voluntary work was good, but if Chloe was offering to pay for the puppets and props, it would be even better, Marinette deserved to be paid for her designs, after all.

“Deal” They did a handshake to seal the deal.

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

And that's how Equestria was made. Would Chloe try to take advantage as the producer of the show? Would Alya manage to reign in this chaos? Would Lila try to convince everyone that the Muppets sent her crappy socks with goggly eyes glued to them?

(No, hell no, and yes)

#miraculous ladybug #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #alya cesaire #adrien agreste #Nino lahiffe #lila rossi #ml au #ml fic #ml fiction #ml salt #Ladybug Puppet Show #Rose is Hawk Moth

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hollyhomburg · 5 years

Note

hELLO my beautiful! i'm gonna try and become a familiar face for u (like i did with johobi because i lOVE SUPPORTIN PPL WHO DESERVE IT). i was working when u got that message on anon saying all those mean things. i want to tell u smth: i haven't been following u for long BUT from what i've seen in ur writing u make errors just like everyone else and that's PERFECTLY okay. listen girl i send long messages and write fics/post them without proofreading. i promise u your writing is SO GOOD and (1/2)

JUST because U MAKE A FEW ERRORS doesn't make u a bad writer. ur plots are so fucking fantastic and the effort you put into your blog AND writing is OUTSTANDING. you definitely didn't deserve anything that anon said to you. people go on anon to trash people because they don't mean anything they're saying. when i think of anon hate, i think of it as people talking shit. technically yes, they are saying it to you're "face" (if that makes sense?? like u know about it) BUT what u don't know is (2/?)

who's saying it. if anyone is jealous, it's them. a common issue with people who have nothing but insults in a fight (one sided or not) is that they're jealous and acting malicious for no absolute reason. they're the one who's really jealous, NOT you. also: not sure where ur from, but not having a job? at ur age? that's fine! i'm from new york and if u don't know new york is v v (over)populated and we're limited on jobs. jobs in the us, in general, are hard to find. if anyone controls how ur (3/?)

living ur life, it best be you and nobody else. if that anon's gonna shame u for not having a job, then they're also low key shaming the many other people who don't have a job, no matter what the reason, including (BUT NOT LIMITED TO): house-wife's, teenagers who are in school, college students only focusing on college, homeless ppl who can't find jobs, etc. THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH NOT HAVING A JOB IF ITS A CHOICE FOR U. I need a job because my parents won't pay for my shit. but not (4/?)

everyone has a family like that u know? i don't know anything about u other than how talented u are. because, personally, ur life isn't my business (noah fence). ur family, ur working career, school life, etc isn't my business. why do i need to worry about it? SAME GOES TO THAT ANON. THAT ANON SHOULDN'T ATTACK YOU FOR ANYTHING. ITS NOT THEIR CIRCUS, ITS NOT THEIR MONKEYS. SO IF ITS NOT EFFECTING THEM, ITS NOT THEIR BUSINESS. this was 5 WHOLE ASKS IM SORRY KMAO anyways have a gREAT day ilysm

oh my god what a lovely and long message from an equally as lovely human- I’ll try to respond in kind but I don't know how far I’ll get. errors are something that I've always had to work with as a writer. I used to check over pieces like 5 or six times before I published them, eventually, I just got tired enough that I started to only edit my work like 3 times. I'm at peace with it now, but it still hurts a little bit every time someone asks me “is English your first language?”

what i found the most startling (and admittedly a little hilarious) about the whole thing is it seemed like 2 people where messaging me at one point (one being rude and one being hateful) and the hateful one came off anon and I told them very politely after they apologized that I was going to block them.

AND I GOT LIKE NO MORE MESSAGES FOR THE WHOLE DAY FROM EITHER OF THE TWO SPEAKERS, and then all of a sudden they both start messaging me again on anon- one of them calling me a fat cow repeatedly and then the other supposedly innocent speaker saying that if they got anymore anon hate it wasn't from them. like do you think I’m dumb? I know its only one person- and you saying it’s not you aren’t going to make me unblock your mildly successful blog so that you don't have to switch if you wanna read the rest of my stories.

I do actually live in new york! and everything's true about what you’re saying and another thing is that like everything is mad far apart- like I have to drive 30 minutes to the nearest grocery store and 40 to the nearest mall. If I was gonna get a job somewhere- it would require me having a car as getting my mom(single parent) to drive me would mean she has to drive me in with her at like 5 am. And places around here aren’t the safest- a girl just got abducted and killed and dumped right next to where my mom works, and a few weeks ago a different girl almost got carjacked at gunpoint.

I share my life with you guys because honestly, I think the amount of drama in my life is kind of funny sometimes? and if anyone doesn't like my drama then honestly unfollow me it only happens like once every month so you can live with it in and around your regularly scheduled kpop stuff. ilysm too S.J

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darkloverlost · 5 years

Text

I HATE EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU: CHAPTER 1 w/@DelicateDeviant

Wrath:

It had been a long night at the Audience House. There had been three major disputes among family, a couple of offerings from new members of the community, a mating request, and now I was getting ready to hear a trust fund request. Why did I have to be involved in all this crap? Why did everything have to go through me? I got that our community was a secret one and this was one way for the people to feel heard, and get a chance to put eyes on their King, however, most times I felt like a circus monkey, sat on a throne for people to gawk at. There had to be a better way for us to run our community…

V pulled me out of my thoughts with his inquest, “You ready for the next one, or do you need a little break?”

He knew I was getting to a point where I needed a break from all this crap. We had been discussing the idea of me taking a week off. It’s just that there was so much going on in the community that it was hard to get that kind of time. We had started winning the war against the Lessers about five years ago, so more and more of us were flocking to Caldwell. The problem was that the more that as more of us set down roots here, the more determined the Lesser became. So, five years ago we had begun to win the war, then more vampires moved in, then the Lessers called for more people to move in, and it just became this massive domino effect.

Nodding my head at V and letting out a long sigh, I replied, “Yeah. Send them in.”

Whicked:

I sighed impatiently and smoothed down my mid length skirt before fidgeting with the collar of my blouse waiting for my name to be called. The background music was operatic or some shit and it was like driving nails into my head, I balled my hands into fists as I tried to keep my head in the game so I didn’t screw up and embarrass myself in front of the King, not that I really cared what he thought, I just didn't want his impression of me to royally screw my chances of getting what I needed from him.

I heard a door open to the back of the room and a goatee’d head popped into the room. His diamond eyes scanned over the crowd, flickering over me and beyond. His voice rang throughout the room with ease, making himself known. “Uhh Annalee Termagant?” I looked up at the sound of my name* He caught the flare of my eyes as I looked up* C’mon you’re up, follow me.”

Ugh no one called me Annalee anymore, not since my family died. I looked around at the others waiting and caught a few of them looking at me. I stood up straight, praying to the Scribe I wouldn’t go ass over tits in these new heels and made a beeline for the Male.

“Yeah...Hi, I am Whicked, I don’t go by Annalee anymore.” He nodded like he really didn’t give a shit if my name was Mary Fricken Poppins or whatever, he had better things to think about like keeping the King safe. “Sure Female, whatever you say, just follow me”. For once, I did what I was told and followed him through the door into the King's Audience Chamber beyond.

Wrath:

Closing my eyes, I took in a deep breath. This was my life. By night I was propped up on this chair and had vampire after vampire paraded past me, by day I did my best to raise my own little prodigy and sleep, only to raise back up the next night and do it all over again. Most of the time I failed miserably at it all. I was a lousy King, and even worse father to the future of our race. LW should have been my savior. He should have been my reason for wanting to live, and for a while he had been. But now, every time I hear his voice, I can’t help but hear Her in it. He even smells like she used to. Which may sound odd to most, but he has this scent to his skin that is uniquely Hers.

This morning had been one of those days where I couldn’t get myself to move. If it weren’t for V, I would never make it in here. I wouldn’t make it out of bed most days. He keeps me going. He forces me to do the things I don’t have the will to do. He’s basically become a nurse to a dying King.

The creak of the door as V stepped back through, pulled me from my trance. “Sire, Annalee Termagant here to see you.” I waited as I hear the flip of the folder in his hands. “Her family…”

A scent so strong hit me like a ton of bricks. It was like a cold breeze rippled across my skin as I took a deep breath in. It was sweet like a field of lavender, with a touch of rosewood. Dearest Virgin Scribe… I took another deep breath. Fuck! Rosewood. Beth’s favorite shampoo had rosewood in it. But, there was something more to why this female’s scent tickled my every fiber. Something dangerous. Something I didn’t want to even fathom. I gritted my teeth and balled my fists as the bouquet of this female wafted into my nose. I hadn’t even realized that V was done introducing her and I hadn’t caught a thing.

“Sire?”

Swallowing, I motioned for the female to begin with her own request. “Annalee…” I spoke, expectantly. She would likely impress on everything that V just said, anyway. I just wanted her out, as quick as possible and if V had to repeat everything, this was going to take too long.

Whicked:

I paused next to the goatee wearing Male that guided me into the room, his sheer size must mean he was one of the King’s Warriors, which made sense. He would need to be protected at all times. I stepped out from behind the Warrior’s shadow and glanced upwards, my eyes falling onto the massive Male that sat awkwardly behind the slab of a desk. My breath caught in my throat as I ran my eyes over the King. He was breathtaking, a magnificent specimen of a Male. Strong, wide shoulders, chiselled cheekbones, long raven locks falling form a widows peak, blind eyes hidden behind a pair of blackout wraparounds.. The scent that rolled off of him hit me like a tsunami. It invaded my very being, strong, rich and spicy, it made me somewhat dizzy as I stood there in the middle of the room.

I clenched and unclenched my hands in front of me and tried to still my nervous fidgeting but I knew I was losing the battle. Part of me wondered if bolting was still an option to me. I glanced over my shoulder and noted that my escort was propped up against the door with a shiteating grin on his face, obviously finding my current predicament amusing, ok so trying to escape wasa no-go. I shot him a blistering glare before flicking my flame locks over my shoulder and refocusing me eyes on the The Blind King.

Wrath:

My hands went to the arms of my chair and gripped hard. Good fucking God! The sound of her voice even resonated within the canals of my ears. It was as if the Scribe Virgin had created this female specifically with me in mind. That was impossible, though. A low growl emanated from my gut. Beth was my one. My only. She was the one I was meant for. She was the sole female that I was supposed to spend my life with. We had been, as Beth would say, kismet. There would never be another for me. Beth was it. And, when the Scribe Virgin decided to take her away from me, that was it. I was finished with females. Taking another deep breath, no matter what they fucking smelled like or sounded like.

The flare to my nose, I’m sure didn’t go unnoticed. “Okay then, Whicked…state your case for the record.”

Of, better yet, V… please, state it for her, so I don’t have to listen to another syllable slip past her lips. Not that I couldn’t request for that, but I didn’t want to alert V to what was going on in my head. So, I kept quiet. Then again, with his skills, he was probably seeing it all in his mind, anyway.

Impatiently, I waited.

Whicked:

A wave of stone cold aggression washed over me, emanating from the hulk of a Male in front of me. I bit back a wince and stepped forward toward the desk, when the King’s bodyguard didn’t make a move, I boldy got in close to the slab of wood, my fingers tracing the lines and edges of its front. My, the King was a handsome Male, absolutely divine and utterly uninterested in anything I had to say. Clearly just another voice among many.

“Well...well I want to get access to my Family trust fund…. please. I need the cash as collateral toward a loan for my own space downtown. So...if you could uhhh just sign the dotted line I can get out of your way, I am sure you have plenty of better things to do, right?”

I noted a silver picture frame to the right of the desk, I could faintly make out the picture of a Female with a small child. The joy on their faces blasting out of the sepia toned photo. Oh shit….that must be his Shellan. The Queen. I looked down at my feet feeling like an utter shit for eyeing up this Male like a piece of meat and here he was clearly still mourning the loss of his mate.

The rumor was that once a warrior bonded with a female that was it. Done deal, nothing else even mattered to them, not even their own life. I couldn’t even imagine the pain he must have felt, must still be feeling. Well I guess I could in my own way, the loss of my family gave me a front row seat to the big fucking grief show, so I guess I could sympathize with his loss.

I stepped back from the desk, my fingers lingering over the wood before raising to my locks, twirling them around my fingers nervously.

Wrath:

Even though I leaned back in my chair, my body was far from relaxed. In all honesty, I had heard the rustle of her clothes and the click of her heels as she stepped right up to my desk and I was trying desperately to create some distance. Her scent stronger now, hinted at a small touch of eucalyptus mixed in with the lavender and rosewood… and her voice seemed to melt my creaky bones.

I couldn’t do this! Why would the Scribe Virgin do this to me?! Where would she get the idea that this kind of thing would be okay? Then again, it is the Scribe Virgin we are talking about. She does like to torment us all. This was a new kind of cruel torture, though. She had done some nasty things in the past, but this was just vile.

“V!” I growled.

It took him five steps too long to get to me. “What’s up, man?”

I leaned close, “I’m going home. Cancel the rest of my day.” Turning back to Whicked, “You’ll have the papers by the end of the day.” Before she could respond, I stood and pushed past V, heading for the quiet quarters where I took my breaks.

Whicked:

Wow…..his voice was like honey to my soul. Harsh but smoothing somehow. I looked up catching his expression, abject horror. My eyes instantly sought out the floor, biting my lip hard to stop me from saying something I really shouldn’t, I heard him call out to the Male at the door who came forward in the blink of an eye, bending down to the King’s eye level. A low whisper spread between tehm but I caught the jist, he was leaving. Clearly couldn’t handle my attitude. Really was something I should work on when I want something but it was who I was and I wouldn’t apologise to anyone, not even the goddamn King!

I stood up straight, eyes front and centre, my blood on fire as he got up and glanced over at me for a long moment, those unseeing eyes boring straight into me. He moved quickly and gracefully around the chair and out a door at the back of the room. His bodyguard shot me a look and a shrug and left behind the King.

I stood there in the empty room blinking rapidly. Against my better nature I bit out a parting retort. “Well fuck you very much, Your Majesty”!

I span on my heels and strode out of the room, 50 shades of pissed off. He better get me that paperwork tonight because I had a meeting with the bank tomorrow. What I wanted, would be mine.

Wrath:

I no sooner got through the door when I heard Whicked’s voice from behind me, “Well, fuck you very much, Your Majesty!” Growling, I whipped around, strode back through the door and across the room, catching her by her arm before she could leave. Her other hand ripped around and caught my cheek so hard that I could feel the heat burning as I was sure the side of my face was turning a crimson red. Leaning into her, I pinned her against the back of the door and despite her aggression against me, I could smell the excitement in her scent. “Fuck you very much, huh?” I ran my hand gently across the side of her features, gaining a sense of every muscle and how they were formed into a slight grin that she was fighting. Slowly, I trailed my finger down her neck, along the jugular, feeling it pulse way too fast for a normal beat.

Suddenly, I could hear V’s questioning tone behind me and I realized I was still in the breakroom, never having stepped back into the throne room. “Fuck!” I raised my fist and put it through the wall. “Give me the papers, V! Now!”

#IHateEverythingAboutYou #Chapter1

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unplacedpodcast · 6 years

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Chapter Six: Moratorium (Transcript)

Apologies for the delay in posting! I was at PodCon all weekend and it’s been a bit wackadoodle since I got back. As usual, spoilers below.

Note: This episode has content that might be disturbing or upsetting for some listeners, specific content warnings are underneath the cut.

Content warnings: alcohol/binge drinking (at the beginning of the episode), suicide (towards the end of the episode)

(ding of audio recording starting - when Narrator starts speaking, she sounds very rough, has clearly been crying and possibly drinking)

NARRATOR: How…how am I supposed to know what’s real and what’s not? I’m so tired. I’m so tired of trying to figure it out. This is all scary, and confusing, and I’m so lonely…if this is purgatory, can I just go one way or the other now? I’m sorry for whatever I did that stuck me here. I JUST WANT TO GO HOME! (voice breaks) I’m sorry, okay? (whispers) I’m sorry. (sniffles) Why am I even doing this? It’s not like anyone is listening anyways.

(click, pause, then ding of audio recording starting again; Narrator sounds much more chipper now, though still not 100%, and sounds a little sheepish when she starts talking)

NARRATOR: Hey. So, uh, sorry about that. I’m leaving it in for…journalistic integrity or something…but also because I’m not entirely sure anyone is listening, so why waste time editing out embarrassing drunken episodes of depression? (bitter laugh)

I’m also only working with one hand at the moment, so I’m trying to keep unnecessary typing and clicking and audio editing to a minimum. As you may have gathered, my little experiment didn’t go over too well. I thought I was hurting it, at first - it recoiled and there was a big crater in it, along with some gross sizzling noises, but then it…attacked, around and through the hematite, and hit my hand, and…yeah.

(sharp intake of breath) It hurt like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. That was a week or two ago and my hand is still covered in something resembling chemical burns. But it’s…it’s not as bad as it was. I don’t think there will be any permanent damage, especially because I’ve been making sure to stretch and move it as it heals, even though that’s pretty much excruciating. But at least I shouldn’t lose any range of movement.

Let me tell you, fighting off the urge to faint on a public sidewalk, and then making it back to wherever home is for the night, and then having to peel off strands of stone that are practically fused to your skin, and figure out treatment, all while completely alone…not in my top ten favorite activities. If I can be frank with you, not in my top hundred activities.

I should make a t-shirt to commemorate this whole hellish experience. “I punched a brain leech with shitty homemade brass knuckles and all I got was this lousy t-shirt! (…and also these burn scars!)” (snort)

Anyways, after that whole experience, can you blame a girl for hitting the bottle a bit? If nothing else, I needed some painkillers, because the ibuprofen was not cutting it.

The whole experience taught me something, though: I don’t care any more. I don’t care how curious I am about what’s going on, or how much it annoys me that I have no idea what’s going on, or my growing uncertainty about whether I’m actually a complete basket-case or not. Not my monkeys, not my circus. (pause) Maybe partially my monkeys, but I can definitely ignore the circus.

I don’t even know if those things are evil. It could be a totally symbiotic relationship, right? For all I know, those things are the barnacles of the brain, and like, give these people ideas or something. I just assumed they were up to no good because they look like something out of a Ridley Scott movie.

So if you think about it, I’m probably the bad guy here, just assuming that something has bad intentions because it looks like a parasite from Geiger’s nightmares, and then following it around and harassing it. Well, my bad, I learned that lesson and I’m never messing with one of those fuckers again. I’m just going to keep my head down for a while, at least until my hand heals completely.

Given the lack of paranormal PI shenanigans planned for the foreseeable future, I’m not quite sure what’s on the agenda for our time together today. I guess we’ll find out as we go along.

(muffled noise, audio dings off then turns back on again in a coffee shop with all of the background noise)

One big downside to this whole invisibility thing is that I can’t order coffee any more. I even tried using a pre-order app and it just continually glitches. I used to just hover around until someone ordered a drink close enough to what I wanted and swipe it when it came up. But the last time I did that, the barista got yelled at by an angry soccer mom with the “can I speak to your manager” haircut. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to cost someone their job just because I want my espresso.

That means I either have to swipe a cup and fill it with hot coffee, or do the same thing with iced coffee, or buy the pre-made stuff from a grocery store. I swear. My kingdom for a hot mocha with coconut milk and no whipped cream.

First world problems, huh? (laughs)

It feels good to joke about it, though! I knew this whole keeping my head down thing would work out better in the long run. I feel better already.

(Narrator sips on coffee and leaves coffee shop, the background noise shifts to be that of a busy street - cars in addition to people, etc)

What now? Maybe I’ll go shopping. I’ve been neglecting my look, because it feels a little weird paying attention to what you’re wearing when nobody else can see it. If you put effort into your personal style but literally nobody is physically able to observe your personal style, do you actually have a style? File under, “more philosophical quandaries I’d never thought of before a few months ago.”

If I’m trying to get back to normal, then why not? I’ll just take only one or two things from each store, so that no one person is going to take all the blame.

In fact, maybe I’ll experiment a little bit! I was always afraid to try anything too far outside my comfort zone before, but if there was ever a time to try new things, it’s now. I don’t have to worry about whether it’s work appropriate or not. I can do whatever I want with my hair and my clothes. It’s another small upside of this whole ordeal.

I just have to - wait. There’s one of those symbols I told you about - I said I’d stay away from the monsters, but the symbols…I’m still curious about them. And I haven’t seen anything that indicates that the monsters - I mean, the totally non-malovolent worms - have been painting the symbols or even would be able to create them. I’m totally okay to check this out, then.

(footsteps as NARRATOR walks down an alleyway)

I think I’ve seen this one before - the same design was near the library, but that one was smaller. I - hello? Hi? Are you looking at me? You can see me?!

(muffled sounds of movement as NARRATOR starts running, is panting and bumping into people in the crowd)

NARRATOR: (panting) I lost her - there was someone standing by the symbol, maybe she just finished painting it? She was looking right at me - I don’t know, the loneliness could be playing tricks on me but I swear to god she looked straight into my eyes, nobody has done that in weeks… (pause for panting) When she realized I was looking back at her, she looked entirely freaked the fuck out - she started running and I couldn’t - I couldn’t catch her.

There’s a big crowd up ahead, she disappeared into it, I think. I have to find her!

(sound of running/moving faster, pushing through a crowd)

Holy shit. The woman who could see me isn’t here, but - there’s someone else, standing on the bridge - oh no. No no no. She’s on the bridge, she’s standing on the railing, and she looks like - oh god, she’s gonna jump. Maybe I can -

(more sounds of movement)

HEY! NO! Stop!

Wh - I think she can hear - shit. It’s the woman from the other day in the psychic’s shop - with the hematite necklace. I think she can hear me, she started when I yelled - hey, can you hear me?

(her voice is shaking but trying to stay calm and soothing, like she’s talking to a wild animal) C’mon, get down, you don’t have to do this. I can help - I’ll help you. C’mere, it’s okay. I promise it’ll be okay.

Yeah, yeah, just come over here, it’ll be fine. I promise, it’ll be -

Nononono! NO! Shit shit shit, no - no…

(someone in the crowd/background screams, Narrator is crying, obviously v upset by this)

Oh my god. She…(sniff) she was coming towards me, she looked super out of it - her eyes were all glazed over - but she had started to get off the railing, and then she - jerked? It was like the leech thing - it’s like it was moving her like…a puppet or something - I don’t (retches/coughs) I’ve never - people don’t move like that. She didn’t want to, she looked like she was trying to fight it - the look in her eyes - but she couldn’t - she - and the thing sort of, it disconnected itself and slithered down, and she looked back at me one more time and then she jumped. There’s no way she survived - she’s got to be floating in the river somewhere. I don’t - I can’t…

(audio recording cuts off)

#audio drama #transcripts

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chiefofstafftanner · 3 months

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It was kind of a last minute situation, but not a bad one. He hated to spring this on Jo with very little warning, and he was already thinking of ways he could make this up to her.

Lizzy came barreling through the door as soon as Bill got it unlocked. She was carrying a bright orange backpack almost as big as she was, and a well loved green dinosaur plushie by the tail. Her hair was braided back neatly, and she had on her school uniform.

"Auntie Jo! Daddy said we are having a sleep over!"

Bill hung back, giving Jo a grateful smile when she came into view.

"I can't thank you enough."

#jo m portman rp #v: new circus little monkey #queue time

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lokislytherin · 5 years

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burn the stage pt.1 // circus!bts

pairings: jeon jeongguk x park jimin, min yoongi x jung hoseok, kim namjoon x kim seokjin

summary: the infamous cirque du blindé arrives in town. but one night, everything goes horribly, wrong… and it’s up to rookie reporter and photographer jeon jeongguk to find out why.

word count: 1902 +

a/n: well hello there! i came up with this whole idea because i thought jimin would make a very pretty trapeze artist. that’s basically it. there are various references to different things in this, but i’m not gonna point them out and i’ll see who’s smart enough to spot them.

also, happy birthday jeongguk!

enjoy!

part 1 / 2 / 3 (to be added)

FRIDAY, NIGHT

la cirque du blindé arrives during the night, like it always does.

soundlessly, it creeps into the city of busan in its darkest hours, bringing with it shadows of caravans, dimly lit by rattling lanterns and flickering light bulbs. if you look closely, you can see the silhouette of an elephant in its trailer, briefly illuminated by the faintest shine of moonlight.

nobody quite knows what happens then - they know the circus best during the day, a shining, shimmering, splendid phenomenon, with the sole purpose that is to entertain them.

they see the roaring lions leaping through blazing hoops of flame, led by their daring trainer j-hope who loves the lions as much as they love him; v, who silently entices children and adults alike with the way he seemingly weaves magic with his fingers, tricking the audience into seeing what he wants them to no matter how close they look.

(the closer you look, the less you see, he likes to say with an enigmatic smile that drives the ladies absolutely wild.)

they see rm, the ringmaster, whose hypnotic gaze and charismatic smile never fails to amaze and astound as he guesses the audience's thoughts with ease; the dashing escape artist jin, who seems to cheat death at every turn, who is as skilled at his craft as he is good looking.

(and mind you, he is very good looking. he's a fan favorite, clearly not without reason.)

last but most definitely not least, they see jimin.

they see jimin, the trapeze artist in his sparkling tuxedo, the solo star attraction of la cirque du blindé. jimin, with his hands white with chalk, with corded muscles under a slim build. jimin, who soars above the crowd, a picture of elegance and agility, a balance of strength and beauty.

sights like this is exactly why jeon jeongguk loves the circus - he loves the way the colors flutter in the breeze, as if they are shouting their presence to the world; the way the circus defies reality and brings all into a whole new world of wonder far away from the troubles of their daily lives.

like almost every child, he's had dreams of running away with the circus; enchanted by the low growl of the motorbike as the stuntman revs the motor in preparation for his tricks, amused as the circus monkey screeches in the unfortunate ringmaster's ear.

as the lead photographer of 'busan daily', it's jeongguk's job to capture the magic in action, wherever it is. he could be at a sports tournament, or standing in the middle of the street, but he has the power to freeze special moments in time forever, to make something so mundane seem so powerful at the same time. he's been sent to photograph various different things before - butterflies, taxis, singers on stage.

this time, he's in charge of capturing the mystique of the circus. la cirque du blindé has only been to busan once before; it was at least twenty years ago, a few years before jeongguk was born. briefly, he wonders why they're returning - perhaps it's the fact that the trapeze artist jimin was born in busan, as he's heard from one of his journalist colleagues.

jeongguk has just turned twenty-two, and is the youngest lead photographer that 'busan daily' has ever had, but strangely enough, he's excited for the circus. his good friend min yoongi knows that all too well - as photographer and journalist respectfully, he and yoongi are covering the circus together.

yoongi's teasing criticisms aside, jeongguk is hyped for the circus, and he's determined to do well. photography is his passion, but it's his job and source of money, too.

~~~

SATURDAY, AFTERNOON

jeongguk and yoongi stand in line for entry to la cirque du blindé, the latter holding a portable fan to his face for dear life as the sun mercilessly beats down on them both.

unfortunately for the duo, the shadow of the big top falls on the other side of the crowd, missing them completely. jeongguk stares mournfully at the shade. they stand out, and painfully so - two (very single) grown men awkwardly queuing up among a herd of parents, some of them with their children, others by themselves as their children explore the surroundings.

"jeongguk-ah," yoongi groans as beads of sweat roll down his face, "remind me again, why the hell are we here?" he wipes off some of the liquid with a tissue, but more takes its place.

jeongguk can feel his shirt clinging to his skin, the mere heat of the day frying his brain cells. his hair is burning hot.

around them, little kids run around, childish glee painted on their young faces as they chase the balloon man and nag him for free balloons. obviously, the balloon man can't let that happen - he needs to get paid. but the children can dream, can't they?

"we're getting paid for this, hyung," jeongguk reminds yoongi with a small smile, "besides, it's gonna be great."

yoongi sniffs disapprovingly. "yeah, we'll see about that later."

yoongi has never been a fan of people anyway.

"la cirque du blindé is open now! please enter through the front gates!" a voice booms out of the loudspeakers. much to jeongguk's amusement, yoongi jumps a little as a clown on a tricycle honks loudly next to him and almost knocks him right over.

"you never saw that," the older man mutters grumpily, straightening his jacket.

jeongguk cackles. "sure thing, yoongi-hyung."

yoongi scowls and sulks in silence as they trail in behind the crowd, finally walking into the shade of the circus house. overhead, a large fan blasts cool air at them, and jeongguk sighs delightfully, closing his eyes in bliss. it's far too hot outside.

they settle in at the front row - as media, they have advantages, which includes getting the best view of the circus (for free, which both young men are grateful for). yoongi whips a pen and notepad out of his pocket, and jeongguk readies his camera.

"ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, please put your hands together for rm!"

the crowd squeals with glee as the ringmaster steps out onto the stage, all the lights focused on him, casting a tall shadow across the wooden floor. his ringmaster's coat is red and black, complimenting his dark hair and dark eyes, sparkling faintly under the stage lights. he carries a cane too, but jeongguk doubts he needs it - the man on the stage looks young and athletic, younger than yoongi but slightly older than jeongguk.

jeongguk takes in rm's remarkable stage presence; the stage is larger than many would be comfortable with, but the ringmaster stands like he owns the whole damn place, his stride confident.

there's a mischievous looking monkey perched on his shoulder, and jeongguk holds his camera a little tighter as he snaps a few quick shots of the ringmaster and his companion. he's not entirely sure why, but the monkey seems to have quite a vested interest in his camera.

"hello everyone, and welcome to la cirque du blindé!"

the audience claps and whoops. rm bows, coat fluttering.

the monkey snatches the cane out of rm's hands and runs off with it, and the ringmaster has to chase after the furry devil in order to get it back. he almost trips, causing a wave of laughter from the audience. even yoongi cracks a smile.

"as you all know," continues rm, looking a little disgruntled as he nudges the monkey away from his hat, "i'm rm, the ringmaster, and i'll be your best friend today."

the creature by his side shrieks at him loudly.

"ignore the monkey, he has no manners and doesn't make friends easily. i'm sure you all can see why." rm says with a playful shrug.

the cheeky creature yanks on rm's ears in response, hard. jeongguk can't help but laugh at the pained expression on the ringmaster's face as he grabs the monkey by the torso and sets it on the floor before gently shooing it away with his foot.

"speaking of animals, let's welcome j-hope!"

rm steps back and disappears behind the curtains as flaming hoops rise out of the ground, loud roars echoing behind the flaps.

the crowd cheers as a pride of lions prowl out of the darkness. they all wear darkly glimmering headgear, which matches the shimmering suit of the man at the head of them all. jeongguk can only assume it's j-hope, the lion tamer.

shifting slightly to the side, jeongguk takes a picture of the scene. it's a truly majestic sight - the lions look like they've accepted the man as their leader, and the lions look like they're j-hope's pride (pun fully intended).

the young man waves towards the audience, and the lions roar, circling around him almost protectively. "hi everyone! i'm your hope, you're my hope, i'm j-hope!"

the crowd screams just as loudly as the lions roar. true enough, j-hope's happiness and energy are infectious, as even yoongi smiles, a rare genuine smile. jeongguk nudges the older man with a suggestive wiggle of his brows, knowing the journalist well enough to tell that he doesn't pay such close attention to somebody else often. yoongi shoots him a threatening glare.

(their interaction is not missed by j-hope, who smiles and winks at yoongi, much to the journalist's embarrassment.)

the lion tamer picks up a large hoop, kneeling down in the center of the stage and holding the hoop above his head. "who thinks this is going to work?"

the crowd screams their support, rooting for the young man and his pride of lions. true enough, one of the lions leaps through the hoop, sharp claws narrowly missing j-hope's head. jeongguk catches it in motion, but the angle isn't good. he'll have to try again.

the hoops get progressively higher and higher, j-hope tossing chunks of meat at the lions when they perform the stunt correctly. jeongguk watches yoongi scribble something into his notebook, but he can't read what it says; most journalists have developed their own special style of shorthand, and yoongi is no different.

soon, the flaming hoops are introduced. this time, jeongguk has a good angle for the shot; he makes sure that the image is focused. if he manages to get the timing right, this could very well be one of the best photos he's ever taken.

true enough, with j-hope's gentle coaxing, the biggest male manages to leap through without singing fur.

click!

jeongguk checks the picture, mentally clapping himself on the back. true enough, he's got it - j-hope at the side, the lion front and center of the shot. he's caught the lion mid-leap; half of him through the hoop, the other half behind. he squints a little. is it just him, or is there a dark figure at the back? he passes it off as one of the stagehands.

he squints a little. is it just him, or is there a dark figure at the back of the photo? he passes it off as one of the stagehands. it’s probably nothing special.

suddenly, everything seems deathly silent.

"jeongguk," a familiar voice tells him, "whatever you do, do not move."

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thefortyeightlawsofpower-blog · 7 years

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LAW # 6 : COURT ATTENTION AT ALL COST

JUDGEMENT

Everything is judged by its appearance; what is unseen counts for nothing. Never let yourself get lost in the crowd, then, or buried in oblivion. Stand out. Be conspicuous, at all cost. Make yourself a magnet of attention by appearing larger, more colorful, more mysterious than the bland and timid masses.

PART I: SURROUND YOUR NAME WITH THE SENSATIONAL AND SCANDALOUS

Draw attention to yourself by creating an unforgettable, even controversial image. Court scandal. Do anything to make yourself seem larger than life and shine more brightly than those around you. Make no distinction between kinds of attention—notoriety of any sort will bring you power. Better to be slandered and attacked than ignored.

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

P. T. Barnum, America’s premier nineteenth-century showman, started his career as an assistant to the owner of a circus, Aaron Turner. In 1836 the circus stopped in Annapolis, Maryland, for a series of performances. On the morning of opening day, Barnum took a stroll through town, wearing a new black suit. People started to follow him. Someone in the gathering crowd shouted out that he was the Reverend Ephraim K. Avery, infamous as a man acquitted of the charge of murder but still believed guilty by most Americans. The angry mob tore off Barnum’s suit and was ready to lynch him. After desperate appeals, Barnum finally convinced them to follow him to the circus, where he could verify his identity.

THE WASP AND THE PRINCE

A wasp named Pin Tail was long in quest of some deed that would make him forever famous. So one day he entered the king’s palace and stung the little prince, who was in bed. The prince awoke with loud cries. The king and his courtiers rushed in to see what had happened. The prince was yelling as the wasp stung him again and again. The courtiers tried to catch the wasp, and each in turn was stung. The whole royal household rushed in, the news soon spread, and people flocked to the palace. The city was in an uproar, all business suspended. Said the wasp to itself, before it expired from its efforts, “A name without fame is like fire without flame. There is nothing like attracting notice at any cost.”

INDIAN FABLE

Once there, old Turner confirmed that this was all a practical joke—he himself had spread the rumor that Barnum was Avery. The crowd dispersed, but Barnum, who had nearly been killed, was not amused. He wanted to know what could have induced his boss to play such a trick. “My dear Mr. Barnum,” Turner replied, “it was all for our good. Remember, all we need to ensure success is notoriety.” And indeed everyone in town was talking about the joke, and the circus was packed that night and every night it stayed in Annapolis. Barnum had learned a lesson he would never forget.

Barnum’s first big venture of his own was the American Museum—a collection of curiosities, located in New York. One day a beggar approached Barnum in the street. Instead of giving him money, Barnum decided to employ him. Taking him back to the museum, he gave the man five bricks and told him to make a slow circuit of several blocks. At certain points he was to lay down a brick on the sidewalk, always keeping one brick in hand. On the return journey he was to replace each brick on the street with the one he held. Meanwhile he was to remain serious of countenance and to answer no questions. Once back at the museum, he was to enter, walk around inside, then leave through the back door and make the same bricklaying circuit again.

On the man’s first walk through the streets, several hundred people watched his mysterious movements. By his fourth circuit, onlookers swarmed around him, debating what he was doing. Every time he entered the museum he was followed by people who bought tickets to keep watching him. Many of them were distracted by the museum’s collections, and stayed inside. By the end of the first day, the brick man had drawn over a thousand people into the museum. A few days later the police ordered him to cease and desist from his walks—the crowds were blocking traffic. The bricklaying stopped but thousands of New Yorkers had entered the museum, and many of those had become P. T. Barnum converts.

Even when I’m railed at, I get my quota of renown.

PIETRO ARETINO, 1492-1556

Barnum would put a band of musicians on a balcony overlooking the street, beneath a huge banner proclaiming FREE MUSIC FOR THE MILLIONS. What generosity, New Yorkers thought, and they flocked to hear the free concerts. But Barnum took pains to hire the worst musicians he could find, and soon after the band struck up, people would hurry to buy tickets to the museum, where they would be out of earshot of the band’s noise, and of the booing of the crowd.

THE COURT ARTIST

A work that was voluntarily presented to a prince was bound to seem in some way special. The artist himself might also try to attract the attention of the court through his behaviour. In Vasari’s judgement Sodoma was “well known both for his personal eccentricities and for his reputation as a good painter.” Because Pope Leo X “found pleasure in such strange, hare-brained individuals,” he made Sodoma a knight, causing the artist to go completely out of his mind. Van Mander found it odd that the products of Cornelis Ketel’s experiments in mouth and foot painting were bought by notable persons “because of their oddity,” yet Ketel was only adding a variation to similar experiments by Titian, Ugo da Carpi and Palma Giovane, who, according to Boschini painted with their fingers “because they wished to imitate the method used by the Supreme Creator. ” Van Mander reports that Gossaert attracted the attention of Emperor Charles V by wearing a fantastic paper costume. In doing so he was adopting the tactics used by Dinocrates, who, in order to gain access to Alexander the Great, is said to have appeared disguised as the naked Hercules when the monarch was sitting in judgement.

THE COURT ARTIST, MARTIN WARNKE, 1993

One of the first oddities Barnum toured around the country was Joice Heth, a woman he claimed was 161 years old, and whom he advertised as a slave who had once been George Washington’s nurse. After several months the crowds began to dwindle, so Barnum sent an anonymous letter to the papers, claiming that Heth was a clever fraud. “Joice Heth,” he wrote, “is not a human being but an automaton, made up of whalebone, india-rubber, and numberless springs.” Those who had not bothered to see her before were immediately curious, and those who had already seen her paid to see her again, to find out whether the rumor that she was a robot was true.

In 1842, Barnum purchased the carcass of what was purported to be a mermaid. This creature resembled a monkey with the body of a fish, but the head and body were perfectly joined—it was truly a wonder. After some research Barnum discovered that the creature had been expertly put together in Japan, where the hoax had caused quite a stir.

He nevertheless planted articles in newspapers around the country claiming the capture of a mermaid in the Fiji Islands. He also sent the papers woodcut prints of paintings showing mermaids. By the time he showed the specimen in his museum, a national debate had been sparked over the existence of these mythical creatures. A few months before Barnum’s campaign, no one had cared or even known about mermaids; now everyone was talking about them as if they were real. Crowds flocked in record numbers to see the Fiji Mermaid, and to hear debates on the subject.

A few years later, Barnum toured Europe with General Tom Thumb, a five-year-old dwarf from Connecticut whom Barnum claimed was an eleven-year-old English boy, and whom he had trained to do many remarkable acts. During this tour Barnum’s name attracted such attention that Queen Victoria, that paragon of sobriety, requested a private audience with him and his talented dwarf at Buckingham Palace. The English press may have ridiculed Barnum, but Victoria was royally entertained by him, and respected him ever after.

Interpretation

Barnum understood the fundamental truth about attracting attention: Once people’s eyes are on you, you have a special legitimacy. For Barnum, creating interest meant creating a crowd; as he later wrote, “Every crowd has a silver lining.” And crowds tend to act in conjunction. If one person stops to see your beggar-man laying bricks in the street, more will do the same. They will gather like dust bunnies. Then, given a gentle push, they will enter your museum or watch your show. To create a crowd you have to do something different and odd. Any kind of curiosity will serve the purpose, for crowds are magnetically attracted by the unusual and inexplicable. And once you have their attention, never let it go. If it veers toward other people, it does so at your expense. Barnum would ruthlessly suck attention from his competitors, knowing what a valuable commodity it is.

At the beginning of your rise to the top, then, spend all your energy on attracting attention. Most important: The quality of the attention is irrelevant. No matter how badly his shows were reviewed, or how slanderously personal were the attacks on his hoaxes, Barnum would never complain. If a newspaper critic reviled him particularly badly, in fact, he made sure to invite the man to an opening and to give him the best seat in the house. He would even write anonymous attacks on his own work, just to keep his name in the papers. From Barnum’s vantage, attention—whether negative or positive—was the main ingredient of his success. The worst fate in the world for a man who yearns fame, glory, and, of course, power is to be ignored.

If the courtier happens to engage in arms in some public spectacle such as jousting ... he will ensure that the horse he has is beautifully caparisoned, that he himself is suitably attired, with appropriate mottoes and ingenious devices to attract the eyes of the onlookers in his direction as surely as the lodestone attracts iron.

Baldassare Castiglione, 1478-1529

KEYS TO POWER

Burning more brightly than those around you is a skill that no one is born with. You have to learn to attract attention, “as surely as the lodestone attracts iron.” At the start of your career, you must attach your name and reputation to a quality, an image, that sets you apart from other people. This image can be something like a characteristic style of dress, or a personality quirk that amuses people and gets talked about. Once the image is established, you have an appearance, a place in the sky for your star.

It is a common mistake to imagine that this peculiar appearance of yours should not be controversial, that to be attacked is somehow bad. Nothing could be further from the truth. To avoid being a flash in the pan, and having your notoriety eclipsed by another, you must not discriminate between different types of attention; in the end, every kind will work in your favor. Barnum, we have seen, welcomed personal attacks and felt no need to defend himself. He deliberately courted the image of being a humbug.

The court of Louis XIV contained many talented writers, artists, great beauties, and men and women of impeccable virtue, but no one was more talked about than the singular Duc de Lauzun. The duke was short, almost dwarfish, and he was prone to the most insolent kinds of behavior—he slept with the king’s mistress, and openly insulted not only other courtiers but the king himself. Louis, however, was so beguiled by the duke’s eccentricities that he could not bear his absences from the court. It was simple: The strangeness of the duke’s character attracted attention. Once people were enthralled by him, they wanted him around at any cost.

Society craves larger-than-life figures, people who stand above the general mediocrity. Never be afraid, then, of the qualities that set you apart and draw attention to you. Court controversy, even scandal. It is better to be attacked, even slandered, than ignored. All professions are ruled by this law, and all professionals must have a bit of the showman about them.

The great scientist Thomas Edison knew that to raise money he had to remain in the public eye at any cost. Almost as important as the inventions themselves was how he presented them to the public and courted attention.

Edison would design visually dazzling experiments to display his discoveries with electricity. He would talk of future inventions that seemed fantastic at the time—robots, and machines that could photograph thought—and that he had no intention of wasting his energy on, but that made the public talk about him. He did everything he could to make sure that he received more attention than his great rival Nikola Tesla, who may actually have been more brilliant than he was but whose name was far less known. In 1915, it was rumored that Edison and Tesla would be joint recipients of that year’s Nobel Prize in physics. The prize was eventually given to a pair of English physicists; only later was it discovered that the prize committee had actually approached Edison, but he had turned them down, refusing to share the prize with Tesla. By that time his fame was more secure than Tesla’s, and he thought it better to refuse the honor than to allow his rival the attention that would have come even from sharing the prize.

If you find yourself in a lowly position that offers little opportunity for you to draw attention, an effective trick is to attack the most visible, most famous, most powerful person you can find. When Pietro Aretino, a young Roman servant boy of the early sixteenth century, wanted to get attention as a writer of verses, he decided to publish a series of satirical poems ridiculing the pope and his affection for a pet elephant. The attack put Aretino in the public eye immediately. A slanderous attack on a person in a position of power would have a similar effect. Remember, however, to use such tactics sparingly after you have the public’s attention, when the act can wear thin.

Once in the limelight you must constantly renew it by adapting and varying your method of courting attention. If you don’t, the public will grow tired, will take you for granted, and will move on to a newer star. The game requires constant vigilance and creativity. Pablo Picasso never allowed himself to fade into the background; if his name became too attached to a particular style, he would deliberately upset the public with a new series of paintings that went against all expectations. Better to create something ugly and disturbing, he believed, than to let viewers grow too familiar with his work. Understand: People feel superior to the person whose actions they can predict. If you show them who is in control by playing against their expectations, you both gain their respect and tighten your hold on their fleeting attention.

Image: The Limelight. The actor who steps into this bril liant light attains a heightened presence. All eyes are on him. There is room for only one actor at a time in the limelight’s narrow beam; do what ever it takes to make yourself its focus. Make your gestures so large, amus ing, and scandalous that the light stays on you while the other actors are left in the shadows.

Authority: Be ostentatious and be seen.... What is not seen is as though it did not exist.... It was light that first caused all creation to shine forth. Display fills up many blanks, covers up deficiencies, and gives everything a second life, especially when it is backed by genuine merit. (Baltasar Gracián, 1601-1658)

PART II: CREATE AN AIR OF MYSTERY

In a world growing increasingly banal and familiar, what seems enigmatic instantly draws attention. Never make it too clear what you are doing or about to do. Do not show all your cards. An air of mystery heightens your presence; it also creates anticipation—everyone will be watching you to see what happens next. Use mystery to beguile, seduce, even frighten.

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

Beginning in 1905, rumors started to spread throughout Paris of a young Oriental girl who danced in a private home, wrapped in veils that she gradually discarded. A local journalist who had seen her dancing reported that “a woman from the Far East had come to Europe laden with perfume and jewels, to introduce some of the richness of the Oriental colour and life into the satiated society of European cities.” Soon everyone knew the dancer’s name: Mata Hari.

Early that year, in the winter, small and select audiences would gather in a salon filled with Indian statues and other relics while an orchestra played music inspired by Hindu and Javanese melodies. After keeping the audience waiting and wondering, Mata Hari would suddenly appear, in a startling costume: a white cotton brassiere covered with Indian-type jewels; jewelled bands at the waist supporting a sarong that revealed as much as it concealed; bracelets up the arms. Then Mata Hari would dance, in a style no one in France had seen before, her whole body swaying as if she were in a trance. She told her excited and curious audience that her dances told stories from Indian mythology and Javanese folktales. Soon the cream of Paris, and ambassadors from far-off lands, were competing for invitations to the salon, where it was rumored that Mata Hari was actually performing sacred dances in the nude.

The public wanted to know more about her. She told journalists that she was actually Dutch in origin, but had grown up on the island of Java. She would also talk about time spent in India, how she had learned sacred Hindu dances there, and how Indian women “can shoot straight, ride horseback, and are capable of doing logarithms and talk philosophy.” By the summer of 1905, although few Parisians had actually seen Mata Hari dance, her name was on everyone’s lips.

As Mata Hari gave more interviews, the story of her origins kept changing: She had grown up in India, her grandmother was the daughter of a Javanese princess, she had lived on the island of Sumatra where she had spent her time “horseback riding, gun in hand, and risking her life.” No one knew anything certain about her, but journalists did not mind these changes in her biography. They compared her to an Indian goddess, a creature from the pages of Baudelaire—whatever their imagination wanted to see in this mysterious woman from the East.

In August of 1905, Mata Hari performed for the first time in public. Crowds thronging to see her on opening night caused a riot. She had now become a cult figure, spawning many imitations. One reviewer wrote, “Mata Hari personifies all the poetry of India, its mysticism, its voluptuousness, its hypnotizing charm.” Another noted, “If India possesses such unexpected treasures, then all Frenchmen will emigrate to the shores of the Ganges.”

Soon the fame of Mata Hari and her sacred Indian dances spread beyond Paris. She was invited to Berlin, Vienna, Milan. Over the next few years she performed throughout Europe, mixed with the highest social circles, and earned an income that gave her an independence rarely enjoyed by a woman of the period. Then, near the end of World War I, she was arrested in France, tried, convicted, and finally executed as a German spy. Only during the trial did the truth come out: Mata Hari was not from Java or India, had not grown up in the Orient, did not have a drop of Eastern blood in her body. Her real name was Margaretha Zelle, and she came from the stolid northern province of Friesland, Holland.

Interpretation

When Margaretha Zelle arrived in Paris, in 1904, she had half a franc in her pocket. She was one of the thousands of beautiful young girls who flocked to Paris every year, taking work as artists’ models, nightclub dancers, or vaudeville performers at the Folies Bergère. After a few years they would inevitably be replaced by younger girls, and would often end up on the streets, turning to prostitution, or else returning to the town they came from, older and chastened.

Zelle had higher ambitions. She had no dance experience and had never performed in the theater, but as a young girl she had traveled with her family and had witnessed local dances in Java and Sumatra. Zelle clearly understood that what was important in her act was not the dance itself, or even her face or figure, but her ability to create an air of mystery about herself. The mystery she created lay not just in her dancing, or her costumes, or the stories she would tell, or her endless lies about her origins; it lay in an atmosphere enveloping everything she did. There was nothing you could say for sure about her—she was always changing, always surprising her audience with new costumes, new dances, new stories. This air of mystery left the public always wanting to know more, always wondering about her next move. Mata Hari was no more beautiful than many of the other young girls who came to Paris, and she was not a particularly good dancer. What separated her from the mass, what attracted and held the public’s attention and made her famous and wealthy, was her mystery. People are enthralled by mystery; because it invites constant interpretation, they never tire of it. The mysterious cannot be grasped. And what cannot be seized and consumed creates power.

KEYS TO POWER

In the past, the world was filled with the terrifying and unknowable—diseases, disasters, capricious despots, the mystery of death itself. What we could not understand we re-imagined as myths and spirits. Over the centuries, though, we have managed, through science and reason, to illuminate the darkness; what was mysterious and forbidding has grown familiar and comfortable. Yet this light has a price: in a world that is ever more banal, that has had its mystery and myth squeezed out of it, we secretly crave enigmas, people or things that cannot be instantly interpreted, seized, and consumed.

That is the power of the mysterious: It invites layers of interpretation, excites our imagination, seduces us into believing that it conceals something marvellous. The world has become so familiar and its inhabitants so predictable that what wraps itself in mystery will almost always draw the limelight to it and make us watch it.

Do not imagine that to create an air of mystery you have to be grand and awe-inspiring. Mystery that is woven into your day-to-day demeanor, and is subtle, has that much more power to fascinate and attract attention. Remember: Most people are upfront, can be read like an open book, take little care to control their words or image, and are hopelessly predictable. By simply holding back, keeping silent, occasionally uttering ambiguous phrases, deliberately appearing inconsistent, and acting odd in the subtlest of ways, you will emanate an aura of mystery. The people around you will then magnify that aura by constantly trying to interpret you.

Both artists and con artists understand the vital link between being mysterious and attracting interest. Count Victor Lustig, the aristocrat of swindlers, played the game to perfection. He was always doing things that were different, or seemed to make no sense. He would show up at the best hotels in a limo driven by a Japanese chauffeur; no one had ever seen a Japanese chauffeur before, so this seemed exotic and strange. Lustig would dress in the most expensive clothing, but always with something—a medal, a flower, an armband—out of place, at least in conventional terms. This was seen not as tasteless but as odd and intriguing. In hotels he would be seen receiving telegrams at all hours, one after the other, brought to him by his Japanese chauffeur—telegrams he would tear up with utter nonchalance. (In fact they were fakes, completely blank.) He would sit alone in the dining room, reading a large and impressive-looking book, smiling at people yet remaining aloof. Within a few days, of course, the entire hotel would be abuzz with interest in this strange man.

All this attention allowed Lustig to lure suckers in with ease. They would beg for his confidence and his company. Everyone wanted to be seen with this mysterious aristocrat. And in the presence of this distracting enigma, they wouldn’t even notice that they were being robbed blind.

An air of mystery can make the mediocre appear intelligent and profound. It made Mata Hari, a woman of average appearance and intelligence, seem like a goddess, and her dancing divinely inspired. An air of mystery about an artist makes his or her artwork immediately more intriguing, a trick Marcel Duchamp played to great effect. It is all very easy to do—say little about your work, tease and titillate with alluring, even contradictory comments, then stand back and let others try to make sense of it all.

Mysterious people put others in a kind of inferior position—that of trying to figure them out. To degrees that they can control, they also elicit the fear surrounding anything uncertain or unknown. All great leaders know that an aura of mystery draws attention to them and creates an intimidating presence. Mao Tse-tung, for example, cleverly cultivated an enigmatic image; he had no worries about seeming inconsistent or contradicting himself—the very contradictoriness of his actions and words meant that he always had the upper hand. No one, not even his own wife, ever felt they understood him, and he therefore seemed larger than life. This also meant that the public paid constant attention to him, ever anxious to witness his next move.

If your social position prevents you from completely wrapping your actions in mystery, you must at least learn to make yourself less obvious. Every now and then, act in a way that does not mesh with other people’s perception of you. This way you keep those around you on the defensive, eliciting the kind of attention that makes you powerful. Done right, the creation of enigma can also draw the kind of attention that strikes terror into your enemy.

During the Second Punic War (219-202 B.C.), the great Carthaginian general Hannibal was wreaking havoc in his march on Rome. Hannibal was known for his cleverness and duplicity.

Under his leadership Carthage’s army, though smaller than those of the Romans, had constantly outmanoeuvred them. On one occasion, though, Hannibal’s scouts made a horrible blunder, leading his troops into a marshy terrain with the sea at their back. The Roman army blocked the mountain passes that led inland, and its general, Fabius, was ecstatic—at last he had Hannibal trapped. Posting his best sentries on the passes, he worked on a plan to destroy Hannibal’s forces. But in the middle of the night, the sentries looked down to see a mysterious sight: A huge procession of lights was heading up the mountain. Thousands and thousands of lights. If this was Hannibal’s army, it had suddenly grown a hundredfold.

The sentries argued heatedly about what this could mean: Reinforcements from the sea? Troops that had been hidden in the area? Ghosts? No explanation made sense.

As they watched, fires broke out all over the mountain, and a horrible noise drifted up to them from below, like the blowing of a million horns. Demons, they thought. The sentries, the bravest and most sensible in the Roman army, fled their posts in a panic.

By the next day, Hannibal had escaped from the marshland. What was his trick? Had he really conjured up demons? Actually what he had done was order bundles of twigs to be fastened to the horns of the thousands of oxen that traveled with his troops as beasts of burden. The twigs were then lit, giving the impression of the torches of a vast army heading up the mountain. When the flames burned down to the oxen’s skin, they stampeded in all directions, bellowing like mad and setting fires all over the mountainside. The key to this device’s success was not the torches, the fires, or the noises in themselves, however, but the fact that Hannibal had created a puzzle that captivated the sentries’ attention and gradually terrified them. From the mountaintop there was no way to explain this bizarre sight. If the sentries could have explained it they would have stayed at their posts.

If you find yourself trapped, cornered, and on the defensive in some situation, try a simple experiment: Do something that cannot be easily explained or interpreted. Choose a simple action, but carry it out in a way that unsettles your opponent, a way with many possible interpretations, making your intentions obscure. Don’t just be unpredictable (although this tactic too can be successful—see Law 17); like Hannibal, create a scene that cannot be read. There will seem to be no method to your madness, no rhyme or reason, no single explanation. If you do this right, you will inspire fear and trembling and the sentries will abandon their posts. Call it the “feigned madness of Hamlet” tactic, for Hamlet uses it to great effect in Shakespeare’s play, frightening his stepfather Claudius through the mystery of his behavior. The mysterious makes your forces seem larger, your power more terrifying.

Image: The Dance of the Veils—the veils envelop the dancer. What they reveal causes excitement. What they conceal heightens interest. The essence of mystery.

Authority: If you do not declare yourself immediately, you arouse expectation.... Mix a little mystery with everything, and the very mystery stirs up veneration. And when you explain, be not too explicit.... In this manner you imitate the Divine way when you cause men to wonder and watch. (Baltasar Gracián, 1601-1658)

REVERSAL

In the beginning of your rise to the top, you must attract attention at all cost, but as you rise higher you must constantly adapt. Never wear the public out with the same tactic. An air of mystery works wonders for those who need to develop an aura of power and get themselves noticed, but it must seem measured and under control. Mata Hari went too far with her fabrications; although the accusation that she was a spy was false, at the time it was a reasonable presumption because all her lies made her seem suspicious and nefarious. Do not let your air of mystery be slowly transformed into a reputation for deceit. The mystery you create must seem a game, playful and nonthreatening. Recognize when it goes too far, and pull back.

There are times when the need for attention must be deferred, and when scandal and notoriety are the last things you want to create. The attention you attract must never offend or challenge the reputation of those above you—not, at any rate, if they are secure. You will seem not only paltry but desperate by comparison. There is an art to knowing when to draw notice and when to withdraw.

Lola Montez was one of the great practitioners of the art of attracting attention. She managed to rise from a middle-class Irish background to being the lover of Franz Liszt and then the mistress and political adviser of King Ludwig of Bavaria. In her later years, though, she lost her sense of proportion.

In London in 1850 there was to be a performance of Shakespeare’s Macbeth featuring the greatest actor of the time, Charles John Kean. Everyone of consequence in English society was to be there; it was rumored that even Queen Victoria and Prince Albert were to make a public appearance. The custom of the period demanded that everyone be seated before the queen arrived. So the audience got there a little early, and when the queen entered her royal box, they observed the convention of standing up and applauding her. The royal couple waited, then bowed. Everyone sat down and the lights were dimmed. Then, suddenly, all eyes turned to a box opposite Queen Victoria’s: A woman appeared from the shadows, taking her seat later than the queen. It was Lola Montez. She wore a diamond tiara on her dark hair and a long fur coat over her shoulders. People whispered in amazement as the ermine cloak was dropped to reveal a low-necked gown of crimson velvet. By turning their heads, the audience could see that the royal couple deliberately avoided looking at Lola’s box. They followed Victoria’s example, and for the rest of the evening Lola Montez was ignored. After that evening no one in fashionable society dared to be seen with her. All her magnetic powers were reversed. People would flee her sight. Her future in England was finished.

Never appear overly greedy for attention, then, for it signals insecurity, and insecurity drives power away. Understand that there are times when it is not in your interest to be the center of attention. When in the presence of a king or queen, for instance, or the equivalent thereof, bow and retreat to the shadows; never compete.

#mgtow #attraction #rules #life #love #seduction #dating #psychology #books #quotes #quoteoftheday #advice #self-improvement

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whickedlydeviant · 5 years

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I Hate Everything About You: Chapter One

Wrath:

V pulled me out of my thoughts with his inquest, “You ready for the next one, or do you need a little break?”

Nodding my head at V and letting out a long sigh, I replied, “Yeah. Send them in.”

Whicked:

Wrath:

The creak of the door as V stepped back through, pulled me from my trance. “Sire, Annalee Termagant here to see you.” I waited as I hear the flip of the folder in his hands. “Her family…”

“Sire?”

Whicked:

Wrath:

The flare to my nose, I’m sure didn’t go unnoticed. “Okay then, Whicked…state your case for the record.”

Impatiently, I waited.

Whicked:

I stepped back from the desk, my fingers lingering over the wood before raising to my locks, twirling them around my fingers nervously.

Wrath:

“V!” I growled.

It took him five steps too long to get to me. “What’s up, man?”

Whicked:

I stood there in the empty room blinking rapidly. Against my better nature I bit out a parting retort. “Well fuck you very much, Your Majesty”!

I span on my heels and strode out of the room, 50 shades of pissed off. He better get me that paperwork tonight because I had a meeting with the bank tomorrow. What I wanted, would be mine.

Wrath:

#IHateEverythingAboutYou #Chapter1

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eternallyboundfamily · 4 years

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I Hate Everything About You: Chapter 1, written by @DarkLoverLost & @DelicateDeviant

Wrath:

V pulled me out of my thoughts with his inquest, “You ready for the next one, or do you need a little break?”

Whicked:

I paced around the reception area of the King’s Audience House like a caged Tiger. My eyes tracked the movements of the Receptionist and all the other’s that were patiently waiting their turn to meet the King and discuss whatever it was they needed. I hated that I needed to come here to ask some Male I didn’t know, who didn’t know me for access to my own money. When the Lesser’s killed my family, what money my family did have had been transferred into a trust fund for me since I was the only living member left. I had pretty much stayed clear of the money, preferring to earn my own and make my own way in this world it was easier that way. Not needing or relying on anyone but me. But if I wanted to make my dreams come true, I was going to need a little help. I sighed impatiently and smoothed down my mid length skirt before fidgeting with the collar of my blouse waiting for my name to be called. The background music was operatic or some shit and it was like driving nails into my head, I balled my hands into fists as I tried to keep my head in the game so I didn’t screw up and embarrass myself in front of the King, not that I really cared what he thought, I just didn’t want his impression of me to royally screw my chances of getting what I needed from him.

“Yeah…Hi, I am Whicked, I don’t go by Annalee anymore.” He nodded like he really didn’t give a shit if my name was Mary Fricken Poppins or whatever, he had better things to think about like keeping the King safe. “Sure Female, whatever you say, just follow me”. For once, I did what I was told and followed him through the door into the King’s Audience Chamber beyond.

Wrath:

I’ve done my best… Well, I guess my best is a bit too strong. I really haven’t done my best. I’ve had my ups and downs, mostly downs. I’ve just about given up, at this point. Nothing seems to be worthwhile. I know that sounds horrible, especially considering I have this amazing little male waiting for me at home, but I just have days where putting one foot in front of the other seems utterly impossible. Mary has tried to talk to me, I refuse. I know it worked well for Z and some of the others. It’s not going to work for me. I just want to be with my beloved. Spending hours on someone’s couch isn’t going to change that. This morning had been one of those days where I couldn’t get myself to move. If it weren’t for V, I would never make it in here. I wouldn’t make it out of bed most days. He keeps me going. He forces me to do the things I don’t have the will to do. He’s basically become a nurse to a dying King.

The creak of the door as V stepped back through, pulled me from my trance. “Sire, Annalee Termagant here to see you.” I waited as I hear the flip of the folder in his hands. “Her family…”A scent so strong hit me like a ton of bricks. It was like a cold breeze rippled across my skin as I took a deep breath in. It was sweet like a field of lavender, with a touch of rosewood. Dearest Virgin Scribe… I took another deep breath. Fuck! Rosewood. Beth’s favorite shampoo had rosewood in it. But, there was something more to why this female’s scent tickled my every fiber. Something dangerous. Something I didn’t want to even fathom. I gritted my teeth and balled my fists as the bouquet of this female wafted into my nose. I hadn’t even realized that V was done introducing her and I hadn’t caught a thing.

“Sire?”

Whicked:

I inched forward, toward him, now feeling as nervous as I did earlier, not knowing how to address him but when I heard him say my name, Annalee, I groaned and my inner bitch took over oblivious to the sitch going on. “Yeah….Hi, um King…Sire…whatever. My name is Whicked, I don’t go by ~That~ name any more”. I fidgetted as I stood there, my hands clasping each other in front of me, his wraparound sunglasses preventing me from seeing what was going on in his mind, his jaw was tight, almost like he was grinding his teeth. Boy he looked pissed.I clenched and unclenched my hands in front of me and tried to still my nervous fidgeting but I knew I was losing the battle. Part of me wondered if bolting was still an option to me. I glanced over my shoulder and noted that my escort was propped up against the door with a shiteating grin on his face, obviously finding my current predicament amusing, ok so trying to escape wasa no-go. I shot him a blistering glare before flicking my flame locks over my shoulder and refocusing me eyes on the The Blind King.

Wrath:

Or, better yet, V… please, state it for her, so I don’t have to listen to another syllable slip past her lips. Not that I couldn’t request for that, but I didn’t want to alert V to what was going on in my head. So, I kept quiet. Then again, with his skills, he was probably seeing it all in his mind, anyway. Impatiently, I waited.

Whicked:

“Well…well I want to get access to my Family trust fund…. please. I need the cash as collateral toward a loan for my own space downtown. So…if you could uhhh just sign the dotted line I can get out of your way, I am sure you have plenty of better things to do, right?”

Wrath: Even though I leaned back in my chair, my body was far from relaxed. In all honesty, I had heard the rustle of her clothes and the click of her heels as she stepped right up to my desk and I was trying desperately to create some distance. Her scent stronger now, hinted at a small touch of eucalyptus mixed in with the lavender and rosewood… and her voice seemed to melt my creaky bones.

“V!” I growled.

It took him five steps too long to get to me. “What’s up, man?”

Whicked:

I stood there in the empty room blinking rapidly. Against my better nature I bit out a parting retort. “Well fuck you very much, Your Majesty”!

I span on my heels and strode out of the room, 50 shades of pissed off. He better get me that paperwork tonight because I had a meeting with the bank tomorrow. What I wanted, would be mine.

Wrath:

“Fuck you very much, huh?” I ran my hand gently across the side of her features, gaining a sense of every muscle and how they were formed into a slight grin that she was fighting. Slowly, I trailed my finger down her neck, along the jugular, feeling it pulse way too fast for a normal beat.

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thatsnotcanonpodcasts · 4 years

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Toyota, 1917 & Google Stadia

Well, here we come, waltzing down the street, getting hot and sweaty, with all this humidity. Hey hey we’re the Nerds yeah, and people say we look kind of funny, particularly Buck the big Boomer. Haha, admit it, you started to sing that in to the Monkey’s theme tune didn’t you, if not you just went back and tried it. We this week we bring you another awesome episode to listen to while you rest in the shade and enjoy a breeze on the long weekend.

First up we are taking flight with Buck, Toyota, and Joby. No, Joby is not a new host, it is an aviation company that Toyota is investing in to increase its presence in the transport arena. Also this is the next step to having vehicles like in the Jetsons. Check out the drawings in the link, a tilt-engine vehicle that looks like a cross between a drone and a helicopter. This is seriously cool. Also while looking around at all the different transport tech news Buck also found some artists renderings of potential vehicles for space travel from Lexus. Wait till you hear what Buck and Professor think one of them looks like. Which is your favorite option?

Next up DJ has a story about the Producers Guild Awards, in particular 1917. Want to know what movies won which awards, listen in. Also you can hear about the movie 1917, with some of the various story plot points to look out for. For those unfamiliar with it 1917 is a movie set in World War One. It is the story of a soldier and his friend trying to save the lives of 1600 British troops. There are some funny parts, but it is a moving drama based on stories told by the Grand Father of the Director Sam Mendes. DJ has also asked for your predictions for the Oscars and who you think should be nominated and win, so let us know on either: Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram.

Next up we have Professor bringing us an update on the saga of Crytek and CIG (Star Citizen). Would you believe that so far CIG have spent over $900,000 on this legal matter? Yep, for the company started on kickstarter and now sells space fleets for $27000 they are really going hard. Want to know what has happened then listen in. As usual we have all the shout outs, remembrances, birthdays, and events of interest. Until next week, please remember to take care of yourselves, look out for each other, and stay hydrated.

Toyota joins Joby Aviation - https://www.technology.org/2020/01/17/toyota-is-joining-forces-with-the-leader-of-commercial-evtol-technology-electric-air-taxis-are-coming/

Lexus brings us drawing of Moon/space vehicles - https://www.engadget.com/2020/01/18/lexus-moon-space-vehicles/

‘1917’ Becomes Oscar Front-Runner After Producers Guild Win - https://www.nytimes.com/2020/01/19/movies/1917-producers-guild-america-award.html

Crytek vs Star Citizen an update - https://www.reddit.com/r/Games/comments/eqedb8/crytek_vs_star_citizens42_update_cigs_response_to/

Does Google Stadia Stink like old socks? - https://www.businessinsider.com.au/google-stadia-early-adopters-giving-up-2020-1?utm_source=reddit.com&r=US&IR=T

Games Played

Professor

– Steamworld - http://imageform.se/game/steamworld-dig/

Rating: 4/5

Buck

– Thunder Run: War of Clans - https://www.facebook.com/ThunderRunWarOfClans/?epa=SEARCH_BOX

Rating: 3/5

– Darwin Project - https://store.steampowered.com/app/544920/Darwin_Project/?fbclid=IwAR0Sp5FnKYv9vrxu9FdrXRH5PLWk4rooNt8vIqMEPAnx3GvOjU-Ob8cGZxc

Rating: 4/5