#and charles is already always providing content to learn from

[petit-papillion]

Ed doing a lot better at learning Italian than I am. DuoLingo bird is not happy with me...

Chatles with Ed Sheeran at Miami GP | May 2024

🎥 Scuderia Ferrari

#i think the bird may in fact have given up on me #life has been too crazy with other priorities lately #but i really do want to learn #so maybe this will be the push i need #thanks ed #and charles is already always providing content to learn from #charles leclerc #ed sheeran #speaking italian #miami gp 2024

[boldlyvoid]

forever is the sweetest con | Chip Taylor x Reader

18+

Summary: Reader's dad is a carpenter; sometimes he takes on apprentices and sometimes, if they're lucky, they get his daughter's number at the end of their training. Chip Taylor, however, hits the jackpot when her father invites him over for one of her homecooked meals.

Warnings: reader's mom passed away, mentions of parental death, strangers to lovers, random acts of kindness, mutual pining, falling in love, steamy make-outs, oral sex (male and female receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, sub!chip, food mentions, praise, love confessions.

word count: 6.2k

a/n: thank you @samuel-de-champagne-problems for requesting a chip fic!! i am in love with him and also yes this plot is something that happened to my parents, however, my mom is still alive and my dad does give my Instagram out to the men who subcontract for him lmao!

Her father was a carpenter, and he often took on apprentices. You see, he had to learn everything on his own to make his way in life and support his family, he was willing to help other men do the same thing. And so every night he would come home from work and talk about whatever idiot he was teaching this week.

“His name is Chip,” her father emphasized the p with confusion, “what is that even short for?”

“It’s short for Charles,” she couldn’t help but laugh, “is he at least more competent than that Mason kid?”

“Much!” He rolled his eyes, “although I did have to teach him how to put crown moulding in today, he’s a quick learner and you can tell he’s just following what they teach at the schools but I know the hacks.”

“I know, Dad,” she smiled. “Is he cute? Single?”

She’s been on dates with most of the guys he’s worked with, mainly because they went to her high school back in the day, but also because her father was trying to play matchmaker. Ever since her mother died, she’s been taking care of him and he just wanted her to have some fun outside of the house. She needed a life in his eyes.

She was content working at the diner and serving people food all day just to come home and take care of her father. He worked hard to make sure they stayed afloat after her mom, the least she could do is make him dinner and a sandwich for lunch the next day.

“He is actually,” he shrugged, “he’s a yes man, you’d probably really like him.”

“Why’s that?” She asked, waiting for whatever snide comment he was going to make to jokingly piss her off.

“Your aunt Lisa only married your uncle Jason because he was a yes man and she could wear the pants, and you’ve always been just like her,” he explained it nicer than she expected.

“Give him my number next time you work with him?” She asks nicely, taking his plate from the table and moving it to the sink.

“Good luck chip,” she hears him mumble under his breath.

It makes her laugh, she loves her relationship with her father and the friendly environment they were able to keep after everything that’s happened to their family. They always laughed together, he was always cracking jokes and even when they were shouting obscenities at each other it came from a place of love, “fuck-head” was a term of endearment in their home.

—

He brings Chip home with him without telling her, she’s been home all day cleaning the house; her hair is a mess and she’s all sweaty, and he really is cute. She made enough food for an army so it wasn’t a problem in her father’s eyes, saying “doesn’t she always look beautiful? It’s fine Y/N.”

“Yeah,” Chip agreed with a small smile and a blush that roared red down his neck. "You're very beautiful."

She cleans up a bit before dinner, brushing her hair and changing into a nice sundress. She adds some perfume and shakes the anxiety out of her body, he was just one of her dad’s friends from work. And he happened to be incredibly adorable.

Returning to find them talking about how he fixed their frozen pipes in the winter with a hairdryer. It was the most basic shit to her and yet Chip was fascinated like he’s never heard any of these things before. He’s holding a beer in his hands with a leg crossed as he leans on the sofa and he’s so cute…

He’s in his work jeans and his shirt is all sweaty, and his hair is curled on the ends from all the hard work. His hands are dirty and he smells like sawdust and home. She’s not listening to a single thing they’re talking about, she’s just staring at the way his face moves when he talks and how sweet his laugh is.

He loves dinner, he’s beyond thankful and even more so for dessert. She made homemade banana bread with the bananas they had, they were going to go bad if she didn’t. It wasn’t anything special but he acted like she made his whole day.

He helps bring all the dishes into the kitchen, standing beside her as she fills the sink with water, “do you have a towel? I could help dry.”

“I know where everything is, how about you wash and I dry?” She compromises with a smile, and he’s more than happy to oblige.

She learns a little about him, he’s kind and friendly and he seems to crave the feeling of family that being in her home provides. He doesn’t want to stop washing dishes because then he has to go home, and he doesn’t look like he really wants to do that either.

“Do you need a ride home, Chip?” She asks as he lets the sink water out, “I was thinking about going to get some ice cream if you want to join me?”

“I would love to,” he smiles again, “thank you, Y/N.”

—

She understands everything when she drops him off at his tiny, little, run-down apartment; he’s going to be all alone as soon as he leaves her car and she hates that for him. He was so nice it was hard to believe that he didn’t have a nice partner and a house and kids by now.

“I wouldn’t mind if you came over for dinner after all your shifts with my dad? Just text me before so I make enough dinner?” She offers with butterflies swarming in her stomach.

“You’re too kind to me,” he replies, unable to meet her eyes as she turns to him.

“I just want more time to look at you,” she teases, “you’re really handsome.”

He lights up, “you think so?”

She nods with a small laugh, pushing air through her nose as she leans in more, “and you’re nice and funny, and your voice is cute.”

He’s stunned as his eyes flick back and forth from hers to her lips, his lips are parted as he tries to breathe but fails, he looks like no one has ever told him that before.

“Are you working with my dad tomorrow?” She changes the topic so that he can focus once more.

“I should be,” he replies just soft enough for her to hear.

“Would you like a sandwich for lunch? My dad said often the guys don’t bring that much with them to eat, I wouldn’t mind making you a sandwich too?”

She’s not sure why she feels the need to take him in and care for him but she does. She wants to wrap him up in a hug and make his meals and tuck him in at night. He just has this aura that calls for love and she desperately wants to give it to him.

He leans forward and kisses her, she kisses back instinctively and reaches to hold his face. His cheeks are soft as she runs her thumb along the skin, she pulls back only to press a few more pecks to his lips.

“You're something else,” he whispers against her lips before stealing another kiss.

He’s sweet, he tastes like vanilla ice cream and she just wants more. She kisses him again and again, eventually licking at his bottom lip and desperately whining to make out with him. She hasn’t felt this needy since she was a high schooler, but something in Chip made her feel alive.

She is leaning so far into his space she might as well get into his seat too. She moves to kiss his jaw and down his neck and he’s nothing but hands as he feels all over her back.

“Do you want to come inside?” He whispers, scared but just as desperate as she is.

“I shouldn’t,” she says before continuing her trail of kisses down his neck.

She can’t leave any marks because her father will know, but she also doesn’t care. He’d probably just give him a high five and move on with his day. She wanted to be even closer to him, she wanted to sit in his lap and kiss him for hours just because she could.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he tries to persuade her, “it just might be more comfortable for this?”

“Alright.”

He holds her hand on the walk up to his apartment, she likes how much he already feels like hers. He shows her inside and before the door is even closed she’s connecting their lips once again. He moans into her mouth at the feeling of his back colliding with the door and her hands are immediately roaming his shirt.

He’s such a good kisser, he is gentle and soft, he isn’t overly eager and controlling. He lets her explore and slow it down as she presses in closer to him and his hands wander to her hips. She places one of her thighs between his and grinds herself even closer to him.

He’s hard against her hip and the prospect of sleeping with him is so enticing but she knows she can't, at least not yet. It would be too quick, she wants to just appreciate him like this. Her kisses trail from his lips to his ear and he’s still a whining mess, but he’s completely still as she sets the pace of her grinding. He’s not pushing her to do anything or move this along, he’s just letting her explore everywhere… he’s so different.

“I don’t want to have to do laundry tonight,” he whispers with a smirk, moving his hands down to block her from grinding on his erection anymore.

She just undoes his belt and pushes his jeans to the floor before resuming the same position as before, this time she pulls her dress up and rests the clothed tip of his cock in just the right spot under her.

He’s holding her closer again, his arms wrapping almost all the way around her as his big hands grab handfuls of her skin in a desperate attempt to be closer to her. She keeps kissing his neck, they’re more open-mouthed and breathy than she intends but he just feels so good under her.

No one has ever made her feel this desperate before, something about him made her want to devour him whole. His sounds were delicious, his skin even more so, she couldn’t help herself from nipping and sucking at his neck as he made more beautiful noises.

She was so close and she could tell he wasn’t far behind, “let go, Chip,” she whispers in his ear, “cum with me.”

She grinds down hard one final time and he’s a shaking, moaning mess. It’s the feeling of the wet patch in his underwear and the feeling of him shudder that sends her over the edge, panting into his neck as they hold each other close against the door.

He turns them around, taking her by the waist and manhandling her until she’s the one against the door. His lips are on her neck and it’s like his orgasm has only enticed him to go further, “you’re too good to me.”

“You deserve good things Chip,” she whispers as her hand comes up to grip his hair as he continues to kiss her neck.

“Let me say thank you,” he whispers as he drops to his knees and pushes her dress up as she reaches to pull it up for him.

She spreads her legs as he moves her panties to the side and dives in. Spreading her with two fingers he sucks her clit into his mouth first and she tugs on his hair so tight he moans against her. Sending another shockwave through her body as he built another orgasm up.

He’s so good with his mouth, her legs are quaking as she tries to stay standing against the door. She can feel him everywhere but it’s still not enough, she wants him deep inside of her but she knows it’s way too soon to even be doing this. She has never gone this fast with someone before but she couldn’t stop, he felt too amazing.

“Chip,” she chanted his name, tugging on his hair tighter to get him to moan against her and send her over the edge once again.

She ruts against his tongue, fucking his face as she rides it out and he is more than happy to keep going as long as she wants him to and it feels so good she might just stay there. But the twitches get too intense and the whine she makes lets him know she’s done as he kisses back up her body.

Supporting her against the door, he presses his body against her once more. Taller than her, he tilts her chin up so she can look him in the eyes, his chin and nose are glistening with her cum and somehow he’s still cute.

She kisses him on the lips quickly, “when I can feel my legs again, I need to head home.”

When she leaves, she just sits in her car for a few minutes as she settles even more. Then she heads to the grocery store on the way home to get nice things for his sandwich tomorrow, because any man who can make her cum twice in 10 minutes deserves the best sandwich.

—

Waking up at 6 in the morning to make sandwiches is normally a chore, she sometimes makes them the night before so she doesn’t have to worry and can sleep in, this morning she wants to put all the tender loving care into these lunches. Her dad has noticed, he’s eyeing her down from the living room as he has his morning cereal and she knows he wants to ask.

“I didn’t sleep with him if that’s what you’re wondering.” Her voice is just loud enough for him to shoot her a listening glance.

“Oh, but you’re making him a sandwich?”

“You should see his apartment complex,” her expression drops, “ and after the way he devoured dinner last night, I just knew he hasn’t been taken care of in forever. And he’s so nice?”

He smiles, “your mom did the same thing for me.”

“You’ve never told me the story,” she reminds him.

He gets up and walks over to the kitchen, leaning against the counter so they can look at each other. His expression is soft, he’s an overly kind man and it was the thing she loved most about him.

“Your grandfather and I worked at a company making refrigerators, I was new to the state and had nothing and so he brought me home for dinner,” he smiles at the memory.

“Her parents got divorced soon after and her mom was having trouble with the bills so I moved in and I helped, and every morning your mom woke up and she made me a sandwich as a thank you.”

“Oh,” she smiled at the recollection, they really were having the same little love story. “Well, I’m thinking about making fish for dinner, would you ask Chip if he likes it? I’ve invited him over for dinner after all his shifts with you.”

He laughs in a huff, he’s proud of her— and himself. He finally found a good one for her.

—

She outdoes herself for dinner. The food is amazing, the table is set, and she’s all dolled up for him. Her dad thinks it’s cute and he doesn’t mind being the third wheel, they all talk to each other like he’s been having dinner with them for years.

He helps clean up after dinner and her dad falls asleep watching Jeopardy in the living room like normal. She wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head on his back while he’s still doing the dishes, he’s still all sweat from work but she doesn’t care, she wants to give him a hug.

“What’s this for?” He whispers, placing a wet hand over hers on his stomach.

“Do I need a reason to hug you?” She counters.

“No,” he turns around in her grip so that he can give her a real hug. Wet hands on her back and everything.

She held him there, leaning against him as he leaned against the sink. His heartbeat was quick and he still smelled like sawdust and hard work, but he was warm and soft and it felt so right to just be there.

“Are you working with my dad tomorrow?”

“I will be for the rest of the month,” he confirms her hopes; he was going to be around often.

“Would it be alright if I asked you to stay the night?” She whispers incredibly soft for only him to hear.

He nods against her before taking her hand and leading her outside to the porch. They close the house door softly and then she’s back in his arms, “are you sure?”

She looks up at him and he’s even more beautiful today than he was yesterday, “I can take you back to your place to get some things? It would be nice to send you off to work in the morning.”

“You’ve decided that I’m yours now, haven’t you?” He teased her with a smile, perfectly fine with that.

She nods again, “you could move in tomorrow if you wanted, I’m not sure what’s possessed me to take you in like this, but I really don’t want to let you go.”

He delicately places his hands on her cheeks and pulls her into a kiss, it’s soft and short and he’s quick to look at her again.

“You can have me,” he whispers, “forever, if you want.”

It makes her laugh, “that's the sweetest con you know, you promise yourself to me forever and yet you have no idea if you can stay that long.”

He nods in agreement, “what if I promise my hardest to stay?”

“Okay,” she smiles again, leaning forward and kissing him again, finally.

—

The month is coming to an end and he’s slept beside her almost every single night, and even with that, they’re still taking it slow. They go on dates on the weekends, they make out in her car, he drives her to work, she kisses him at the door every morning he stays with them and they’ve done almost everything but have sex together.

They didn’t feel the need to yet, everything that was leading up to it was fun and interesting. She’s enjoyed sneaking around with him to get each other off back and forth, like an adult game of tag.

She’d blow him in the car on the way back to his apartment after dinner, or he’d come and pick her up after a shift at the diner only for them to end up making out in by the back door, and his hand always ended up in her panties. It was an interesting month of getting to know each other, but she wanted more now.

Her dad is going out of town on a fishing trip with his buddies this weekend, she’s booked time off and Chip has no idea what is in store for him. She plans a dinner, she gets all dressed up for him, there are candles and music and it’s perfect.

He’s amazed by the whole thing and she can really tell he’s been mostly alone for his whole life, he looks at a simple home-cooked meal like it was a million dollars and he was beyond grateful for everything. He almost cries he’s so thankful for the time and effort she puts into taking care of him.

He goes to pick up the plates and bring them to the kitchen as soon as their meal is over, “ah, ah, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Cleaning up for you?” Chip answers with a nervous tone that she hasn’t heard before.

“Don’t you want dessert?”

“I can bring it out for you, stay there,” he offers and then frowns when she stands anyway.

“You’re looking at it,” she whispers as she enters his space.

She takes the dishes from his hands and places them on the counter before wrapping her arms around him, “my dad isn’t going to be home until Sunday night.”

“Oh,” he whispers back before his hands reach for her ass and he’s picking her up.

Her legs wrap around his waist and she grips his shoulders for dear life as he hurries them up the stairs and towards her bedroom.

He’s incredibly strong for such a skinny guy, although he was filling out the longer he knew her. He makes it up the stairs and through her door as she gets a head start at kissing his neck until he has her pressed against the door.

“What’s with you and doors?” She teases as he rests her back on her feet, she draws him in closer to her so their chests are pressed together and she can look up into those sweet honey brown eyes.

“I’m just impatient.”

“Too bad, baby,” she teases, “I’m making you take your time with me tonight.”

“Yes ma’am,” he responded with a smirk, “I’m here to please you,” he whispered as he leaned in more.

Attaching his lips to her neck he kissed towards her ear, “to thank you,” he took a fistful of her hair and moved it out of the way before kissing down towards her shoulder. “To show you how much I appreciate everything you do for me.”

She pushed him back enough to get Chip to stop kissing her neck, instead, pressing her lips against his. Kissing him deeply before running her tongue across Chip’s bottom lip as a request to make out with him.

Making out with Chip was something she did often, yet it felt like not enough every time. His plump lips and velvety soft tongue, soft touches and rough stubble rubbing against her chin and cheeks.

He smelled like oak after a storm, it was warm and electric and delicious. She dipped her face into the curve of Chip’s neck and took a whiff before attacking him with open-mouthed kisses.

He giggled, his hands her hips now, the pads of his fingers going up and his nails trailing back down over the fabric of her dress, the perfect motion to make the hair on her body stand up.

She reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it up, separating from his neck so she had room to pull it off of him before reconnected their mouths. Kissing him deeply then pushing him onto the bed, watching Chip get comfortable before she crawled on top.

They wasted no time getting back into the groove of things, tongues clashing and hips grinding, soft moans in each other's mouths, hands roaming everywhere. She reached between them to undo his belt and the button of his jeans so his dick wasn’t rubbing against the zipper. Making out like that was some of the most fun she ever had, she could do it for hours on end.

She pulled back, kneeling above Chip, she grabbed his open belt and pulled it through all the loops and chucked it towards the floor. She massaged her hand over the bulge in his pants as she got closer to his crotch, watching as Chip threw his head back to moan.

She fiddled with the waistband, wanting to pull them down, Chip lifted his ass up ever so slightly for her to do so, she pulled his pants and boxers all the way off and threw them to the floor as well. Spreading Chip’s legs and taking him in her hand, finally. She dipped down ever so slightly and licked the tip and he let out a beautiful cry as his hips bucked. She loved his noises, she loved seeing what new ones she could make and he was more than willing to show her.

Chip gasped and reached out to grip her hair, she took that as an invitation to suck his dick, she wrapped her mouth around the tip, slipping her way down as far as she could go before bobbing back up. It was slow and sensual, she made sure to cover all of him; jerking what didn’t fit in her mouth, dipping down even further to kiss his balls and suck one into her mouth.

The people she’s been with before had never been reactive, they either gave her praise or roughly directed her deeper and deeper till she choked. Chip was different though, making soft noises that sounded like ‘yes’ and ‘god’, his little gasps and stutters of breath were the cutest things. It just encouraged her to do it more.

She pulled off, looking up at Chip who was just staring at her softly. If she knew anything about giving a blowjob she knew what her face probably looked like.. eyes blown out in passion and lips swollen bright red. It was a sight he loved to see, his hand slipped down to cup her cheek and then down to his chin where he used his thumb to brush her bottom lip.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

She crawled back up and sat on his hips, taking the hem of her dress in her hands and pulling it over her head. She was wearing a nice matching underwear set for him, nothing too fancy because she knew it would just end up on the floor anyway.

She leaned back down, attaching their mouths once again, he wrapped his arms around her back and slowly rolled them over safely. Now on top of her, looking up into Chip’s eyes was a blessing. He blinked a few times, making sure it was real and he wasn’t dreaming that the most beautiful girl in the world was looking at him like that.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked gently with pleading eyes that let her know he was desperate to touch her however she pleased.

“Make me yours, Chip.”

“I think you always have been,” he replied.

His beautiful sweaty curls drooping over his eyes, she smiled as she brushed them back. Petting his face softly as she looked at him, he was so beautiful. The light was bouncing off the wall just enough to illuminate him.

“How do you want to do it?” She whispered.

“Let’s just go where the rhythm takes us,” Chip’s voice dropped low as he did, pressing their chests together, close enough to kiss as he rubbed their noses together softly.

She kissed him, wrapping her hands around his neck and pulling him in more. He squeezed his arms between her back and the mattress, wrapping himself around her. he decided to reach into her panties with his free hand.

He took a moment to admire her chest, she had caught him staring before. He constantly used them as a pillow, he wanted to touch them so badly, so she leaned forward and let him unhook her bra. Pulling it from her body and towards the floor.

She could sense his hesitation, taking both his hands off her sides and guiding them to her breasts. He whimpered as he felt them, she closed her eyes at the feeling. A small moan escaping her lips as he groped her. His big hands felt amazing, so strong and gentle, rough and yet soothing. Perfection against her skin.

She leaned back against the bed then, leaving him sitting up on her hips. Her boobs flattening out into a funny shape as she laid back, making her smirk in embarrassment. Only making Chip love them more, diving in and kissing the newly exposed skin.

He dragged his bottom lip over her skin between kisses. Leaving a trail of where he’s been already. She had a hand in his hair, holding it out of his face as she watched him.

Panting as she tried to grind up against him, the arousal in her core was overpowering. She needed to feel more, she wanted all of him. She was addicted to him already, hoping she’ll have forever with him.

She was too hot, feeling the sweat gather behind her knees as she tried to find more friction against him. She didn’t mind all the exploring he was doing, it was a wonderful appetizer, but she was nowhere close to being full.

He pulled back then to sit on his knees between her legs before Chip slowly slipped her underwear off. Raising her hips softly before resting her ass back in his lap and spreading her legs.

Fully on display for him, she played with her nipples slightly. Knowing how much he loved her boobs, watching her with a slack jaw as his hands ran up her legs.

He snapped back into the moment when she pushed her ass down against him, a whimper slipping past his lips as he placed his thumb on her clit, rubbing gentle circles into the bundle of nerves.

With his pointer finger, on the other hand, he traced around her entrance, not pushing in, just exploring the wetness as it dripped out. She tightened up on command, seeing his breath hitch as his finger almost slipped in.

“Please?” She begged, arching her back more so that he could finger her.

“Can we try something?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, resting on her forearms as she leaned forward.

“If I lay back would you, um,” he couldn’t say the words. They felt too filthy leaving his mouth, pointing at his face instead.

She sat up then, pushing him back against the pillows and settling herself over his chest and gripping the headboard for support, Chip wrapped his arms around her hips and guided her forward more.

Her legs were already trembling in anticipation as she hovered over his face, feeling his breath right on her core, Without warning, he sucked her clit into his mouth.

“Fuck,” she gasped as she smacked her forehead against the blocked window behind her bed, hoping to god no one could see through the blinds.

He pushed one finger in as his tongue played with her clit. She couldn’t help rocking her hips against his face, helping him get deeper inside of her. He curled his finger, lightly fucking her with it as he sucked, licked, kissed her pussy.

She was a mess, shaking over top of him as she tried to keep her orgasm in. Not wanting to cum yet, wanting to feel all of him inside of her before she did that. So he added a second finger, making her cry out in pleasure against the window without even trying.

Her orgasm ripped through her as she fucked his face, holding his hair with one hand as the other steadied her on the headboard. She couldn’t believe how intense it was, almost knocking the wind out of her as she road it out on his tongue.

He smiled against her, kissing her clit once more before pulling out and helping her back towards his lap. She wasted no time hovering over his cock as it strained on his stomach.

“Do you want to?” She asked, trying to control her breathing but still looking like a panting mess as she anticipated him.

“I’ll always want you,” he assures her with the sweetest smile.

She wraps her arms around him and rolls them over once more, he adjusts between her legs and drags himself along her overstimulated clit, she shudders at the feeling and then laughs at her own reaction.

“Ready?” He whispered.

She nodded, feeling Chip push in, she reached for his hands where they rested on her hips and interlocked their fingers. He bottomed out and dropped to hover over her, bringing their interlocked hands over her head.

She reached up to kiss him, Chip pushing into the kiss and making her settle into the pillow once again. It honestly felt like a movie scene, a first time between two star-crossed lovers. He pulled out ever so slightly before thrusting in again, she gasped against his mouth.

Chip trusted more while she pushed her hips into it as well, an offbeat rhythm developed in pure ecstasy. She let go of Chip’s hands to snake them around his waist, to run her fingers over the soft and slightly chilled skin of his back. Feeling the bump of his spine as Chip ducked into the crook of her neck, placing kisses along her collarbone.

Chip changed the position of his thrust as he wrapped his arms under her, arching her back ever so slightly to reach the bundle of nerves that left her a quivering mess. Y/N, in response to the added pleasure, ran her sharp nails down Chip’s back and he groaned at the feeling, “do that again.” he requested.

“Like that?” She asked, dragging his nails down him once more.

“Yeah,” Chip moaned, dark and deep.

The feeling of pure bliss overtook her body with each thrust, warm chills ran through him with each brush of his thumb on her clit. Every kiss to her neck and squeeze around her waist made her feel like she was on fire.

The hairs on her arms stood up, goosebumps formed along his forearms. Chip kissed from her neck to her nipple and took the hard nib into his mouth causing her to moan like she never had before.

“Chip,” she panted, pulling Chip’s face back up to his.

His eyes were absolutely blown out in pleasure, those golden wonders he used to stare into were now replaced solely by the pupils. She ran her thumb across Chip’s cheek before reaching to the nape of his neck to pull him into another kiss. Open mouths pressing together, hot air on each other's faces as they panted to the pleasure.

She was in heaven.

Her orgasm bubbled in her stomach, “are you close?” Chip whispered right beside her mouth, kissing her cheek lightly after.

She hummed, unable to speak with the mass amount of pleasure coursing through her body. Chip fucked into her a bit harder, a tiny bit faster, hitting her g-spot dead on each time to the point the nerves in her thighs were quaking uncontrollably.

She was so close, Chip used 3 fingers to quickly rub over her clit before she threw her head back with a shout. Cumming with her eyes pressed shut, pleasure coursed through her body stronger than she’s ever felt it before.

Nothing had ever made her cum that hard, ripping through her like her soul was leaving her body. She dug her nails deep into Chip’s skin holding him close to his body while he kept thrusting.

A high-pitched gasp left his lips, close to her ear as his hips sputtered into her’s one last time.

She still hadn’t opened her eyes, her breath rigid, she felt winded. Chip had stilled as he came inside of her and then collapsed into her, deadweight laying on her.

Chip mustered enough energy to prop himself upon his arm and look at her. Using his free hand he ran his thumb against her bottom lip once more to get her to open her eyes.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” she replied with a smile.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, smile growing, “that was amazing.”

“Better than you hoped?”

“I’ve thought of doing this for the last month, I knew it would be amazing but I never imagined it would be that good.” she complimented Chip, “I think I died when I came, no joke.”

He laughed, dropping himself back into the crook of her neck. He kissed her more, up to her ear and across her jaw to her lips. Soft small kissed followed by a long-drawn-out one. Chip pulled their lips apart with a smack.

“Let me clean us up,” he said.

At that moment she realized Chip was still in her, soft and all. He pulled out slowly it was always such a weird feeling to be empty again. He sat up and made his way off the bed, he went to her bathroom.

Coming back still naked, his dick bobbing between his legs, she loved the view. He had a thing of baby wipes with him, knowing exactly where she kept everything in her bathroom by now.

“I can do it,” she suggested, reaching for them.

Chip pulled them back away from her, “I want to.” he said softly.

Running the cold wipe over her soft skin, Chip looked mesmerized. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” she replied with a shy smile, “can you come back up here now?”

He tossed the wipes onto her night table and cuddled right back into her naked body, she held onto him tightly so he wouldn’t escape. She knew he wouldn’t, but she loved him so much she never wanted to let go.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered into her neck. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same yet.”

“Are you kidding?” She laughed, pulling back so she could see his face as he looked up at her. “I think I’ve been in love with you since you walked in and said I was beautiful.”

He reaches for her cheeks and pulls her in for another kiss, “I’m going to love you forever.”

The words used to scare her, but now she looks at him and thinks they might be right for them.

“Forever it is, then.”

taglist: @g0lden-cth @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria@reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor @blanchardsbk @thatsonezesty13

#chip taylor #chip taylor fanfic #chip taylor x reader #chip taylor x you #chip taylor self insert #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #mgg fanfiction #mgg fanfic #mgg x reader #mgg x y/n #68 kill #68 kill fanfic #68 kill fanfiction #68 kill smut #chip taylor smut #matthew gray gubler fanfic #mgg smut

[royal-confessions]

“I already thought Harry was too much before. With him launching this new court case, I am out words how to call him. It's new level.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Of course the first major Sussex news of the year is them bashing and complaining like they always do. New year, same old shit.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Can prince Harry turn out to be even bigger brat? He CHOOSE to leave. He cannot have the cake and eat it. He won't get any security from us and he can stomp his feet all he likes, he isn't getting any and any politician for such move is commiting political suicide.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Here is thought: If somewhere is unsafe to visit, don't go there! Prince Harry is being difficult on purpose. He keeps putting himself into difficult situations and then complains it is difficult and expects to be saved by others. He is nearly 40. Such man-child!” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Just when you thought Harry couldn’t get stupider, he says he wants cops to protect him and his family. I am exhausted by his behaviour” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Harry "inherited a security risk for life, from birth". Oh boo hoo. "I live a life of privilege most people can only dream of. My wallet's too small for my 50s and my diamond shoes are too tight!" Get some perspective Mr Wales, you're embarrassing yourself by not reading the room at all.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Didn't Harry say the reason he left the BRF was that they weren't paying for his security? And now he wants them to pay for his security despite the fact that he's left? Does this man have any brains?” - Submitted by Anonymous

“yo harry wtf is up with your entitled ass asking the fucking POLICE for security!! theyre police not bodyguards” - Submitted by Anonymous

“The British police do not undertake private contracts - that is part of their original charter which enables them to act (from back when Peel first envisioned a national police force). IF Harry wants to pay for protection, there are PLENTY of private protection companies, the British police is not one of them.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“If the British police could simply be paid off to provide their services and protection to private individuals, that's technically corruption. If Harry wants protection, go hire private security. Admittedly private security won't be as comprehensive as official British police security but they made their bed, and ought to learn to accept their consequences.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“How thick you have to be not get that police's job is not to act as private security? All these years I thought rumours of Harry being dumb are unfounded, but he trully is! Just get private security! It's not that hard if you have money.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“No one is denying Harry security in the UK. Harry is more than welcome to hire private security like every other celebrity does when they come to the UK and pay for it 'til his heart's content. What he's being denied are taxpayer funded RPOs and access to Scotland Yard briefings.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“People really only see point C and not the A/B. Harry wants RPO’s ( like Americas secret service) to be given to him. Secret service agents are not for hired for private citizens which the Sussex are. President kids get them for only certain time after their no longer in office. MET police, even thought it has the word police, it’s not your typical policing but special forces. Before you bring Charles and Camilla, he hired retired officers to protect her during dating years. Harry can hired retired ones, if Princess Haya who has been threatened and her children almost kidnapped has no RPOs then the Sussex can used the same protection as her.” - Submitted by Anonymous

#Prince Harry #popular

[joachimnapoleon]

Meet the Bonapartes--Louis (3/4)

I left off with Part 2 of this an embarrassingly long time ago, but I'm trying to make it a habit of finishing more of the things I start, so I don't want to leave this hanging. So, one year later, here is Part 3 of my write-up on Louis Bonaparte, and I promise Part 4 will not have a similar gap in between.

(Part 1) (Part 2)

***

Louis had been sincere in his declaration, upon accepting the throne of Holland, that he had "become Dutch." He immersed himself in Dutch culture, encouraged his Dutch courtiers to wear their traditional clothing at court balls, and tried to learn and speak Dutch--sometimes with comedic results, such as when he declared himself the Konijn (rabbit), rather than Koning (king) of Holland. His subjects appreciated his efforts nonetheless.

They also appreciated the initiative Louis showed when tragedy struck early in his reign. On 12 January 1807, a ship bearing hundreds of barrels of gunpowder exploded in the Dutch city of Leiden, blowing up hundreds of buildings and killing 150 people, and injuring thousands. Louis immediately left for Leiden and oversaw the recovery efforts, earning him the nickname "Louis the Good" from a grateful populace.

[Aftermath of the Leiden explosion, by Johannes Jelgerhuis]

Louis began his reign with a flurry of activity, writing to Napoleon to request a number of measures intended to favor his new subjects. He requested a reduction in the number of French garrisons in the kingdom, a new treaty of commerce with France, and the right to choose his own men for his Royal Guard. Napoleon granted these, but refused his brother's request for a loan, arguing that the expenses of France were so great that he was unable to give Louis any money.

The Dutch climate negatively impacted Louis's perpetually delicate health from the beginning, but he rarely left the country for much-needed stays at health resorts; this was especially true later in his reign after his relationship with Napoleon had deteriorated so badly that Louis began to fear that he might be deposed in his absence.

That deterioration did not take long to commence. Napoleon began finding fault with Louis's reign almost from the beginning. Napoleon had intended for Louis to play a key role in the 1806 campaign against Prussia, and was seriously disappointed with his brother's sluggish movements and lack of cooperation with Marshal Mortier during the campaign. When, towards the end of the campaign, Louis balked at attempting to seize Hanover in spite of his greatly superior numbers, Napoleon's displeasure with his younger brother was complete. But Napoleon still took care to preserve Louis's reputation; Louis's forfeiture of his command to Mortier and subsequent return to Holland were attributed to bad health, and further territory from Napoleon's conquests was added to Louis's kingdom. Returning to his kingdom, Louis received a hero’s welcome.

If Napoleon was irritated with Louis's conduct during the campaign, Louis, in turn, was angered by the retention of Dutch troops in Germany after the war, commanded by a French general; this, in Louis's eyes, was proof that he was to be little more than a puppet-king. His flagging health notwithstanding, Louis spent the winter working to further assert his independence by implementing public works projects, reorganizing his kingdom's administration and law code, and creating his own military orders, the Order of Union and the Order of Merit. A major point of contention arose between Louis and Napoleon when Louis announced that he intended to introduce the rank of marshal into the Dutch army and navy. Napoleon wrote to him scornfully on 2 January 1807:

Do you think a French general of division would take orders from your Dutch marshals? You are aping French organization, though your circumstances are utterly different. Why not begin by establishing the conscription and having a real army?

He followed it up more bluntly and concisely a week later: "There is nobody in Holland fit to hold such high rank." Louis viewed this as an insult and persisted in implementing the rank, until Napoleon finally ordered him to abolish it as one of numerous conditions to which Louis was forced to concede in early 1810 in order to retain his kingdom. On the subject of conscription, Louis would successfully resist its implementation, despite Napoleon's repeated demands, to the end of his reign.

Louis's relationship with his wife, meanwhile, remained fraught. Hortense had stayed with her mother, the Empress Josephine, during the campaign, and did not return to the Hague until months after her husband, prompting a quarrel. Mutual recriminations abounded: Hortense was upset over Louis's attentions to a Dutch lady at court; Louis, in turn, complained of Hortense's conduct. Napoleon became aware of the conflict and wrote reprovingly to his brother:

You have the best and most virtuous of wives, and you make her miserable. Let her dance as much as she likes; it is only right at her age. I have a wife of forty, and from the battlefield I write to her that she must go to balls; and with a wife who is only twenty and naturally wishes to live her life and has still some of the illusions of youth, you want her to live as if she were in a convent, or to be busy always like a nurse with her children? You yourself are too much shut up in your study and not about enough in public business. I would not say all this unless I thought so much of you. Make the mother of your children happy. You have only one way of doing this, and that is by showing her a great deal of esteem and confidence.

Louis was stung, and protested to Napoleon that he was being misrepresented to the Emperor by rumormongers. The domestic quarrels continued, as did the gossip they inspired at the Dutch court.

The estranged royal couple suffered a severe blow with the unexpected death of their eldest son, Napoleon Charles. The boy, who had been regarded by the still childless Napoleon as the heir to the Empire, had fallen ill in late April 1807. Louis frantically summoned numerous physicians to tend to the child; multiple remedies were attempted; but all without success. The four-year-old child died at midnight on the 5th of May. Hortense was almost insensible with grief and had to be taken away from the palace. Caroline Murat arrived soon to be at Hortense's side, followed shortly thereafter by Josephine. Hortense eventually left to take the waters in the Pyrenees, and Napoleon gave Louis permission to leave his kingdom to join her in early June. At the end of the summer, Josephine arranged for Hortense, who was still very unwell, to remain with her while Louis returned to Holland. Their younger son, Napoleon Louis, remained with Josephine at Fontainebleau as well. This tragedy drew Hortense and Louis together in their shared grief, but the reunion was short-lived.

[Queen Hortense with Napoleon Charles]

Before Louis's return to Holland, he had argued over political matters with Napoleon. The Emperor wanted more troops from Holland; Louis replied that he could not afford to raise them, due to his kingdom's economy suffering from the recently enacted Berlin Decree, which prohibited all trade with England. But Napoleon was unwilling to grant any concessions on this subject, and it would ultimately be Louis's inability--which Napoleon would interpret as unwillingness--to enforce the ban on English trade, that would spell Louis's downfall.

The 1809 war brought Louis's kingdom under threat from attack by the English, who intended for an expedition to seize Antwerp. Antwerp, however, was a French fortress, and as such, Louis was technically not allowed to interfere with it; but his warnings to Napoleon of its vulnerabilities went unheeded. Louis pleaded with Napoleon that his entire kingdom was defenseless due to Napoleon sending Dutch divisions off to Spain and Westphalia; Louis was left with fewer than 9,000 soldiers in Holland. Napoleon refused to reinforce Louis and downplayed the English threat; when the invasion actually occurred, he then blamed Louis for it. Invoking his title as Grand Constable of France in order to take command of the French troops, Louis set to work arming his fortifications and extending river defenses. On the 16th of August, he handed over command of the forces at Antwerp to Marshal Bernadotte. The English expedition ultimately floundered, out of a combination of disease and incompetence.

Napoleon, rather than thanking or lauding Louis for his efforts, blasted him in his correspondence. Louis was told that his office of Grand Constable was purely civil and honorary and gave him no right to command French troops. He questioned how Louis could expect anyone to respect Holland's independence when he refused to provide a larger army and navy for its defense. Without a larger army, his kingdom was a farce.

Louis protested that he was being treated unjustly. He had already heard whispers that Napoleon was planning to annex Holland to France, and garrison it with French troops. As he would soon learn, these were more than just whispers. By late 1809, Napoleon had not only lost faith in Louis, but had come to suspect his brother of disloyalty. In the Emperor’s mind, his brother was far too sympathetic to the Dutch nobility, whom Napoleon distrusted for their ties to the English. Nor did Napoleon appreciate Louis's attachment to the Dutch people and his insistence on promoting Dutch culture at every turn. But above all, Napoleon could not abide his brother's failure to enforce the blockade against English trade; this, in the words of biographer Michael Broers, "was the issue that turned incapacity into treason in his mind." Napoleon was determined that his Continental System be upheld at all costs; he was not oblivious to the suffering this would entail, as he made it clear to Louis in one particularly menacing letter:

Make searches and seize English goods, and [then] my customs men will respect your territory. If you don't do it, I will, as is my right.... The blockade will ruin many commercial cities, Lyon, Amsterdam, Rotterdam, but this state of anxiety must be got over; it must go on to the end.

The efforts of smugglers and corrupt/patriotic police notwithstanding, the blockade wreaked havoc on the commercial cities, just as Napoleon had anticipated. Writes Broers:

Amsterdam plunged into harrowing decline in every sense. Emigration caused by the collapse of commerce was compounded by the spread of diseases related to poverty, reducing its population from 202,000 in 1808, to little more than 180,000 by 1815. Its shipyards, which had employed 2,000 men in 1800, had barely 500 by 1808. Empty towns stood in ruins, while shanty towns along the canals swelled. Poverty was manifest in the city, and even the number of taverns declined. The local system of poor relief and charity that Louis had inherited from the old republic was stretched to the breaking point by the unprecedented speed and scale of Napoleon's manufactured crisis; it is estimated that between 30 and 40 per cent of the population of Amsterdam depended on poor relief by 1809.

And yet Napoleon remained displeased with his brother's enforcement of the blockade, and was convinced that Louis was deliberately acting to thwart him. When the entire imperial family was summoned to Paris in December 1809 for what would be the announcement of Napoleon's divorce and ensuing re-marriage plans, Louis suspected--rightly--that he might be walking into an ambush. He warned his ministers that he might be coerced into signing documents against his will, and that they were to only regard documents signed with his Dutch name--Lodewijk--as valid. In the event of an attempted French occupation of the country, his commanders were to offer a passive resistance, bringing their men inside their fortresses, closing their gates, and raising their drawbridges.

Napoleon welcomed Louis to Paris coldly; at their second meeting, he told him frankly that he intended to annex Holland, and that if Louis resisted, he would find himself at war with France. "Holland," he said, "is nothing but an English colony, more hostile to France than England herself. I mean to eat up Holland!"

In a bid to keep his kingdom, Louis pleaded for a compromise, and demonstrated a willingness to make concessions, including increased enforcement of the blockade and a ceding of territory. Napoleon sent orders to suspend Oudinot's march to occupy Holland, so that negotiations could proceed. But first, there was the issue of the divorce. Louis attempted to piggyback on his brother's divorce from Josephine by petitioning the Emperor for the arrangement of a formal separation from Hortense. Napoleon, instead, decided to have the matter decided by a family council. Though the two would not be permitted to divorce, it was decided that they might live apart; Hortense was permitted to remain in Paris and given an income of half a million francs. She also retained custody of Louis's eldest son, to Louis's bitter disappointment.

During this interim, Napoleon's mind had changed about his earlier negotiations with Louis. He predicted that Louis would not be able to meet the requirements they had agreed upon, and that the annexation would only be deferred. Harsher terms were drawn up--Louis was required to cede to France all his territory up to the left bank of the Rhine; he was forbidden to trade or communicate with England; he was required to build an army of 25,000 men and increase the size of his navy; and the rank of marshal was to be eliminated from the Dutch military. Louis was prohibited from returning to his kingdom until the agreement was signed. The treaty was finally signed on the 16th of March; Louis arrived back in Amsterdam on the 11th of April. Despite his earlier agreement to let Hortense remain in Paris, Napoleon had insisted on her returning to Holland as well. Hortense dreaded the return. "I wrote the Emperor a despairing letter," she recorded in her memoirs. "He did not answer me." Upon her arrival, Hortense writes that Louis "was overjoyed to see his son again but paid little or no attention to me."

Louis's unhappy queen leaves the following portrait of her life at court during this time, on the brink of her husband's deposition:

Word would be sent me when dinner was ready that the King was waiting for me. While we were at the table he would scarcely say a word. After the meal the King would thrum on the piano, which stood open. He would take his son on his knees, kiss him and lead him out on the balcony which overlooked the square. The crowd, catching sight of them, would give a few cheers. The King would re-enter the room, return to the piano, recite some French poetry or hum an air. I would stay in an armchair, not saying a word and watching what went on in the room. When a few hours had passed, my husband, becoming conscious of the strained situation, would ring and send for the Dutch members of our household and the ladies in waiting. Card-tables would be brought out. Sometimes I played also and at nine o'clock I returned to my apartments after having said good night, the only word we had spoken to one another. This is an exact picture of how I spent my days at Amsterdam.

Hortense did not remain in the kingdom for long. Her health suffered, and it was soon determined that it would be better for her to return to France. She left her husband for the final time on 16 May 1810.

The Sword of Damocles was not long in descending on Louis. An assault on a coachman of the French ambassador gave Napoleon all the excuse he needed to finally carry out his plan to annex Holland. Napoleon demanded that the perpetrators be arrested and hanged; Louis's ministers pointed out the impossibility of identifying them. Oudinot was ordered to march on Amsterdam.

Louis briefly considered appealing to Russia or Austria for help, but it was far too late. He had word sent to Oudinot that, though his troops would receive no welcome, they would also meet no resistance. Louis made some final, hasty financial arrangements, including selling some of the Dutch estates he had acquired and transferring his diamonds out of the country.

On 1 July 1810, Louis abdicated in favor of his second son, Napoleon Louis. The following night, he boarded a carriage accompanied by his captain of the guards, an aide-de-camp, and his favorite dog, Tiel, and headed east. In one last parting blow, Tiel was hit and killed at a horse-changing station on the road. Louis was devastated. "It was," writes biographer Atteridge, "he said, part of his bad luck, that now haunted him everywhere."

For weeks, Napoleon was unable to ascertain the whereabouts of his brother. "We don't know where he has gone, and we know nothing about this lunacy." He asked Hortense if she had any word of him. Writes Hortense in her memoirs, “Real anxiety as regards what had happened to the King was my first reaction. No one knew where he had retired. I imagined that he had left for America, alone, with no one to help him, no one to console him. His fate aroused my sympathy. I almost came to believe that I had become fond of him, now that he had known misfortune." Louis finally wrote to Madame Mère from the health resort of Toeplitz, that he was "as well as can be expected, and well out of affairs to which I will never return."

Regarding Napoleon's feelings towards Louis, Broers concludes that they were

an ill-sorted mixture of piercing truth and injustice clouded by the deepest kind of hatred, rooted in love betrayed. Yet, Napoleon worried about Louis' safety once 'the business' was over. He did not harbour the fanatical hatred that leads to murder. Even after his ill treatment of Hortense, Louis was his brother, and Bonapartes did not practise 'insular vendetta.' Nevertheless, in the world of high politics, Louis' end signaled the end of his faith in his brothers.

***

Sources:

Atteridge, A. Hillard. Napoleon’s Brothers, 1909.

Broers, Michael. Napoleon: Spirit of the Age. 2018.

De Beauharnais, Hortense. Memoirs of Queen Hortense, Vol I.

Masson, Frédéric. Napoleon et sa Famille, Vol I (1796-1802), 1907.

Roberts, Andrews. Napoleon: A Life. 2014.

#Meet the Bonapartes #Louis Bonaparte #Napoleon #Napoleon Bonaparte #Hortense de Beauharnais #Holland #19th century

[vanillasakura]

RDRSW21 Day 2- Epilogue

Title: I Learned it All By Heart

Words: 2098

Pairing: Abigail/Sadie

Warnings/Notes: NSFW

(Title from comme tu dis by Pomme)

≿━━━━━━━━━━༺❀━━━━━━━━━━≾

I'll try to believe in myself. Like you say that you believe in me

“He almost loo.. Loo-kehd? No, that’s not a word.”

“You sure you don’t need any help, Ma?” Jack asked, looking at Abigail from across the kitchen table.

“I’ve got this, thanks though. I know this one, I know I do, it just always trips me up.”

“I can just read it to you, if you want. Or if you’d prefer that I wait until Miss Gaskill is able to come over, I don’t mind at all.”

“Jack, I wanna read what you wrote. I know I can’t offer as good advice as Mary-Beth, if I can even offer any at all, I just need to work on my readin’, or I’ll never get it at all.”

“That is true.” Jack clicked his tongue. “Do you want me to give you a hint?”

Abigail sighed. “Sure, that might help.”

“Two os next to each other don’t always make an ooo sound. Sometimes, like in the word ‘good’, they make-”

“Looked! ” Abigail exclaimed triumphantly, grabbing the pencil she kept next to her and writing down the word, its pronunciation, and Jack’s hint in her journal. She knew the alphabet by now (largely thanks to a mix of help from Jack, Charles, John, and, whenever she could make the trip west, Mary-Beth), but still struggled with bigger, more complicated words. Still, Jack told her she was doing great, and she supposed that was true, given that she could read through most of his old penny-novels now.

“Anyways, where was I.. ‘He almost looked like someone you would expect to find in a bib… bib-li-cal story, but this was not the bib … oh, bible, this was real life. This was a real man, and one who had lived... through his fair share of hardships, if the scars and the lines that marred his face were anything to go by.’ Jack,” Abigail put the paper down for a moment, looking her son in the eye, “this is amazing so far. I could never formulate words the way that you do.”

“Thanks Ma, I appreciate it.” Jack smiled, and Abigail did too. She was blessed that, despite all of the hardships he had gone through, Jack was still a happy and polite kid. He still loved reading more than anything (she doubted that would ever change, but why should it, when it provided him a way to pass his time and gave him a way to be happy?) and had been working on writing since he was eight or nine. Ever since John had run into Mary-Beth about six months ago, however, she had been coming out to Beecher’s Hope every few months, not only helping around the farm, but also doing her best to work with Abigail on her reading and giving Jack pointers on his writing. Honestly, as long as Jack was happy, Abigail was content. She wasn’t alone anymore, like she had been for so long, she had a wonderful lover, a husband who cared for her even if the romance had faded away, and said husband’s lover to lighten up her life in ways she had never dreamed possible for someone like her.

“You two been okay while I was gone?” The door swung open, and Abigail turned around to see Sadie walking in, a pleasant smile on her face.

“Sadie!” Abigail cried, getting up from her place at the table and running over to the other woman, practically throwing herself into her arms and kissing her cheek gently. 

Sadie chuckled, smoothing her hands over Abigail’s hair. “Oh come on, Abi, I didn’t leave you alone for that long, only eight hours or so.”

“Still, I missed you.” Abigail insisted, pulling back a bit to give Sadie some space. “D’you need anything? I bet you’re exhausted.”

“I’m alright, just need to rest a bit is all.” Sadie walked over to the table, peaking at the paper in front of Jack. “You still working on your story?”

“Yep. It’s coming along pretty well, too. Miss Gaskill said she should be able to make it over in two weeks or so, so I’m trying to get three more chapters written before then.”

“Ooh, Mary-Beth’s on her way? That’s great news! I hope John and Charles will be back from… wherever the hell they are before then so we can have a real party.”

“I’m hopeful they’ll be back too. It’s always great when everybody’s here.” Jack smiled.

“That it is.” Sadie agreed, moving to sit down in the empty chair to Jack’s left.

“Oh, I figure we should tell you; Ma’s been getting a lot better on her reading!”

“Hm, is that so?” Sadie glanced in Abigail’s direction, a small smile forming on her face as their eyes met.

“I mean, I suppose.” Abigail blushed, embarrassed by the attention. “

“Suppose? Ma, you got through three pages of my work in about fifteen minutes, and that’s including the time you took to write down the hard words and your notes and such. You’re doing amazingly well! Just wait until Mr. Jones and Pa and Miss Gaskill all find out, they’re gonna be blown away!”

“I’m pretty blown away too.” Sadie said, her eyes still locked onto Abigail’s. “You should be proud of yourself. Readin’ ain’t easy.”

Abigail somehow felt herself turning redder, and spun on her heel to go and work on sewing. She heard Sadie laugh behind her, the sound ringing out like brazen bells.

--

Abigail watched as Sadie changed into her nightdress, entranced. She was gorgeous, her sun-kissed figure nearly glowing in the low light. Something about the way that she went about unbuckling and unbuttoning every piece of clothing was enough to put Abigail in a spell. She still didn’t know how she had gotten so lucky so as to be with a woman so wonderful as her.

“I meant it when I said I missed you, y’know.” Abigail said.

Sadie turned around pulling her nightdress over her head. “And I meant it when I said I was proud of you.”

The comment had Abigail blushing again, biting her lip as she tried to avert her gaze from Sadie’s piercing eyes.

“I’m serious, Abi.” She walked over to the bed, taking a seat on the edge next to her. “Let me compliment you, please.”

“It ain’t anythin’ that really warrants a compliment. It’s pretty straightforward, I just need to get around to doin’ it more often.” Abigail laughed. “If I had started a bit earlier, I would probably be literate by now. And if I had more time I could dedicate to it, I’d be a hell of a lot closer.”

“I’d already say you’re pretty damn near literate now.” Sadie pressed a kiss to Abigail’s temple. “You can read Jack’s old books without a problem, and with someone’s help, you can read bigger works, like his work in progress.”

“I appreciate it Sadie, I really do, I just don’t know if it’s somethin’ that really warrants this much.”

“Well I sure as hell do.” Sadie reached her hand out, rubbing it softly in circles on Abigail’s thigh. “If anything, I think this kind of progress deserves a reward, don’t you?”

Abigail made a happy noise, resting her head on Sadie’s shoulder. “Not sure I’d say that much, but I’m the last person to be complaining.”

“Good.” Sadie reached her free hand out, turning so she faced Abigail and letting it rest on her cheek. “Because I’m gonna force you to be proud of yourself.”

Abigail wasn’t sure just who leaned in first, all she knew was that their lips eventually met and they were kissing, slow and warm and relaxing. Sadie slid the hand on Abigail’s cheek back, letting it tangle in her hair as she undid her braid. All the while, the hand on Abigail’s thigh kept stroking.

They broke apart momentarily, Abigail lifting her night dress up and over her head, casting it somewhere off the side of the bed. Sadie’s face lit up, and she eased Abigail down onto the mattress gently, kissing her once more, catching her bottom lip and nibbling gently.

“‘M gonna make you feel so good, Abi.” Sadie drew her hands up and along Abigail’s breasts, smiling at the breath that caught in her throat as she did so. “Just like you deserve.”

“Mm, why don’t you show me then, instead of tellin’ me?” she teased, unable to help herself. “Don’t you think that would be better?”

“Hm, maybe you’re right…” Sadie traced the outline of Abigail’s left nipple, smirking at the shaky gasp she let out. “Need to get you nice and wet for me first, though.”

“Then touch me where I need it.” Abigail sighed again as Sadie kept teasing her nipples, spreading her legs in an attempt to entice her lover. “Sadie…”

“Fine, you do deserve it after working so hard today.” Sadie let one of her hands dip down between Abigail’s legs, finding her clit and massaging in slow, steady circles. “This feel good?”

“Yes.” Abigail breathed out, arching her back into Sadie’s touch. “Don’t stop, please.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Sadie eased herself down, using her left elbow to support herself as she leaned over Abigail and whispered in her ear. “You’re so smart, d’you know that? You pick up on things so quickly, you always take the time to teach yourself about things, you think things through logically…” Sadie trailed off, scraping her teeth along the side of Abigail’s neck. “It’s attractive. It’s so attractive, Abigail. You’re so attractive.”

“Were you thinkin’ that earlier?” she asked, smiling as pleasure fizzed through her. “You sure were lookin’ at me like somethin’-- fuck, Sadie -- somethin’ was on your mind.”

“I sure was. Damn near wanted to kick Jack outta the house and take you right there on the table. But that’s not all. You wanna know what else I was thinkin’ about?” Sadie’s breath fanned down Abigail’s neck.

“What?”

Sadie pulled back a bit so she could get a better look at Abigail, smiling down at her as though she were the only thing in the world.

“I was thinkin’ about how lovely you are. How cute you are when you blush, how perfect you always are… you’re so attractive, Abi. You always have been.”

Sadie’s words drew a moan out of Abigail, who began to grind against her fingers. “Sadie, my love…”

“Shh, I gotcha. I’ve always gotcha.” Sadie moved her finger down Abigail’s slit, circling her entrance once, twice. “I think you’re wet enough now, my darling.”

Abigail had to bite down on her lip to try and keep herself at least somewhat quiet as Sadie slid into her, stroking at that soft spot. “Sadie, goodness…”

“I know, that feels really good.” Sadie added a second finger, leaning in and capturing Abigail’s lips with her own once more, this kiss more heated than any previous one.

Abigail felt her legs begin to shake as she neared her peak. She pushed Sadie off of her lightly to try and warn her, but Sadie was already a step ahead, moving her mouth down to Abigail’s neck and sucking gently on a spot her collar would cover.

When Sadie’s thumb pressed into her clit, both of her fingers crooking just right, that was all, the coil in Abigail’s stomach coming undone as Sadie covered her mouth with hers, lips and tongues crashing together as Abigail rode out her high. She couldn’t remember the last time she had come this hard for seemingly no reason, but she wasn’t about to complain, not when everything felt this good.

Sadie pulled back as Abigail began to calm down, her breath hot and heavy on Sadie’s forehead as Abigail pulled her flush against her chest.

“That good, Abi?” Sadie asked, kissing the top of a breast lightly.

“Stop sellin’ yourself short.” Abigail panted, running a hand through Sadie’s undone hair. “That was amazin’ and you know it.”

“You really did deserve it, Abi. I’m so proud of you.” Sadie kissed Abigail’s breast again, wrapping an arm around her. Abigail hummed.

“I’ll take your word for it, then. If every time I do well on somethin, this is the reward I’ll get, I’m gonna be readin’ until I pass out from exhaustion.” she laughed.

“Just keep it at, Abi. I know you’ve got this, and you’re only gonna get better. You’ll be literate one day, and that day just keeps on gettin’ closer with every bit of progress you make.”

Abigail sighed happily. “Let’s both look forward to it, then.”

#rdrsapphicweek2021 #sadigail #sadie adler #abigail roberts #abigail roberts marston #abigail marston #jack marston #my writing #fanfic #rdr2 #rdr2 community #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 fanfic #red dead fandom #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #wlw

[redshirtgal]

As mentioned in our previous article, our Transportation Assistant Ensign Wilson was played by Garland Lee Thompson, Sr.  He was born in 1938 in Muskogee, Oklahoma but his family moved to Portland, Oregon when he was seven. It was during high school there that he discovered his love of theater and dance. At age 20, he moved to Los Angeles. His first movie part was that of a ceremonial dancer in the Roger and Hammerstein movie, South Pacific.

His dual talents in theater and dance paid off when he landed the part of Wilson in “The Enemy Within.” According to his son, Garland Thompson, Jr., there was no stuntman coordinator to block out the moves Thompson and Shatner would have to make during the fight scene between the two of them. Luckily, William Shatner had also studied dancing and the two of them went into a corner and choreographed the movements. By the time they were finished, the filming crew was ready to roll. Shatner and Thompson hit their marks perfectly, the scene was all done in one take, and the focus puller declared the film gate was clean. Which thrilled the crew because that meant everyone could eat an early lunch. 

Garland Thompson performed on other television shows of the 60s such as The Lieutenant, Perry Mason and Bewitched. But he always preferred working on the stage. Even while he was on stage or before the camera, he still attended acting classes at various conservatories and workshops. The most influential of these was  Frank Silvera’s Theatre of Being Workshop. Frank Silvera was an accomplished black actor in film and on the stage (his performance as King Lear in the Shakespeare play of the same name, directed by Joseph Papp, is still considered one of the best). Silvera started his workshop as a way of improving racial equality in the arts by providing instruction and support for young black actors. He also helped them attain membership in the actors’ unions and he created a theater where they could perform. Garland Thompson gave full credit to Silvera for helping him attain success as an actor, a playwright, and a theater producer. His mentor’s  sudden death in 1970 at the age of 56 affected him deeply.  (photo on left is Frank Silvera and on the right is a playbill from one of his productions. Note the names Isabell Sanford and Whitman Mayo)

Garland was already learning his way around and behind the stage as well as in front of it. He had served as the stage manager for Ray Bradbury’s plays in L.A. but then moved to New York to be the original stage manager and associate director for No Place to be Somebody by Charles Gordone on its first national tour as well as twice more during its run on Broadway. He also began to dabble in writing plays. This led him to realize how hard it was for black playwrights to have their plays produced.  As a result, Garland Thompson decided to join actor/director Morgan Freeman, actress/director Billie Allen Henderson, and journalist/ theater critic to form the Frank Silvera’s Writers’ Workshop as a testament to his mentor and as a place for people of color to develop their play writing skills. He also served as its Executive Director.  Within weeks, Garland was leading Monday night readings (and later Saturday night readings) along with critical discussions at the Martinique Theater in New York, one of many theaters that housed the Frank Silvera’s Writers workshop over the years. These readings were almost always packed. But they allowed budding playwrights a chance to hear their material read aloud for the first time and critiqued. Some rewrote their plays after the first presentation and brought them back to be read and critiqued a second time. 

Over the years, around 20,000 scripts were written and read at the workshop. Thompson also helped writers get their scripts produced on stage, including Ntozake Shange’ and her award winning play For Colored Girls Who Have Consider Suicide, When the Rainbow is Enuf.  Many of the students in the workshop also learned how to work backstage in largely unseen but very important duties, such as those involving lighting and sound. This gave them a more complete education in the theater arts.  Garland Thompson even brought his own work in front of his students to be read and critiqued, then later produced.  A playbill and a newspaper advertisement illustrate production details of two of his plays. Many major figures in Black Theater participated in several aspects of the workshop. These included Ruby Dee, Angela Bassett, Adolph Caesar. Morgan Freeman, Debbie Allen,  Aduke Aremu, Samuel L. Jackson, LaTonya Richardson-Jackson, Phylicia Rashad, and Charles Dutton. 

In early 1999, Inside New York (a local TV news magazine) interviewed Mr. Thompson about the reasons he and his cofounders believed a workshop for people of color to write and produce plays was necessary. Do yourself a favor and carve yourself out some time to watch it in its entirety. This man’s charisma was  amazing as was his enthusiasm for helping young people of color enter the world of theater.  

During his lifetime, Mr. Thompson worked with and often headed many other organizations devoted to Black Theater and received many honors in connection with them. He was the founding board member of the Harlem Arts Alliance and also served on the Board of Directors. In addition to being one of the founding members of the FSWW, he served as its director and was President of the Board of Directors of the FSWW Foundation, Inc. in 1981.  The AUDELCO awards were created to promote "recognition, understanding, and awareness of the arts in the African-American community." Garland Thompson was given the Board of Directors Award in 1976 for superior and sustained contribution to community theater. He also earned another AUDELCO award in 1981 as the producer of Bessie Smith, Empress of the Blues. The photo above shows him along with two other recipients at the 1981 Awards. He also was the winner of the Washington D.C. One-Act Play Festival (according to the book Voices of Color) and the FSWW under his direction was awarded the Obie for playwrighting in 1989. 

Garland also became involved in the National Black Theater Festival, starting with its second year. He set up and directed The Readers Theatre program, which grew and expanded over the years. He is shown above with his friend Ossie Davis, who was another major figure in Black Theater and who started the Festival’s first poetry slam in 2001. 

(photo credit - Lia Chang)

Unfortunately, Garland Thompson suffered a serious fall in early November 2014  which resulted in being transported to the intensive care unit at Harlem Hospital. Unfortunately, he never regained consciousness and developed pneumonia and other serious conditions. He died on the 18th at age 76. Garland Thompson’s death was mourned by the Black Theater world. The first memorial devoted to his life and contributions was the addition of his life story to the “harlem is... Theater” Exhibition at New York’s Interchurch Center in December of 2015. Garland Lee Thompson Jr. is seen in the photo above in front of the the tribute to his father. 

On February 12th of 2015,  Representative Charles Rangel of New York gave a speech in front of the U.S. House of Representatives to celebrate the legacy of Garland Thompson. This speech became an official part of the Congressional Record. If you wish to read it, then click here: https://www.govinfo.gov/content/pkg/CREC-2015-02-12/html/CREC-2015-02-12-pt1-PgE208-3.htm

Instead of a traditional funeral, there was a Three Act Performance Tribute, two of which were held on February 14th, which would have been Garland’s 77th birthday. The First Act was a Memorial held at St. James Presbyterian Church. In the photo above, Garland’s son (Garland Lee Thompson, Jr.) is holding a copy of the Congressional Record containing his father’s tribute along with a photo of his father.  Act Two was a reception later that day at the Johnson Theater for the New City. Garland Lee Thompson, Jr. and Sean C. Turner hosted an afternoon of readings, poetry, and performances which ended with a celebration of Garland Sr.’s birthday.   The final act was held in August of that year during Harlem’s National Black Theatre Festival. This is where Garland created the Readers Theater so Act III was a fitting final tribute to a man who had spent over 40 years teaching, encouraging, and nurturing writers and artists of color.  His son Garland Thompson, Jr., is a noted playwright, actor, cinematographer, poet, director and producer, although he has worn many, many other hats in the arts over the years. Since 2008, he has been the Coordinator for the Poetry Out Loud recitation contest for high school students in  Monterey County, California (this is part of a national contest funded by the National Endowment of the Arts) and hosts the Rubber Chicken Open Mic and Poetry Slam at the East Village Coffee Lounge in Monterey (which he co-founded 14 years ago). In 2014  he took over running his father’s Frank Silvera’s Writers’ Workshop in New York. 

#Star Trek TOS #Redshirt #Garland Lee Thompson #Frank #Silvera's Writer Workshop #National Black Theater Festival #The Readers Theatre #Ensign Wilson

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

We Do This to Live Ch. 5

Chapter Five

Summary: On Earth-198742, there are no heroes. There’s humans. There’s mutants. There are even some that fall somewhere between. But when Boliver Trask manages to get the Sentinel program signed, it’s up to a thief and her brilliant sister to find those that still believe in something more - something good. And maybe, along the way, they’ll get the chance to save mutant kind.

Pairings: Rogue x Remy, Marie x Shuri (eventually), Geneva x Bucky (eventually)

Word Count: 3475 words

Warnings: Violence? Cussing? That sort of thing?

Masterlist to OCs - Masterlist to Other Works 

Previous Chapter

---

“Y’the only t’ief crazy ‘nough t’steal more than is asked o’ya.”

Geneva shrugged from her spot on Marie’s bed. She had come home only a handful of hours ago and while she knew she should rest, her powers were matching her emotions. A constant hum was in the back of her ears and her nerves felt particularly prickly. Until she found out what all of this new information meant, she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. “T’anks for takin’ a look.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Marie was impressed that in the last twenty-four hours, Geneva had not only caught Jean-Luc up on everything that had happened, but she’d duplicated the contents of the flash drive. It was sneaky…underhanded…and absolutely something Marie was proud of. “Don’t t’ank moi yet.” She clicked on a file. Lab results, videos, photos – everything one could ever hope to find – popped up over the multiple screens. Marie raised a brow, finding a particularly interesting piece of information. “This project was terminated ‘cause the mutant escaped.”

Geneva bit her lip, taking in the x-rays that showed a metal skeleton. A shiver ran down her spine. “What was his name?”

Marie glanced back at the redhead. She knew Geneva had always been hesitant to learn about more of her kind, but it seemed like she was shedding that fear as she got older. “Uh…” She looked back at the information, eyes flitting from each piece of the puzzle until she pulled up the patient’s name. There was a small photo with it. “James Logan Howlett.” Shock washed over her as she told Geneva, “He was military. Part o’that Cap’n America’s Howling Commandos.” A couple lines further down and she realized why this guy was so important. “His mutation was enhanced healin’. No way o’knowin’ ‘ow old the homme really is.”

The familiar creak of her bed let Marie know that Geneva had moved, no doubt standing behind her. The two stared at the sleeping face. A patient used for experimentation and yet…he looked so peaceful in that single image. Who knew what drugs were in his system?

“Ca va,” Geneva muttered, resting her arms on the back of Marie’s chair. “What else?”

Marie exited out of the Weapon X file. “T’ought y’said there were five files.” She glanced at Geneva. “There’s only four.”

“One o’them needed voice recognition t’even move the damn t’ing,” Geneva admitted, running a hand through her hair. “Was called the Sentinel Program.”

Marie’s nose scrunched. “Weird.” She clicked on the Avenger file. Scrolling through the files, her eyes widened. “Oh, mon dieu.”

“What?”

“Shush.” Marie kept scrolling, utterly amazed at the amount of information Geneva had gotten her hands on. “Gen, y’managed t’get the file on all the Avengers and what happened to ‘em. Not the bullshit the media gave us. The real story.”

“Sonovabitch…” Geneva’s eyes sparked a little brighter, excitement coursing through her at the idea of such important information. And she was the one who found it.

A knock came from the door, earning two sets of curious eyes as it opened. Rogue peeked her head inside, leaning against the doorframe. If she had opened it even half a second earlier, she would have caught sight of all the information the pair had been looking at.

Instead, she saw the inner workings of Essex Industries.

Closing her eyes, Rogue took a slow breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Marie…”

“Technically not a government organization.” The excuse tumbled from Marie’s lips effortlessly, as if well practiced and thought out.

They had a deal. Marie could hack away to her heart’s content – but she had to stay out of government business. It wasn’t that Rogue and Remy weren’t proud of her capabilities. They just didn’t want to bring unwanted attention their way.

Rogue forced her shoulders to relax as she looked at the girls. “Just be careful.”

Marie threw a thumb’s up her way as Rogue stepped inside. Geneva, ruffling the tween’s hair, looked at her mom. “Somethin’ up, Mama?”

“Your grandfather told Rem and I how your first mission went. Wanted to congratulate ya.”

Geneva grinned, her powers shimmering under her cheekbones. “Merci.”

Rogue chuckled as she sat on the foot of Marie’s bed. “He also told us how Marie helped.”

Marie tensed, looking over her shoulder. It wasn’t a secret that Geneva and Marie hadn’t been seeing eye to eye. If she didn’t know better, Rogue would comment about how much she loved to see them spending time together once again.

But Rogue was a very smart woman. She knew to keep her mouth shut. At least regarding their mended friendship.

“I wanted to talk to you two ‘bout that,” Rogue told them, bouncing her leg as Marie spun in her chair. “Your dad knows that you’re talented, Gen. We’re not doubtin’ that,” she assured her daughter. Just like she had been at Geneva’s age, the teenager was still self-conscious about her own talents. “But where ya might not think everythin’ through, Marie does.”

Marie shrugged. “What’s your point? ‘M a phone call away. She’ll be fine.”

“We don’t want it to have to be a phone call, Marie.” Rogue sighed, looking between the girls before settling her gaze back on Marie. “I know bein’ a part of the Guild isn’t what ya want. And I don’t blame ya at all. This won’t require you to do anythin’ you don’t already. But when Geneva goes on assignments, we’d like it if ya worked together. Someone needs to have Gen’s back and know what to look for.”

Silence fell in the room. Rogue knew it was a hard sell and understood why. With what had happened to Henri, Marie didn’t trust Jean-Luc or the Guilds. She hardly trusted her uncle, Remy.

But…

“I don’t want anyt’in’ t’happen t’Gen. If my ‘elp can benefit ‘er then…” Marie shrugged. “Ca va. ‘M in.”

Rogue looked at her daughter. Geneva simply shrugged. “Sounds like fun t’moi.”

--

That night, the two were in Geneva’s small house. Her projector illuminated a blank wall, showing them the videos she had stolen.

There was Dr. Strange’s arrest. The Eye of Agamotto had been glowing so brightly against his chest, refusing to leave its owner. They took his cloak though, no matter how feisty it had tried to be.

Charles Xavier’s students being arrested, despite their age. The school being shut down. Xavier being injected with so many needles, so much medicine, that he looked like a husk of the brilliant telepath he had been.

There was a clip of Natasha standing trial, being asked questions she refused to answer.

Another with Stark in the same predicament except…he spoke too much. His confidence screamed arrogance to those deciding his fate. They couldn’t trust him.

Both walked out in cuffs.

Geneva remembered learning about them in school. Photos of the infamous Black Widow and Ironman, teachings of how they were traitors to humans.

“We should show this to Pere ‘n’ Mama,” she whispered, absentmindedly drawing circles on her inner knee.

Marie looked back at her. Her cousin, the mutant, looked so terrified. Curled against the wall as if everything she had been taught was a lie. The media had told so many stories about the evils of mutant-kind. Of the Avengers. It was easy to lose track of what you were supposed to believe. Marie remembered a time where Geneva refused to believe heroes even existed. As far as she knew, the redhead still clung to that belief. To her, the only ones that were good were her own parents.

“We can’t, Genny,” Marie told her, smiling at the annoyance that flashed across her face. It was better than the fear. “Y’pere wouldn’t let y’go on more missions. Y’know that.” Pausing the clips, Marie turned to face her entirely. Geneva’s eyes, staring so intently at the pale images, finally looked at Marie. “’M gonna be helpin’ now. Y’know that too. This way, we can keep learnin’ the truth. If we get enough, we can stop SHIELD.” She took Geneva’s hand in her own, not bothered by the slight shock that tingled her palm. “We gonna do this toget’er. Y’not alone.”

Geneva blinked, her eyes finding their hands. “’M not a hero, petite. Not tryin’ t’be one eit’er.”

Marie nodded. “I know.” She gently squeezed her hand. “And y’don’t ‘ave t’be. Just gotta promise that we do this together. Just us.”

--

Bringing Marie in to help Geneva provided an almost-guarantee that their daughter was going to be safe. Where Geneva didn’t naturally over-think, Marie did. She knew the security guards’ schedules. She anticipated changes whether they occurred or not. While Geneva was smart in her abilities, there were cracks that Marie managed to fill in.

They worked well together. Naturally performing like a well-oiled machine.

Knowing and seeing that, Jean-Luc sent Geneva on more missions. Bigger and higher stakes that made stealing a few files look like nothing. Not that Jean-Luc believed so. A single promise to Marie had Geneva gathering as much information as she could, sidelining it and keeping it under wraps from the man in charge of it all.

He had no idea that any inkling of HYDRA existed.

Or that he kept sending her in the middle of it.

“This ‘as t’be the stupidest idea,” Geneva muttered, knowing Marie was listening on the comm.

“Jeez, tell moi ‘ow y’really feel.”

Geneva snorted as she stepped into the service elevator, janitorial clothes hanging loosely off her figure. Her hair, tucked behind her ears and hidden well under the company hat, was kept out of sight and mind. It was a fair enough disguise. People were leaving to go home at about this hour. It meant less disturbances. On paper? It totally made sense.

In person? Dressing as a janitor to slip in and out of Pym Technologies? It was slightly more terrifying. A single ding came from above and she stepped out. Just ahead, two workers were hanging a new sign.

Trask Industries.

Nodding to the boys, she kept walking until she came across the janitorial closet. The ID card deftly slipped between her fingers as she asked, subtle accent perfectly intact, “Didn’t think to tell me Trask bought this place?”

Silence.

Geneva opened the door as she asked, “Marie?”

“I didn’t know.”

She hesitated, barely able to gather any sense before she was tugging that blasted janitorial cart out of the closet and down the hall. Her nerves were going haywire as she trudged along. This hadn’t been a part of the plan. Breaking into Pym’s was one thing, but Trask? Alexander Pierce’s best friend?

“Breathe, Genny. It’s gonna be okay.”

Geneva snorted. “Easy for you to say.” She visibly relaxed when that sign was finally out of sight. From here, she could at least pretend it didn’t exist. She could act as if she wasn’t walking into a warzone entirely unprepared.

The doors opened with a hiss. She slipped inside, the doors closing behind her. Metal walls surrounded her, long labs stretching here and there. A quick glance to the last specialist was enough for Geneva to focus on taking out the trash.

“T’ink this is the most I’ve seen y’clean after someone else.”

Geneva wanted to snap at that, but she knew better. Each table had a small trash can next to it and by the time she had gotten to the fourth, the dweeby scientist was finally leaving. She set the bin down. As she looked up, a loose strand of hair fell free. She was alone.

Well, sort of.

“What’s the passcode,” she asked as she walked to the back of the room. There was a second door made of heavy metal. A keypad too. On the other side, something that might help them with sneaking just a little bit more. Geneva glanced through the window. No doubt it was thick glass. Probably bullet-proof.

“135081965.”

The keypad beeped with every input, followed by a much longer one as the door unlocked itself. “Any tricks I should know ‘bout?”

“Shouldn’t be, non. The glass’ll be thick, but y’powers should be able to handle that.”

Geneva chuckled as she took the hat off, shoving it in one of her many pockets. “Should bein’ th’key word, right,” she muttered, almost closing the door before stepping further inside.

The room was massive, bigger than the one before. It made no sense to her. The glass bubble, thick glass secured by metal, was the only thing in the room. And its contents were the smallest thing she’d ever seen.

“There’s no way that’s an actual suit.” Geneva circled the glass.

“It’s called the Yellow Jacket.”

Geneva looked up, bright eyes sparking a little brighter. But... Who the hell? There was no one in the room. “Marie? T’ought y’said no tricks.”

“I got nothin’.”

“Oh! Sorry. Uh…give me a second.”

Geneva’s jaw ticked, fingers crackling with electricity. A static filled the air and prickled her skin before a figure appeared in front of her. A red suit, silver helmet and red lenses, and…was he just small?

“I’m Ant-man.”

“What’s happenin’, Genny?”

Geneva didn’t say anything to Marie. This was the first time she had ever really crossed paths with someone that wasn’t…normal. “I – I’m Geneva.”

“Gen, what’s goin’ on?”

He tilted his head. “That’s your alter-ego name?”

Geneva’s brow furrowed. She shook her head. “Not exactly.”

“Oh!” He pressed a button and Geneva curled her fist. She couldn’t help it. It was simply instinct. But seeing the helmet disappear, she was met with a…surprisingly kind face. Well, there was no way the guy was a thief or assassin. “I’m Scott.”

Definitely not an assassin.

“Geneva, be careful. You don’t – “

“Guessing we’re after the same thing?” He pointed to the suit between them. Something so small and so protected. Just how powerful was the thing?

Geneva took the comm out of her ear. She could hardly think with that thing in her ear. Shoving it in her pocket, she dropped the fake accent and told Scott, “’Fraid y’not the one that’s goin’ t’walk away with it.”

Scott huffed. “Look, we’re both thieves, right?”

She shrugged. “Eh. Maybe not on the same level.”

And with that – the lights flickered off.

Geneva’s eyes lit up, glowing in the new darkness. She recognized the whizz that came from Scott’s helmet, but paid him little attention. He wasn’t where her focus was needed. Fingers brushing against the glass, she watched it tremble.

But before it could shatter – something small and heavy hit her stomach.

Geneva’s back slammed into the wall. Fluorescents shattered above as Scott reappeared. Now – between her and her prize.

A hand pressed to her abdomen, she asked, “Were y’just petite?”

“Did you do that?” Scott’s hand pointed to the ceiling.

It seemed to dawn on them at the same time. Maybe this wasn’t going to be an easy assignment for either of them.

Geneva dropped low. Her staff extended. Swiping at his legs, she smirked when he landed on his ass.

Scott groaned. “You’re not a normal janitor, are you?”

“What clued y’in?” Her eyes sparked a little brighter and her staff lit up, crackling with her powers.

She swung for his head. He rolled, shrinking down to an impossibly small size. Geneva hopped to her feet. “Where the fuck…?” She looked around, desperate to catch sight of any sort of movement.

Something.

Anything.

She felt the tug at her wrist. A twist and jerk forced her hand behind her back. Pinned between her shoulders. Geneva hissed. She stumbled towards the wall, her hand pressing against the metal before her jaw could.

“Sonova…” She growled. Electricity shimmered over her hair, flying towards the lights. They burned ever so bright.

“Ah, fuck!”

There he was.

Her power surged through her pinned arm and –

ZzZzAP

Scott flew through the air. She spun, watching a small dent appear in the metal protecting the yellowjacket’s case. He grew in size, twitching here and there. The sparks of electricity still dancing on his suit zapped through the air, seeping once more into her skin.

Her veins and scars lit up as she threw a punch. There was too much going wrong with this assignment. She needed to wrap it up. Marie’s warning now long forgotten, Geneva aimed for his head. He dropped, vanishing once more as her fist, and her powers, shattered the metal and glass.

An alarm rang.

Scott reappeared behind her as the door swung shut. Locked.

With no way out.

“Ya sonova – “ Geneva turned towards him, eyes wide and panicked as Scott’s helmet vanished.

“I didn’t do it! You did!”

“Y’coulda let moi hit ya!”

Scott huffed, crossing his arms as if waiting for her to realize how ridiculous that sounded.

“I know ‘ow it sounds and ‘m not takin’ it back.” She turned away from him. Pressing a hand to the door, she focused on her abilities.

That was when the room’s light went red.

“Whoa.”

Geneva looked over her shoulder. Scott’s attention was still focused on her, staring at her appearance. “What?”

“Well, when the lights went red, it…” He pointed to her skin.

Geneva followed his gaze. Her skin, once glowing brilliantly, looked as normal as it possibly could. Her brow furrowed. The familiar buzz in her ears…the tingle to her skin…Those things she had grown so used to…

It was all gone.

She stumbled then, exhaustion tugging at the corners of her eyes. Scott stepped forward, offering her a hand. “Hey, careful.” He helped her lean against the wall, oblivious to the gas that was appearing through skinny vents. “Are you okay?”

Geneva blinked slowly, looking around. Her comm link. She needed – Her eyes drifted to the gas. Squeezing his hand, she nodded towards it. Their fight forgotten, survival seemed far more important. “’M powers make moi so…”

“It’s okay. I understand. You’re a little battery, aren’t you?” It was a lighthearted joke, something to make her laugh and hopefully wake her up a bit. He glanced at the gas, noticing how it started to fill the room. His helmet appeared, a barrier for him though he couldn’t do anything for her.

“Y’should…” She coughed, resting her head against the wall. “Go. S’meone is bound t’show up and there’s…” Another cough, this time followed by a yawn. “No point in us both getting’ caught.”

“You were ready to kick my ass a minute ago.”

Geneva shrugged, offering a weak smile. She saw his eyes through those weird red lenses. He was concerned and she appreciated it. “That was a minute ago. Sil vous plait, go.”

Another minute passed. A part of Scott didn’t want to leave her. It seemed inhumane. If this was still Hank’s building, he might consider it, but the whole reason he was here was because of Trask. The man was changing everything. He had a plan. He had power. And he had had enough of both to push Hank out of his own company.

But if he stayed…what would happen to Cassie?

“I’m sorry. I – “

She shook her head, pushing his hand away. It was then he noticed how green her eyes were. Like pretty jewels. “Don’t. Jus’ go.”

Scott took a step back, shrinking just in time for the door to open. He stumbled back, feet brushing against the vent just as the door opened. Geneva seemed to be drifting between consciousness and sleep, eyes barely able to stay open. With one last apology, Scott stepped through the vent, making his escape.

Geneva allowed herself to smile, relieved that at least both of them wouldn’t be caught. Competition was one thing, but prison? No, she wouldn’t wish that on anyone. She looked up, nodding slightly as masked guards came in. And right behind them, someone much smaller stepped inside.

Trask.

She grinned. “Y’lot shorter than I ‘magined.”

“And you,” he told her, voice muffled by his own mask. “Were almost smarter than I anticipated.”

--

Marie sat in her chair, curled up to look as small as possible. The shouting down the hall did nothing to ease the tears slipping down her cheeks. Sniffling, she wiped her nose on her sleeve and looked to the News.

“After apprehending a mutant thief, Boliver Trask has looked to SHIELD in hopes of fast-tracking his newest creation. With long-time friend Alexander Pierce holding office as Secretary of SHIELD, it appears this mutant’s actions were all that was needed to fast track what they are now calling the Sentinel Program. SHIELD officials have plans to introduce these creations to our larger cities first and - ”

She turned the screen off. Head hitting the chair behind her, Marie listened to Remy and Rogue screaming at each other. Shouting blame. Shouting worries.

Another sniffle as Marie stared at the ceiling.

What was going to happen to them now?

 --

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[buzzdixonwriter]

My Five Most Influential

Someone asked:   Who are the most influential writers in your life?

Good question.

The broad answer is that one gets influenced many different ways by many different sources.  I enjoy poetry and song lyrics because they find ways of conveying the strongest emotional content in the most concise manner, music brings a sense of dramatic rhythm and fulfillment, the visual arts suggest ways of subtly adding many insights to a single strong idea, etc., etc., and of course, etc. (and that is also an example of a creative influence in my work).

But…to boil it down to those whom I most consciously made an effort to emulate, we find ourselves facing five creators that primed the pump.

This is not to say others whom I began following after them didn’t wield a lot of influence (thanx, Ernie, Bert, Jack, Bob, and Hank!) but these are the foundation of everything I’ve done in my career.

(And to those who notice a lack of diversity, I know, I know…but to be honest I have to acknowledge the truth, and the truth is for whatever reason, by chance or by choice, by fate or by fortune, these five dominated my sensibilities.  I trust that I’ve grown and expanded my horizons since then, but they’re the hand I got dealt.)

. . . 

Carl Barks

I loved ducks as a kid and my grandmother and aunt would always bring me a passel of duck-related comics when they came to visit.

There were some Daffy Duck comics mixed in there but while I know I looked at and enjoyed them, none of them stick in my mind like the Donald Duck and Uncle Scrooge stories of Carl Barks.

Typically my grandmother would read these comics to me and I’d imprint the dialog and captions in my brain, replaying them as I looked at the pictures over and over again.

Barks never wrote down to his audience, and his stories covered a vast array of genres, everything from straight domestic comedy to oddball adventures to screwy crime stories.

Donald and his nephews encountered dinosaurs more than once (another big favorite of mine), and Uncle Scrooge setting out to explore the asteroid belt in order to find a new home for his fabulous money bin was another tale I loved literally to pieces, but A Christmas For Shacktown remains my all time favorite graphic novel.

I’ll concede there are better graphic novels, but none of them warm my heart the way that Christmas story does.

Barks showed it’s possible to combine heart (not to be confused with sentimentality or =yuch!= schmaltz), vivid characters, and strong, intricate narrative.  His plots where typically filled with unexpected twists and turns but his characters were always deeply involved in them, not just along for the ride.

He’s one of the greatest storytellers in the 20th century, and his work remains timeless enough to last for several centuries to come.

. . . 

Ray Bradbury

The first Ray Bradbury story I remember encountering was “Switch On The Night” in its 1955 edition, read to my kindergarten class towards the end of the school year.

This would place the event sometime in the spring of 1959.

“Switch On The Night” captivated me because it was the first story I’d ever heard that showed what could be seen in the dark that couldn’t be seen in the day.

Even as a child, it made me realize the night wasn’t scary, but contained wonders and insights we miss in the harsh glare of day.

I don’t recall if the kindergarten teacher told us the name of the author, and if she did it didn’t stick, but boy howdy, the story sure did!  Did it open the doors of the night for me, or was I already inclined to be a night person and it simply confirmed that as a valid identity?

I dunno, but I’m typing this right now at 12:24am.

And the thoughts Bradbury planted in little Buzzy boy’s brain stayed and grew and flowered, as you can read in my poem, “The Magic Hours Of The Night”.

The next time I encountered Ray Bradbury’s writing was in grammar school, certainly no later than junior high.  I was already interested in science fiction by that point, and had read “The Pedestrian” in one of my school English books (we weren’t taught the story in class; the teacher skipped over it for whatever reason but I read it anyway then re-read it and read it again and again).

Anthony Boucher’s ubiquitous 2-volume A Treasury Of Great Science Fiction was in my grammar school library and in it was Bradbury’s “Pillar Of Fire” (which I would later learn was one of his alternate Martian Chronicles and a crossover with Fahrenheit 451) and in that story he offered up a veritable laundry list of outré and outlandish fiction to be tracked down and read, authors to dig up and devour.

Oh, man, I was hooked.

So of course I began looking for all the stories and writers Bradbury listed in his short story but I also began looking for Bradbury’s own work and before you could say, “Mom, can I get a subscription to the Science Fiction Book Club?” I’d read The Golden Apples Of The Sun and A Medicine For Melancholy and R is For Rocket never once dreaming that at some point in the future the roadmap Ray plopped down in my lap would eventually lead to us being co-workers (separate projects, but the same studio at the same time) and friends.

There is a beautiful yet deceptive simplicity to Ray’s work, and even though he wrote his own book on writing (The Zen Of Writing) that has lots of good insights and professional tricks & tips, he himself wasn’t able to explain how he did it.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a good Ray Bradbury parody.

I’ve seen parodies that clearly are intended to evoke Ray Bradbury, but only in the same way a clumsy older relative might evoke Michael Jackson with a spasmodic movement one vaguely recognizes as a failed attempt at a moonwalk.

But, lordie, don’t think we didn’t try to emulate him, and while none of us fanboys ever came close, I think a lot of us did learn that less is more, that the right word carries more impact than a dozen paragraphs, and that there’s magic in even the most ordinary of things.

And of course I discovered the film and TV adaptations of his work, and in discovering them I also discovered that there are some things that just can’t be translated from one media to another, and that the light, effortless appeal of Ray’s work on the page (paper or pixel) can at best be recaptured with a good audio book reader but even the best dramatic adaptions -- even those by Ray himself -- are cold dead iron butterflies compared to the light and lively creatures flying about.

So eventually I stopped trying to write like him, and instead picked up the valuable lessons of mood and emotion making an impact on a story even if the plot didn’t make much logical sense.

Decades later I would become a fan of opera, and would learn the philosophy of all opera lovers:  Opera doesn’t have to make logical sense, it just has to make emotional sense.

Ray Bradbury, opera meister.

. . . 

H.P. Lovecraft

As noted above, Bradbury’s “Pillar Of Fire” tipped me to numerous other writers, first and foremost of which turned out to be Howard Phillips Lovecraft.

Okay, before we get any further into this, let’s acknowledge the woolly mammoth in the room:  H.P. Lovecraft was a colossal asshat racist.

He was a lot of other terrible things, too, but racist is far and ahead of the rest of the pack.

It’s a disillusioning thing to find people one admired as a youngster or a teen later prove to have not just quirks and eccentricities and personal flaws, but genuinely destructive, harmful, and offensive characters.

I’ve posted on that before, too.

How I wish it were possible to retroactively scale back that hurtfulness, to make them more empathetic, less egregiously offensive (in the military sense of the word), but that ain’t so.

We have to acknowledge evil when we see it, and we have to call it out, and we have to shun it.

Which is hard when one of its practitioners provides a major influence in our creative lives.

Here’s what I liked about Lovecraft as a kid:  He was the complete opposite of Ray Bradbury.

Bradbury’s instinctive genius was in finding the right word, the simple word that conveyed great impact on the story, drawing the reader into the most fantastic situations by making them seem more familiar on a visceral level.

Lovecraft achieved the exact opposite effect by finding the most arcane, bedizened, baroque, florid, grandiloquent, overwrought, rococo verbiage possible and slapping the reader repeatedly in the face with it.

If Bradbury made the unreal real, Lovecraft made the weird even more weirder.

And let’s give this devil his due:  The Strange Case Of Charles Dexter Ward and The Dunwich Horror are two masterpieces of horror and serve as the bridge between Edgar Allen Poe and Stephen King, not to mention his creation of Cthulhu and other ancient entities existing beyond the ken of human knowledge…

…oh, wait, that’s where the story simultaneously gets messy yet provides a convenient escape hatch for fans.

While Lovecraft created Cthulhu, he did not create the Cthulhu Mythos.

That was primarily the invention August Derleth, a writer / editor / agent and H.P. Lovecraft’s #1 fanboy.

Lovecraft had some loosely related ideas in his stories and several themes he revisited repeatedly (in addition to racism).

He also had a circle of fellow writers -- including such heavy hitters as Robert “Psycho” Bloch and Robert E. “Conan” Howard -- who picked up on his ideas and, as way of a tribute, incorporated them in some of their stories.

Derleth took all this and Lovecraft’s unfinished manuscripts and short ideas he jotted down and turned it into a whole post-mortem industry, linking all of Lovecraft and other writers’ tales.

And he did a damn fine job of it, too.

So much so that the Cthulhu Mythos has taken on a life of its own, and pretty much anybody can play in that cosmic sandbox now (including Big Steve King and a ton of Japanese anime) and so Lovecraft’s works have an enormous influence on pop culture…

,,,but Howard hizzowndamsef can be -- and is -- cancelled.

Derleth and various biographers downplayed Lovecraft’s virulent racism for decades, and I don’t think Ray Bradbury was ever aware of the scope and tenor of Lovecraft’s bigotry when he name checked him in “Pillar Of Fire” and other stories.

In a similar vein Bradbury didn’t know -- because thanks again to overly protective literary executors, nobody knew -- just how big a racist asshat Walt Whitman was, either.  It is one thing to call shenanigans on a Bill Cosby or a Harvey Weinstein or a Donald Trump because their egregious behaviors were noted long before they were held accountable, but quite another to do so on a creator who died while hiding their most awful behavior from thousands if not millions of fans who felt inspired and uplifted by their work.

It’s one thing to call out a contemporary bigot and not support them by not buying their work, it’s quite another when their bigotry has been shielded from view and fair minded, decent people have used their work to draw inspiration into their own creativity.

Of course, I had no way of knowing all this when I was in junior high and seriously began tracking down Lovecraft’s work.  

He possessed a flair of the horrific and unearthly that to this day is hard to match (but easier to parody).  He was a tremendous influence on my early writing (truth be told, I zigzagged between Bradbury’s stark simplicity and Lovecraft’s overarching verbosity, giving my early oeuvre a rather schizophrenic style) and the ideas he sparked still reverberate to this day.

If only he hadn’t been such a giant %#@&ing asshat racist …

. . . 

Harlan Ellison

In a way, I’m glad neither Harlan nor his widow Susan are alive to read this.

I cherished Harlan as a friend and greatly admired his qualities as a writer.

But damn, by his own admission he should have been thrown in prison for aggravated assault on numerous occasions (he was courts martialed three times while in the Army).

We’re not talking about arguments that spiraled out of control until a few wild punches were thrown, we’re talking about Harlan by his own admission stalking and ambushing people, knocking them unconscious or causing grievous bodily harm.

We’re talking about sexual abuse and humiliation.

We’re talking about incidents he admitted to which if true put people in life threatening situations.

And yet ironically, in a certain sense Harlan (a bona fide Army Ranger, BTW) was like the U.S. Marine Corps:  You’d never have a greater friend or a worse enemy.

I became dimly aware of Harlan in the late 1960s as I started diving deeper into literary sci-fi, transitioning from monster kid fandom to digests and paperbacks.  Harlan first caught my attention with his macho prose (years later a similar style also drew me to Charles Bukowski) in stories like “Along the Scenic Route” (a.k.a. “Dogfight on 101”) in which Los Angelinos engaged in Mad Max motor mayhem but soon it became apparent the macho posturing was just a patina, that the heart and soul of much of the work reflected great sensitivity and often profound melancholy (ditto Bukowski).

Harlan was a fighter, and again by his own admission, he acknowledged in his later years that he was not a fighter because his cause was just, but rather sought out just causes because he knew he would be fighting regardless of his position, yet possessed a strong enough moral compass to point himself in the direction of a worthy enemy…

…most of the time.

He hurt and offended a large number of innocent and some not-so-innocent-but-certainly-not-evil people.

He also helped and encouraged a large number of others, people who had no idea who he was, people who had no way of adequately reciprocating his kindness and generosity.

He defended a lot of defenseless people.

He also mistakenly defended a lot of terrible people.

If someone tells me Harlan was a monster, I’ll agree:  Monstre sacré.

What made his writing sacred was that no matter how outlandish the situation, Harlan dredged up from the depths emotions so strong as to be frightening in their depiction.

Skilled enough not to lose sight of humanity, outlandish enough to conjure up ideas and emotions most people would shy away from, Harlan hit adolescent Buzzy boy like an incendiary grenade.

Unlike my first three literary influences, Harlan was and remained active in the fannish circles where I was circulating at the time.  He regularly wrote letters and columns for various fanzines, including a few I subscribed to.

In a literary sense he stood, naked and unashamed, in full view of the world, and that willingness to go beyond mundane sensibilities is what made his work so compelling.

He certainly fired me up as an adolescent writer, and proved an amalgam of Bradbury and Lovecraft that got my creative juices flowing in a coherent direction.

I don’t think I ever consciously tried to imitate him in my writing, but I sure learned from him, both in how to charge a story with emotion and how to fight for what’s right regardless of the blow back.

I loved him as a friend.

But, damn, Harlan…you could act so ugly...

. . .

H. Allen Smith

Who?

Most of you have never heard of H. Allen Smith, and that’s a damn shame.

I’d never heard of him either until I stumbled across a coverless remaindered copy of Poor H. Allen Smith’s Almanac in a Dollar General Store bin in Tennessee in the late 1960s (it was a memorable shopping expedition:  I also purchased Thomas Heggen’s Mister Roberts and Let’s Kill Uncle by Rohan O'Grady [pen name of June Margaret O'Grady Skinner]).

Reading Smith’s editorial comments (in addition to his own essays and fiction he edited numerous humor anthologies) I realized I’d found a kindred soul.

Smith had a very conversational tone as a writer; his prose seemed off the cuff and unstructured, but he slyly used that style to hide the very peculiar (and often perverse) path he led readers down.

He sounded / read like a garrulous guy at the bar, one with a huge number of charming, witty (and delightfully inebriated) friends in addition to his own bottomless well of tall tales, pointed observations, and rude jokes.

Of all the writers mentioned above, that style is the one I most consciously tried to emulate, and one I seem to have been able to find my own voice in (several people have told me I write the same way I talk, a rarity among writers).

Smith was hilarious whether wearing an editor’s visor or a freelancer’s fool’s cap.  If you know who H. L. Mencken was, think of Smith as a benign, better tempered version of that infamous curmudgeon (and if you don’t know, hie thee hence to Google and find out).

Compared to my other four influences, Smith didn’t need to add the fantastic to his fiction:  The real world was weird and wacky and whimsical enough.

A newspaper man turned best selling author, Smith became among the most popular humorists of the 1940s-50s-60s…

…and then he died and everybody forgot him.

Part of the reason they forgot is that he wrote about things that no longer seem relevant (TV cowboys of the early television era, f’r instance, in Mr. Zip) or are today looked upon askance (and with justifiable reason; the ethnic humor in many of his anthologies may not have been intended as mean spirited, but it sure doesn’t read as a celebration of other cultures, viz his succinct account of an argument following a traffic accident between two native Honolulu cabbies rendered in pidgin:  “Wassamatta you?”  “’Wassmatta me’?!?!?  Wassamatta you ‘Wassamatta me’?  You wassamatta!”).

I’m sure I picked up a great many faults from Smith, but Smith also had the virtue of being willing and able to learn and to make an effort to be a better person today than he was yesterday, and better still tomorrow.

I’ve certainly tried applying that to my life.

Smith’s style was also invoked -- consciously or not -- by other writers and editors, notably Richard E. Geis, the editor of the legendary sci-fi semi-prozone, Science Fiction Review (among other titles).  Smith died before I could meet him, but while I never met Dick Geis face to face we were pen pals for over 40 years.

Geis certainly sharpened specific aspects of my writing style, but the real underlying structure came from H. Allen Smith.

Smith’s work is hard to find today (in no small part because whenever I encounter one in the wild I snap it up) but I urge you to give him a try.

Just brace yourself for things we might consider incorrect today.

. . . 

So there’s my top five. 

With the exception of Carl Barks and Ray Bradbury, none of them are without serious flaw or blemish (though Smith seems like a decent enough sort despite his fondness for X-rated and ethnic humor).

In my defense as an impressionable child / teen, I was not aware of these flaws and blemishes when I first encountered their writing (primarily because in many cases efforts were made to hide or downplay those aspects).

The positive things I gleaned from them are not negated by the negative personal information that came out later.

I can, for the most part re the more problematic of them, appreciate their work while not endorsing their behavior.

Ellison can only be described in extremes, but his fire and passion -- when directed in a positive direction -- served as a torch to light new paths (his two original anthologies, Dangerous Visions and Again, Dangerous Visions, pretty much blew the doors off old school sci-fi and belatedly dragged the genre kicking and screaming into the 20th century).

Lovecraft I can effectively ignore while finding entertainment value in the Cthulhu Mythos.

But I must acknowledge this isn’t the same for everyone.

For example, as innocuous as I find H. Allen Smith, if a woman or a member of a minority group said, “I found this in particular to be offensive” I’d probably have to say, yeah, you’re right.

But I can still admire the way he did it, even if I can no longer fully support what he did.

. . . 

By the time I reached high school, I’d acquired enough savvy to regard to literary finds a bit more dispassionately, appreciating what they did without trying to literally absorb it into my own writing.

I discovered for myself the Beat generation of writers and poets, the underground cartoonists of the late 60s and 70s, Ken Kesey, Joseph Heller, Philip K. Dick, Ursula K. LeGuin, and a host of others, some already alluded to.

Some, such as the Beats and Bukowski, I could enjoy for their warts and all honest self-reflection.

Yes, they were terrible people, but they knew they were terrible people, and they also knew there had to be something better, and while they may never have found the nirvana they sought, they at least sent back accurate reports of where they were in their journeys of exploration.

By my late teens, I’d become aware enough of human foibles and weaknesses -- every human’s foibles and weaknesses, including my own -- to be very, very cautious in regarding an individual as admirable.

While I will never accept creativity as an excuse for bad behavior, if a creator is honest enough and self-introspective enough to recognize and acknowledge their own failings, it goes a long way towards my being willing to enjoy their work without feeling I’m endorsing them as individuals.

It’s not my place to pass judgment or exoneration on others bad behavior.

It is my place to see that I don’t emulate others’ bad behavior.

Every creator is connected to their art, even if it’s by-the-numbers for-hire hack work.

Every creator puts something of themselves into the final product.

And every member of the audience must decide for themselves if that renders the final product too toxic to be enjoyed. 

    © Buzz Dixon

#how this writer's mind works #writing #Carl Barks #Ray Bradbury #HP Lovecraft #Harlan Ellison #H Allen Smith #influences

[scrumptiousparadisepoetry]

Miami’s Preparedness and Mitigation Strategies for Hurricanes

The City of Miami

Miami is a beautiful low-lying coastal city; it attracts thousands of tourists each year and boasts beautiful architecture, as well as miles of beaches. There is one thing, however, this city in particular is vulnerable to. Due to Miami's tropical climate and close proximity to the Atlantic Ocean, it is frequently a target for hurricanes. More specifically, in the month of September, Miami is at very large risk of being hit by hurricanes. Though hurricanes don't seem to deter tourists and residents away, the impact they have had on this city have been devastating. 

How Does Miami Mitigate and Prepare for Hurricanes?

In this blog we will go into depth on how Miami prepares their city in order to protect it from hurricanes. Also, we will see how Miami goes about mitigating the effects that come with hurricanes. Not only is Miami’s low sea level height an aggravating factor for hurricanes, but so is climate change; later on, we will discuss the controversy of climate change and how Miami is dealing with the effects that come with it. The earth’s changing climate is increasing both the severity and regularity of hurricanes.

Miami’s Preparation Plan for Hurricanes

If a weather radar were to detect a hurricane whose path is heading towards Miami, Miami has a certain preparation plan which they will enact. It is important to mention that Miami recommends their residents follow the hurricane guide whether there be a hurricane watch, or a hurricane warning. A hurricane watch is issued when a hurricane is predicted to strike the given area in 48 hours, whereas, a hurricane warning is issued when a hurricane is expected to hit the area in 36 hours (2). First, Miami recommends that residents should either prune trees themselves or hire a contractor to ensure trees are hurricane ready. Pruning trees allows the tree to grow stronger, and it also prevents dead tree branches from causing damage to property. Secondly, if someone is a boat owner in Miami, Miami recommends that even before a hurricane watch is issued, boat owners should relocate their boats inland (2). In hurricane preparation, Miami also holds that it is important to check and make sure your gutter flows properly and has no clogs. A faulty gutter can end up causing extensive damage to your roof. The final step of hurricane preparation is to follow evacuation orders if given by the city of Miami. If an evacuation notice is in effect, it is required that everyone must leave the city (2). Miami provides public transportation to those who need it for evacuating. 

Miami’s Hurricane Mitigation Strategies

Before hurricane Andrew happened in Florida in 1992, there were no regulations for buildings to be designed to be hurricane ready; hospitals and essential businesses weren’t required to have generators, there were no codes for buildings to follow, etc. Richard Olsen, the director of the international hurricane research center at Florida International University, when asked about hurricane Andrew stated, “It was a marker event in the history of South Florida and for Florida in general. Nothing was ever the same in terms of mitigation and preparedness” (5). After hurricane Andrew, bills were passed that required supermarkets, gas stations and hospitals to be equipped with generators. The addition of generators allows stores and hospitals to open quickly after a hurricane strikes (5). Miami has learned from hurricane Andrew, and now has cracked down on bills to ensure mitigation efforts in their city will be boosted. Many schools and public buildings in Miami have received funding from the city to reinforce their buildings and install shelters (1). Also, Miami has added building codes that mean residents have to have reinforced roof sheathing, secondary water barrier roof protection, as well as use ring shank nails (hurricane grade nails) (1). 

                               Miami After Hurricane Andrew (7).

The Controversy of Climate Change

With regards to hurricane preparation and mitigation, Miami is now facing a bigger and bigger challenge each year as the sea level is only continuing to rise. Buildings and the design of the city must be constructed in order to be able to handle the flooding that comes with hurricanes and the rising of the sea. According to the mayor of Miami, “by 2025, Miami Beach hopes to spend $400 million to elevate 60% of its roads, which will receive new drainage systems, pavement, and sewer and water systems as needed ” (3). Also, as of August 2017, Miami has completed 3 miles out of the 260 planned miles (by now they are much further) (3). Hurricanes almost always cause flooding, however, with climate change in the picture, the flooding that comes with hurricanes has become catastrophic. With Miami’s sea level being so low, they are now seeing storm surges that are becoming hard to manage. Thus, Miami has started to install 80 pump stations throughout the city. Sea level rise from climate change has also changed the way Miami must prepare for hurricanes. In preparation for hurricane Dorian, the city manager stated they were “cleaning out storm drains, vacuuming out our system to make sure its flowing as efficiently as possible. We’re locating 10 temporary pumps around the city and 16 temporary generators for pumps that are already in place” (4). In order to protect from storm surges due to climate change, Miami recognizes that natural environments are the most effective; the waterkeeper of Miami states, “We know there is really valuable protection from storm surge given by natural infrastructure like coral reefs, mangroves, dunes and things like that" (6). Accordingly, the corps’ plan calls for extensive planting of mangroves along residential areas (6).

                              Hurricane Storm Surge in Miami (6).

What I’ve Learned

Through researching the topic of how Miami both mitigates and prepares for hurricanes, I have learned many things. Moreover, I first learned that Miami has taken into account past hurricanes and the effects they have had on their city. More specifically, since hurricane Andrew, Miami has now required hospitals, stores, and other essential businesses to have backup generators in order to get their business up and running as soon as possible after the strike of a hurricane. I also learned that Miami requires public buildings to have reinforced shelters, resident homes to have hurricane grade roof sheathing/secondary water barrier roof protection and hurricane grade nails. Finally, through my research in this topic, I have learned how much of an aggravating factor climate change is for hurricanes; a rise in temperature causes the sea level to rise, as an increase in temperature causes glaciers to melt and water to swell. Finally, I learned that due to climate change, Miami has put millions of dollars towards flood mitigation strategies: such as raising roads and providing extra water pumps in the city. All in all, hurricanes have proven to be a consistent economical problem for Miami that will only get worse in magnitude and in frequency due to climate change. 

Endnotes

Rollason, Frank. Before a Hurricane, 2020, www.miamidade.gov/global/emergency/hurricane/before-hurricane.page.

Tear, Charles. “Miami Beach Hurricane Guide.” 2017, www.miamibeachfl.gov/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/Hurricane-Guide-Eng-2017.pdf.

Garfield, Leanna. “How Miami Has Prepared for Sea Level Rise and Monstrous Hurricanes like Irma.” Business Insider, Business Insider, 8 Sept. 2017, www.businessinsider.com/miami-hurricane-irma-sea-level-rise-preparation-2017-9.

Harris, Alex, and Joey Flechas. “Hurricane Dorian Could Hit during King Tide, and Miami Is Preparing to Flood.” Catalyst Miami, www.catalystmiami.org/hurricane_dorian_could_hit_during_king_tide_and_miami_is_preparing_to_flood_jgkwchuznosh3gb10yjsfg.

Alvarez, Lizette, and Marc Santora. “After Andrew, Florida Changed Its Approach to Hurricanes.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 6 Sept. 2017, www.nytimes.com/2017/09/06/us/hurricane-andrew-miami.html?auth=login-google.

Allen, Greg. “A $4.6 Billion Plan To Storm-Proof Miami.” NPR, NPR, 13 June 2020, www.npr.org/2020/06/13/875725714/a-4-6-billion-plan-to-storm-proof-miami.

Miami, et al. “Destruction at Dawn: What Hurricane Andrew Did to South Florida on August 24, 1992.” Miamiherald, Miami Herald, www.miamiherald.com/news/weather/hurricane/article32006499.html. 

[healthyfitblr]

His Secret Obsession Review (2020): Is it Worth the Money?

One of the biggest problems faced by women in relationships is getting their man to commit. In his best-selling book, His Secret Obsession, relationship expert James Bauer is ready to solve it for you surely.

By helping you trigger his hero instinct.

If you haven’t come across the hero instinct yet, it’s a new concept in relationship psychology that’s generating a lot of buzz at the moment.

Like any self-respecting relationship geek, I wanted to see whether the book lives up to the hype. So I decided to buy it and give you my honest thoughts.

What does a 32 year old man who writes about psychology for a living think about the hero instinct? Is His Secret Obsession worth your time and money?

Read my epic His Secret Obsession review to find out.

What is His Secret Obsession?

His Secret Obsession tackles 3 big relationship issues:

Why men lose interest in a woman after the initial attraction wears off

Why men men are reluctant to commit long term, even when the early signs of relationship are so promising

Why men pull away suddenly and stop communicating with their partners.

James Bauer claims that men have instinctive needs when it comes to relationships, even if they are not consciously aware of them.

He calls it the hero instinct.

What the hero instinct boils down to is that men want to be an everyday hero (rather than a Thor-style hero). More importantly, they want to be a hero to the woman they’re in a relationship with.

The kicker is that it’s actually up to women to bring the hero instinct to the fore.

According to James Bauer, triggering the hero instinct will help you to:

Get your man to commit to you and gain his love and devotion over the long term

Strengthen the bond you already have, no matter how cold and distant he’s become

If you’ve been through a break up, rekindle his interest in you and get him to chase you again.

These are bold claims.

Before I delve deeper into them, it’s important to learn something about the author making them…

<<Check Out His Secret Obsession>>

Who is James Bauer?

James Bauer is a bestselling author and popular relationship coach.

He got his start as a trained psychologist and later became a professional relationship coach. For the past 12 years, he’s worked with thousands of men and women to help strengthen their relationships.

By carefully studying their cases, James Bauer discovered what he believes is the secret to deep, passionate and long lasting relationships: the hero instinct.

So, I read the book myself from cover to cover and decided to give my verdict on it here.

The hero instinct: What do I think about it?

The hero instinct is certainly a fascinating take on what drives men romantically.

However, James Bauer takes the search for meaning a step further by applying it specifically to the way men approach dating and relationships.

I found it thought provoking.

James argues that men are actually pretty simplistic.

The one thing men want is to feel like heroes. He argues that it goes back to our primal nature to provide for women, protect them, and to feel essential to them.

After reflecting on this for some time, I think there is a lot of truth to it.

A man’s psyche feeds off of things like ego, and triggering the hero instinct helps appeal to that ego. Men want to step up for women and to earn her love and affection in return.

His Secret Obsession Best Price

His Secret Obsession is often available for a discounted price. Check out the official website for the current cheapest deal.

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How do you trigger the hero instinct?

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[ofregiums]

silence ! raise the royal standard, for the queen regnant of england, VICTORIA WINDSOR, has arrived. being twenty-five years old, she is currently on the throne. many around the court call her the tenacious by virtue of her being passionate and poised, while also being reticent and suspicious.  —played by saoirse ronan.

— THE BASICS

full name: victoria elizabeth windsor known in history as: queen of the stars, the fortnight queen date of birth: september 15th age: twenty-five star sign: virgo profession: chief strategy officer at windsor industries ( in training ) alignment: lawful good mbti: intj spoken languages: english ( first ), spanish ( advanced ), french ( advanced ), mandarin ( intermediate ), russian ( intermediate ), italian ( intermediate ), german ( beginner ) mother’s name: anne windsor father’s name: edward windsor siblings, if any: charles windsor ( half-brother, older ) height: 5′6″ hair colour: blonde eye colour: blue

— CANON VERSE

victoria windsor entered this world with a cry that more likely resembled bells and with all eyes adoringly on her. from the very beginning, all signs pointed to nothing but utter happiness. after all, she was healthy, beloved, and the world was completely her oyster. that much was clear by the way she giggled as she clutched her older brother’s hand as he vowed to always protect her.

as both the youngest and a girl, she had very little responsibilities when it came to the throne. instead, her focus was placed on being the most pristine, proper, and perfect young lady in all of society. while charles spent his days learning about combat and the church, victoria shadowed her mother during teas with nobility and community service in the villages. her days were filled with beautiful dresses, etiquette lessons, and fresh air in the gardens.

however, victoria was not content to be just pretty. despite not being expected to, she had an affinity for learning about politics and the state of her country. books interested her far more than a new coat ever could. at her heart, the young blonde was an academic. not the court darling -- though she could play the part well enough when it was expected of her.

at the age of eleven, she was informed that she would eventually wed maksim romanov of russia. the idea didn’t very much excite her. especially considering that she was sent on an agonizing excursion to the frigid, cold lands of russia to form a relationship with prince. maksim romanov was an idiot. his accent was stupid and he didn’t have an interesting thought in his brain and victoria knew early on that she had little interest in him being her husband.

she was thirteen years old when everything changed and she was no longer sheltered from all else that went on in the world. charles, her dearest charles, confided in her -- that his lineage was uncertain due to their mother’s love for another. the news horrified victoria, knowing that this would only mean ill-fated outcomes for both her beloved mother and brother. not wanting there to be any doubt in anyone’s mind that charles was the rightful heir, she dove headfirst in protecting this massive secret, doing all she could to ensure that her brother remained firmly was he was placed. 

as charles went off to fight, victoria remained in england as was to be expected. it was then that she got her full taste of what it was like to be a monarch. with the heir away, edward realized that it was wise to prepare his youngest just in case anything unfolded terribly. she willingly learned though her heart constantly ached for her brother and she prayed for nothing but his safe return.

upon charles’ safe return, victoria was all packed up to travel to bern alongside her brother and sister-in-law. while the idea of a new city excited her, the blonde dreaded being reunited with her betrothed after the prior lackluster meetings. so naturally, it had to be some divine intervention from god himself that upon seeing maksim again -- completely coming into his own -- victoria fell in love with him on sight.

initially, bern wasn’t terrible at all. if anything, victoria found herself diving headfirst into a fairytale relationship that she had only thought possible in the stories she read as a little girl. maks was everything she was not and while that had been treated with disdain when she was younger, the blonde now adored that about him. her days in the new city were filled with time spent with her betrothed, with her brother and new friends she had made.

things changed drastically ( horrifically ) the day that pirates had invaded the castle. still on a complete high from a lovely time at the masquerade ball, victoria could have never predicted her chambers to be broken in by three rogue pirates that had killed the guards easily in front of her doors. though bloodied and bruised afterwards, she managed to ward them off long enough for more english guards to interfere but not after enduring the horror of having to kill one that came too close.

the attack was too precise and specific to be just considered mayhem. in secret, victoria and charles wondered if there was someone else who knew of the possible false lineage. after all, why go for the useless princess when the crown prince was only a door away ?

victoria hardly had time to heal when absolutely everything went to shit. uncovered letters condemned both her mother and charles and in the blink of an eye, she was rushed back to england to handle internal affairs. it was all far too quick. one day, she was in bern listening to the whispered rumors from her court. and almost like the next, she was pleading, sobbing, to her father to have mercy as an executioner ended her mother’s life. charles had shielded her from the horrific sight itself but victoria would never forget the sounds -- the derogatory chants, her mother’s last words muffled by screams, the swishing of the blade as it descended...

she was utterly numb after the loss of someone who meant the world to her. with charles stripped of his titles, victoria now emerged as the future queen of england. it was a role she never desired in her life. as she returned to bern, grief-stricken and accompanied by her father, the blonde spent many nights wondering what it would be like to simply end her life. the thought of charles, of maks... those seemed to be the only thing that got her through. 

to make matters worse, english advisors now wondered if a betrothal to the second russian prince was a wise move for the now heir. it was only in those moments where victoria found herself snapping out of her zombified state, making it a very clear fact that she would have maksim as her husband or there would be hell to pay. after a relentless back and forth, the nobles accepted her ultimatum with a bitter smile. she was already making enemies before her reign could even begin. but it was a risk she was willing to take now that she had him by her side as her husband -- no one could take that away from her.

her succession came far quicker than she would have ever hoped for. as explosions rocked through the castle, victoria clutched her father’s mangled body as he died. the anger she felt at his role in her mother’s death remained completely unresolved as she sobbed and sobbed and wondered why in the world had god selected this life for her.

overnight, she was the queen of england. victoria accepted the fate like a noose around her neck. the crown on her head is heavy and she hardly feels like she has anyone on her side who wishes to see her succeed. quickly, the perfect little girl had to become a colder depiction of a woman to attempt to survive this new world she had been thrust into. 

as the talks moved to versailles, victoria is weighed down by the expectations of the throne. she barely eats and sleeps these days, though the nobles care very little about that so long as she procure england an heir in an appropriate amount of time. her mental state is being called into question with people searching for any reason to deem the woman unfit to rule a country.

— MODERN VERSE

victoria was a happy beginning for edward and anne’s love story, especially after the utter failure of a marriage that her mother endured prior to. but she would always be thankful for that union because it gave her the most important thing in her life -- her older brother charles.

she was a bookish kid, always eager to learn and explore. from an early age, she had a head for business that was utterly inexplainable for a girl her age. but that didn’t seem to matter in the grand scheme of things. charles, who edward loved like his own, was always meant to take over windsor industries when he was ready to. while the thought wounded victoria, she never had the heart to resent her brother.

instead, she decided to prove her seat at the table. the blonde excelled in all of her classes growing up and never put too much stock in relying on what her family’s insurmountable wealth could provide for her. victoria wanted to show that hard work and a diligent work ethic were the reasons she was where she was.

for high school, she went off to boarding school -- an incredibly high-end all girls college preparatory one. it was there that she mets maksim romanov during a school dance with the brother school. victoria liked him instantly, a breath of fresh air from the rigid routines that she had spent her entire life abiding to. there was no wonder that she fell. hard.

upon graduation, victoria went to the states to study business at princeton university. unsurprisingly, she was at the top of her class. afterwards, she pursued a master’s degree at the university of cambridge, promptly finishing off her high education at the eight of twenty-five.

throughout her studies, victoria maintained a relationship with maks ( easier when she was in the states, more difficult when she was back in the uk ) and eventually when he proposed, she happily said yet. the engagement of an oil magnate’s daughter and the son of media moguls was undoubtedly the talk of the town and their upcoming nuptials are already predicted to be the spectacle of the upcoming year. 

with two shiny degrees, victoria approached her father and they had a serious conversation about her taking part of the family company. edward was proud to see how much care and hard work his daughter had put into this and and offered her a chance to train under the current chief strategy officer to one day take over. every day, victoria shows up to the job with the energy of someone starting off at the bottom. she wanted no doubt in anyone’s mind that she had earned this.

in her free time, she happily plans for her wedding or spends some much needed decompressed time at the place she shares with maksim and their dogs -- danya and nova. while initially considered unforthcoming and uptight, victoria’s actually trying to get better at letting loose and not appearing as such an ice queen as some may initially think her to be.

#( * introductions. ) #( * i will do what queens do ; i will rule | victoria windsor. )

[racefortheironthrone]

Thoughts on House of X #6

The penultimate issue!

While You Slept, the World Changed:

Before I get into the content, let me say that I think Hickman et al. really brought it with their two final issues, which are some of the best of the miniseries. 

Showing Hickman’s love of circular storytelling, we flash back to the speech from the very first page of House of X #1, where Xavier announced the formation of Krakoa. The always-frustrating timeline is cleared up a little: Xavier’s speech happened a month ago, although we know from that same issue that work had been going on on Krakoa for “months” before the announcement - more evidence that the schedule was important.

Despite this all of this preparation, Xavier takes a moment before the speech to ask Moira and Magneto to join him for this “leap of faith,” which requires “total commitment.” (Which is interesting, given Namor’s questioning of same.) Moira agrees quickly, but then hangs back and watches, as is her wont (as we’ll see in Powers of X #6). 

By contrast, Magneto makes a significant shift from his earlier pledge of unrelenting accountability to burying the hatchet completely (I love how “all the anger at the other’s relentless ideology and unyielding persistence” so perfectly describes both men) and promises his complete support (and possibly more, depending on how you interpret the hand-on-hand-on-shoulder panel) going forward. That’s a big moment for the two of them.

And then we get Xavier’s speech in full, which I’m going to do my best to annotate. 

“Humans of the planet Earth...I am the mutant Charles Xavier and I bring you a message of hope. ”

The first thing I’ll note is that we’re already seeing a rather significant change in Xavier’s behavior: for decades, Charles Xavier refused to come out of the closet as a mutant even when asked directly, and only did so in New X-Men when possessed by Cassandra Nova. Here, he’s straightforwardly describing himself as “the mutant Charles Xavier,” putting his group identity before even his name.

Secondly, there’s an interesting tinge of classic sci-fi in the way that Xavier addresses “humans of the planet Earth” - it’s very reminiscent of The Day The Earth Stood Still - and I wonder whether part of this has to do with the so far largely unspoken Krakoan ambition of beating humanity to the Moon, to Mars, and the stars themselves.

“In the coming days, you will learn of several far-reaching pharmaceutical breakthroughs that have been discovered by mutant scientists. These drugs extend human life, heal disease of the mind, and will prevent - or cure - most common maladies. Influenza, Alzheimer’s, ALS, many cancers...gone. Overnight. These drugs will make life on this planet...better. Remarkably so.”

First, this is very much of a part of Hickman’s technocratic futurism from his F.F run, which I have to imagine often leads to a bit of frustration with the editorial mandate not to use super-science to make the world unrecognizable.

At the same time, I’m all the more convinced that the point of this proffer (in addition to buying U.N votes and diplomatic recognition) isn’t to mess with human biology - I think the drugs actually do what’s advertized, rather than mind-controlling people or activating the X-gene - but rather (according to what we learn in Powers of X #6) to dull the drive to achieve post-humanity, solving humanity’s problems but leaving the source out of their hands. This is a theme that featured quite heavily in the finale to Hickman’s Transhuman.

“All this...we have made for you. In the past they would have been a gift. Something freely given by me -- to you -- because I believed it would create harmony between our two peoples. That was my dream -- harmony -- but you have taught me a harsh lesson: that dream was a lie. You see, all I ever wanted was peace between humans and mutants. All I ever wanted was to love you and for you to love us.”

Here’s a great example of how comics can use text and imagery in different ways. Visually, what this page shows us is different levels of humanity: ordinary people in a hospital room, who see Xavier’s speech as a message of hope, the promise of deliverance from disease; a board room full of businessmen who probably see either opportunity or competition, depending on their market position; and a situation room of national security types who represent human power structures that have always viewed mutants as a threat.

At the same time, I think the text is an answer, if not a rebuke, to those fans who’ve been decrying Charles Xavier as acting “out of character” or spinning conspiracy theories about how it’s actually the Maker or the like. This is clearly the same Charles Xavier, who has come to change his mind about his vision of society, because he’s seen how humans have responded over again. (I think it also gets at one of the problems of grounding the X-Men in a “dream” of harmonious co-existence when genre conventions prevent that dream from ever coming to fruition. Especially given how the serial nature of comics leads to repetitions of “anti-mutant hysteria,” it’s not surprising how much of the fandom have shifted to a “Magneto Was Right” perspective.)

“We wanted to save you -- and we did, many times -- but in return, all you did was stand by while evil men killed our children. Over 16 million of them. So there will be no gift...for you have not earned it. We will -- however -- let you pay for it. In return for two things, we will provide you with the means to have a better life. One without pain or suffering and full of hope -- and it will cost you so little.”

Here, instead of constrasts, the text and images are working in concert, with the art giving pointed examples of whom Xavier is referring to - pointing to the Avengers as “stand[ing] by while evil men killed our children” (given that the Avengers tend to specialize in threats to the planet, but have had a decidely mixed record when it comes to threats to mutants specifically, to say nothing of the fallout from the Scarlet Witch’s actions), or the Fantastic Four as having “not earned” his “gifts,” given that the FF haven’t exactly been at the forefront of applying scientific advancement to specifically mutant concerns. Similarly, Doctor Strange was willing to brave the dangers of hell to bring the city of Las Vegas back from the dead, but didn’t do the same for the victims of Genosha.

At the same time, it becomes clear that what Xavier is getting at isn’t just direct complicity in anti-mutant violence, but the broader systemic problems of human apathy towards anti-mutant violence. (Although, to be fair, he’s bringing this up as, essentially, emotional blackmail to justify his economic policies and his political demands.)

On a different topic, it’s interesting that Xavier is offering something of a utopia for humanity - “a better life...without pain or suffering and full of hope” - but may instead be planning to put humanity inside a walled garden where they will be cared for but kept out of mutant-kind’s way.

“First, you must accept the island of Krakoa as the nation-state of all mutants on this planet. We will happily go through the same process as any newly formed nation with the U.N, but there is an expectation that our sovereignty will be recognized. Second, all mutants -- by birth -- can claim Krakoan citizenship. And with that citizenship, we expect a period of amnesty. So that those who have been singled out as criminals -- or punished and imprisoned by humans -- can overcome man’s bias against mutants.”

So here we get Xavier’s main political ask: international recognition of Krakoan sovereignty, mutant citizenship, and amnesty for mutants in prison.

It’s clear from his tone, however, that Krakoa is going through the “same process as any newly formed nation” mostly as a formality, with “an expectation that our sovereignty will be recognized” - both because humanity needs what Xavier is offering and the unspoken fact of mutant power.

One thing that caught my eye is that the citizenship/amnesty isn’t just a one-for-one copy of Israel’s law of return; given the heavy focus on human judicial system’s “bias against mutants,” it also borrows heavily from the 1966 platform of the Black Panther Party, which called for “freedom for all Black men held in federal, state, county and city prisons and jails,” because they had been denied a trial by jury of their peers.

“From this day forward, mutants will be judged by mutant law, not man’s. These are our simple demands, and they are not negotiable. In return for making our lives better, we will do the same for you. And if you find yourselves asking, who are these mutants to think they can dictate terms to us? We are the future. An evolutionary inevitability. The Earth’s true inheritors. You closed your eyes last night believing this world would be yours forever. That was your dream. And like mine...it was a lie. Here is a new truth: while you slept, the world changed.”

Here’s where we get a firm statement of mutant-kind’s manifest destiny, although how accurate a description of “evolutionary inevitability” it might be is up for debate, given what we learn about Moira’s Sixth Life in the next issue. No wonder that Magneto is eating it up, but Moira seems more ambivalent.

One important thing to note: as the art demonstrates, ORCHIS is very much in operation when Xavier makes his announcement. Rather than being a response to a more militant and separatist Krakoa, their motivations are much more driven by eugenic fears of demographic replacement, which is way less defensible. 

Quiet Council of Krakoa Infographic:

In the wake of Powers of X #6, we now have to ask ourselves whether the (un-elected, possibly temporary) Quiet Council is, if not a Potemkin government (this would be a bit much, given what they get up to in this issue), but perhaps not the only locus of authority on Krakoa.

In addition to continuing the naturalistic themes of Krakoa, I wonder whether the Autumn/Winter/Spring/Summer designations suggest a kind of rotating chair system for a council in which all are supposedly equal...but who is primus inter pares? Xavier is acting as speaker, setting out the agenda and moving the action along, but he’s not the only voice in the room - a sign that he is sharing power to a significant extent.

So let’s talk about the membership of the Quiet Council:

Autumn: here we have the three ideological leaders whose ideas have led to the formation of Krakoa (although Apocalypse’s contributions are less public), and potentially Moira’s exes (although we never learn whether Moira was romantically involved with Magneto in her Eighth Life). 

Winter: is “where we parked all of the problem mutants” other than Magneto. Mostly, this seems to be on the basis of both necessity and “better inside the tent pissing out than outside the tent pissing in.” One question I have is whether Exodus, as someone who used to basically worship Magneto, is a vote that Magneto can count on, since clearly he and Sinister aren’t on the same page, and Mystique is very much on her own.

Spring: here is Emma’s quid-pro-quo, and a recognition that the economic and foreign policy might of the Hellfire Corporation has to be represented within the governing structure of Krakoa. Given the structure (down to the very seating), I have to think that Xavier and Magneto had always planned for the third vote that Emma demanded. It’s also quite notable in later deliberations how limited Sebastian Shaw’s influence is on the Council. 

Summer: as we might expect, given who’s extending the invitations, Xavier gives three seats to “my children,” which gives Xavier at least four votes that he can count on - although Ororo, Jean, and Kurt clearly have their own minds and priorities. As the Krakoan national project continues, counting votes will only become more important.

Speaking of which, we can’t forget about Krakoa and Cypher. While not formally one of the twelve, they are nonetheless a powerful influence who have a voice if not a vote on the Council. And ultimately Krakoa’s voice is quite loud, because the whole enterprise cannot happen without its consent.

The Great Captains:

So here we see the division of civilian and military government, with the “great captains..assum[ing] the responsibility of defending the state” during “times of conflict or war.” 

The more curious question to me is what counts as a “state-related excursion” - it would seem to cover X-Men missions like the one at Sol’s Forge and at the ORCHIS facility in X-Men #1, but does it mean that Kate Pryde wouldn’t be in charge of her own vessel if Bishop steps on board? Does it cover X-Force clandestine operations, or would plausible deniability be important? Who does X-Force report to?

Cyclops as first among equals makes sense, although it does raise a question of what happens when you have two other captains in the field.

So Bishop makes sense as a head of whatever the name of the agency in charge of resurrection-related investigations is (possibly X-Factor), but I was surprised to see him show up in Marauders #1.

I wonder what Magik’s role as a Captain is supposed to be, especially since it seems she’ll be heading off to space in New Mutants. Down the line, I’m going to guess she’ll be involved in Krakoa’s version of Inferno, but what’s her intended role supposed to be?

Finally, what’s Gorgon’s role as Captain supposed to be.

The First Laws of Our Nation

Before I get into the content of this section, I want to talk about the beautiful panelling here that starts wide, shrinks down to the nine panel grid as the political debate intensifies, and then opens up again once the decision is made. 

Similarly, I like the use of the two key symbols: the X of the chairs and the sigil on the ground (secular authority), Krakoa’s face looming over them all like a heart tree (spiritual authority)

Given what we learn in Powers of X #6 about why various council members was chosen, describing three of the four seasons as “family, friends, and allies” is highly ironic.

Sabertooth is removed from watery confinement - which, if Krkaoa can just hold people in water bubbles for an extended period, why isn’t that the punishment used late? - and Kurt sets an appropriately Biblical tone by noting that “our first bit of business is the oldest kind on this planet...judgement.” (Appropriately for Kurt’s themes, the judgement in question also centers on how to punish the first murder in this new land, and ends with exile.) Also, for those of you keeping track of how much Krakoan justice accords with human conceptions of justice, I will point out that Sabertooth comes out of the bubble threatening his judges/jury, which is never a good look for a defendant.

So let’s talk about the trial:

One of the things that jump out to me immediately is that it’s interesting seeing Magneto in the role of an idealist - “this is the establishment of a nation...and I would have it be one of laws.” - whereas Xavier’s acting as the pragmatist, acknowledging that “I cannot say everyone here best represents the ideals of what any society should be based on,” but that they have to do the best with what they’ve got. Ultimately, I think this is a tension at the heart of all national projects.

Meanwhile, we get precisely three speakers in before conflict erupts: Sinister is a camp shit-stirrer who (publicly, anyway) really only partakes in the meeting to poke at Xavier and Exodus. Meanwhile, showing how little bloc voting there will be in the “problem mutant” camp, Exodus goes right for direct threats, prompting Sinister to propose criminalizing “mutant-on-mutant violence” (again, the political resonances here are obvious), not because he believes murder is wrong but because he’s enjoying trolling Exodus.

Showing how much Krakoan technology and the...unique worldviews of the Council members are going to produce new forms of political philosophy, Aopcalypse opposes Sinister’s motion, because he doesn’t think it should be “a crime to kill someone who cannot be killed,” since killing mutants is now a non-lethal way of testing them for social Darwinian worthiness. 

This clearly does not track with Storm’s morality, and in a rare moment in HOXPOX where we get to see Jean Grey operating as a forceful political presence, she uses Storm’s interjection to pivot to an appeal to “the highest of ideals” (perhaps aiming her words at Magneto as well as her fellow X-Men) that it should be the “highest crime...killing someone who cannot come back.” (This is more in line with her more recent appearances in X-Men: Red.) Thus, the Second Law of Krakoa is established...without actually taking a vote. It seems that the Council operates on the basis that any proposal not actively objected to becomes law, which I imagine the political scientists out there have some thoughts on.

Before the law passes, Mystique raises the question of self-defense against human aggression (which fits her first X-appearance nicely). Showing how much his earlier views have shifted now that he’s operating in the context of a mutant nation-state, Magneto distinguishes between “murder” and killing “done in defense of a nation,” and while that question is formally tabled, it does suggest an exception for formal armed conflict at least in the founder’s intent.

Supporting my theory that he’s going to be the de-facto Chairman or Speaker, Xavier not only drives the agenda (although he’s not alone in this, Magneto is definitely acting in this capacity), but also makes sure to “call the question,” deciding when proposals become law as long as no one objects.

Another point wrt to the justness of this process: well before he’s found guilty, let alone sentence is passed, Sabertooth threatens murder and cannibalism against his judges...which isn’t a persuasive defense against murder charges (even if he’s just threatening the murder of mutants...which isn’t legal AFAWK, just not as illegal as the murder of humans.)

A nice bit of character work, and another rare rmoment where we see Jean’s power in action, Emma and Jean collaborate to silence Sabertooth’s ranting. 

With the Second Law established, and Sabertooth’s trial technically in abeyance, the Council moves on to “any new business.”

As we might expect from a neoliberal robber baron, Sebastian Shaw calls for “property rights, wealth, currency,” to be legislated for next.

In an interesting turn of events, Doug Ramsey interjects that “Krakoa is alive. Not a place, or a biome -- a person.” Krakoan (real) property rights will have to have a decidedly non-capitalist orientation, because as we see further in Marauders #1, in addition to not having rights in the land, you have to ask for Krakoa’s consent in order to build grow a house.

In a development I didn’t see coming, Storm takes the position that  that mutants can still own property, but “it has to be...out there...in the world. No one has said we have to run from it.” This is somewhat more capitalist than I might expect from Storm, but it does make sense that someone with her particular entanglements in the wider world would take a less isolationist position. This raises an interesting question: if mutants own property in a sovereign nation, and they decide to plant Habitat flowers on their property, does that make that property now part of Krakoa?

Doug’s position gets supported by Exodus (in a characteristically religious tone), and Xavier once again calls the question, creating the Third Law of Krakoa. For those of us keeping track of the colonial theme, it is interesting that this largely European-led nation state has taken a legal position on land ownership that’s much more associated with indigenous peoples. 

Befitting her role as the true power in the Hellfire Trading Company, Emma Frost tables the discussion of economic legislation, due in no small part to it impinging on Krakoan diplomacy and international economic policy.

With a decidely mocking air aimed at her son, Mystique shifts the agenda from the secular to the sacred. After a moment’s thought, Kurt who fires back with the original “manifest destiny” out of Genesis (the first creation), and we get the First Law: “make more mutants.” In addition to continuing the very horny feel of the issue, this law raises a set of interesting questions about Krakoan attitudes with regard to the right to choose, access to family planning services, and sexuality - although as Hickman has pointed out, the implications of an egg-based system for (re)growing people point in completely different directions. Why assume Krakoa will follow human social mores in any area?

With the fundamental laws established, the Quiet Council can now decide how to apply them to Sabertooth:

In an example of how subtly powerful agenda-setting can be, Xavier makes the question of voting guilty or not guilty a question of “making an example...that no one is above mutant law” or “giving you one last chance.” Fitting his somewhat collectivist bent in Powers of X #1, he frames this question not in terms of the civil rights of “Mr. Creed,” but in terms of how the decision “benefits our new society.”

While it doesn’t quite settle the post facto question, Magneto argues that Sabertooth’s killing of the Damage Control guards violatted the “strict instructions” he was given when Magneto dispatched him on the mission, making it not merely a question of the First Law but also of obedience to the chain of command. Apocalypse, who knows something about managing an aggressive workforce, agrees.

Sinister and Exodus, for once, are on the same page, and while Mystique ultimately goes along with the emerging majority, her body posture and dialogue suggests a degree of internal conflict - after all, she was the one leading the mission, so some responsibility falls on her shoulders.

Turning to the X-Men side of the room: as befits his spiritual role, Kurt feels shame for not turning the other cheek, Jean takes a moment but is more assured, and of course Storm has no problem with a bit of divine judgement.

Continuing the trend of divisions among the Hellfire Club, Emma is all about getting rid of Sabertooth, while Sebastian goes along with the emerging consensus because he doesn’t care. 

And once again proving that a defendant representing themselves is always a bad idea, before all the votes are in (and we don’t know whether Krakoan juries require a unanimous verdict) or the sentence is given out, Sabertooth threatens familicide of the Quiet Council. Not exactly a strong argument for leniency, since Sabertooth hasn’t exactly been pleading innocence at any point. 

Finally, Doug asks Krakoa to bring the hammer down, and Sabertooth is dragged down to hell put into an oubliette. As Xavier explains, “we cannot send you back into the world” (because Sabertooth is a serial killer who can’t restrain himself, and Krakoa just promised the world it would hold mutants accountable for their actions), they won’t jail him because “we tolerate no prisons here” (this seems a technicality), they won’t kill him, because seemingly the “resurection protocols” are non-optional (which is interesting, given what we learn about Destiny in the next issue), and so they “exile him.”  

One interesting question: given the resources available to them, why is it necessary to leave him “aware but unable to act on it” rather than have him be unconscious during stasis? My guess is that Xavier wants to motivate Sabertooth to “redeem” himself down the line. 

And then finally, we get Xavier’s concluding statement, where I think Hickman’s views on nation-states (“it’s distasteful, I know, this business of running a nation”), the proper attitudes one should have about holding and exercising political power (”I pray we never get used to it...never grow cold from it...never learn to love it”), and even parenthood come through.

Just Look At What We’ve Made:

But in the meantime, the council emerges to what almost everyone has analogized to the Return of the Jedi celebration: not only do we see bonfires and fireworks and a riot of color everywhere, but we see mutants flying around, using their powers, for the first time really feeling that they can live as mutants without fear for their lives.

As the Quiet Council walk down the steps, we see some of the reasons why and the consequences: the Five party as one, but near them we see the formerly dead raising a glass with the living. And echoing Magneto’s earlier statements about how Krakoa will change the way mutants see their own powers, we see Siryn and Dazzler combining their powers for the purposes of culture rather than warfare or high tech.

Xavier’s final message is that the Quiet Council will work like hell to ensure that the next generation of mutants “sleep in soft fields of lush green, staring at the stars and dreaming of a future where they hold those stars in their hands.” Once again, a sign that Krakoa’s manifest destiny lies in space, a common theme of Hickman’s from his FF run. As this happens, we see three of the O5 goofing around (I’m surprised how many people didn’t notice that Bobby had frozen Warren’s drink while he wasn’t looking), and Exodus leading storytime with the children as Sinister watches in the background.

But that’s not what people are really here for - as nice as it is to see Broo and Synch and Skin and Pixie, what people really care about is the Jean/Logan/Scott panel. As the now infamous architectural diagram in X-Men #1 makes very clear, this is not a case of a mere open marriage: the most famous romantic triangle in X-Men history is now a throuple, founded on the principle of beer and tummy rubs. 

Almost as exciting for much of the fandom is the next page, where Jean goes to make peace with Emma while Scott hangs out with Alex. One of the big questions going on is what Emma’s role is in the polycule, since she doesn’t seem to be living at the Summer House. My guess is that Emma is “part of it” (to quote David S. Pumpkins), but may only be with Scott, and definitely would refuse point-blank to share communal living quarters with Logan. We will have to wait for more evidence to be sure.

And so we end with Xavier and Magneto looking out over the celebration, taking a moment to feel (rightly?) proud of “what we have made.” And yet, all is not well, because Apocalypse, the third ideological force who (through Moira) helped to create Krakoa, broods on what he lost when Krakoa was born.

Krakoa Infographic:

With Krakoa now extant as a nation-state, we get one more infographic...that shows us that there is a Krakoa Atlantic to go along with Krakoa Pacific. This points to an important truth about this new polity - it would be a mistake to see Krakoa as an island nation like Genosha or Utopia, because the nation of Krakoa exists wherever the physical entity of Krakoa exists. It’s in the Pacific and the Atlantic, it’s on the moon, it’s on Mars, it’s everywhere a Krakoan flower has been planted. Which makes it a post-geographic power.

So what’s on Krakoa Atlantic?

The Pointe is one of Xavier’s Cerebro back-up locations, so that an attack on Krakoa Pacific won’t destroy the database. 

Danger Island is the X-Men’s new and expanded training facility.

Transit allows for instant transportation between Pacific and Atlantic to allow the X-Men to respond to a threat to either island or cradle, and possibly a final keep to fall back to if everything else is lost.

And finally we get one last map of Krakoa (All), and there’s a lot we don’t know about these locations:

The House of X and the House of M are Xavier and Magneto’s residences, and the location of one of the Cerebro “cradles.”

The Arbor Magna is the big tree where the Resurrection system is located in/on.

The Arena we don’t know anything about, but from the name it suggests that it’s a combat-oriented location, either for training or for entertainment purposes. 

The Akademos Habitat is almost certainly Krakoa’s educational facility that Jean mentions back in House of X #1, but the fact that it’s a Habitat is interesting, because a Krakoan Habitat is a ”self-sutained environment” of its own that is “part of the interconnected consciousness of Krakoa,” and I had thought that having a Habitat on Krakoa itself, as opposed to one out on the moon or Mars would be redundant. My guess is that this is meant to provide an additional layer of safety to the next generation of mutants.

We saw Transit back in House of X #1, this Transit location is the Grand Central Station for Greater Krakoa, linking all gateway locations together. Yet another sign that, for Krakoa, their nation has a different conception of distance. 

The Oracle is, I would guess, probably one of the Krakoan Systems, most likely either Sage’s or Beast’s part of the system.

I don’t know what the Grove is supposed to be, but given its proximity to the Akademos Habitat, I think it’s supposed to be a living space, possibly just for the young and possibly not. 

The Cradle, it turns out, is just a cradle.

The Resevoir could be that lagoon we saw back in House of X #1, which would make sense if the Wild Hunt is a nature preserve, because animals love to congregate at watering holes.

The Carousel’s name suggests it’s an entertainment facility. 

We know what Bar Sinister is from its last appearance; it turns out that Sinister recreated his little island Edwardian eugenics nightclub on Krakoa. Interesting that it’s locsated so close to Transit; maybe Sinister wants to be able to make a quick getaway.

Speaking of the fruits of faustian bargains, it turns out that the quid-pro-quo for becoming the economic engine of a nation is that the Hellfire Trading Company gets a whole Hellfire Bay to itself as its headquarters. 

Red Keep is almost certainly Kate Pryde’s new pad, which is conveniently ocean-ajacent for our newest mutant pirate privateer queen.

Blackstone is Sebastian Shaw’s Gilded Age “gentleman’s” club.

The White Palace is naturally Emma’s boudoir, complete with buzzsaws and spikes. 

The unnamed location 18 is clearly Moira’s No-Space.

#xmen #xmen meta #house of x #spoilers #hoxpox

[journal-of-an-outlaw]

Price to be Paid

Chapter 4 

Camp over the next few days was exhausting. Between getting everything set up to stay in one place for awhile and getting to know the people you were living with you were tired every night and almost asleep before you hit your bedroll. To say it was uncomfortable was an understatement. The small tent provided you enough room to change your clothes while hunched over, but that was about it. You were extremely grateful to those who gave it to you of course, but sometimes you got caught staring longingly at Arthur's raised mattress and daydreaming about how one night off the ground would feel.

You finally got to test out your new bow one day when the hunting party was relatively small. Arthur, Charles, and Javier accompanied you. Charles watched appreciatively as you took down a few rabbits with your new bow. 

"If you move your hand around you'll be able to shoot farther. Instead of all of your fingers pulling from under the arrow, try one over and two under." You gave it a go and the arrow flew much higher than it had been previously. But it landed in a completely different spot than you had been aiming. 

"I'll try that! Thank you, Mr. Smith." 

"Charles." He smiled warmly at you and clapped your shoulder then headed over to Javier who was not having luck fishing. He seemed to be swearing at them more than catching them, and his cursing in Spanish increased with each cast.

Arthur watched you from across the field. You wondered if he trusted you or not. The two of you had barely interacted in the past week but you still feel bonded to him for saving your life back in Blackwater. You rode over next to him and looked out at the small group of deer feeding on the grass by the lake. 

"Easy enough prey if you move quick." He pointed over to the bunch. You had never actually hunted deer before, just smaller game you could get with your bow. Living in town didn't give you a need to hunt purely for meat. His eyes barely moved from watching the herd ahead of him. 

You were sitting upon a borrowed horse again, still not able to afford your own. A beautiful grey and white mare had come into the stables in Valentine recently and you had your eye on it. 

One of the deer picked up it's head quickly as if it caught your scent on the wind. Raising your bow and using the new technique Charles taught you, you easily took one down. The pair of you rode over and the rest of the herd dashed away and pulled it up to your horse's back. 

"Mr. Morgan, would you teach me how to skin this? I want to earn enough to buy a horse in town."

He raised his eyebrows at you. "You sure you want to get blood on your clothes, Miss Moore?" 

Your temper flared up. "I'm out here hunting, ain't I? If I was worried about my clothes I would be content sewing and cleaning and cooking with the others. Just because I'm from town don't mean I can't learn other ways. Now, do you start with this end or the other one?" You pointed to the head, thinking it was wrong but determined to prove yourself. Arthur showed you the best way to skin it, and what furs to look for. You thanked him and added it to the growing pile on the back of your horse, stretching your arms and back muscles that were sore from your new bow.

"The next time I'm headed to town I'll take ya with me. We can get that horse you've been staring at when you think no one's looking." A smile creeps on your face.

"Thank you, Mr. Morgan."

"Call me Arthur."

After you return from the hunting trip, some of the gang decided to go into town. Tilly, Mary-Beth, Karen, Uncle, and Arthur all hop in the wagon and roll out. You decided to stay behind and take a well deserved nap after skinning some rabbits. Robbing and stealing would have to wait until another day when you could be more alert. 

Abigail joined you at the table nearest the horses so skin. “Sounds like you got real good with that bow, YN.” You beamed back, so happy you had something good to contribute. “Abigail it feels so good. And powerful. I can see helping out with the hunting regularly. Seems like I can fit in here.” Dutch agreed as he sauntered over. “Nice work, Ms. Moore! Now that is what I call helping out thy neighbor. A few more trips like that and we’ll never go hungry again!”

Abigail beamed as the two of you finished cleaning the pelts. “I know it would be good to have you around. I’m so happy, YN, it always comes together. Now go lie down, I can see from your eyes how tired you must be.”

Moments later you curled up on your bed roll, the lazy midday heat helping you drift off to sleep. You dreamt of a stag running through a field and chasing after it, but always being a few steps behind. Dark grass grabbed at your legs and made you feel lethargic and slow. You knew you had to catch it no matter what. You pumped your arms to run as fast as you could, but no matter where it darted next be a stream bed or field of flowers you were always behind. 

Shouting in the camp woke you up. The wagon had returned with the additions of Charles, Javier, and Bill. The men were caked with mud and obviously drunk, laughing uncontrollably while recreating what must have been a fight that broke out in town.

Javier wheezed, “And then! And then, he winds back with Arthur in his hands and launches him out the window! Glass was everywhere, nearly cut my ass open trying to follow,” he began howling and couldn’t even finish a sentence. Of course he tried to roll out the window rather than take the front door. “Then! That grande beast looked at Arthur, and called him...called him...pretty boy!” Arthur was grabbing onto the wagon trying to stand up with Charles leaning on him. Javier and Bill finally sat on the ground unable to support themselves standing anymore. The women were laughing as well, but much less loud and brashly. Hosea glanced over the rim of his book to see what happened but quickly went back to his novel once the scene concluded. 

A new face rode into camp as the story was ending on a tall while horse. Sharply dressed and a northern accent caught your attention as most of the gang was obviously from further down south. 

“Gentlemen! Quiet the street brawl in deed. And our own Arthur Morgan struck fear into the hearts of the gentlemen and caused the women to quiver no doubt! But I come with important news. Dutch, I found where they’re keeping Sean.”

Dutch and Hosea moved quickly over to the man. “Sean! Where is he, Trelawney?”

“Ahh, the problem. He’s in Blackwater with some bounty hunters.”

The gang looked around and waited for Dutch’s call. “If there’s a chance he’s alive, we ride.”

Charles was the first to volunteer to scout ahead first and left immediately. Some of the others needed to sleep off the effects of Valentine and the day’s events. You traded with Pearson the pelts you had kept for cash and left to find Arthur. Finally you had enough to pay him back for the bow he bought you, no matter how he disguised the purchase. 

He was standing over a barrel of water dunking his face. You watched him for a moment, then slowly approached. At first you thought he was getting out tough hiding dirt from behind his ears. Then the smell hit you. Valentine’s stench had been amplified with alcohol and rain making Arthur a putrid mess. You tried to subtly cover your nose as you approached. 

“Arthur? Arthur, do you have a moment?” 

He stopped, sopping wet, to look over at you. “I can come back later if you’d like.”

“Now is fine!” He plopped down on a seat and shook his head with the remaining water causing droplets to spray everywhere. He motioned for you to take a seat but you politely declined. “I wanted to give you this,” you say as you held out a coin purse full of the $9.50 you owed. 

He looked inside and immediately opened his mouth to protest. “Please, Arthur it’s the least I can give you. You’ve saved my life, taught me how to skin an animal, and not hated me for moving in with the gang. Honestly I owe y’all a lot more than I could gather up the past few weeks here.” Nodding he pocketed the purse and with it your debt was paid back. He smiled at you but quickly grabbed his jaw wincing, he must have been hit pretty hard in town. You cleared the seat off and removed his hand to get a better look at the damage. A cut that ran below his mouth and a bruise, but nothing major.

“It’s nothing, that fella just packed a mean punch is all.” No one was around to see you fuss over him, and he didn’t tell you to stop. You pulled a clean rag and some cleaning ointment from your medical bag and gently cleansed the area. Arthur flinched when your left hand met his face to hold it steady but he allowed you to help him with the cuts on his face. 

How this bear of a man could have so many sides you hadn’t figured out yet. Outlaw. Sweetheart. Mean. Angry. Soft. But something in his blue green eyes was intriguing enough to make your heart catch in your chest when you stared into them too long. Arthur watched you while you concentrated on rinsing the mud off his chin and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks. 

“Is there something on my face too, Mr. Morgan?” 

“I told ya to call me Arthur. And no, I just never saw brown eyes shine like that in the sunset before.” 

You froze, then remembered to breathe again. “All cleaned up. Hopefully that helps you sleep.” Arthur cleared his throat and thanked you with a tip of his hat and a small smile, then moved back to his tent to rest for the evening. Maybe he didn’t mean the comment in the way you took it. You gazed over the campsite to focus on something else, and it was stunning in the light of the setting sun. 

Hosea was spooning stew into a metal bowl for himself when you joined him. “Mind if I sit with you for dinner?”

“Not at all! I’ve been meaning to talk with you. Let’s sit and watch the valley.” It was your favorite view from the site and he must have seen you there with the scenery stuck in your eyes a hundred times already. The two of you used the makeshift table near the edge of Herr Strauss’ tent. 

“YN, you’re a reader, is that right?” You nodded excitedly. Finally someone to talk about books with! Not that you would have judged them but some of the folks in camp couldn't read. 

Hosea smiled and the two of you discussed which genres you preferred. He loved a good mystery novel, and your weakness was adventure stories. Tales of the way life used to be was so romantic. Pirates plundering for lost treasure, or maybe the knights of the round table. Every new experience was something you yearned for. 

“Too bad real life can’t be like that. Even our way of adventure is dying out,” he looked so sad, you put your hand on his arm. “How long have you been running with Dutch?” Thinking back, he replied “I reckon nearly 25 years at this point. We found young Arthur maybe 5 years after that, and folks traveled with us here and there. Always dreamed of owning a big old ranch out west  somewhere though. That was our goal.” It all sounded so idealistic. Dutch, the loud and confident ranch owner. His second in command Arthur who maybe worked the stables, and Hosea who would be in charge of the hands. Or something like that. 

“What’s Arthur’s story, Hosea?” He gave you a funny look, but you didn’t really see it because you couldn't meet his eyes fully.

“Arthur Morgan. Helped raise him since he was a boy. He’s an outlaw alright, wanted in more than 6 states by now. Heart of gold though, something in him always tells what’s right and what isn’t. He follows his instincts even if it gets in a scrap of trouble,” he paused but then continued on. “He’s got a sweetheart, Mary. Ain’t seen her in years now but I bet he still holds a flame for her. She...they...it never worked out.” You nod and finish off your stew. “YN, you’re a pretty girl. I’m sure there’s a hundred men who would love to be with you.” Laughing you try and correct him. “Hosea don’t worry, I’m not sweet on Arthur. I just spend more time with him silent than I do talking and I wanted to know him a bit better. Please don’t tell him I asked anything.” Hosea noded and you offered to clear his plates for him so he could light a cigarette and watch the last yawns of the day leave the earth in front of you. 

Clean plates set to dry and an aching shoulder from your archery practice drove you to head to sleep early. Passing Arthur’s open tent, you heard him softly snoring as he lay flat on his back. The small table next to him had his journal thrown lazily and two photographs standing upright, but without the sun it was too dark to see who they were of. You’d bet your next meal one is of that Mary, and the jealousy that coursed through you surprised you more than you would have liked to admit. He’s handsome. Of that there’s no doubt. But you’ve seen him flirt a bit in camp with Mary-Beth, and knowing he has someone he’s been pining over made you more dejected than usual. Not that you’ve had any indication he thought of you other than just a person in camp but you had hoped. Another part of the adventure of living life as an outlaw. 

After you washed your face with some cold water, you lay down exhausted. The gentle sounds of the camp carry you back to sleep. A small symphony of snores, tree branches, and bodies wrestling around had become your norm. It was comforting to know that even all the way out in Valentine, you were never alone. 

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

The next day was the rescue of Sean. You wouldn’t be riding with the main group of course, but you had offered to be with the wagon halfway between Blackwater and camp to help if anyone needed anything with Tilly and Mary-Beth. Because her boys were now both mobile and moving around camp Abigail tended to stay with them instead of riding on missions. 

You stretched and moved to get dressed for riding out. The job you had been assigned was to distract anyone coming up the roads, so you picked out an outfit that would seem more upscale than your usual jeans, boots, and long sleeved button up. A short sleeve white top tucked into a full red skirt and was cinched together with a belt you had bought in town. The buckle had a beautiful engraving of flowers on it that reminded you of your mother somehow. 

Tilly whistled as you left your tent. “My, YN! You look pretty as a picture. Want help getting that hair pulled back?”

“Sure Tilly! I ain’t even got my own mirror to look at.” She grabbed your hand and pulled you over to where the other girls were sitting and eating breakfast. Mr. Pearson left another plate of food for you and you ate the eggs and bacon quickly, surprised at how hungry you were. Anytime you got nervous your stomach seemed to give you away. 

Karen hummed to herself as she ran her hands through your hair in an attempt to brush out the knots. Then she carefully pulled half of it back and pinned it all up with a flower. “There, like a real society lady now.” Mary-Beth looked up from her journal and laughed. Maybe the flower was too much, you moved to cover it with your hand but the girls protested. For the time it would stay then. 

Dutch sauntered over. “Alright ladies, here’s the plan. Charles is already out in Blackwater scouting the area, as is Trelawney. Arthur and Javier are heading out soon to begin the rescue mission. Your job is to stay about halfway back and grab Sean when they drop him off and hide him from any prying eyes that are looking for a bounty.”

The girls nod and begin to memorize the map Dutch put on the table. 

As soon as the wagon is loaded with folks you all ride out. Javier and Arthur sprint ahead. Everyone was on edge and nervous about rescuing Sean as he was part of the heart of the gang. 

“You sure it’s alright for three young women to sit alone in a wagon in the middle of nowhere?” you ask Tilly and Mary-Beth once the three of you are all set up hiding in some trees. 

Both of them turn to look at you. “Well, we got our guns in case anything goes wrong, don’t we?” 

“I’ve...never actually shot one.” They both stared incredulously. 

Mary-Beth found three old cans on the ground and set them up along some rocks as targets. “Alright. So focus with one eye on the target. No! Don’t close the other one. There. Hold it straight out in front of you, steady, and pull the trigger!” You yelped as the gun gave you a bit of kickback. The bullet missed but just barely. 

The girls laughed at your attempt. “How you expect to run with a gang if you can’t shoot!” 

“I’m trying! I just need practice is all.” The next few hours you alternate between target practice, watching the road, and talking with the other girls. It was terribly boring being lookout on an empty road in the middle of nowhere. The thought of how close you were to Blackwater again made you nervous, hopefully no one from town who could recognize you would pass by. The wrath of your father was a horrible thing to contemplate. 

“Quiet, someone’s coming.” Tilly’s voice was sharp as she loaded up her shotgun. 

Javier came thundering up the road with someone sitting behind him on his white and gray spotted horse. 

“Ah, Miss Tilly Jackson! What a sight for sore eyes you are,” the Irishman drawled. Sean was young and had a full head of red hair. He looked, well, awful after having escaped the hangman’s noose. 

“Sean!” Mary-Beth leaped onto him and they both hugged each other happily. You smiled at the reunion. 

“And, er, who might this be?” You moved forward to shake his hand. “I’m YN. YN Moore.” “Another Irish then! Good luck to them bastards back at camp. They can’t stop us now!” 

Javier climbed back on his horse and told you all to stay safe, then rode off to meet up with Arthur and Charles. Sean climbed in the back of the wagon, and Mary-Beth joined him. You and Tilly clicked at the horses to start moving and the wagon was off. 

“That was easier than I thought.”

“Sometimes these things go real south. The way back should be easy but stay alert just in case.” Tilly’s eyes scanned the road, but the first hour was calm. 

You and Sean chatted while he sat in the back of the wagon and you learned more about him. Born in Ireland originally, he came over with his family who was now gone. His father had been an infamous outlaw too. 

“What part of the Emerald Isle do you come from, Ms. Moore?”

Your geographical knowledge of Ireland was weak, but you remembered seeing a map at one point. “Galway, west coast. My grandparents left to find a better life.”

“Galway! You know my horse is named Ennis for the county just south of that. Beautiful place. Always did love the smell of the sea there. Fine people come out of Galway.”

Perhaps some distant relative of yours was Irish and you weren’t lying to the gang, but you still felt guilty that it wasn’t the truth. Of course, it was better than them knowing your real relatives. 

Ahead on the road there seemed to be an accident. A coach was overturned, the horses shot dead and belongings scattered everywhere along the side of the road. Tilly slowed the wagon down and handed you an extra pistol. “Here. I have a feeling you’re gonna need this.”

Your heart pounded in your ears. No one was around, but the eerie silence didn’t settle well with anyone in the wagon. Tilly tried to rush the horses forward but a man called out from behind a tree.

“Alright, miss. Step on out of that wagon and hand it over now. There’s many more of us than the two of you could take.” He aimed a gun straight at the two of you, and more men walked out to join him. No one moved. The man clicked back the hammer slowly, waiting for your reaction. Behind you Sean and Mary-Beth moved silently into position, and you and Tilly climbed down to stand on the road. 

“Alright, mister. All yours. Just put that gun down.” Four men started moving on the wagon, and that’s when Sean and Mary-Beth popped up and started shooting. You fumbled with the pistol in your pocket but one of the men jumped and pinned you to the ground before you could take aim. 

You screamed as he tried to get your hands above your head, and you attempted to push and kick him off. He just laughed at you. His knee started to move up your left leg slowly, and real fear started pumping through your veins. The others were busy taking down the remaining two men to help you, so you were on your own. 

“I’m gonna take you with us, I think. Tie you up in the back and have my way with you. What a pretty face. You’ll regret ever driving through here…” He went on to describe the terrible things he would do once you were alone. 

Although less than half his group remained, he still seemed to think he could take you. Your right arm finally got free from his grip and slapped his face as hard as you could. His recoil was all the movement you needed and without thinking fired the pistol straight into his belly. 

Blood spattered everywhere as he fell backwards. You scrambled away as fast as you could and wiped your face, watching the life drain out of the monster on the ground. 

“Hey, hey there. You okay Miss Moore?” Sean moved to help you stand but you flinched away. You had never held a gun before a few hours ago, and now you were a murdered. Sure it was in self defense, but panic still spread across your chest hot and white. 

The others watched as you finally stood up. You must have looked a frightful sight as Tilly suggested you stop at the lake before heading back to camp. 

After the experience with the ambush, the ride back was uneventful. You sat in the back of the wagon with your knees tucked under your chin and didn’t speak the whole way. The thought of that man’s breath on your face and the horrible intentions haunted you, but you know you did the right thing. If he had escaped, some other poor girl could have been attacked too. Or worse from what was planned in his mind. 

The stop at the lake was quick as everyone was eager to get back to camp. Your white shirt had no hopes of going back to its original color so you didn’t bother with trying to clean it. The cool water cleared your head and you began to feel better after washing your arms and face. Tilly came up next to you. 

“Just checkin’ in. I figured that’s the first man you’ve ever killed.” you liked how to the point she was. It never took long to figure out what she was thinking .

“It was,” you said taking a big breath in. “But I keep telling myself he was bad. The things he said...no one should be able to act like that. What I did wasn’t good, but it sure was right.”

Tilly nodded and patted your shoulder. Eventually, you would come to peace with it. 

Back at camp the gang whooped when your wagon rolled in. The others had arrived sooner than you and were eager to get Sean set back up. Dutch clapped him on the back, joy spreading around him like sun rays. 

“Let’s have some fun tonight. Let’s enjoy ourselves! A party, just a little one. Mr. Maguire is back! All of you get cleaned up and once the sun sets, we can finally let loose!”

#red dead #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #fanfic #fanfiction #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #charles smith #sean maguire #abigail roberts #john marston #arthur morgan romance #arthur x reader #reader insight #I don't know how to name anything #the next few chapters are good #I promise!!! #price to be paid

[siovy-reads]

Belle Revolte by Linsey Miller

Goodreads Rating: 3.6⭐

My Rating: 4⭐

Page Count: 384

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**I was gifted a physical ARC from the publisher. This has not had any affect on my review.**

Content warnings, according to Linsey Miller herself: The book does feature sibling deaths (on and off the page), executions (beheading), references to child neglect and abuse, and discussions of drowning. The book also contains violence; murder; gore (sometimes in minor detail but no further); and medical neglect, abuse, and violence. When I picked this book up in December 2019, I was ecstatic to read it! I’d received an e-ARC of Mask of Shadows from Netgalley and pre-ordered the hardback when halfway thru. When I started this book, I wanted to love it just as much! Unfortunately, the very beginning of the book were a slog and I put it down after the first 28 pages [then January hit & i had other books to read for college]. Determined to provide a review for the first physical ARC I’ve ever received, I picked this book up again, from where I’d left off. 10 pages further, this book started walking and halfway through it hit the ground running and did not stop!

I adored the characters; the protagonists and the other main characters. Both Emilie and Annette are stubborn and strong-minded and I loved it. Their relationships felt very organic, both the platonic and the romantic ones. The organizing of the rebellion (the placement of the ‘Laurels’ as they were called) was smart, tactical. The way Miller organized the ideas of this book, the way the king covered up & broke the rebellion’s communication was brilliant. The people who took the fall as Laurel was shocking, one more than the other, though it was definitely intended to be that way, and I feel like I should’ve thought more about one of the character’s reasons for why they couldn’t possibly be the Laurel. I felt Miller covered that base pretty well! Royale Nicole’s facade was well-done; vague but not out of place when considering the other girl got the same sort of vague backstory. Sometimes the wording of the writing itself was confusing, and I had to read a section a few times before I understood what was being said or implied. Sometimes, when switching POV, the setting wasn’t mentioned and it took a few paragraphs for it to come up– this was annoying, considering partway through the book, one POV was constantly on the move. I adore Emilie’s personality, how she knows her flaws & shortcomings & sometimes they helped her, and sometimes they screwed her over. She felt like a very real person, and made for an interesting protagonist. “I don’t hate you, you know. Not anymore. I always trusted you, but you were so…” “Bitter?” I offered up. “Most people call me stubborn, but only when they want to be polite. If they don’t want to be, they’re insufferable. Emilie grew up privileged while Annette grew up dirt poor (she ate dirt when she was six because there was nothing else to eat). Annette has thick skin & uses her temporary position as comte (due to posing as Emilie) to fight back in the little ways. Annette, having taken Emilie’s place in finishing school to learn the midnight arts, refuses to fall in line with classism in her bookkeeping class. "The point of living in a society is taking part in society. We make sure roads and bridges are well cared for, but not the people who need them? Not the people building them? Not the people doing all the work for me?” “You already pay them.” Bisset sighed. “The order of the world is as it is, and I don’t know why you are so hung up on this aspect of your education.” […] “I don’t know how to explain that I care about other people’s well-being.” I got in trouble, of course. I adored the way Charles was introduced, and his relationship with Emilie. The way he told Emilie he’s trans, how it was worded, was done so carefully so as not to be transphobic while still being very clear what he was saying. Emilie also acknowledges how “foolish” she was earlier on in the book for misunderstanding a somewhat odd (in her eyes) question’s implications. And how little she knew of the world outside of her town’s bubble. He laughed softly, but his body tensed. “When I was born, the physician and my parents assumed I was female. I am not. I have always been more dawn than dusk.” Annette’s words– so similar, so long ago– came back to me. She had been asking if I was a lady, and I hadn’t understood, had never heard the words or thought on them. How isolated I had been. How foolish. Annette bringing up her asexuality was done in such a way that I could personally feel her anxiety and fear at possibly being rejected. Her love interest’s positive reaction (stating this in case anyone was worried about that) made me relax and glad that this wasn’t going to be one of THOSE books where it’s an issue. Her words when responding were also very profound: Spoiler quote: “Last person I liked didn’t think you could have romance without sex.” That I was obligated. “We can,” [she] said. “We are our own, and we will define what our love is.” CAN MORE BOOKS BE THIS PROFOUND ABOUT LOVE PLEASE??? Both Annette & Emilie’s positions in the epilogue don’t feel at all out of place, as they showed interest in both those areas before the Big Change hit. Also the change between Emilie & her mother in the epilogue– I felt this was handled so well! I liked how they left the boxes closed. It felt far more realistic than going “welp we did it! no more worries about this!” because that would have been a shit ending. I’m not usually into books that read like historical fiction (it’s high fantasy but has that historical fiction vibe) but this surprised me. Overall, it was a great read! I definitely recommend it if you like historical fiction, high fantasy, magic, rebellion, or politics.        

#Belle Revolte #Linsey Miller #Book review #book reviews #books #book #review #My review

[saint-patrice]

it’s time for another one, friends!! today we are loving and appreciating mr charles patrick mcavoy (i, personally, do this every day). this one is for @softboybradenholtby/@cheeksavoy​, thank you for encouraging my nonsense!

Note: a few people have said they like these posts, so i’m happy to take requests if there’s a particular player you’d like to see! see this page for details, and a list of ones i’ve done so far :)

is a young charlie mcavoy attacking his usa teammate with a hug not the best thing you have seen all day? perhaps not, but it has to rank pretty high, because it’s adorable. also makes for a good meme template, for example i would label charlie as “me” and colin white as “the bruins,” “my mutuals,” or even “charlie mcavoy”

(gif via @gaudreau) quick!! someone arrest him for Too Handsome crimes

(gif via @davidpastrnak) the only thing better than charlie mcavoy is charlie mcavoy with glasses!!! and that is a scientific fact. i’m not sure i can cope with how much i love him

there are so many pictures of our boys with pups and i appreciate that to no end. this one in particular

(gif via @werenski) this is the first gif of charlie i have saved on my phone and i think that’s very valid of me. are there any pictures of the rest of this suit anywhere? because it looks amazing - i love the blue on him!! he is positively radiant here, and that single loose corl improved my quality of life by 250%

(gif via @phillymyers) how can you not love him???? he’s just laughing his life away after his first career fight (against none other than pld), and then when he got out of the box he proceeded to provide an assist to get a gordie howe hat trick!!! fucking legend and a half right here. oh, and he was 19 at the time

“This kid's fucking jacked. Thick, dense, built whatever you wanna call him he's got it. Legs thicker than my chest, and shoulders wider than my wingspan. Making full use of his frame and with the golden flow to top it off. He dwarfed us all. Bonafide stallion.”  (if you’re currently wondering what sort of crack i smoked before making this post, just click the link)

if these 2 aren’t your favoruite d-pair you may need to re-evaluate your life choices. i just love them so much, and i love that every clip of cmac hugging zee just has him looking like he’s clinging onto a tree for dear life. heavy father-son vibes,, very adorable

how does he actually do it...how does he look this good all of the goddamn time. if i didn’t love him i would hate him for it yknow

every single photo and piece of video from charlie at world juniors is so premium - and he won gold!!! i’m very proud. i want to kiss his face so bad okay

don’t let his sweet face deceive you though, this is a “big boy” we are dealing with, to use hockey terms. and looking at this it is immediately obvious that he could kill me with extreme ease, so i am slightly afraid. luckily he only uses his v strong arms for good, like holding dogs and beating the living shit out of p*narin!!

this is such a mess of a photo and i love it. what the fuck is he doing. i showed this to a friend (non-hockey literate) and asked her to guess what height both of them were. i forget her answer but when i told her charlie was 6′ she had an existential crisis that only got worse when i told her how tall zee actually was. basically charlie is just our 6 foot baby long beach dman

LOOK AT THIS SHIT!!! HE HASN’T CHANGED A BIT

i went from learning that charlie had a tattoo, with a dodgy quality picture where it was barely visible, to then seeing this video and this photo in the space of 2 days and i think it’s going to take me a long time to recover from that having those revelations at such breakneck speed. this man is a mf Machine

(gif via @chuckersbean) okay i promise this is my last slightly self-indulgent inclusion of proof that this man is Lorge. i mean jesus christ just run me over already, i’m begging you

when i said earlier that the only thing better than charlie mcavoy was charlie mcavoy in glasses, i may have failed to take charlie mcavoy in glasses with a santa hat holding a 4ft teddy bear into consideration - my bad. this is very endearing and i am kin with whoever put the heart stickers on this photo 

bahhhhh look at this ridiculous man. who gave him the right to be this handsome in his coat and his glasses and his beanie?? he’s nothing short of amazing and i will not be taking questions on that opinion

(gif via @marchnds) baby! baby boy!!!! if you don’t cherish him i will appear in your room at 4am holding a large wordsearch book which i will use to beat some sense into you

(gif via @davidpastrnut) i included this gif in my top 5 chuckie post, but i love it to the moon and back, and this is my blog dammit, so i’m putting it in again. i cannot explain why but something about this is so goddamn cute it makes my heart do things and i just adore this boy and his backward cap and shitty beard so fuckin much okay

this is the cryptid i see in the corner of my room when i wake up with sleep paralysis in the middle of the night

looks like he has no idea what’s going on here and like,, me the fuck neither charlie

(this is an elusive gif that i can find no real source for despite trawling through tumblr for 20 minutes. google just says it’s from giphy. if it’s yours please hmu)

there it is folks!! the smile that brightens my day no matter what!!!! charlie really does have the most infectious of smiles though, you just love to see it (at least, i do) i am desperately hoping we make a move to keep him in boston this offseason. because, even with my emotional attachments aside, i think he is going to go on to do incredible things with his career, and i totally agree with people saying they think he’ll be wearing the C someday. i mean just look at what he’s already achieved by the age of 21 for christ sakes 

lmao 

(gif via @i-hate-hockey) i literally never want to see chuckie sad. ever. he is perfect in every way always. also what’s his skincare routine holy moly

(gif via @gaudreau) stunning!!!! magical!!!! ravishing!!!!! handsome!!!! gorgeous!!!! divine!!!!! and so much more! this whole interview with him is just delightful, tbh i always find his media stuff v enjoyable. he gives really genuine answers (not that other people don’t but like,, maybe he’s just young enough to not have had to revert to cliches constantly because he’s answered every question before idk), and i think his personality comes across well. he seems like a very fine young man

#ISaidYes

this is literally just every hockey player trying to use all 3 of their brain cells to come up with a sentence that doesn’t include ‘chip it in’ or ‘get pucks deep’. not that i can hold it against any of them, i only have 2 brain cells, and i use both of them for loving charlie mcavoy. his expression makes me laugh but i mostly included this because that suit he wore to the nhl media day is my favourite thing on the planet, and i’m glad there is so much content of him wearing it

tl;dr - op loves charlie mcavoy. thank you once again to @softboybradenholtby :)) as mentioned, i am taking requests for more of these, although i’m currently sitting on 5 or 6 in my inbox so it might take a while - feel free to keep em coming though! 

#in case it isn't clear i would die for him so that's that on that. #bruins #bruins photos compilations #hoping read more works on this uwu #mcavoy

[rebelsofshield]

Panels Far, Far Away: A Week in Star Wars Comics 12/18/19

The biggest week in Star Wars comics in recent memory includes the introduction of a canon shattering miniseries by Charles Soule, the finale to an era of Marvel storytelling, and the liberation of Kashyyyk.

 Star Wars Adventures #29 written by John Barber and Michael Moreci and art by Derek Charm and Tony Fleecs

Kashyyyk has been liberated, thanks in no small part to a certain Wookiee and his porg allies. This little series has been joyful and fun form the start and this is issue is no different. It’s impressive how writer John Barber and artist Derek Charm manage to make for an action packed and stakes filled issue without ever once losing the lightheared tone and playful humor that makes Adventures such a high caliber all-ages comic.

Charm’s work here may not be as inventive and structurally unique as it has been in previous stories, but he still is one of the most stylistically distinct artists working on Star Wars comics today. Any issue he draws is going to be filled with fluid, kinetic action and great character design. We also have confirmation now that Beaumont is Dominic Monaghan’s character in The Rise of Skywalker, and the clever, subtle way he is utilized in this story is a great way of creating synergy without flashing it in the reader’s face.

Mochael Moreci and Tony Fleecs droid adventure is much more dialogue heavy, and while still fun, it lacks the spark that has dominated the Chewbacca segments. Sure, it’s rewarding to see C-3PO, R2-D2, BB-8, and a local Garel orphan outwit and defeat the First Order, but it doesn’t tell its story with any real pizazz and the end note of it feels oddly rushed and confused.

Regardless, this makes for another great little story arc for Star Wars Adventures. Having to continuous narratives in each issue made each installment feel filled with content while still allowing us to see the various characters and art styles that have made this comic a joy from the start.

Score: B+

 Star Wars Empire Ascendant #1 written by Charles Soule, Greg Pak, Ethan Sacks, and Simon Spurrier and art by Luke Ross, Roland Boschi, Caspar Wijngaard, and Paolo Villanelli

When it was first advertised, Empire Ascendant was billed to be a finale to the last several years of Star Wars storytelling. All of the franchise’s current Marvel ongoings have ended and four new comics with new creative teams will be launching in early next year. Especially given the rather rushed way that the main Star Wars ongoing wrapped up a few weeks back, it made sense to let us linger on these characters on Hoth just a little longer, before we closed the book.

It’s strange then that only Doctor Aphra’s creative team is present for this. Simon Spurrier and Caspar Wijngaard take the opportunity to provide some closure to their comic’s supporting cast and it’s done with just as much heart and humor as you might hope. It’s arguably required reading for fans of the main series and functions as a very welcome epilogue to what was already a very stellar final issue.

Charles Soule, Greg Pak, and Ethan Sacks however more or less use the opportunity to tell small scale primers for their eventual comics coming next year. Of these, Soule’s proves the most successful. Of the three, his story feels the most self-contained. Sure, Luke Skywalker makes an appearance, but much of the story concerns Poe Dameron’s parents, who previously starred in 2015’s Shattered Empire limited series. It makes for an entertaining little story that feels hopeful and features some strong character writing for two characters who essentially were hidden among the masses for all of the Galactic Civil War.

Sacks and Pak opt to tee up some of their own series. Pak introduces a crew of cybernetic Death Troopers that Darth Vader will presumably have in his employ come February and Sacks tells a one of Beilert Valance story that is entertaining enough.

As a whole, Empire Ascendant is a solid anthology comic, but it’s hard not to wish that more creative teams had gotten the chance to close the book on their last several years of storytelling. If we had a full comic of different creators getting to deliver epilogues on the level of Spurrier and Wijngaard this would have been something really special. As it is, it feels more like a glorified trailer for what is to come. It’s fun and there’s some quality writing, but shelling out the additional dollars feels a little much.

Score: B

 Star Wars The Rise of Kylo Ren #1written by Charles Soule and art by Will Sliney

Arguably the most anticipated Star Wars comic of the year is also the last to arrive. After almost half a decade of teasing and hints, the story of the Knights of Ren and the fall of Ben Solo has arrived. It’s hard not to wish that this story had been provided earlier or even incorporated better into the films, but it doesn’t stop this comic from being a runaway success. If fan’s are required to go to a comic to learn more about this key part of Star Wars history, it’s a good thing it’s as good as this one.

Writer Charles Soule has always excelled at writing the dark side. His Darth Vader comic was a sinisterly fun character study that was populated with all manner of evil beings and Sith lore. The Rise of Kylo Ren is quick to return to this. Even before we are treated to the out of control tragedy of Ben Solo’s life, Soule greets the reader with a cold open featuring the former Master of the Knights of Ren. Soule accomplishes a great deal in just these pages, and paints the Knights of Ren as something of a cultish group of Dark Side traveling bandits. They are quite unlike anything we’ve seen to date in the franchise, and every minute we spend with them is suitably creepy but also exciting.

As for Ben Solo, Soule captures his fall from grace with nuance and fiery intensity. Picking up right after Luke’s fateful mistake depicted in The Last Jedi, Ben Solo is shown here as both a manipulated and cornered man, but also one that is entirely willing to make the wrong decisions when presented with them. Soule smartly walks the line between showing how forces outside Ben’s control pushed him to this point without completely removing him from culpability. Some fans may draw issue with how this comic reframes some of the events depicted in the films, but it does so in a manner that makes Ben Solo’s fall all the more human.

This issue also marks the best work that Will Sliney has delivered on a Star Wars comic to date. His character designs are by and large stellar. The leader of the Knights of Ren feels like something from a very horny Japanese horror comic and what he does with Snoke in this issue is simultaneously humorous but also deeply disturbing and unnerving.

What makes Sliney’s art really shine here are his facial expressions. Gone are the black eye slits and other awkward tics of some of his past works. Here characters are expressive and vulnerable. Ben Solo’s facial expressions come as some of the highlights of the comic and Sliney manages to chart the changes of emotion with incredible nuance and skill. Even when wordless, the would-be Kylo is conveying all manner of thoughts and feelings just in how Sliney renders him.

It’s clear that the creative team really put their all into this comic. It’s a well-realized and horrific piece of personal tragedy that promises to get even more difficult as the story goes on. We are in for a rough but masterful ride.

Score: A

#Star Wars #Star Wars comics #review #reviews #Kylo Ren #The Rise of Kylo Ren #Charles Soule #Will Sliney #John Barber #Michael Moreci #Derek Charm #Tony Fleecs #Ethan Sacks #Greg Pak #Simon Spurrier #Caspar Wijngaard #Luke Ross #Roland Boschi #Paolo Villanelli