#because ik there are people who have expressed they have conditions where even writing is tiring
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everyday i constantly think of masato's wheelchair and if that's his only one/main one no wonder he's so pissed at everyone
#snap chats#someone pointed this out to me like last year so im stealing it sorry cause I Think Of It Constantly#the handling of masato's disability will forever annoy me esp with how vague it is but esp his chair#one day ill draw masato with an appropriate wheelchair. maybe then he'll be happy for once#in a way i guess it could tie into how restricted or trapped he felt since the type of chair he's shown is more like. a hospital one#and not one youd really use as a regular user- like in that vein it is a bit of storytelling in that he can ONLY go out with help#since hospital chairs are SO much different from home chairs ESPECIALLY in regards to mobility and independence the user has#AND NOT TO MENTION HOW UNCOMFORTABLE THOSE CHAIRS ARE get his ass a proper cushion P L E A S E#like it portrays the idea that its unfathomable for him to go anywhere on his own and so in that vein . Interesting Storytelling#theres a lot of implications going on here if im so honest and again it makes for Really Interesting Story Telling#however i refuse to give rgg credit like that when it comes to disabilities. ... they havent earned that from me yet#see this is why the vagueness of his condition annoys me because he's shown to be independent enough to roll himself to his elevator#and presumably get himself dressed but he cant have a proper chair ?#because ik there are people who have expressed they have conditions where even writing is tiring#so if his condition was in-line with that and it was hard for him to push himself in his chair then i could buy it#obviously the issue lies with his lungs but i just want to know the full extent yk...#to wrap this up tho ive been thinking of character design in rgg and how we dont give credit to it enough#sooooo if i make a second post ten minutes from now thats why cause i keep forgetting to spam my thoughts on here LMAO#ok bye
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3, 6, 31!
3. What titles have you played?
Finished: 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 13, 16
Started but haven't finished: 6, 14, 15
I feel guilty for not having finished Shadows of Valentia, because it's genuinely excellent, and probably the second-best game released since Tellius. However, I remember getting stuck on one of those frustrating missions with teleporting long-range wizards and just getting too fed up to continue.
I haven't finished Binding Blade mostly due to laziness. I haven't finished Fates because its writing was just too awful for me to put up with it any more, and I made the deliberate choice to stop subjecting myself to more of it. Of the FE games I have played, Fates is the only one that I outright think is a bad game.
6. Who’s your favorite lord/protagonist?
Tricky one. I remember at the time I played Tellius I felt Ike was on the dull side, but after the next six games to follow I find myself really missing him - in particular his character growth was just really well-handled, especially if you try to compare him to Chrom or someone. That said, I also have a fondness for all three Elibe lords (yes, even Eliwood, I make no apologies), for Micaiah, and for Alm and Celica. The best lord in Awakening is Lucina, though I don't know if she counts as a protagonist.
I think I'll say Ike, since he does manage to keep growing on me, with a second place finish for Celica, but perhaps that's mainly because I like sincere religious people.
31. Some moments of Fire Emblem you keep thinking of?
These are going to be really arbitrary, and just moments that lodged in my head.
From FE7 (Blazing Sword), I'm going to nominate two. Firstly, the conversation between Lyn and Hector on the pirate ship. That always stayed with me as a fantastic moment of characterisation for both of them, showcasing both Lyn's pride and Hector's ability to be surprisingly aware and empathetic.
Also, from the final battle: The nomads of plains do not abandon their fellow tribespeople. Eliwood and Hector are my dear friends. Their sorrow is my sorrow. Their anger is my anger! Nergal! In my friends' names, I will cut you down!
As far as pre-battle speeches go, it has a really nice cadence to it, and while the message is generic "I fight for my friends" Fire Emblem stuff, I feel like the game really earned it by putting the three protagonists and their evolving friendship at the centre.
From FE10 (Radiant Dawn), I'll also pick two. Firstly, the mission in part one where the Black Knight appears to defend Micaiah. Playing Path of Radiance first really conditions you to feel this sense of terror whenever the Black Knight appears, because he's indestructible and he's this mysterious enemy you cannot defeat. For his first appearance in the sequel to be to aid you, for reasons as inscrutable as ever, is bound to make the player nervous and suspicious, and I enjoy the ambivalence it creates.
Secondly, the river crossing missions. You know why. I know lots of people hate playing the Dawn Brigade, but I unironically love the mission where you play the Dawn Brigade and have to try to hold off for the Greil Mercenaries - for this one moment you get to experience (not just witness, experience!) what it's like to be on the other side, and man, is it terrifying.
From FE16 (Three Houses), I'm going to pick a weird one. In the Blue Lions ending cinematic, after Dimitri is forced to kill Edelgard and he and Byleth leave... the door opens, Byleth steps into the light, and then turns to see Dimitri hesitating. Dimitri looks away from the light and moves to look backwards, but Byleth catches Dimitri's hand and looks downwards, almost (but not quite) shaking his head. A moment of understanding passes between the two men, and Dimitri follows Byleth out into the light, where they face the cheers of their victorious army.
It's a small moment, but I appreciate just how much it does without any dialogue, with only very small, subtle expressions, particularly from the emotionless Byleth. It's a moment of letting go - Dimitri's complex feelings for Edelgard, from friendship to sympathy to murderous hatred, are all dissipating. You can almost hear Byleth whispering, "It's done. Let's go."
And, though this might sound odd, it stands out to me because in my opinion the scene just genuinely doesn't work with a female Byleth, particularly given, as far as I can tell, the popularity of romantic f!Byleth/Dimitri ships. So much of Dimitri's former life was consumed by his obsession with a particular woman, so going the otome route with Dimitri and redeeming him via the love of another woman, a 'light' woman to contrast with Edelgard the 'dark' woman, doesn't feel like the clean break that scene should be. I'd rather cut out any such implication and have Byleth and Dimitri's relationship be clearly Platonic - no longer one of teacher and student, certainly, but perhaps one of equals and allies, of people who've achieved a kind of brotherhood through shared suffering. They've both, after all, lost close family members to Edelgard's ambition.
I don't know. I just liked that moment - Byleth catching Dimitri's hand, as if to say, "Let go."
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euphoric | one | JJ Maybank
a/n: this post isn’t showing up in the tags and idk why😔😭
ive linked both the outfit and the makeup look, and will continue to do so in the future. this is mostly bc im not rlly good at being descriptive sorry 😔 . For the aesthetic and looks in particular i might link a lot of Cierra Nia, cus her vibe and fits are very much what i had in mind. (when it comes down to it a lot of the inspiration im going off of is very Kali Uchis, Princess Nokia, and SZA.)
ik that this kinda cuts into the inclusivity (w aesthetics and fashion sense at least, bc i understand that some of these outfits might not be smth other people are comfortable wearing), but even w the concept ill try my best to widen the range of outfits as i go forward
the chad bit is inspired by @yourlocalauthor
also... im lowkey loving Isaiah as a character and i might invest in him more than i planned to lmao.
summary: You get ready for dinner with the Cameron’s but you meet a certain Pogue instead.
masterlist | previous | next
warnings : cursing, lack of pogues and action (i gotchu next part tho), also terrible writing
one - ♫ Only in the West by Yeek ♫
After being told that you would be interacting with people in just a few short hours you’d rushed off to your designated room. Your parents were generous enough to leave name signs on the doors (likely for the movers to put your belongings in the correct rooms) and you tore yours off the front before you slipped into the room, closing the door and locking it behind you.
You took in the room for a moment. It was already pretty much furnished, just not decorated or arranged in a way that you would like it to be. Everything was just kind of there, from the bed sheets to the vanity that you actually couldn’t really complain about.
Your suitcases had been placed at the foot of the bed and you moved to open the one that contained your makeup. You transferred your makeup products onto the vanity before a buzzing at your waist made you pause.
“Oh shit,” you pulled your phone from where it was being held against you by the waistband of your shorts. The FaceTime caller ID had “that bitch maddy ” displayed at the top of the screen and you cringed because she was probably pissed that you hadn’t been responding to any of their texts. Pressing the answer button you pulled out the little seat of your vanity and leaned your phone against the mirror.
“Oh shit, she answered!” BB’s voice echoed out of the speaker of your phone and you let out a laugh.
“Are you serious dude, we’ve been trying to contact you for hours,” Maddy drawled out, clearly annoyed.
“I just got to the house Maddy.”
When it came to your group of friends, Maddy Perez was someone who constantly sought for attention. This wasn’t shit talk either, it was just the fact of it. You’d been friends with Maddy for nearly your whole lives and something that she loved was praise and attention. You were one of the few people who knew how to keep up with some of her antics. You were also one of the few people capable of calling her out on her shit without her lashing out at you for it (Although the topic of Nathaniel Jacobs was one she seemed to be especially hard headed on).
The girls started to talk over one another, Kat’s voice drowned by the energy of Maddy and BB. You nodded along as you moved around in preparation. You’d stripped off the top you had flown in, tossing it aside in irritation and instant relief as the sweat that was being trapped in by the fabric immediately began to be cooled by the touch of the air conditioned room.
“I mean what the fuck right?” Maddy concluded her story and you could only imagine Kat rolling her eyes.
“Maddy the longer you complain about Nathaniel the more I begin to tone you out,” you admitted and Kat let out a laugh.
“Daaaamn,” BB drawled out from somewhere off screen.
“What the fuck (Y/N) you’re supposed to be on my side,” Maddy was clearly angered by your comment, you could hear it in her tone.
“Babe I am on your side. I’m on your side no matter what the fuck that psycho does. I just really don’t need to hear about what he does because it doesn’t change anything,” you leaned in close to the mirror to focus on your eye make up. You looked over at your screen for a split second and from Maddy’s body language alone you knew you’d eased her irritation.
“So (Y/N) how’s North Carolina,” Kat question, emphasizing North Carolina with a misplaced old-time cowboy-like accent. You’d only spoken to the movers from earlier so far but people from North Carolina and the Outer Banks in particular didn’t seem to have a distinct type of accent.
“It’s…” you leaned back to look at yourself and shrugged, “sticky.”
“Sticky?” Kat laughed and Maddy let out a small ‘ew’.
“Yeah. Yeah it’s sticky.”
_____________
It took nearly two hours but you’d finished getting ready and damn did you look good. You’d ended the call with the girls after they showered you with compliments and sentiment and you find yourself letting out a heavy sigh to try and release the tension in your chest. You missed your friends. You missed being a short drive away from Maddy’s house. You missed Kat and BB laying around in your room arguing about one thing or another. You missed sleepovers at Cassie and Lexi’s house. You missed heading out to the gas station and talking to Fez and Ashtray (which was an experience mind you). You missed the suburbs and not being on an island all the way across the country.
You missed all of this and you hadn’t even been on this island for a day.
A knock on your door interrupted the growing weight you could feel throughout your body.
“(Y/N), are you ready? We’re gonna head out soon,” your mother’s muffled voice called to you and you nodded before realizing she definitely could not see you.
“Yeah I’m good just give me a second!” you called back.
“Ok,” her voice drifted off and you took one last look in the vanity mirror, concluding that you definitely needed a full body mirror in this room.
For tonight you were dressed to ensure the weather on the island knew it could fuck off. Maddy had pleaded for you to wear one of the dresses/outfits she’d gifted you at your farewell party (although you’d specifically told her not to get you anything, you also weren’t gonna complain about the amount of money she’d made Nate drop just to get you presents). So there you were, dressed in a dark purple, suede-textured, bra top with a long pleated skirt that was a lighter, softer shade of purple. You accessorized with two different chains hung around around your neck, a purple bucket hat, a small light purple shoulder bag, white socks bunched at your ankles and silver sneakers. The look was topped off with your makeup matching the purple color scheme.
Concluding that you were good to go, you made your way out of your room and then out of the house. You took in everything as you passed it, from boxes that were yet to be unpacked to new pieces of decorations your old house definitely did not have.
“Y’know sometimes I wonder how it feels to need to take 3 hours getting ready,” Isaiah drawled from where he was leaning against the car, scrolling through his phone. He’d dressed in some cutoff tan pants and a polo with a logo that you couldn’t make out on the left breast.
“It would really help you out,” you shot back and he scoffed.
“My look is effortless ok, I have natural beauty-”
“Oh, natural beauty bullshit-”
“I’m not the one with layers on my face-”
“Say that the next time you wanna use my face masks-”
“Ok ladies! You’re both absolutely gorgeous,” your mother interrupted your bickering as she made her way outside, “Do you wanna know how I know because you both got it from me,” she struck a pose and you let out a laugh while your brother rolled his eyes.
“(Y/N) are you not gonna bring a jacket?” your dad questioned as you slid into the car. You blinked at him before turning to Isaiah who shrugged.
“You’re not serious,” you stated and your jaw dropped at the serious look on your dad’s face, “Dad you can’t be serious, it’s so hot.”
“(Y/N) you’re not even wearing a shirt, it would give me peace of mind if you had something to cover yourself up.”
See now, while your family got along well, there always was something within families wasn’t there.Your dad’s opinions always seemed to clash heavily with you and your brother’s (yours especially). The man disapproved of Isaiah’s group of friends and lack of participation in sports. The man also disapproved of your friends (aside from Kat and Lexi) and heavily disapproved of your fashion sense and the outfits you tended to wear. He usually didn’t have to see any of the outfits you wore considering he was at work practically all the time, but he always had something to say when he was present.
“Man people are walking around shirtless and stuff dad it’s fine,” Isaiah tried to defend you.
“I wasn’t talking to you Isaiah.”
Your dad was also the only person who didn’t call you or your siblings by your nicknames.
Isaiah rolled his eyes.
“Ok ok, it’s fine,” you’re mother piped in, “here (Y/N), you can have this cardigan,” You gave her a look of disbelief and she only shot you a pleading one back. Her expression alone told you, ‘please, just leave it’. You grit your teeth and snatched the cardigan from her, slouching into your seat aggressively as your dad nodded and started the car. Bea continued to watch whatever show she had preoccupied herself with and from the corner of your eye you could see Isaiah’s hand clenching and unclenching on his lap. You couldn’t see his face but you wouldn’t doubt he was as pissed as you.
_______________
The Cameron house was packed with people.
Well, not the house itself, but their large backyard was crawling with people. When Bea had told you that you guys would be heading to the Cameron’s for dinner you thought it would’ve been with the Cameron’s and the Cameron’s alone.
“Welcome to your welcome party!” a man walked up to you and your family and you and Isaiah shared a look.
“Ward, you didn’t have to do all this,” your mother laughed and the man waved off her concerns before giving her a hug in greeting.
“This was the least I could do for my new business partners. Now, this must be the (L/N) kids,” the man, Ward, turned to the three of you and Bea stepped up with the confidence that surpassed you and your brother’s.
“Hi I’m Bethany, but everyone calls me Bea!” she introduced and Ward let out a joyful chuckle.
“Nice to meet you Bea, I’m Ward Cameron. I work with your daddy.”
“I know,” Bea said matter of factly.
“Oh, well then, it’s still great to meet you. And you two are…?” He trailed off offering a hand out for your brother. Isaiah stepped forward, taking his hands out of his pockets and shaking his hand firmly.
“Isaiah,” he greeted with a nod and Ward nodded back.
“Then you must be (Y/N),” Ward guessed and you nodded with a polite smile.
“It’s great to meet you three. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you kids,” Ward praised and you tried not to roll your eyes. There was no way your dad was bragging about his kids and you assumed your mom just talked about your antics. She loved talking about your guys’s antics. Bea was likely the only one who actually got any praise from either of your parents at this point.
“Well there’s food on those tables, take as much as you want. Seconds, thirds, go crazy,” Ward motioned to the long tables displayed with food, buffet style, “Bea there’s a few kids over there who I know would love to make a new friend,” Bea ran off at that, “and you two. My daughter Sarah and my son Rafe are somewhere over there with some others your guys’s age. I know you guys definitely don’t wanna hang around when the old people start talking,” Ward laughed and your parents chuckled while you tried to hide your wince with a smile.
Ward ushered your parents off, leaving you and Isaiah to stand awkwardly looking over the crowd of people.
“Wanna go get food?” Isaiah offered and you nodded eagerly.
_____________
Kiara was on enemy territory. If there was one thing she definitely had not wanted to do, it was go to a Kook party (in Sarah Cameron’s house nonetheless) to welcome a new Kook family, but her parents practically threatened her. Now she was here, trying to avoid all the Kooks (i.e Sarah) while her parents mingled with other parents. Kie had done a pretty good job slipping off so that she wasn’t forced to talk to any one and was sitting on a chair that was basically hidden away from the rest of the crowd.
‘SOS. god pls get me out of here’ She texted her group chat with the other Pogues and threw her head back in irritation as she waited for a response.
“Y’know I think I just saw Chad, Brad, Tanner, and Hunter over there,” a voice she didn’t recognize startled her and Kie looked up as you and a tall boy made your way over to the spot she’d claimed. You were laughing, your cardigan sliding off your shoulders and both of you had a plate of food each.
“Yeah, they’re waiting for their homeboys Bryce, Brock, and Tucker,” you shot back and the boy barked out a laugh.
Kie smiled as she caught onto the jokes you guys were making. Yet her smile dropped as she realized that from your unfamiliar faces and your unique sense of style she could tell you two were two of the new kids from the new family. Aka the new Kooks who moved into Figure 8. Kiara’s phone buzzed and she looked down at it.
‘want us to crash?’ Pope had responded, though from how it was worded, Kie could bet that JJ had sent the message.
As down as she was for that, her parents were in attendance and they’d probably ban her from ever seeing her friends again (not that something like that would stop her).
“Hey uh,” Kiara jumped and looked up, making eye contact with you and your brother, “Oh shit sorry, we were just wondering if we could sit here?”
“Yeah no, go ahead,” Kiara motioned to the empty chairs.
“Thanks,” you smiled at her and Kiara admired your makeup now that you were much closer.
“I’m Isaiah by the way, but call me Zaya,” Isaiah raised his hand before motioning to you, “This is my sister, (Y/N).”
“I’m Kiara, but most people call me Kie,” Kie introduced and you and your brother nodded. Kiara’s phone buzzed again, drawing attention to it.
‘kie want us to come get u?’ John B texted. Kie quickly picked up her phone so she could respond, she glanced between her phone and you and Isaiah before deciding.
‘nah it’s ok’
‘?’ was the immediate response from Pope and Kie could almost hear the confusion.
‘met the new kids. theyre cool so far’
‘If you say so. But jj says dont fall for it’
Kie rolled her eyes but could understand the sentiment. She told them not to worry about it before putting her phone off to the side. You and your brother had started a different conversation while Kie had been otherwise preoccupied. Kie watched and listened to you two talk, justifying that it wasn’t eavesdropping since you’d come and sat with her in the first place.
“That sounds dumb but ok,” you offered and Isaiah scoffed.
“I mean I looked up if there was one around here but there isn’t so what else am I gonna do.”
“Sorry, what isn’t here?” Kie interrupted, curious about the context of the topic. Isaiah glanced at you before turning to Kie.
“Skate park,” he answered, “There isn’t one in the Outer Banks so I could just street skate, but there’s nowhere to drop in. But I was also thinking of just going somewhere and bombing a hill.”
Kie wondered if she was losing her mind. She knew there wasn’t a skate park on the island, the closest one was on the mainland. Most people who skated rode on longboards rather than actual skateboards and as far as she knew most people in the OBX just preferred to surf. But what had lost her was “drop in” and “bombing a hill”.
“Closest skate park’s on the mainland,” Kie confirmed and your brother seemed to deflate.
“You skate?” You questioned and Kie shook her head.
“I’m a surfer. Not much to do when you live out here,” she joked.
“No shit?” you asked and Kie looked up in thought but shrugged.
“Well me and my friends, we usually either surf, or we go out to the marsh. We swim, drink, smoke. Either out at the marsh or just at my friend, John B’s, house. Sometimes we throw keggers. Have bonfires. We usually know how to occupy our time,” Kie wondered why she was speaking to these two so comfortably.
“Parties?” Isaiah questioned and Kie winced.
“Aside from keggers, people on the Cut don’t really throw house parties. The Kooks are always throwing stuff like this though,” Kie nodded over to the event that was meant to welcome you and your family in the first place. You glanced back at the party/gathering that you’d practically forgotten about. Since you’d arrived you and your brother actively avoided interacting with the teenagers all dressed like they were pledged into Kappa Beta Who Gives a Shit.
“Sorry, Kooks?” Isaiah questioned.
“Oh um...Kooks are like the rich people, anyone who lives in Figure 8. Boarding schools, trust fund money, private tutors,” Kie explained.
“So...we’re Kooks? Because we live out here?” you questioned incredulously. Kie nodded her head and you raised a brow. Sure, you weren’t poor, you’d already established that. Back in California you lived just a few houses down from Cal Jacobs, who owned practically the entire town. You acknowledged that you were definitely more financially privileged than some people, but you’d never had the luxury of going to a private school (shoutout to East Highland) or having a private tutor. And even with as much money as your parents seemed to make, the idea of a trust fund was laughable.
“OBX is kinda split. John B always described it like...two tribes, one island,” Kie smiled as you and your brother gave her deadpanned expressions, “So y’know who the kooks are, but the other half are the Pogues. Basically the bottom of the food chain. Pogues live on the Cut, the poorer side of the island. Kooks and Pogues don’t really get along.”
“I’m gonna be completely honest with you, that’s like the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” you stated bluntly.
“Wait is this like...Soc’s versus Greasers? Like The Outsiders?” Isaiah questioned and Kie’s eyebrows furrowed at the comparison.
“You're telling me your whole island follows basic labelling like it’s an 80s high school movie?” you questioned in a state of shock and all Kie could do was nod. Kooks and Pogues and even Tourons were just something people knew growing up in the Outer Banks. She’d never really let it sink that other people probably found the concept ridiculous.
“Do you have bad experiences with...Pogues or something,” you questioned and Kie shook her head firmly.
“Nah, I’m no Kook. They’re entitled, narcissistic, assholes.”
“So you’re a Pogue? Then why are you here?” Isaiah laughed and Kie slumped in her seat.
“My parents forced me here. I go to school with these assholes...but I’d never be like them,” Kie shook her head as she caught sight of kids she recognized from the Kook academy. Her family was less upper class, and more working middle class if she really thought about it. Unlike a lot of the highly privileged Kooks, Kie knew what it was like to need to work for the money they had.
“So then how’s being a Pogue going for you exactly?” you questioned. Deep down you knew that you probably shouldn’t have been entertaining this whole Kook vs. Pogue thing but you’d also never encountered an entire county of people that was so blatantly classist.
“Literally great. I surf all day, I get to hang with my friends. The best part is that it’s away from all of...this,” Kie motioned to the crowd that you had separated yourselves from, “Speaking of, we’re actually having a kegger tomorrow. Would you guys be down to come?” Kie looked between you and your brother.
“Uh yes, please,” you were quick to answer and Kie laughed, “Honestly I was preparing myself for the most boring fucking summer of my life, but I’m really glad we met you,” you admitted.
“Definitely won’t beat back home though,” Isaiah mentioned and you groaned. The thought of missing all the parties that were probably being thrown back in California made you frustrated.
“Man don’t remind me.”
“You guys moved here from California right?” Kie asked so that she could keep herself in the loop. It wasn’t hard to pick up that you and your brother tended to go off into little conversations of your own but she understood that it was probably because neither of you knew Kie and therefore didn’t know what to bring up in conversation. Kie was an extroverted person but this was something she noticed Pope doing a lot.
“Yeah, LA actually,” Isaiah confirmed, “Definitely not ‘Paradise on Earth,’ but...”
“There’s no place like the Outer Banks,” Kie said, though the sarcasm dripped from her entire being.
“Meh,” you shrugged off with a tone of disinterest and Kie laughed wholeheartedly.
_________
The three of you ended up talking for the entirety of the night. Kie was determined to stay completely hidden away from the rest of the party’s residents, meaning she had kept herself planted in her chair for quite literally the entire time you guys were there. Isaiah, being how he was, had gotten up a few times to get more food or to grab something new to drink. He had come back with something for Kie each time.
Kie was interesting, she led the conversation a majority of the time and constantly kept it flowing. You appreciated someone who could work past awkwardness and still keep up a conversation. You ended up exchanging phone numbers and social media and had talked about a whole lot of shit; from keggers, to your outfit, to how moving felt. Isaiah and Kie had even gone on a pretty long debate about music, (something about the top 5 albums of all time, or was it how meaningful a playlist was? or maybe it was about whether it was ok to separate an artist’s actions from their music?).
Kie was a down to earth, do shit for herself, actions speak louder than words kind of girl. She spoke her mind about everything she was passionate about and though you weren’t preaching about sea life and turtles, you could obviously understand where she came from with her frustrations, you’d just never really met anyone who was so deeply passionate about it.
The feeling of your phone vibrating against your leg took your attention off of Kie.
“Hello?” you answered it and Kie paused.
“(N/N)! Where are you?!” Bea’s voice screeched and you furrowed your eyebrows in annoyance.
“I’m with Zaya, we’re sitting by like some trees, I don’t know.”
“Mom says we’re leaving right now!”
“Bea stop yelling,” you said firmly, “Ok, we’ll just meet you guys by the car then.”
“Ok!” your sister yelled and before you could snap at her she ended the call. You shook your head and put your phone into your bag.
“We leaving?” Isaiah asked and you nodded as you gathered yourself and your belongings. Kie began to clean up as well, standing up and helping you and your brother out while you gathered up the empty water bottles and cans of soda. Now that Kie was standing you could see that she was actually a little taller than you originally thought.
“It was really nice meeting you Kie,” you said sincerely and Kie smiled. After the three of you cleaned up she helped lead you guys toward the front of the house without having to deal with whoever was left over at the party. You wondered for a moment about how she was pretty familiar with the layout of the home.
“I’ll see you guys at the kegger tomorrow?” Kie asked.
“Uh, where’s that gonna be again?” you questioned as you spotted your family’s car.
“Oh it’s on the Boneyard,” Kie explained and you only stared at her blankly, “Ummm, y’know what. I could just pick you guys up?”
“Yeah for sure,” Isaiah said and you tried not to think about how weird it was going to be arriving at a party at the same time as your brother. That was something you tended to avoid doing when you were back home considering you usually went with your friends.
You and your brother bid Kie goodbye. You’d never been the type of person to initiate hugging, so when she gave the two of you a wave you found yourself just waving back awkwardly.
Now you were settled in the car, heading back home after a ridiculously tiring day. Bea was going off on a tangent about one thing or another and Isaiah had fallen asleep, wedged rather uncomfortably against the car door. You were texting in your group chat, telling them all about Kie, Kooks, Pogues, and everything in between.
You wondered if you could finally get a dog.
taglist: @sspidermanss
#outer banks imagine#outer banks fanfiction#outer banks fic#obx fic#obx imagine#reader insert#x reader#jj maybank x reader#jj maybank imagine#jj maybank#jj maybank fic#imagine#imagines#kiara carrera#kiara carrera x reader#john b routledge#pope heyward#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron#sarah cameron#topper thornton#romance#fluff#jj maybank romance#euphoria imagine#kinda#idk why the tags arent working
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Can we just talk about all the age reversal aus where Robin is still a thing before Dick comes around??? It makes no sense!!!! Ik you’ve done a post on the importance of Robin before and it just really ticks me off!!! Like, if Damian is the oldest, why would he go by a bird name when he works with Batman? It would make more sense to be like ‘Shadow’ or ‘Shriken’ or just plain ‘Batkid’ but all these authors use the name Robin and then show Jason being resentful when Dick takes it over. Just wtf?
Tbh, I don’t have a ton to say on that particular subject other than I agree with you on it not making a lot of sense, because I just don’t really tend to read age reversal AUs anymore. They’re just not a premise that draws me in, y’know? I have issues with the way Dick’s status as the oldest brother tends to lead to him and his own problems being taken for granted at times, but the solution to that which I’m looking for is to have that addressed, not to have Dick just not be the oldest sibling anymore. I like Dick the way he is….I’m as fond of AUs as the next person, but ones that kinda alter the core of him just aren’t for me.
Like….how to put this…..from my perspective, I’ve noticed that outside of fics by authors who consider themselves Dick stans first and foremost out of all the characters, there’s three distinct tropes in the vast majority of fics where Dick plays a major role, and is regarded sympathetically rather than being in the way:
1) Fics about Tarantula, 2) Fics where Dick is a Talon and 3) Age Reversal AUs.
And the one common element in these tropes is they’re most commonly utilized while depicting Dick as particularly vulnerable, to the extent that he’s like….dependent on the other characters.
In the vast majority of Tarantula fics - majority, not all, there are exceptions of course - but the common thread is Dick tends to have very little agency in even the aftermath of what happened with Tarantula. He’s usually not granted the right of disclosure….people find out despite his wants there, and often despite his attempts to keep it from them (huge pet peeve just btw…..people, disclosure is a HUGELY big deal to survivors, because its one of THE single most powerful ways in which survivors take back control over their lives….they might not have control over what happened, but they can control who they tell about it and when. The tendency to write fics about survivors but displaying no real thought towards the fact that many survivors NEED agency over who they disclose to and when, is part of why I tend to rant about people kinda….commercializing this particular trauma even while saying they do so in the name of spreading awareness or healing or stuff like that….because they’re not actually like….thinking about things from the viewpoint of the survivor. In many instances, stealing a survivor’s right to disclose at the time and place of their choosing can be massively retraumatizing in its own way. And again, please don’t talk to me about how I’m generalizing or insisting there’s only one right way to write survivors…I know I’m generalizing, I’m talking about TRENDS, not specific fics, and I’m not saying its NEVER okay to write things this way, I’m simply commenting on how often things ONLY seem to be written this way).
But anyway, point is, a common theme throughout these fics is that despite Dick being central to them, its a story ABOUT him and what happened to him, rather than actually being HIS story. He himself has very little role in many of these stories, they’re more about what the others do to avenge him, or to take care of him, etc…..which is great in principle….I just can’t help but note the emphasis on him being dependent on others throughout it.
Which brings us to number two, fics where Dick is a Talon…..I’ve talked before how I just kinda can’t, and back out of fics where Dick remains a Talon or altered by the Talon process, because I think most people do that as kind of a metaphor for a disability and finding ways to live with a disability, but to me it will always read as body horror, because this isn’t so much Dick being disabled as it is him being altered head to toe in very deliberate ways by his abusers with the intention of making him something other than he is, and something he never ever chooses or wants to be. And the fact that there’s no need to write stories with disability metaphors, you can just write a character having a disability, so it always kinda feels unnecessary to me, personally, and an inherent tragedy because this was DONE to Dick, and thus is a permanent reminder of his abuse at the hands of his abusers….which is not inherently the same thing as adjusting to life with a disability, though there can be overlap, obviously.
But the other tendency of the Talon Dick trope is how often this results in him being mentally altered. And not just in a brainwashed kind of way, as many of these fics have him raised as a Talon since his parents died and then rescued by the Batfam….but his entire mentality, personality and way of processing things and even speaking is altered….and the thing that bugs me about this is…..why? Why is this choice so prevalent in these fics, when there’s literally nothing innate about the Talons in canon that says the Talon process mentally changes their minds and personalities in this kind of way? Most of the Talons we see don’t speak….because they’re intended to be seen as mindless minions, a force of nature rather than people….its meant to add to their mystique, their threat, their legend….largely on orders of the Court, who thrives on those kind of things. But who is the Talon we see the most of in canon, the Talon that we’re specifically told time and time again the Court means Dick to replace, be the heir of? William Cobb.
And William is nothing like the way Dick is depicted in most Talon fics. He’s the same as he was before he was changed, just with the changes to his biology now. Mentally and personality-wise, he’s still the same as he was before it. And even in the recent Nightwing comic where Ric was finally brainwashed into being the Talon the Court has been manipulating him towards becoming throughout this storyline…..obviously, the Talon process hadn’t occurred yet, but even with the brainwashing, Ric mentally was still himself in the sense that he could process things, make decisions, speak all just the same as he did before he put on the brainwashing goggles….he didn’t speak most of the time because again, Talons are meant by the Court to be mostly silent enigmas….but when pressed, he was absolutely still capable of it, the same as before.
So again, the question is….why this particular choice, with this trope? To have Dick so radically altered not just in body, and with the emphasis rarely even placed on his bodily changes, as usually they come up with some tech disguise for him or use makeup to make him appear the same as he usually does, at which point his changes aren’t mentioned all that much other than to display his healing factor. No, the emphasis by and large is to how different he is mentally….even though there’s literally nothing about the Talon the Court wants him to be in canon, which dictates that he has to be in any way mentally altered by the process of becoming one. It isn’t his mental faculties the Court has a problem with, its his morals. No other brainwashing or mental conditioning method in comics or fics places such a strong emphasis on limiting the person’s mental capabilities rather than just altering their morality and way of thinking…so why is it different here, with Dick’s stories? And the only common result I can ever find is that it diminishes Dick’s autonomy and makes him vulnerable in a specific way where he’s dependent on the others to a huge degree, due to being less socially capable or even just mentally capable on his own.
And then finally we have the reverse ages AUs, in which Dick is still himself as he was as a young Robin in canon…..just the baby of the family, doted on and protected by his family, who are all fiercely defensive of him and in many of these stories, drop everything to rush to his aid when he’s in danger and rescue him. Which again, is perfectly fine in theory, but the thing this raises for me is…..how distinct this is from Dick’s actual time as Robin, where the actual emphasis was on how capable he was despite his young age, how autonomous and independent and competent even when face to face with villains twice his size and three times his age.
Situations like with Two-Face were the exception in his stories, not the norm…..much like the later Robins, like Jason before his death, Tim for over a decade in comics, Damian to this day….all roughly the same age Dick is in these reverse Robin AUs…..but when has Damian ever been depicted as that vulnerable and in need of his siblings’ protection, in canon? When was Tim? And in Dick’s own time as Robin when he was actually that age in canon…..how would he have ever lasted as Robin without all these older siblings in canon, let alone managed to become the inspiration for entire generations of other child heroes….if he weren’t as capable of protecting himself as he was…in actual canon?
Again, the focus of the premise, like with the other two tropes, often seems geared towards emphasizing a vulnerability that is kinda just…chosen for Dick, rather than being an inevitability of that trope, and results in him being particularly dependent on the rest of his family.
Understand, I’m not saying this to say oh these fics are all bad and shouldn’t exist, lol, I’m just expressing the common element through all of them that’s why they don’t appeal to me in particular - because as I’ve always emphasized in pretty much all my posts, one of the greatest appeals to me about Dick Grayson, and one of the things I love about him most, is his fierce independence, his commitment to being his own person and standing on his own two feet. And its why I have an issue with the common thread of infantilization that runs through a lot of the fanon tropes that treat him as though he’s incapable of feeding himself, clothing himself, or even cleaning up after himself or conducting himself in public without the help of others.
Because my issue isn’t that these things exist, its that I’m always going to want to know WHY.
Why, when Dick’s core characterization has always revolved around his insistence on his own personal agency and autonomy…..do so many stories revolve around…..denying him this, or stripping it away?
Why is it that he’s most appealing to many people when he’s not just dependent on his family, but forced to be dependent by the very premise of a story, with no choice or alternative in the matter?
What makes that such a common trend, and with his character in specific, as opposed to Jason, Tim, Damian, etc….none of whom display similar trends in their stories or most prevalent tropes?
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just a question, what's up with people (you included) criticising remus for being a bystander when his friends harassed snape & then making excuses for snape doing the exact same thing?? in fact i'd argue snape's was worse bc he showed no remorse, no regret, nothing. when his friends harass mary he doesn't even deny it, he just calls it "a bit of fun". remus at least had the grace to feel bad. so we can nix that speculation that snape didn't properly know about it bc he clearly was aware...
why is snape "just trying to fit in" but remus "just doesn't want to get involved" (disclaimer ik u didn't write that post) ... remus was virtually friendless until hogwarts due to his condition and after the marauders befriended him, was terrified of doing anything to make them stop being friends with him. that sounds like trying to fit in to me. not to say i believe bystanding is okay but it seems like a double-standard when snape is justified but remus isn't. could you clarify?
personally idc if people like whatever character but i just cannot stand seeing those dumbass posts (not talking about you) where they try to shit on lily for not standing by snape. as if it was her responsibility to ~fix him~ while in the process of fearing for her life and the lives of muggleborn friends and family at the hands of the same terrorist group snape's friends were emulating, and snape himself was slowly but surely affirming his allegiance with neither remus' or snape's bystanding was okay BUT I can't completely blame remus for not stepping in tbh. after firmly aligning himself with that sort of crowd, surely he knew someone like remus would not be on his side. would snape have even accepted his help? before the whomping willow incident when he was suspicious of remus being a werewolf (and it's clear that he is, at best, disdainful of lycanthropes), who's to say snape wouldn't have responded exactly like how he did with lily in SWM?
okay, this is going to get long.
first, there are a couple of reasons i can be okay with snape’s potential bystanding and not be okay with remus’ bystanding.
1) snape is not a prefect. my biggest problem (and my most vocal dislike) of remus’ actions during SWM is that he is a prefect at the time - he’s not just another student. he was handed the responsibility to watch over and speak up for his fellow students and he should do that regardless of whether or not the people are his friends or not and regardless of whether they’d welcome his help or not. that’s the responsibility he signed up for. snape is not a prefect and doesn’t have the same responsibility, so i hold him less accountable regardless - if snape were a prefect as well or head boy, i would be much more upset about him letting those kinds of things slide, bc it’s actually his responsibility to try to stop them, not just a moral obligation.
2) we actually don’t know that snape was THERE during the mary attack. the ONLY thing we know is that he knows it happens. the scene:
“D’you know what he tried to do to Mary Macdonald the other day?”Lily had reached a pillar and leaned against it, looking up into the thin, sallow face.“That was nothing,” said Snape. “It was a laugh, that’s all—”“It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny—”
not great, i’ll agree with you there. i’m not HAPPY about snape’s response per se, but i don’t share your absolute faith that snape was active at the scene and that he stood by and watched it happen. he may have heard about it, as lily did; we don’t know for sure. all we know for sure is that he’s aware of the details, not that he was actually present to DO any bystanding. which is another reason i find it easier to forgive snape than to forgive remus - i actually can witness remus standing by and doing nothing, but i don’t actually see snape do it... only the possibility that he MIGHT have done it, ya feel?
3) i don’t think remus is sorry about it. that’s probably my biggest crux right there. i think he feels more guilty about it than, say, sirius who clearly feels zero guilt about it at all. but when he’s confronted about his actions by harry, remus tries to explain it away, tries to victim-blame, tries to say boys-will-be-boys, but never actually says anything about feeling sorry about his behavior toward snape. and you’re right that we never see snape express remorse for mary (tho i would like to put forward that it might be because he wasn’t actually involved in her bullying, since we don’t know for sure) but we DO see snape express remorse for a lot of his other ugly actions, including his nasty words to lily and his decision to join the death eaters. so it’s hard for me to forgive a character who doesn’t particularly express remorse for something but it’s easy for me to forgive one that does.
second, as far as lily goes, i agree that she has the right to sever ties with snape, but i do wonder that she assumes something of him that we don’t necessarily see in the text. it would have been helpful on rowling’s part to give us more than a few vague clues about snape’s allegiances at the time of their falling out - was he actually contemplating joining the death eaters when lily accused him of it? we don’t really know how “set” he was in his allegiances at that time.
third, as far as snape accepting remus’ help, that doesn’t matter. remus has a duty to offer it regardless of it’s accepted or not. i mean, i would argue that any human being has that duty, but as i said above - remus is a prefect, in a position of power. just as lily stepped in, remus should have stepped in, regardless of his personal feelings toward snape or the likelihood of snape accepting his help. i’m not saying it’s not understandable that remus would be hesitant or that i don’t get his reasoning. but it’s still a failure on remus’ part (just as calling lily a mudblood was a failure on snape’s even if we can understand his reasoning) and one that actively hurt another person.
finally, i think my biggest problem is that many people will try to pretend that remus was the “nice one” or that he did less to bully snape and deserves less of snape’s hatred for that or try to make snape’s dislike of remus petty. but the way i see it, remus stood by and watched even when he was under an obligation to step in - and snape has every right to hate him for that as much as he hates james or sirius.
#snape and remus#my meta#hope that clarifies?#i DO understand why remus is standing by but i also think what he did was wrong#and i find it hard to forgive a character who shows little remorse for their wrong actions#Anonymous
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A Dozen Pink Roses
The courtship of the King of Evil and the Princess of the Mushroom Kingdom. (Yes, you read that right.)
He scowled at the colourful shop front across the street, as if it was the shop's fault he was in this predicament. The bouquet of flowers in the front window sat innocently, ignorant of his glare.
He half-wished that the pink and blue flowers in the shop's display window would burst into flame, if only to amuse him. It wouldn't help, but it would be entertaining, at least for a moment.
Truth be told, the flowers were more than simply a target for his glare. They were a possible answer to an awful and perplexing question that had been playing through his mind for days now.
What does one do for the woman they love?
"They should sell fewer varieties," he grumbled. "It would make this far easier."
"Ganondorf?" came a familiar voice from the crowd. He turned to see Captain Falcon watching him, confusion and amusement written on the visible half of his face. "What did that flower shop do to you?"
"Go away," Ganondorf rumbled, turning away. As he turned, another display in the flower shop window caught his eye.
Unfortunately, Captain Falcon followed his gaze. His confusion turned into a smirk.
"Flowers? Really?"
Ganondorf didn't even dignify that with a response, turning to return to the Mansion. Before he could begin to push through the crowds, Falcon grabbed his arm.
"Hang on! I was just kidding! You're not really looking at flowers at all, are you?"
"Let go of me, Falcon," Ganondorf growled, sending a spark of magic down his arm. Falcon pulled away, cursing, and Ganondorf left.
As he stomped his way through the crowd, he heard a high, sweet voice behind him. "Hello, Captain Falcon!"
"Hey, Peach. Out for a walk?"
"Just doing a bit of shopping."
Thank the Goddesses for small mercies. While Falcon was distracted, Ganondorf crossed the street and entered the flower shop.
He was the King of Evil. He could do what he wanted, even buy flowers.
Oddly, that thought didn't make him less nervous.
"Hello! Welcome to Smashville Flowers!" said the girl at the front counter, looking up from her book with a smile that didn't falter upon seeing who was entering the store.
He nodded distractedly and crossed the shop to a bucket of red-petaled flowers.
The whole shop was filled with buckets of all sizes and colours, all filled with different species of flowers. A myriad of different scents warred in the air around him. All in all, the effect was pleasant, but distracting and confusing.
"Would you like some help?"
Ganondorf looked down to find the girl from the front counter craning her neck up at him with a smile. She gestured around the shop. "It's a little much for first-time flower buyers, I know. Do you know what you're looking for?"
Ganondorf said nothing for a moment, then sighed. "No."
"Okay. Who are you looking to buy for?"
"A woman."
"What's her favourite colour?"
"… I believe it is pink."
"Okay. Hm…" She began pacing around the shop, looking for ideas. "Should we go for the classics? Roses always go over well… Maybe carnations? Those are usually for Mother's Day… Does she have a garden at home?"
"I have heard she has extensive gardens at her home."
"Then are flowers really the best choice?" she murmured, then shook her head. "A girl with a garden will love flowers. What's she like?"
"She is kind to everyone, and very friendly."
"So, your total opposite." She grinned. "Just kidding."
"Is all this muttering supposed to be helping?"
"It helps me think. Here. Try those." She pointed him to a bucket of pink roses. "I'm assuming you're looking to woo this girl?"
He looked at her with a deadpan expression.
"Ookay… I'm guessing that means yes. Well, pink roses symbolize love and romance. And pink is her favourite colour, so bonus points!"
He examined the flowers for a moment, then nodded, satisfied. He hefted the bucket onto the counter and spent a few moments choosing the blooms that were well-shaped and had no blemishes.
The shopgirl wrapped the flowers in bright paper and tied them with a ribbon. As he left the shop, he heard her wish him luck.
He ignored her. To get through this with his dignity intact, he'd need more than luck. He'd need a miracle.
A few feet away from his door stood a table with a vase of white silk roses. The roses had seen better days – for example, when Ganondorf had arrived at the mansion for his first Smash tournament – but the vase and table were in excellent condition, free of dust and polished bright.
After Ganondorf walked by, however, the silk roses lay on the tabletop and the vase had migrated to Ganondorf's desk, now filled with the flowers he had just bought.
Now that I have them, he thought, what am I to do with them?
He considered giving them directly to her, but discarded that idea. He was a King, and an evil king at that; he would not act like a lovesick puppy. He knew what that looked like; both Heroes had looked like that in the presence of their respective Zeldas. Bowser, too, looked at Peach like that when Mario and his brother were not looking.
Some small, irrational part of himself wondered if he'd ever looked like that, but he dismissed it immediately.
He couldn't think of anything, so for the moment, he left the flowers on the desk and left the room.
That night at dinner – the only event besides Team tournaments and the end-of-tournament gala when all the Smashers were forced to be together, unless they had other commitments – Ganondorf overheard a conversation between Peach, Zelda and Palutena at the end of the table. They were discussing something the Hero had done for Zelda recently.
"He gave me a flower," Zelda said. "A Hylia Lily. I have no idea where he could have gotten one."
Peach giggled. "Master Hand was complaining that someone had trampled the tulips. They grow right beside some Hylia Lilies, don't they?"
"Oh." Zelda rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide her fond smile.
Peach giggled again, then sighed dreamily. "I wish someone would send me a flower."
"What about Mario?" Palutena asked.
"No, we're just friends. I think Toadsworth expects us to court eventually, but I just don't think it would work out." She smiled at Zelda. "You're lucky. You and Link have that kind of a connection."
"You'll find someone, Peach."
"I hope so."
Ganondorf ignored the rest of the conversation, having had a brainwave. Just one flower…
As ideas go, it will do.
The next morning, Peach left her room to get breakfast and found on her doorstep a single pink rose with a note attached to the stem. The note read 'Princess Peach' and nothing else, not even the name of the sender.
Peach picked up the rose and took it back into her room, intending to study it for a few moments. The note was written on good-quality card paper, in a bold but neat script she didn't recognize. As she had noticed a moment before, there was nothing on it to indicate the writer or sender.
Peach looked at the rose. It was beautiful, finely shaped and a soft pink colour that she absolutely adored. She smiled.
She had an admirer, and a secret one at that! It was so romantic!
She practically skipped down to the dining room for breakfast, sitting beside Zelda and giggling. "Zelda! Did you see the rose?"
"Yes, I saw it. Did the note say who it was from?"
"No, it just said my name. Do you know what this means?"
Zelda knew exactly what it meant, but she let Peach burst anyway. "I have a secret admirer!" Peach giggled again. "It's so romantic!"
"I wonder if we could find out who it was somehow. Do you have the note?"
"No, it's on my desk."
"We'll look at it after breakfast."
Zelda examined the note carefully, flipping it over several times. She noticed something about the back side of the note.
"There's an indent in the paper. See? The writer must have pressed hard with their pen."
"You're right! Maybe my admirer has big hands? But there's lots of people here with big hands, so that doesn't narrow it down much. It's not Bowser's writing, though, I know that much."
"That still doesn't narrow it down… but it's good to know."
"Maybe there will be more, and we can figure it out from them," Peach offered hopefully.
"Maybe."
The next few days were taken up with a round-robin singles tournament. None of the Smashers could get much time to themselves, but Peach managed to sneak an hour to bake a cake. When she did so, she noticed another rose with her name on it placed next to the sugar. She smiled.
"Maybe I'll use rose water in this cake!" She giggled at her own little joke.
The next flower came after her fifth match, in front of the change room door. She came out of the change room with a grin at her victory, and the smile only widened as she spotted the rose on the floor, note attached to the stem as usual.
"I can't believe my admirer is thinking of me even during a tournament!"
The fourth rose didn't come until after the tournament was over, and it was dropped in front of her door again. The next few flowers came the very same way, placed at all times of the day so the delivery didn't become routine.
Once they had five separate notes, Zelda and Peach put their heads together to try and figure out the identity of her admirer. They couldn't figure out much more than they did from the first note: the admirer wrote with a heavy hand on their pen, they were probably male, and the capital letters were very large compared to the rest of the letters, indicating a strong personality.
"Maybe it's Ike?" Peach suggested.
"Maybe…"
"I don't really like not knowing," Peach admitted. "I mean, it's sweet that they care enough to send flowers, but it would be nice to know who it is, you know?"
"I know what you mean," Zelda agreed.
"Maybe… Maybe I'll write a return note! I should invite my admirer for lunch or dinner and find out who they are!"
"Do you think they'll agree?"
"There's no harm in trying!"
Ganondorf could not believe his eyes.
She… wanted to go on a date?
He knew rationally that it was only because she didn't know his identity – that if she did know it was him sending the flowers, she wouldn't get within ten feet of him – but some small part of him couldn't help rejoicing at the idea.
Peach wanted to have dinner with him!
He wrote a reply on another piece of card and attached it to another flower, glancing at the vase as he did so. He still had a dozen or so roses; they would do as a bouquet to give to her at the date.
Ganondorf grinned.
He had a date!
Peach smiled bright as she opened her door to see another rose. This one had the same piece of card attached, but instead of her name, the note read: As you wish.
Peach let out a small squeal of joy and dashed off to tell Zelda.
She had a date!
On the day of the date, there were no battles that involved Peach, so she spent the day getting ready. She decided to wear a dress that matched the exact colour of the roses her admirer had given her, with white lace trim. It was a little more elaborate than her usual dress, and she hoped her admirer would notice. She matched it with rose quartz jewelry around her neck and in her ears, and blue eye shadow to bring out her eyes.
Zelda helped her braid some of her hair back so that it almost looked like a crown around her head. She'd be going without her crown today, so this would be a stand-in. They decided to weave in a pink ribbon that matched her dress, as well.
"Nervous?" Zelda asked with a small smile.
"A little," Peach said. "But I know it'll turn out just fine."
"I'm sure it will." Zelda finished tying back Peach's plait. "There. You look great."
Peach smiled at herself in the mirror, pleased with the effect. "Thank you so much!" She threw her arms around Zelda, then quickly let go. "I should get moving. I don't want to be late!"
The day of the date finally came. Ganondorf decided to forego his usual armor, opting instead for a black suit with a navy blue pocket square – he would have gone for pink, but he didn't have a pink pocket square, and it would have clashed with his hair.
He also took his hair out of its usual tight coils, pushing it back from his face to be held loosely by his crown. His topaz gem went into its slot on the crown, and he glanced in the mirror. He looked good, if he dared say so himself.
But would it be enough to impress her?
Ganondorf waited outside the restaurant for his date to arrive – he was fifteen minutes early, and he knew it, but he still couldn't help but worry that she would be late, or worse, would stand him up. He wasn't sure if his currently-fragile dignity could take that.
Especially since he knew there were pictographers in the bushes, just waiting to get a picture of him and his date. If she never showed, they'd have a field day.
Finally, finally, a pink car arrived at the front door of the restaurant, and Ganondorf stood straight. She'd said to meet her at exactly this point at this time… what would she say now?
The Toad driver opened the back door to reveal Princess Peach. As she stepped out of the car, Ganondorf found his breath stolen away.
She was beautiful, a vision in a pink dress that set off her features perfectly. Her hair was braided back and her head was devoid of her usual crown, but he found that he appreciated that. Her crown was cutesy; without it, she looked like a grown woman.
He recovered his brain just as she looked towards him. He reached out, flowers in his hand.
"For you."
A micro-expression of surprise flashed across Peach's face, but then it was gone, and she smiled warmly. "Thank you! They're beautiful!" She brought them to her nose, closing her eyes and breathing in their scent. Ganondorf enjoyed the smile on her face as she did so.
"Shall we?" He held out his arm and she placed her hand into the crook of his elbow.
"We shall."
They enjoyed a nice dinner together, chatting about inconsequential things at first, but moving into more serious topics as they started on the entrees. Over desserts, Peach finally asked the question that he'd been expecting since her car door had opened.
"So… may I ask why you did all this?"
Having expected the question didn't make the answering any easier. "I… I care for you. A great deal. And I wanted to tell you, somehow." He cursed his stumbling tongue. How dare it make him sound like a lovesick boy?
Peach smiled softly, looking down at her plate with a blush gracing her cheeks. "I'm glad you did. This has been a wonderful night. I didn't know you very well, and, well… well, I wasn't expecting this from you. It's been a wonderful surprise."
He held his breath, and held out his hand, palm up. She reached out and placed her hand in his. He let out the breath, slowly, and smiled.
Peach unexpectedly let out a little laugh. "You have a very nice smile! You don't show it often enough."
"Well, I am the King of Evil," he replied dryly, and she laughed again.
When dinner was finished, Ganondorf offered to escort Peach back to the mansion.
"I'd love that."
Ganondorf gestured to the valet, who went to prepare his horse. Peach watched this with interest. "You have a car?"
"I do not. I have a horse."
"Oh! I love horses!"
He smiled slightly. "Good."
The valet returned in a few minutes, leading Ganondorf's massive steed by the reins. Ganondorf tossed the man a coin and took hold of the reins. He turned back to Peach to find her gaping at the horse.
"His name is Sandstorm," he offered lightly.
"Sandstorm," she murmured, drawing closer. She reached up to pet him. The horse bent his great head down to meet her, and she stroked her hand lightly over his neck with a smile.
"You're a nice horse, aren't you?"
"He is an excellent mount, and a good traveling companion."
Peach turned back to Ganondorf. "We're going to ride him home?"
"No, I was thinking we would walk him home." Peach laughed.
"May I?" Ganondorf offered, indicating his intent. At her nod, he took her by the hips and lifted her into the saddle, then mounted so that he was sitting behind her.
"Comfortable?"
"Oh yes," she replied slightly breathlessly. Then she giggled. "It's nice to be this tall!"
"I have always enjoyed it."
She giggled again. Ganondorf touched his heels to Sandstorm's flanks, and the horse brought them out of the restaurant courtyard and into the street.
When they reached the entrance to Smash Mansion, Ganondorf stopped Sandstorm, then looked down at Peach. "Would you like some help getting down?"
"Yes, please."
He dismounted, then held out his arms to serve as a support for her to slide off of the saddle. She landed lightly on the ground in front of him and smiled up at him.
"Thank you for the wonderful night," she said.
Was it just him, or was she leaning up…?
It wasn't just him, apparently, because the next second, she jumped up and landed a kiss on his cheek. With that, she headed off toward the door, looking back with a wink before she entered.
Ganondorf stood there, hand pressed to his cheek where she'd kissed him and a goofy smile plastered on his face, for some time. Finally, he gathered his scattered thoughts, mounted Sandstorm, and made for the stables.
She was… good.
#ganondorf#princess peach#super mario#legend of zelda#super smash bros#laura writes#don't ask and i won't tell#a dozen pink roses
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INCREDIBLE STORY: Richard Nixon’s Secret Visit With Coretta Scott King
LTP News Sharing:
By Eleanor Clift | The Daily Beast | Published 06.23.18
Bob Fitch photography archive, © Stanford University Libraries
Nixon came in part to avoid attending the funeral, but he also brought a check—later lost—for her children’s education, according to a family friend finally telling the story.
Click Below To View Two Videos of the First Hand Account of Nixon Aide, Dwight Chapin.
Oral Histories: Dwight Chapin – Part I
Oral Histories: Dwight Chapin – Part II
A secret kept for a half century about a controversial future president’s gift to the new widow of a fallen civil rights icon seems improbable, but Xernona Clayton was there and is now telling the story.
The civil rights leader and King family friend says that she remembers everything about Richard Nixon’s visit with Coretta Scott King “as though it happened yesterday,” and now she is finally sharing the story.
It was about 48 hours after Martin Luther King Jr. had been murdered on the evening of April 6 when the former vice president arrived at the modest King home in Atlanta in an unmarked car and with no press. Those were the conditions Clayton had established after Ralph McGill, the pioneering civil rights editor and publisher of the Atlanta Constitution, contacted her to say that Nixon wanted to pay his respects, stopping in Atlanta on his way to Key Biscayne, Florida, for the weekend. No fan of Nixon’s, McGill had nevertheless agreed to pass along the request.
Coretta Scott King was not eager to see Nixon so soon after her husband’s death, but she understood the sensitivity of the moment and she wanted to be above politics. Nixon arrived in the early evening and was escorted down a long hall to a back bedroom where Mrs. King received guests. She sat on the bed, propped up by pillows, and Nixon sat in a chair next to the bed in a meeting captured by a family photographer.
Nixon explained his wife, Pat, couldn’t be there because one of their daughters was ill, and she’d gone to be with her. Then, according to Clayton, he handed Mrs. King an envelope with a check for the children’s college education, saying, “This is from us—from me and Pat. I know the children are young. And you won’t be needing it for a while. But when you need it and want to use it, it will be there.”
Mrs. King thanked him, “and as I led him out, I thanked him,” Clayton told The Daily Beast. “I didn’t read the check, and I don’t know what happened afterwards. We had a place where we put things people gave to her.”
As to the check, Clayton says, “I never saw it again.”
She called McGill the next morning to report on the visit, and when she told him about the check, “He just laughed, he laughed hard, and he said, ‘He [Nixon] must have really wanted to score brownie points.’”
McGill never wrote about it, and the check as Clayton remembers it has been lost in the mists of time. It was never cashed, or the Nixon Library would have a record of it, and the aide who was with Nixon on what became two visits to Atlanta during that tumultuous time is disbelieving that Nixon, a reflexively suspicious politician, would hand a check to the widow of a man as divisive as King had become at the time of his death.
“It’s like I’m a hundred percent certain, he would never give her an envelope. There’s too much open to interpretation and wrong interpretation to do that,” Dwight Chapin told The Daily Beast. “I was a 27-year-old go-fer, but I was around him day and night.”
Except Chapin was not in the room when Nixon sat with Mrs. King. He says he saw him take her hand, and start talking. Then he left and, he says, talked on the screened-in front porch with the Kings’ young children until Nixon emerged about 15 minutes later.
Clayton is a trusted figure in the King orbit, and someone I and many others who covered civil rights or knew Dr. King can personally vouch for. She drove Dr. King to the airport on that fateful trip to Memphis that cost him his life, and she is featured in the new HBO documentary King in the Wilderness, which is based solely on interviews with people who knew him well.
It was after a screening of the film at the Museum of African American History that she first told the story of Nixon’s visit, and the check. “For a long time I didn’t tell the story, it was a private memory,” she explained. “But it’s not a new story to people who know me, I’ve told it before. Every time I say something it doesn’t make the news, I’m not famous.”
Nixon’s visit with Mrs. King was off the record, but that evening in Key Biscayne, Nixon wanted to know how it was playing. Chapin reminded him it was off the record. Nixon had expected news of the meeting would leak and was furious when told it had not. So Nick Ruhe, another Nixon aide, called Atlanta radio stations to tip them off that Nixon had been seen at the King home. But when reporters called the house, no one would confirm the visit.
Nixon had sought the private visit in part because he wanted to avoid attending the funeral, set for April 9 in Atlanta, Clayton recalled. Now he fumed, he would have to go. He and Chapin flew back to Atlanta the night before the funeral, staying at the Hyatt. When they pulled up the next day at the Ebenezer Baptist Church, thousands of people had gathered, and getting through the crowd looked daunting. But as Chapin recalls, people stepped aside to make room for Nixon, slowly clapping in a rhythmic and respectful way.
Jack Garofalo/Paris Match/Getty
After the service, Wilt Chamberlain, the 7-foot-1 basketball star, asked Nixon if he would be marching to the graveside, and while Nixon had come with no intention of marching he was swept up in the crowd, along with the likes of Democratic Senator Eugene McCarthy, whose anti-war campaign had driven President Lyndon Johnson out of the presidential race. Nixon’s pal, Bebe Rebozo, who he’d stayed with in Key Biscayne, was also swept along, an unlikely presence given his right-wing politics.
This was an emotionally charged time. Cities were burning, anti-war sentiment was raging, and with King’s death, all eyes were on Atlanta. In the days after his murder, the King house was filled with family, friends, and “big names,” in Clayton’s telling, including Marlon Brando, Bill Cosby, Harry Belafonte, Jackie Kennedy, and Bobby and Ethel Kennedy.
“It was a madhouse really,” says Clayton. “That’s why she stayed in the back bedroom, the master bedroom,” which was at the end of a long hall. “It gave her a feeling of a little relief.”
A lot of people were coming and going, and Clayton remembers Nixon arriving in a beige car, a Chevrolet she thinks, while Chapin says they were in a black Cadillac.
After Nixon met with Mrs. King, he went to Martin Luther King Sr.’s house. “They threw their arms around each other,” says Chapin. “They’d known each other for years.” Daddy King, as he was known, was a lifelong Republican, initially endorsing Nixon over Jack Kennedy in 1960. (Nixon lost King Sr.’s support when he said “no comment” after King Jr. was jailed in Georgia on a bogus charge during a peaceful sit-in in October 1960. Kennedy intervened to free King, and he called Coretta, a call initially meant to be private because of the uncertain political fallout in the middle of the election. It of course leaked, bringing out the black vote and helping Kennedy.)
“I could imagine him asking King Sr. if there was a college fund for the kids,” says Chapin, “but for the life of me, I can’t believe this happened—Mr. Nixon handing Mrs. King a check. ”
It is Clayton’s insistence on what she witnessed even after I challenged her with Chapin’s skepticism that made me want to explore this other side of Nixon’s character.
The King children were young in 1968. The oldest, Yolanda, born in 1955, attended Smith College. She died of a heart condition at age 51 in 2007. The two boys, Martin Luther King III and Dexter were born in 1957 and 1961, and attended Morehouse College, the historically black college their father and grandfather attended. The youngest, Bernice, was born in 1963 and transferred to Spelman in Atlanta after a year at Grinnell. College wasn’t as expensive then as it is now, and their educational choices didn’t break the bank.
“Each of the children got all kinds of offers from colleges,” says Clayton. She recalls some criticism that they were getting privileges they didn’t have to pay for. So whatever Nixon thought to contribute wouldn’t have mattered on the accounting side of the ledger.
Longtime Nixon speechwriter, Pat Buchanan, tells me how proud Nixon was of a personal letter from Dr. King thanking him for helping pass the 1957 Civil Rights Act. Nixon as vice president had worked behind the scenes in the Senate to ensure passage.
The two men had met in March of that year in Africa at a celebration for Ghana’s independence. They agreed to stay in touch, and three months later King met with Nixon in the vice president’s office at the Capitol to map strategy against Southern Democrats opposing the bill and Majority Leader Lyndon Johnson’s efforts to water it down.
“I will long remember the rich fellowship which we shared together and the fruitful discussion that we had,” King wrote, telling Nixon “how deeply grateful all people of goodwill are to you for your assiduous labor and dauntless courage in seeking to make the Civil Rights Bill a reality… This is certainly an expression of your devotion to the highest mandates of the moral law.”
Nixon replied saying, “My only regret is that I have been unable to do more than I have.” Jeffrey Frank, author of Ike and Dick: Portrait of a Strange Political Marriage, wrote that Nixon and King talked frequently after that, and in September 1958, after a deranged black woman stabbed King in Harlem, Nixon was among the first to write King, praising his “Christian spirit of tolerance” and expressing confidence he would ultimately win over “the great majority of Americans for the cause of equality and human dignity to which we are committed.”
Buchanan says Nixon was very proud of the fact that on his mother’s side of the family, the Milhauses, they had been a stop on the underground railroad in Indiana.
This is not the Nixon we associate with the Southern Strategy, which sought to win votes by exploiting fears along racial lines, or the uptight, paranoid Nixon who never seemed able to relate to another human being. After Chappaquiddick, when Sen. Ted Kennedy was at the White House for a bipartisan congressional leadership meeting, Buchanan, who was there taking notes, saw Nixon motion for Kennedy to follow him to the Oval Office after the meeting ended in the Cabinet Room.
Buchanan thinks Nixon gave Kennedy a pep talk that he had taken a hard hit but would recover and go on to accomplish great things. He wasn’t a sweetheart by any means, Buchanan says of Nixon, but at times, “he did have that paternal instinct.”
Chapin confirms the incident. He was the staff secretary and sat right by the Oval Office. “Nixon motioned to me, he said Kennedy’s coming into the Oval Office. No one else was there. Three or four minutes later, Sen. Kennedy is drying tears, and he then leaves. I have no idea what was said but something of impact happened.”
Chapin was the first Watergate figure to go on trial. He was convicted for making false and misleading statements to a Grand Jury and served nine months in a light security California correctional institute dubbed “Camp Cupcake.” He fought the conviction all the way to the Supreme Court.
“In my heart of hearts, I didn’t feel I lied. My intent was to tell the truth,” he told The Daily Beast. “Many years later, reading it [the transcript], I could see my maneuvering around not to answer the question.”
As for Clayton, now 87, she stands by her story and her long record of civil rights work.
“I resent the fact that they think I made it up,” she said. “There are still secrets I haven’t told, some I’ll probably die with.”
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INCREDIBLE STORY: Richard Nixon’s Secret Visit With Coretta Scott King
LTP News Sharing:
By Eleanor Clift | The Daily Beast | Published 06.23.18
Bob Fitch photography archive, © Stanford University Libraries
Nixon came in part to avoid attending the funeral, but he also brought a check—later lost—for her children’s education, according to a family friend finally telling the story.
Click Below To View Two Videos of the First Hand Account of Nixon Aide, Dwight Chapin.
Oral Histories: Dwight Chapin – Part I
Oral Histories: Dwight Chapin – Part II
A secret kept for a half century about a controversial future president’s gift to the new widow of a fallen civil rights icon seems improbable, but Xernona Clayton was there and is now telling the story.
The civil rights leader and King family friend says that she remembers everything about Richard Nixon’s visit with Coretta Scott King “as though it happened yesterday,” and now she is finally sharing the story.
It was about 48 hours after Martin Luther King Jr. had been murdered on the evening of April 6 when the former vice president arrived at the modest King home in Atlanta in an unmarked car and with no press. Those were the conditions Clayton had established after Ralph McGill, the pioneering civil rights editor and publisher of the Atlanta Constitution, contacted her to say that Nixon wanted to pay his respects, stopping in Atlanta on his way to Key Biscayne, Florida, for the weekend. No fan of Nixon’s, McGill had nevertheless agreed to pass along the request.
Coretta Scott King was not eager to see Nixon so soon after her husband’s death, but she understood the sensitivity of the moment and she wanted to be above politics. Nixon arrived in the early evening and was escorted down a long hall to a back bedroom where Mrs. King received guests. She sat on the bed, propped up by pillows, and Nixon sat in a chair next to the bed in a meeting captured by a family photographer.
Nixon explained his wife, Pat, couldn’t be there because one of their daughters was ill, and she’d gone to be with her. Then, according to Clayton, he handed Mrs. King an envelope with a check for the children’s college education, saying, “This is from us—from me and Pat. I know the children are young. And you won’t be needing it for a while. But when you need it and want to use it, it will be there.”
Mrs. King thanked him, “and as I led him out, I thanked him,” Clayton told The Daily Beast. “I didn’t read the check, and I don’t know what happened afterwards. We had a place where we put things people gave to her.”
As to the check, Clayton says, “I never saw it again.”
She called McGill the next morning to report on the visit, and when she told him about the check, “He just laughed, he laughed hard, and he said, ‘He [Nixon] must have really wanted to score brownie points.’”
McGill never wrote about it, and the check as Clayton remembers it has been lost in the mists of time. It was never cashed, or the Nixon Library would have a record of it, and the aide who was with Nixon on what became two visits to Atlanta during that tumultuous time is disbelieving that Nixon, a reflexively suspicious politician, would hand a check to the widow of a man as divisive as King had become at the time of his death.
“It’s like I’m a hundred percent certain, he would never give her an envelope. There’s too much open to interpretation and wrong interpretation to do that,” Dwight Chapin told The Daily Beast. “I was a 27-year-old go-fer, but I was around him day and night.”
Except Chapin was not in the room when Nixon sat with Mrs. King. He says he saw him take her hand, and start talking. Then he left and, he says, talked on the screened-in front porch with the Kings’ young children until Nixon emerged about 15 minutes later.
Clayton is a trusted figure in the King orbit, and someone I and many others who covered civil rights or knew Dr. King can personally vouch for. She drove Dr. King to the airport on that fateful trip to Memphis that cost him his life, and she is featured in the new HBO documentary King in the Wilderness, which is based solely on interviews with people who knew him well.
It was after a screening of the film at the Museum of African American History that she first told the story of Nixon’s visit, and the check. “For a long time I didn’t tell the story, it was a private memory,” she explained. “But it’s not a new story to people who know me, I’ve told it before. Every time I say something it doesn’t make the news, I’m not famous.”
Nixon’s visit with Mrs. King was off the record, but that evening in Key Biscayne, Nixon wanted to know how it was playing. Chapin reminded him it was off the record. Nixon had expected news of the meeting would leak and was furious when told it had not. So Nick Ruhe, another Nixon aide, called Atlanta radio stations to tip them off that Nixon had been seen at the King home. But when reporters called the house, no one would confirm the visit.
Nixon had sought the private visit in part because he wanted to avoid attending the funeral, set for April 9 in Atlanta, Clayton recalled. Now he fumed, he would have to go. He and Chapin flew back to Atlanta the night before the funeral, staying at the Hyatt. When they pulled up the next day at the Ebenezer Baptist Church, thousands of people had gathered, and getting through the crowd looked daunting. But as Chapin recalls, people stepped aside to make room for Nixon, slowly clapping in a rhythmic and respectful way.
Jack Garofalo/Paris Match/Getty
After the service, Wilt Chamberlain, the 7-foot-1 basketball star, asked Nixon if he would be marching to the graveside, and while Nixon had come with no intention of marching he was swept up in the crowd, along with the likes of Democratic Senator Eugene McCarthy, whose anti-war campaign had driven President Lyndon Johnson out of the presidential race. Nixon’s pal, Bebe Rebozo, who he’d stayed with in Key Biscayne, was also swept along, an unlikely presence given his right-wing politics.
This was an emotionally charged time. Cities were burning, anti-war sentiment was raging, and with King’s death, all eyes were on Atlanta. In the days after his murder, the King house was filled with family, friends, and “big names,” in Clayton’s telling, including Marlon Brando, Bill Cosby, Harry Belafonte, Jackie Kennedy, and Bobby and Ethel Kennedy.
“It was a madhouse really,” says Clayton. “That’s why she stayed in the back bedroom, the master bedroom,” which was at the end of a long hall. “It gave her a feeling of a little relief.”
A lot of people were coming and going, and Clayton remembers Nixon arriving in a beige car, a Chevrolet she thinks, while Chapin says they were in a black Cadillac.
After Nixon met with Mrs. King, he went to Martin Luther King Sr.’s house. “They threw their arms around each other,” says Chapin. “They’d known each other for years.” Daddy King, as he was known, was a lifelong Republican, initially endorsing Nixon over Jack Kennedy in 1960. (Nixon lost King Sr.’s support when he said “no comment” after King Jr. was jailed in Georgia on a bogus charge during a peaceful sit-in in October 1960. Kennedy intervened to free King, and he called Coretta, a call initially meant to be private because of the uncertain political fallout in the middle of the election. It of course leaked, bringing out the black vote and helping Kennedy.)
“I could imagine him asking King Sr. if there was a college fund for the kids,” says Chapin, “but for the life of me, I can’t believe this happened—Mr. Nixon handing Mrs. King a check. ”
It is Clayton’s insistence on what she witnessed even after I challenged her with Chapin’s skepticism that made me want to explore this other side of Nixon’s character.
The King children were young in 1968. The oldest, Yolanda, born in 1955, attended Smith College. She died of a heart condition at age 51 in 2007. The two boys, Martin Luther King III and Dexter were born in 1957 and 1961, and attended Morehouse College, the historically black college their father and grandfather attended. The youngest, Bernice, was born in 1963 and transferred to Spelman in Atlanta after a year at Grinnell. College wasn’t as expensive then as it is now, and their educational choices didn’t break the bank.
“Each of the children got all kinds of offers from colleges,” says Clayton. She recalls some criticism that they were getting privileges they didn’t have to pay for. So whatever Nixon thought to contribute wouldn’t have mattered on the accounting side of the ledger.
Longtime Nixon speechwriter, Pat Buchanan, tells me how proud Nixon was of a personal letter from Dr. King thanking him for helping pass the 1957 Civil Rights Act. Nixon as vice president had worked behind the scenes in the Senate to ensure passage.
The two men had met in March of that year in Africa at a celebration for Ghana’s independence. They agreed to stay in touch, and three months later King met with Nixon in the vice president’s office at the Capitol to map strategy against Southern Democrats opposing the bill and Majority Leader Lyndon Johnson’s efforts to water it down.
“I will long remember the rich fellowship which we shared together and the fruitful discussion that we had,” King wrote, telling Nixon “how deeply grateful all people of goodwill are to you for your assiduous labor and dauntless courage in seeking to make the Civil Rights Bill a reality… This is certainly an expression of your devotion to the highest mandates of the moral law.”
Nixon replied saying, “My only regret is that I have been unable to do more than I have.” Jeffrey Frank, author of Ike and Dick: Portrait of a Strange Political Marriage, wrote that Nixon and King talked frequently after that, and in September 1958, after a deranged black woman stabbed King in Harlem, Nixon was among the first to write King, praising his “Christian spirit of tolerance” and expressing confidence he would ultimately win over “the great majority of Americans for the cause of equality and human dignity to which we are committed.”
Buchanan says Nixon was very proud of the fact that on his mother’s side of the family, the Milhauses, they had been a stop on the underground railroad in Indiana.
This is not the Nixon we associate with the Southern Strategy, which sought to win votes by exploiting fears along racial lines, or the uptight, paranoid Nixon who never seemed able to relate to another human being. After Chappaquiddick, when Sen. Ted Kennedy was at the White House for a bipartisan congressional leadership meeting, Buchanan, who was there taking notes, saw Nixon motion for Kennedy to follow him to the Oval Office after the meeting ended in the Cabinet Room.
Buchanan thinks Nixon gave Kennedy a pep talk that he had taken a hard hit but would recover and go on to accomplish great things. He wasn’t a sweetheart by any means, Buchanan says of Nixon, but at times, “he did have that paternal instinct.”
Chapin confirms the incident. He was the staff secretary and sat right by the Oval Office. “Nixon motioned to me, he said Kennedy’s coming into the Oval Office. No one else was there. Three or four minutes later, Sen. Kennedy is drying tears, and he then leaves. I have no idea what was said but something of impact happened.”
Chapin was the first Watergate figure to go on trial. He was convicted for making false and misleading statements to a Grand Jury and served nine months in a light security California correctional institute dubbed “Camp Cupcake.” He fought the conviction all the way to the Supreme Court.
“In my heart of hearts, I didn’t feel I lied. My intent was to tell the truth,” he told The Daily Beast. “Many years later, reading it [the transcript], I could see my maneuvering around not to answer the question.”
As for Clayton, now 87, she stands by her story and her long record of civil rights work.
“I resent the fact that they think I made it up,” she said. “There are still secrets I haven’t told, some I’ll probably die with.”
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Author: Frances Rice
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