My Neo Geisha ~ Kinshiro Toyama

“Heeey, Kinshiro, I’m back. You better have those dumplings ready, I’m starving.” I stretched and yawn as soon as I slid the door to Kyokatei, hoping to smell the appetizing smell of warm food.

However, as soon as I stepped in the main room, I noticed a petite, beautiful young maiden with gorgeous pink hair, and that everyone was looking at her, making her embarrassed enough not to be able to raise her gaze from the floor.

“Oya oya...? What do we have here? A little mouse in a den of lions?” I stepped right in front of her, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look up at me. “U-U-Uhm...E-Excuse me, miss...My name is Yui...” she stuttered, clearly intimidated by my gesture, looking like a scared fawn looking for her mummy. “Y/N, dear, calm down, it’s not what you’re-” the green haired magistrate got to his feet, carefully talking to me, but honestly, he’s done it. “Myyyy, Kinshiro, why didn’t you tell me we had the company of such a lovely darling? Yui, dear, being so sad is unbecoming of such an angelic face like yours...Kin, can we adopt her? Pretty pleaseeee~?” I suddenly hugged the poor girl close to my chest really tightly, patting the top of her head, shocking everyone around me. “U-Uh...Y/N...She’s not a puppy...And we have enough puppies at home anyway. Yui here is going to be our new member of the vigilante.” Kinshiro explained, which made me stiffen, and slowly turn to face him with a solemn expression. “What did Tori do again?” I muttered, gritting my teeth as I tried to contain my growing anger. “H-How did you know it was about Tori, miss Y/N?” the girl’s soft voice called out as she carefully tugged on my sleeve, almost as if she was seeking protection. “Well, darling, wouldn’t you like to know...” the corners of my lips turned upwards just a little, to suggest the irony of the situation to Kinshiro.  “Her parents got wrongfully killed by Tori and his men. She managed to sneak away, as they didn’t search for her. The only thing she has left in her possession are the money given to her by her mother and her father’s dagger, but she used the money to make a request for us. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” Kin fidgeted on his feet, crossing his arms to his chest. “Oh, Lord, have mercy! If only there was a group of benevolent vigilantes when I was her age! Well, no matter, all’s fine now. I can only assume her wish is to kill Tori, and, coincidently, so is mine, so it will all work out in my favour, after so many years of waiting very patiently to get my revenge.” I dramatically flung around the large haori sleeves. “What part of you has ever been patient, Y/N?” Aoi jabbed at me, ruffing my hair. “Kinshiro?” I called out in a grim tone, letting a graveyard silence take over. “Where is she going to stay? We can’t let her stay here in Kyokatei, it’s the red light district, and she’s much too pure and innocent to stay here. It will destroy her somehow, and I don’t want another girl getting crushed by life like that.” I explained carefully, the shadow of haunting ghosts glinting in my eyes. “We can let her choose where to stay. Out of everyone here, Soji stays here, Aoi has a terrible schedule and work in the red light district...And Sion stays at Iseya, the famous Geisha house. He may be the safer option, but it’s her call.” Kinshiro told Yui her options, and she bit her lip, looking down, before raising to look at me with eyes glimmering of tears. She grabbed both of my sleeves and bowed deeply. “Please, Miss Y/N, would you allow me to stay with you? You remind me a lot of my mother, and I miss her very much.” she called out in a desperate voice, and I could only stare at her with wide eyes, my face getting redder and redder than any japanese rose. “I-I-I...U-Uhm...K-Kin...U-Uhm...I-It’s your house, y-you decide.” I could feel myself trembling softly, completely unable to move, leaving fate to be merciful. “Well then, I guess it’s settled. Yui will stay with us. Then, I call this meeting a success, and we will await further notice about how we shall proceed in the future with this issue. It’s about time we deal with Tori after all the injustice he’s done.” Kin clapped his hands together, getting everyone to leave to their homes, including the three of us. “I’m sorry if I put you on the spot, miss Y/N. I didn’t know you lived together with mr. Kinshiro.” Yui spoke, still clinging to my arms. “It’s alright, little mouse, you couldn’t have known. And, besides, I led you on by saying I would adopt you...But I hope you aren’t afraid of dogs, I adopted a few stray ones before.” I spoke nonchalantly, only to hear Kin laugh and put his arm around me. “When I said we have enough puppies, I was referring to the other vigilantes, not to our actual dogs!” his mirthful voice made me smile up at him, leisurely draping my own free arm around his broad torso. “A-Ah, well, yeah, I guess you’re not wrong...I guess I really am everyone’s mother nowadays. how ironic.” I chuckled softly, blushing a bit as I snuggled up into his chest.

I prepared a room for Yui as soon as we finished eating, but the poor girl was too afraid to sleep on her own, so I let her sleep with her head on my lap as I sang her a little lullaby, and she fell asleep like the baby she is. After carefully putting her in her futon, I raised and saw Kinshiro smiling tenderly at the sight in front of him, and I could only blush and drag him to our room, pouring a cup of sake for the both of us.

“You really would be a great mother, you know?” he commented as a matter of fact. “Yeah, with children older than 15 and animals. With others, I’d lose my temper. And besides...What are we going to do with this situation, anyway? I...Never thought that I’d see another girl like me...Well, I guess not everything about this is similar to what happened to me, but for her, it’s much worse. I could deal with everything...But her? She’s much too innocent and soft for this kind of tragedy to happen to her.” I sighed, downing the sake cup in one go. “Don’t take your own situation lightly, Y/N. I know you want to forget, but your life hasn’t been easy either. That’s why you took her in. You want to protect her, hoping that it will get you some kind of redemption and you’ll protect your own past self.” Kin sighed, moving his seat next to me and holding me to his side, stroking my hair soothingly. “It feels like a lifetime ago when we first met...And I can’t imagine my life without you. I can’t believe how far we’ve gone...Can you? I mean, I tried to kill you, and now, I don’t want to leave your side.” I chuckled lightly, only to hear a soft knock on the wood and the paper door sliding, revealing the pinkette. “U-Uhmm...Would it be too much to ask if I can stay here? I...Our rooms are next to each other...And I heard you talking about your past and how you relate to me. Would it be alright if I were to listen to your story?” she asked, and the two of us looked at each other, and extended our arms towards her, welcoming her in our arms, almost as if we were her parents. “Well, how did it go, anyway? We met at that business meeting you had with Tori so long ago...And I had a dagger at your neck when he went to pee.” I grinned at him, but as much as he was laughing, poor Yui had a horrified expression on her face. “Wh-What?! H-How could that happen?!” Yui gasped, looking up at us with wide eyes. “How could this man, who is the magistrate of the South ward, ask someone to marry him after this certain someone almost killed him? Well, Kin, that’s a great question, why don’t you answer us?” I nudged the green haired man who frowned a bit, remembering the bad times, only to pat the pink girl’s hair.

--- When she was barely 15, Tori killed her parents under what could seriously be the most ridiculous reason, but before he could leave the house, some of his henchmen got killed. Drawing his sword, Tori pinned the enemy to the wall - Only to be revealed to be a young woman with tears in her angry eyes - And that’s when he realised that he could seriously use a female assassin, since nobody would expect it.

For the next 5 years, he made sure to have her be taught how to me a Geisha and an assassin at the same time, and he was proud of her - She was a prodigy, so much better than so many of his useless men, that is.

And that Toyama...That damned Kagemoto Toyama...He needed to be killed.

Tori called a meeting with Toyama at a private room restaurant, having Y/N as the sole Geisha, occasionally touching her lecherously, as a way to get Toyama to lose his mind for her beauty and her talent in entertaining him with her beautiful voice, her dance and her flute playing...

But in a matter of seconds, Tori left the room and after a brief, tense silence, Toyama only had to blink to then find himself with his back flat on his back and the cold blade at his neck, dangerously digging into his skin, but not yet making it bleed.

“You poor girl...You’ve been very hurt, haven’t you? You don’t have to bloody your hands, miss. I can help you. You can turn your life around, I promise you.” Kagemoto’s voice was warm and comforting, his hand going to touch her white face. “No...No, I can’t. My fate has been sealed by the demon who slayed my family. He chained me and threw away the key long ago. There’s no escaping his grasps.” she shook her head, forcing herself to keep her eyes open so he wouldn’t somehow retaliate...But he didn’t. “Yes, you can. You are in the South ward now, under my protection. He can’t touch you here. You are a beautiful and talented woman, miss Y/N, you could turn your life around very easily, I can assure you. There are many people like you in here, and if you continue being a normal citizen, nobody is going to bother you again. You just have to take my hand. That’s all.” Kagemoto caressed her face, wiping away the stream of tears going down her face. “He will hunt me down to the ends of the world. I know the atrocities he’s done, and he knows the sea of blood that I bathed in because of him. How can I turn my life around and pretend none of that happened? It wouldn’t be fair to the people I killed...I don’t deserve it.” the grip on her blade completely vanished, allowing Kagemoto to get in a sitting position, cupping her face and kissing her forehead, the warm smile on his face giving her some hope. “Everyone deserves a chance for a better life, especially since you didn’t choose to live this way. I can protect you. But you must choose fast, before Tori comes back, because if he does, he will take you back to the North Ward, and from there, there’s no coming back. Choose fast, and choose wisely.” as her bottom lip quivered, she bowed to the ground, desperately yelling at him to get her out of this hell, the raw emotions clawing at her throat impressing the green haired man. “Please, Magistrate Toyama Kagemoto, please save me from Tori and his men. I don’t want to kill again, I don’t want my parents’ memory to be reminded this way. I want to get revenge on Tori, but I don’t want to be his puppet assassin again. Please, Magistrate, please save me.” her words shocked the man, at the same time melting his heart with her story, and feeling pity on her, he pet her hair before lifting her head up and offering her a reassuring smile. “Hide in there, and I will tell Tori you left to bring more sake. He will suspect you ran away and will try to hunt you down, but you will be under my protection at all times, and you won’t have to take another life again. Go now, hide there, I think i can hear footsteps coming.” the magistrate hurried her to the cramped closet where she stood like a scared, small animal for the whole duration of the meeting.

Seeing Tori angry scared her enough to flinch a few times, having been used to his capricious behaviour and overly drastic discipline methods, but she kept quieter than a mouse, even after the villain finally left. It wasn’t until the green haired magistrate came to take her out of there himself that she finally got the courage to let out a breath of relief.

With the help of some women employers from Kyokatei, his own tea house, the girl was dressed in a very modest kimono, her hair put in a bun, to avoid showing off the unusual, yet gorgeous hair colour, and her make up was completely removed, and yet, her beauty was still shining.

As soon as she arrived at his home, she saw the mess and without realising, she rushed to tidy things up, only to get stopped by the owner of the house, both of them looking at each other with very confused expressions on their faces.

“You are my protegee, not my maid. There’s no need for you to go to such lengths.” he tried to calm her down, only to see her shaking her head. “I saved me from that guy, and now you let me stay in your house. It’s the least I can do until I can earn some money and repay you...Although money won’t exactly be able to be an equivalent for your kindness...” she spoke a bit more assertively, only for him to start chuckling at her. “I think I have a solution for that, if you will. As you saw, having a beautiful, talented woman at a business meeting smoothens things enough to reach a compromise, so you can come with me whenever I have anything official to do. And when I don’t, I’m around Kyokatei, and I beautiful waitress or arts practitioner would definitely be welcomed.” Kagemoto tried to compromise, but the girl still shook her head. “I can’t take your money, Mr. Toyama! I will work for you and do whatever you wish me to do, but I refuse to take money for you after everything you’ve done for me, and you just met me today. Nobody would do what you’ve done. I owe you my life.” her cheeks reddened slightly, almost angry or offended at the insination that she would ever take his money like that. “Okay, okay, that’s fine, I understand. I have a few connections at the Kabuki theater nearby, I can talk to them to hire you. They have no woman among them, so I’m sure they will benefit from having you there. I have a friend there, Hotaka, he sometimes plays the female leads. I’m sure you will get along well. Accept at least this, please. And if it really makes you feel better, you can go ahead and do whatever you want around this house, alright?” the magistrate sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, only to see the corners of her mouth lift upwards, making her look like a happy kitten. “Yes, I suppose I can agree to that. I already gave you enough trouble with my stubbornness. A bit more and I think you’re gonna strangle me in your mind.” she laughed casually, turning around to continue tidying up. “Tomorrow you’ll have to show me everything around the house and around this ward so I know what I’ll have to do. Is that alright with you, Mr.Toyama?” she asked, neatly folding the clothes and putting them in a pile. “Ah, actually, don’t call me that please, it’s too formal. Makes me feel very old. My friends call me Kinshiro when we’re alone, but around official people, I am Kagemoto. In case you hear someone calling me by a different name than what you’re used to. I have some dumplings and sake from earlier this day, let’s eat, shall we? It must have been some many long days for you, lately. Tomorrow we can talk more about what’s there to be done and how are things here, in the South Ward.” he explained to her as he guided her to a table where they sat together, her pouring alcohol, while he placed the dumpling plate, and enjoyed their meal in a comfortable silence. “Okay...Kin.”

---

“You’ve been an assassin since 15...And you also had to train as a Geisha to avoid suspicion...And bear with the killer of your parents by your side all the time...That must have been terrible! How did you even manage to keep your composure for so long?! I wouldn’t have been able to...” Yui looked at me with pitiful eyes, only for me to shrug casually. “Dunno. I wanted to live, I guess. When he said he’ll keep me alive if I kill for him, I said sure. I’ve been blocking the memory of my parents ever since...And then I got to meet Kin who turned my life around completely...Then I worked all day long, so I had my mind occupied all the time, I worked around with Hotaka, I often helped Wakasa with his medical practice, then the vigilantes were formed and here we are. But before all this...I was just like you. A young, hard-working girl always helping around the house since there was nothing else to do in the North.” I stroked her hair motherly, wiping away the forming tears from her eyes. “You are really amazing, Y/N...I don’t know how you can do everything so perfectly...But you’re my role model! Please take care of me!” Yui bowed her head at me, but I instinctively laughed before apologising. “I, uh...If you mean the Geisha and assassin thing...I screwed up a lot. The amount of times I got punished and grounded by Tori for messing up...Is honestly monumental. If we talk about life in general, well...After not socialising with actual people my whole life, I had quite a few misconceptions about how things should be, and I think I scared Kinshiro and his friends a bit...But then we kinda adopted them since I take care of everyone...So I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, but it’s fun. I’m sure you’ll blend in with everyone very soon.” I ruffled her hair lovingly, making her grin widely in appreciation. “Trust me, Yui, it took a loooong time gettin Y/N to separate her own self from both her Geisha and her Assassin persona. Whenever she was supposed to be a normal person, she’d get so awkward and clumsy, you wouldn’t believe it was the same person! I think she had to buy a new china set every week because of that, and sometimes, she’d forget to speak when serving customers at the tea house. She was so cute when she’d cry from frustration and embarrassment!” Kinshiro’s mirthful laugh boomed throughout the room, making the girl giggle, while I could only look at him with a forced smile. “I’ll kill you.” I hummed in fake cheerfulness, but he clearly wasn’t phased in the least, since he’s known me for more years. “Sure, go ahead.” he teased, still holding that fake-innocent smile on his face. “You two remind me so much of my parents...They were very sweet and loving to each other, but they also liked to tease each other a lot. This is really...It’s really nice.” Yui smiled sadly, looking down, before Kin pulled her in between us so we would hug her like proper parents. “Well, Yui, it’s really getting late, and a young lady like yourself needs to sleep plenty to have enough energy and grow even more beautiful than you are now, so off to bed with you, dear. Can you handle sleeping by yourself, or do want to stay with us for the night?” I asked the girl who looked up at us with a happy smile. “I’ll sleep by myself, thank you...But if I have a nightmare, I hope you don’t mind if I come over.” her voice was soft and clearly grateful, so both I and Kin were fine enough with letting her do as she wished.

Not even two weeks later, the poor girl and I somehow managed to run into this weirdly tall Dutch supposed merchant, but the vibe I got from him... He was stinking of blood and  his aura was one of complete danger - Despite the amiable and charming facade he tried to have, someone with experience knew all too well it was far from the truth.

However, as we left the tea house, we noticed Tori entering the place, only to meet up with the foreigner. I stood pressed to the outer wall, keeping my hand over Yui’s mouth, trying to make sure she doesn’t utter anything, and as soon as I deemed I heard enough, I dragged her to Kyokatei in a rush, calling up a meeting with some of the vigilantes.

“Kin, bad news. The foreigner is in cahoots with Tori. I think they’re trying to cover up some kind of illegal trading with the basic harbour stuff every foreign merchant does.” I explained gravely to the 4 members of our group, whose faces instantly fell somber as well. “What happened? Yui is clearly shaken up...Did they threaten you somehow?” Sion asked, but the pink haired girl quickly shook her head. “N-No, nothing of the sort...We met up with the foreigner...And, uhm....He was very...Physical with us...And then Y/N dragged me to the tea house, only to see Tori walking in, so we quickly left before he could notice either of us. I have to thank Y/N for keeping me grounded, otherwise...I-I think I’d have marched to Tori and socked him in the face.” the girl hung her head in embarrassment and guilt, but Aoi quickly ruffled her hair reassuringly. “No, it’s normal for you to feel that way. I wouldn’t have been able to stay there either if I was in your place.” the blue haired man smiled at the girl, clearly not wanting her to feel bad about her emotions, but also, being somehow impulsive sometimes. “The foreigner knows about Yui. He said he saw us around a lot - Including you, Kin - And said that Yui is definitely the daughter of the man and woman they recently killed. Not to mention, this guy has an unusually creepy vibe around him...And the stench of blood is...Not obvious to the common folk, but for us...It’s much too obvious. I think we should try and act soon, one way or another.” I explain the information I gathered from eavesdropping. “Things may look bad, but they are going in the right direction. Just today, Tori asked for an official meeting with me, so tomorrow, here, at Kyokatei, we are going to talk business. I need Soji to stay above us while Sion and Aoi stay with Yui in the other room and listen in to our conversation.” Kin explained, and I could only sigh, raking my fingers through my long hair. “...You owe me your haori. But I want the blue one, not the green one...It suits you better than it suits me.” I muttered, crossing my arms to my chest, looking away. “I’m sorry, Y/N, but you know what you have to do.” Kin’s expression turned into one equally as upset as mine, as he put his hand on my face, and I could only lean into it. “As long as he doesn’t grab me again, like the uncultured barbarian that he is, I suppose it’s not going to be anything different than what I’ve been doing for so many years now.” I shrugged, biting my lip, remembering that time, many years ago, when I met Kinshiro. “I won’t let him touch you. It may be official business, but I’m still the enforcer of rules in the South, and I have to make sure nobody touches the most beautiful woman in the world.” softly lifting my face, we shared a tender look that comforted the both of us, at least a little bit. “U-Uhm...I’m a bit confused...What is going to happen to Y/N?” Yui asked, clinging on Sion’s shoulder as a way to get him to look down at her and answer. “I’m going to be a Geisha again for Kinshiro and Tori. I need to find my flute and see how rusty I got. Sion, I don’t have to ask you, I’m sure you know what I’ll need tomorrow...Aoi, you’ll help me with my hair and make up, and with Hotaka, we can do the physical work...Those damn outfits are impossible.” I chuckled dryly, and despite the jokes we tried to make, we all knew the meeting will be very tense. “N-No, y-you can’t do that! What if he recognises you?! If he last saw you as a Geisha, he’ll remember you that way, not as a normal person!” Yui exclaimed, clearly worried about me, but it only made me chuckle at her cuteness. “Darling, have you seen a group of Geishas or Courtesans together? The make up, hairstyles, accessories, faces, hair colours...They’re all the same. Honestly, even I would have a hard time recognising myself if I didn’t know I was myself. Besides...Iseyas’ kimonos are the most beautiful and rich in the whole country, there’s no way Tori would ever be able to compete with something like that, so I’d look different from what I did over 5 years ago. So, don’t worry, I’m a professional.” I winked at her, before waving to everyone and dragging Kinshiro home. “Oh, Sion, can you please take Yui over at yours for the night? I and Kinshiro have some things to work out for tomorrow’s meeting, and I don’t want her worrying or something.”

For most of the night, I cleared the rust from my flute, dancing and singing skills and tried to get a better, more graceful posture as I poured tea and had to keep a straight, demure face at all times, no matter what my beloved would say to get a raise out of me or anything similar.

Consequently, Kinshiro would go over everything he had to talk to Tori, all the papers and personal requests from his higher ups, and it was truly one of the longest nights either of us ever had.

When we were finally done with work, we went to cuddle in our futons, and just before I fell asleep with him stroking my hair soothingly, I heard him softly mutter a loving ‘I love you’.

The next day I was physically unable to express any kind of emotion on my face, and that was for the best, thankfully, as I let Aoi and Hotaka help me out with the kimono, and I swear, the most annoying thing about this whole ordeal is how incredibly long it takes to get everything one perfectly.

But the end result left everyone mesmerised, and I couldn’t recognise myself...Again. It took everything out of Kinshiro not to hug or kiss me in that exact second, but he’ll have to keep it for after this whole mummer’s show.

As everyone was in position, I waited for the South Ward’s magistrate to bring that jerk to our room, where I was ( not so ) patiently waiting on the pillow in front of the table, ready to pour the prepared tea, while I sometimes spoke with Soji up above, fearing that he’d get tired sooner or later.

The rea challenge came as soon as the paper door opened and the North’s magistrate got in, a lecherous smirk painting his ugly face as soon as his eyes spotted my waiting form.

Despite pretending not to be completely indifferent to their conversation as I practiced my arts, occasionally pouring tea, at first, only to get changed to sake later, I was paying attention to each and every word both of them would utter, especially the aggressive ones that failed to be concealed under the veil of politeness from the North’s magistrate who had no idea what civilisation meant.

Which is exactly why, just as expected, once I went to refill his sake cup the 4th time, he grabbed me harshly by the waist and I fell in his arms with a surprised squeak, unable to breathe from the shock.  After a few seconds of barely keeping myself not to strangle the shameless drunk on the spot, Kinshiro raised to his feet and helped me up, motioning for me to sit on the pillow next to him, scolding Tori for not knowing proper etiquette, then offering to take him out of there since he wasn’t lucid enough to talk business anymore.

And thankfully, they left, and as soon as the door closed behind them, Soji was able to jump down, his limbs aching, most likely, but I didn’t move from my spot, letting my emotions bubble inside of me until my lover came back, knowing he was the only person able to calm me down when I was like this.

I could tell by the heavy, yet paced footsteps that the person approaching was Kinshiro, and as the door opened, I jolted to my feet, my expression clearly pissed off.

“DO I LOOK LIKE A FUCKING WHORE TO HIM?!” the rage was obvious from both my voice and the twisted expression on my face, as I was trying to rush out of the place, to kill him, only to be hugged from behind, around my waist, Kinshiro’s arms securing me in my place. “Calm down, Y/N. He’s gone now, and we can’t kill him yet, we have to make a set up. We will do it soon, and I will let you and Yui take him down with your own hands.” Kinshiro reassured me, only for me to rapidly snatch the sharp ornamental needle accessory from my hair, letting it cascade down my back elegantly, a clear antithesis with the bloodlust I was feeling right now. “My weapon is ready to drink his blood. It better be soon, or I’ll get really angry.” I still struggled in his grasp instinctively, but I knew it was no use - At least for now. “It’s good that everyone was present so they could hear what was going on, so now we can come up with a flawless plan and finally make everyone’s wish come true. Tori has been a nuisance for so many people over the past years and we can finally get revenge for all the atrocities he’s done.” Kin managed to calm me down, patting my hair as he talked to all the vigilantes. “We’ll need everyone’s help, but I’m sure that together we can do anything.” I nodded in agreement, instructing them along with their leader on what to do further from now on until we properly get the plan finished. “You were really brave, Y/N! Please go home and relax now, you deserve it!” Yui encouraged me, and I could only snort in mock amusement, grabbing Kin’s wrist and getting out, ruffling the girl’s hair as I passed by her. “Thanks for tonight as well, Sion.” I signaled to him quickly, eager to just get home already.

As soon as we got to our home, Kinshiro picked me up and got me to our room, carefully placing me on his lap, my legs straddling him as his hands cupped my face. We shared a few seconds, just looking each other in the eyes, before placing a tender kiss on my lips, and then another, and another, each one with more warmth and passion, eclipsing the previous one.

“Kin...You should let me get in my sleeping wear. You’ll get make up all over yourself, and it doesn’t taste good at all.” I blushed softly, my arms resting on his shoulders, our foreheads touching, offering a secure sense of intimacy. “I’ll wash your make up, but after. Right now, all I need is you, and to make sure you can’t feel his disgusting touch anymore. You did an amazing job, my love, but I’m sorry that had to happen.” he sighed, muttering in the crook of my neck, as he carefully caressed the kimono off my shoulders, leaving my cleavage be shown, just as the rich courtesans do. “It’s alright, my love. You protected me, as you always do, and I’m forever grateful that I met you, and that I was lucky enough to have a man love me endlessly and show me that it’s alright to be myself.” my fingers ran through his smooth hair, taking it out from his ponytail, making it fall in green waves down his shoulders. “You’re too kind to me, Y/N. Let me show you my appreciation to you, darling.” despite living alone, only the two of us, the amount of time we get to be intimate like this and just show each other how much we treasure everything about them, with no inhibitions or restrictions...Just the two of us, in our own world, and nothing else to bring us back to real life.

Since we all were incredibly nervous, almost trebling with anticipation and bloodlust, but finally, we planned everything to the littlest detail, enough to unmask Tori to the shogunate for the illicit deeds he was doing, then we dealt with his henchmen, unveiled his secret warehouse and made sure the foreigner won’t bother us, and that we, in turn, won’t bother him...Foreign affairs are a drag.

Soji, Aoi and Sion dealt with the guarding henchmen, then made sure Yui was safe until I dealt with Tori, so we can both impale him, since he wronged the both of us. With a subtle sign from Soji, I leaped from the roof right behind Tori, in a lonely, dark alley, and went to strike him, but apparently he was expecting it, as my sword quickly got parried and he managed to jump away from me.

He kept talk and talking, trying to inquire who I was, why did I want to kill him and all that stuff, but I knew better than to let my emotions get the best of me, or give him a hint of my identity until I was sure he was dead for real.

However, as soon as I managed to unarm him, his katana flying out of his grasp, I felt the cold metal of a gun barrel to my temple, and the atmosphere changed into a much eerier one.

“Miss, I believe you are a much more talented assassin than your male colleagues, not to mention, you are a true beauty. If I didn’t know better, I’d have liked for you to come with me back to my home. I would have spoiled you with the most lavish luxuries you may not even be able to imagine.” Willem spoke with a feign pity in his voice, which only made me chuckle lowly. “If I didn’t already have a husband, I would have killed Tori and eloped with you. Alas, maybe in another life.” I shrugged, letting my sword drop to the ground, because, for some reason, I didn’t actually feel any kind of true malice in his actions. “Yes, yes, Toyama is a lucky man, I’d say. Well, it is in my moral code not to kill such a beauty, so I propose a truce, to you, and your ridiculous band of assassins that think I haven’t spotted them up there on the roof, along with the younger girl you eavesdropped with previously.” the blond took away the gun, taking a step to the right, allowing the vigilantes to see me again now, as previously, Willem’s tall, broad form completely eclipsed me. “You sure know everything, don’t you, Willem?  Yes, I’m sure you completely figured out our plan anyway, which is why you’re here. I can presume you’re going to abuse your foreigner privilege, aren’t you? As you may already be away, we took this into account, and I’m telling you, our main goal was revenge on Tori for killing both my and Yui’s parents, along with numerous other atrocities. If you don’t bother out plans, you can go back to your country as if you were never even here, and still get the money this guy promised you. Two different people, two different businesses, as if we’ve never met. Is that alright with you?” I asked, proposing my end of the deal, which seemed to please him very much. “If you take your hair out of your pony tail and let me see your face, then yes, I will agree. I want to see a fierce, untameable and brave, beautiful woman who does as she wishes, before I return home. As you can imagine, there aren’t many women as enticing as you, I’m almost tempted to just kindap you.” Willem kept talking as I ruffled my hair, letting it gracefully fall down my back, framing my face delicately, then removed the mask from my face, extending my hand for him to shake so we can finish this truce already, but as soon as he shook my hand, he lifted my chin, kissing my forehead, then disappeared, shocking everyone, without a doubt. “Well, there we go, Tori. It seems your darling foreigner favoured me. Now then, are you ready for your judgement time?” I chuckled, signaling for the others to leap down, as I took out Yui’s dagger from underneath my assassin gear. “Tsk, women are such a nuisance. You take everything personally. Both of you would have been better off dead than alive. Once you kill me, that stupid Toyama will have only problems piled on him, and you will forever be haunted by the fact that you are nothing more than murderers, just like me.” Tori threatened, but as he stepped backwards, he was met with Aoi’s hair needle, prickling at his throat, rendering him unable to move. “Ready, Yui?” I asked, handing her the dagger and putting my hands over hers, both to stop the shaking, and to make sure the deed is done. “...Yes, I am.” despite the obvious fear she held, her voice didn’t tremble, so I counted for her up to three, and telling her to keep herself steady, I plunged the dagger deep into our common enemy’s chest.

But he wasn’t yet dead, and I could feel that Yui was fine with the fatal wound she inflicted...But I wasn’t. I grasped her shoulders and turned her around as I took out the dagger, wiped the blood on my clothes and handed it back to her, before taking out my own  hair needle and repeatedly stabbed it into his face, feeling a burning sense of satisfaction hearing the desperate shrieks of agony he let out.

Before I could properly finish him off, I felt myself dragged away by a pair of strong arms who then took away the weapon from my hand, throwing it far away.

“That’s enough, Y/N. You’ve got your revenge. He’s dead. Now allow yourself to enjoy what happened and calm down. It’s over, alright? It’s all over. Everything will be fine now. You don’t have to ever get violent again. It’s alright, Y/N, my dear, you’re safe. He won’t ever harm you, Yui, nor anyone ever again, I promise you. I promise.” Kinshiro cupped my face, making sure I look at him in the eyes as he spoke, as this was really the only way he could get me to hear anything when I was in my Assassin mode, and thankfully, my muscles relaxed feeling his warm touch. “Okay...Okay...Yeah, you’re right...But it felt damn good....And now it’s over...No more of this mess with Tori...Everything else will be nothing but small fishes. That’s great.” I gingerly placed my palms on his chest, tracing them upwards so I could grasp his shoulders to keep myself sustained. “That’s right, dear, things will only get better from now on. For all of us, including the people from the North. Everyone will benefit now that it’s done. You won’t have to keep being stressed over revenge, and Yui can finally live a normal life...With the one she loves.” Kin winked at me, nodding his head toward the purple haired assassin who was holding the girl protectively in his arms. “Yeah...You are right....Kin?” I called out to him, smiling softly. “Let’s go home.” my grin widened as soon as he started smiling as well. “Let’s go home.” he agreed as he picked me up bridal style with shocking ease, then started walking towards our home, as we giggled at each other like little mischievous children.

As Kinshiro declared the mission was a success, he let the vigilantes scatter and get a good rest, for the next day we will meet to share the reward for killing Tori and everything, then we finally went home.

I don’t think I ever felt better in my life, nor did I ever feel safer, warmer, more loved or anything, but I was genuinely happy that I had no need to stress or feel angry over injustices like this.

Life was finally making much more sense now, and thankfully, I can continue doing whatever I wanted to do, be it Kabuki theater, being a waitress, an assassin, or a Geisha for Kinshiro, and none of the fun or gleam of life will ever subside.

All was finally well.

Nothing But A Memory

@awesomemikaus​: request where reader is Campbell's daughter, but she doesn't know anything, about the reason she came to town and so on, and Tommy plans to use her as a spy, approach her with that motive, but when she realizes that she doesn't know anything , falls in love with her, also that the reader is an angel. And then hell breaks loose when he finds out. very angsty pleaese

An: I'm gonna name my CHILD Sloan. Also , thank u for requesting this bc wow. I loved this. So much. So much that it's 4K words. X

"She can't get hurt, Arthur! Oi! Listen to me!" The brother was clearly upset by how nonchalant Arthur was to his statement. Only once the brothers met each other's eyes did Thomas feel comfortable enough to speak again. "She can't get hurt."

"She's our enemy, what the fuck do you mean she can't get hurt?!" Arthur's eyes widen, he can't wrap his head around Thomas's statement. Not even a bloody week ago, the two were plotting her death.

Thomas grabs a fistful of his brothers shirt and pulls him to his chest. "You lay a finger on her and I swear, Arthur..."

"She's Campbell's daughter." He reminds his brother, just in case he tumbled and took a fall for the worse.

"Please!" Tommy's never pleaded to anyone, let alone his brothers.

But with the weak way Thomas executes his words, Arthur feels a pang in his heart. Thomas falls back to his chair and lets out a shaky breath. He knows that his brothers fell spellbound to the lady.

"Fuckin' hell, Tom..." Arthur takes a step back, swallowing. You've fallen for her, haven't youse?"

3 Days Ago

Sloan Campbell arrived to Small Heath by the luck of the late night train. She was overjoyed to enter Birmingham, the busy, underdeveloped city. As a lover of history, she stayed concentrated in the vast city, occupying her time in libraries, city hall and the museum. Of course she was oblivious that her father, was on a special mission in the very city she was visiting. Alas, twas only Aunt Pol, John, Arthur and Thomas knew about Sloan's visit. It was the Shelby clan who had a plan to mercilessly sacrifice the lady in return for Campbell's injustices to them.

"He's causing chaos throughout the damn city nevermind our own business." Thomas banged his closed fist on the table, during their regular meetings.

The topic of inspector Campbell was brought up. Thomas got upset rather quickly before Polly Grey decided to make the boys feel reassured.

"You don't pay him no mind, we'll get him soon enough." Polly snaps, "Thomas sit down, I've got something to tell you lot."

She watched the colour return to their faces as she told them about Sloan Campbell, the only daughter that stems from the likes of inspector Campbell. She explains Campbell had a love so deep for his only child. He would do anything for Sloan. Anything.

It was Polly Grey who suggested the boys dangle the life of poor Sloan over Campbell, allowing him to flee the city in return for his daughter's life. It was going to be an exchange, simple, harmless. It would only scare the girl.

But it was Thomas who had allowed the darkness to consume him. Once Polly left, he had begun to stir up another plan.

"We need to punish him the way he's punished us." He said after a few drinks were in his belly.

Thomas put down his hat on the table and looked at the blades within the stitching of the flatcap. He was motivated by the idea of killing her.

Polly was discrete, only use her, do not actually harm her. Polly would no allow for the brutal killing of a lady. Especially an innocent one. And innocent she was. And yet, Thomas had different intentions.

Thomas continued. "Like the ones in the war who wanted us dead. We need to kill them before they kill us."

"Fuck yea..." Arthur concludes, after a line of coke. He rubs his nose and grabs a glass of whiskey from the table.

John speaks up. "We ought to blind her Tom,"

"No, worse. We kill her, and lay her body on the same ground Campbell walks so brazen on. This is our city, it's about time we show 'im that boys."

So, it was a plan, the brothers all agreed. Thomas was to be responsible for the capturing of the lady. Arthur and John were going to gut like her a pig and that Inspector Campbell will go running back to Belfast.

There he stood in city hall, awaiting her presence when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Who would've thought the person who tapped him was the lady herself.

Of course, she didn't know who he was. All she wanted was to know where the ticket booth was, after all, she had noticed the stranger had a ticket to the tour.

"Sorry to bother you, but could you point me where the ticket booth is?"

Thomas was frazzled, no, he was rather nervous. Not by the woman herself, nor the fact that the person he was going to shoot dead was standing before him, but rather, her remarkable beauty. She looked nothing like the photograph he was given, no, that was too old of a photo. It was blurry and did not do her justice. The woman before him was breathtakingly stunning, God like. She took his breath away, alongside everyone else within her presence.

He pointed to the ticket booth, she had smiled revealing such a pure soul.

She looked nothing like the awful Chief Inspector Campbell.

Following that dreadful day, Thomas followed Sloan around the city. She was shy, happy, she wore her emotions on her chest. She was unjustifiably beautiful. Petite, brown hair that framed her perfect face. She was the type of woman to use her hair to hide her face, and she smiled, and she laughed. She was goofy, original, she didn't want to please the fucking world. She simply wanted to live. Sloan would always drop a coin into the beggars hat, but more than that, she would stand beside him and ask him if he's alright. She was perfect, the more Thomas studied, the more his cheeks grew hot and his hands grew sweaty.

Yes, that she was, picture perfect.

Finally, Sloan had noticed him peeping one day while she read a book in the library, she raised her head as he ducked his. Pretending to be occupied in a book until she cleared her throat. Sloan stood before him.

"Can I help you?" She asked Thomas, who had looked up at her.

He wanted to run away, feeling his throat dry. He shut his book and got lost in her eyes. "Sorry?"

"You've been watching me from the second I got here. Never mind the fact that I'm nearly certain you're the same lad I had encountered a day ago 'round City Hall."

"I-" He began. Again, she's taken him by surprise. Thomas thinks fast. "I wanted to ask you if I can take you out. I find you beautiful and, yah, will you allow me to take you out for tea or somethin'?" He felt his heart race, his face heating up. He wanted to roll his eyes to the back of his head. Take you out for tea or somethin'? Really Thomas?

She chuckles, narrowing her gaze at him. But the truth was, Sloan was flattered. The man before her was a tall and handsome with great posture and teeth. Hopefully he's got a good paying job too.

No, to Sloan, the man before her was undeniable, most of the men in the world were pretty fucked up from the war. All they do is drink and fight. So, she cracked a smile and replied dubiously, "Alright then. I'm staying at the Midland Hotel, pick me up for eight tonight."

And with that, she spun around and walked her way back to her seat, where she opened up the book she was reading and started where she left off.

Thomas didn't tell the boys that he was going on a date with Sloan fucking Campbell. Instead, he told them that he was going to entertain the new barmaid Grace. They cheered him on, and off Thomas went.

Though it was a fake date, the closer the lad got to the Midland hotel, the more anxious and uneasy he got. Thomas was fumbling with his tie, shifting in his suit. He got feverishly irritated with the cuffs on his blazer and nearly tore them from his suit altogether.

Meanwhile, Sloan readied herself rather quickly. Wearing a navy blue dress and black kitten heels. She had allowed herself to calm down after finishing two glasses of champagne.

She stood before a mirror once finished and beamed at the finished product. "So, you find me beautiful?" Her serious, sexual face makes her giggle.

"Oh Sloan," She turns to her side and runs her hands along her dress. "You do look mighty fine though."

And she did, with her hair in light curls and a touch of makeup on. She put on her favourite perfume and listened to the radio, Sloan was a natural beauty, but she looked especially stunning tonight.

So stunning that when she walked down the stairs to the lobby, two men had offered their hands to assist her before Thomas was able to get to her. He made sure to claim her before any man would.

"Hi." She says, her hand falls into his. His hand is warm, and she flushes. The two are nervous.

Thomas stands tall, "Hi, you look..."

She's taken his breath away, all he does is shake his head. The silk material of the dress is plush around her curves. Thomas notices her décolletage, Sloan's stunning. Thomas quickly concluded and leans down to kiss her cheek.

"You look absolutely mesmerizing tonight, Sloan." He whispers in her ear.

She blushes, and as the two get on with their first date, she can't help but hold her tongue, wanting to tell Tommy the same thing.

He was kind hearted, chivalrous. He took her to a restaurant where people grew rather interested in Tommy and Sloan. 

They were numb to it, she discussed her passion of history he explained his passion of horses. They listened to each other in great detail. He explained that he had three brothers and a sister, to which she told him that she was an only child.

"Are your parents alive?" He asks, knowing the answer. But there was something so sweet about listening to her speak. Thomas grew fond of her voice, among many other things.

"Yes, and yours?" She tore apart a piece of bread and popped it in her mouth.

"No. Are you close to your parents then?"

She takes a sip of her wine. "I'm sorry to hear about your parents. Also. Yes and no. My mum and I are very close, but my father and I could have a better bond for sure." Sloan mentions Thomas's full plate. "How come you're not eating?"

He runs his sweaty palms over his pants, "I'm too nervous to eat." He replies honestly. His stomach twists and turns in knots. Somehow, the dinner that was supposed to be a stall before her death, ended up being so much more than that.

She blushes, looking down. "Do I make you nervous?"

Sloan looks at him with big eyes, and Thomas is nearly certain she's capable of murdering him. Right there. At that very moment. All he desires is her lips against his, and her body against his.

You take my breath away, Sloan.

After dinner, the two walked side by side down the street. Thomas has so many good qualities about him, it made Sloan very happy. Even though he was a hard shell to crack at first, he opened up and revealed things to her that he would have a hard time with admitting to anyone else.

Beaming, she up and into his eyes, "Thomas,"

"Yes." He raised an eyebrow, looking down at her.

"The people of the city practically bow down to you, I can't help but wonder what it is that you do."

His mouth twitched, "I own several businesses."

"Business that involve horses? You had told me you love them."

"Yes, something like that." Thomas doesn't want to give much away. After all, he is a no good criminal.

She chews on her inner cheek and Thomas smiles.

"Is there something else you'd like to ask me?" He stood in front of her, preventing the two from continuing their walk.

"No." She reveals, meeting his baby blue eyes. "I just want to tell you I had a great time with you tonight."

He ought to grab that face and kiss her all over. No, he thinks about the plan. How could he forget!? Death to the inspector’s daughter. But as she poured her heart into him, he can't help but put that idea in a cupboard in the deep depths of his mind, and shut the door. Death to the inspector’s daughter, no. Not her.

"As did I," He grins, and is startled when she rests her hand on his chest and leaves a soft kiss to his cheek. Thomas flushes, "Thank you."

She chuckles and mentions the hotel down the street. "Will you walk me to the hotel?"

Fuck. The end already?

Thomas nods and the two of them walk a little closer this time. He puts an arm around her and once they stood in the lobby together, Tommy Shelby willed himself to bent down and kiss her. Though it was a ballsy move on Shelby's part, Campbell deepens the kiss. She hooked her arm around his shoulder and went from a quick peck, to a passionate kiss.

She gives his hand a squeeze as she settles into her heels. "Thanks again for a tonight."

"No," He's drunk off of that kiss. Where did she learn to kiss like that? Holy hell. "Thank you." So much.

The two went their separate ways. Tommy feels as though he's walking on clouds. Sloan doesn't feel an ounce tired as she lays in bed, flattered by the kind words shared tonight.

Once he's home, he doesn't resort to the drugs as a sleep aid, but rather, Thomas falls asleep dreaming pleasantly of Sloan.

The two became inseparable. Thomas surprised Sloan with flowers the following day, he took her to Johnny's Yard, where they spent an evening under the stars. They held hands this time, and he smiled and laughed more. He wanted to kiss her lips again, and she wanted nothing but the same.

"You've brought me to the outskirts of the Small Heath, where there are portable homes and plenty of cow shit to keep a garden alive for years!" Sloan pinched her nose, giving Tommy a silly face as she sat beside him. "I wish you had told me, I wouldn't have worn heels."

The two of them sat under the stars. The soft autumn breeze was welcoming. The women from the homes had prepared a dinner for the young couple. Thomas was adamant on keeping Sloan out of the city. Campbell had harmed Polly just hours ago, and that scared Thomas. He feels conflicted though, with admitting to his family that he fancies the Inspectors daughter. Thomas doesn't quite know what to do.

"I reckon I was conceived here." He whispers, kissing the top of her head.

Sloan laughs, burying her face in his chest. "Well I'm honoured to be here, then. Despite the cow shit."

Thomas flushes. "I want to own this land someday."

"You should." She looks up and smiles at him.

"I've never told anyone that before," Tommy chuckles. He notices the long grass shift in the wind. "I've never really thought about the future like this, before."

"Why?"

"There was nothing really good for me to look forward to until now." He found himself looking at Sloan before admiring. "Until I met you."

Her heart melts, and she lunges at him, covering him in kisses.

Laying together afterward, Sloan had noticed the stars in the sky settle into bright white lights. She smiles helplessly, cuddling into his chest, the smell of him is delicious.

Thomas also gets lost in the night sky, with his lady by his side, what else can he do except take a deep breath and feel like life is complete. That night the two of them made love under the stars. It was slow and soft, yet feverish and passionate.

Sloan had giggled as the Thomas laid on his back struggling to breathe. "What is it?" He asked, oh, he could hear Sloan laugh forever.

"I've never made love outdoors before." She whispers.

"Nor have I." He replies honestly.

The two lay nested together until they fall asleep.

He had been stalling with the boys. Apparently things between "Grace the Barmaid" and Thomas had been progressing. The boys believed it, gullible they are. Polly stuck her nose up as Thomas told the family a lie. But regardless, they agreed, a day after tomorrow, they were to kill Sloan Campbell.

That evening as the two of them laid naked, listening to their soft breaths and the night sky, he had something very important to say. Something that's been occupying his mind since the first time the two of them went on a date.

"Sloan, why aren't your father and you close?"

Certainly she's just as fucked as her father is. It was John who said that as a way to excuse the fact that they were going to kill a woman.

"Well I don't agree with the things my father does, his values, his beliefs, they're...well, they're quite terrible." She reveals, feeling comfortable with talking to Tommy about this. "Aside from the fact that he used to hurt my mum."

He grits his teeth at the thought of young Sloan having to witness any form of abuse within the home.

Thomas cradled her head on his chest, as he tended to do after the two of them made sweet, sweet love. So, John was wrong, she isn't bad like her dad. She's just as loving and good as Thomas knew she was all along.

With that, he goes on to ask her an extremely important question. "Do you reckon you love me, Sloan?"

She stops running her hand over his chest and sits up to look at him. She's red from the sex, or perhaps it's the question he's asked her. "Tommy-"

Thomas sits up and combs through her hair. The loose curls that fall from her bun. "Honestly. Do you?"

"I..." She said, her eyes drift elsewhere. "I do have strong feelings for you but love?"

He swallows, making up his mind rather quickly. "I love you, Sloan. And I'm going to propose somethin' and I want you to listen to me."

Her eyes widen.

"Come away with me. Let's go somewhere only we know, somewhere quiet and freeing and-"

She puts a finger on his mouth. "What are you talking about? Running away?"

He grabs her wrist and Tommy leans in to run a hand over his jaw. He gets lost in her sincere eyes. "I don't much about the world, Sloan. Hell, I feel as though I barely know meself sometimes. But a life with you, I do want. I-I need it, to be honest." He set his lips firmly, his time his thumb runs over her bottom lip. "I'm certain about you."

"We can't run away together."

"Why not? I've got enough money to travel the world-" Please, please, please allow me this!

"I want to stay here." She whispered, watching the colour in Tommy's eyes shift from a soft blue to a the bright sea blue. Her fingers caress his cheek just as he was doing to her. "With you, n-not run."

His shoulders dropped. But he had hope, one last sliver of hope. Thomas noticed the crease in between her forehead and gently kissed it. "Meet me here tomorrow evening. Think about it, Sloan. I'll have my bags packed, and I hope you will too."

She nods, agreeing that she'll consider the idea of running away with Tommy.

Unfortunately, that night, when Tommy dropped her off at the hotel, he didn't receive a goodnight kiss.

Sloan didn't sleep. She paced around with nothing but an occupied mind. The truth was, she was beginning to fall deeply in love with Tommy. But to run away? It was something she didn't want.

It led to so many questions, like why did he want to run away? Why was he so adamant? Sloan felt her heart sink to her stomach as her heart rate lowered, she fell asleep with nothing but an aching heart.

The following morning, Tommy stood before his family. Today was the day Sloan Campbell was to be murdered. Polly still hadn't a clue of their plans so she was not invited to the final meeting. The entirety of that meeting, Tommy was quiet. He had his bags packed at home. He had sent a letter addressed to her to the Midland Hotel, a love letter if you will. One that contains solid information that will hopefully push Sloan into leaving with him. 

"Why is he being so quiet?" John had grumbled to Arthur who shrugged.

"I 'ave no fuckin' clue." He whispered back before the doors to the Garrison opened, revealing a shaken Polly. Her eyes are hungry for blood, her eyes set on Tommy.

"Been doin' your job have you?" She asks, hasty and panicked.

"What?"

"Spying on Campbell's child, Tommy, hows that been?!" She’s got her hands on her hips.

Fuck. He's been caught. Before he can confess, or lie, he cheek is met with Polly's hand. She slaps her nephew hard, like when she had caught him stealing from the baker down the street.

"Have you no disregard for this family?! You're fucking his daughter!"

Arthur stood from his seat, his eyes meet Thomas’s. "What the fuck is she talking about, Tom?"

“Oh yea, I’ve heard about the love letter you’ve written to her. The delivery man was practically shaking in his boots, Tom! Soon, Campbell himself will know about this!” 

“Listen to me-” Thomas begins, but Arthur lunges forward but John grabs his older brother. 

“Enough, Arthur! Sit down!” 

“I ought to kill the both of youse!” Arthur barks.

"She can't get hurt, Arthur! Oi! Listen to me!" The brother was clearly upset by how nonchalant Arthur was to his statement. Only once the brothers met each other's eyes did Thomas feel comfortable enough to speak again. "She can't get hurt."

"She's our enemy, what the fuck do you mean she can't get hurt?!" Arthur's eyes widen, he can't wrap his head around Thomas's statement. Not even a bloody week ago, the two were plotting her death.

Thomas grabs a fistful of his brothers shirt and pulls him to his chest. "You lay a finger on her and I swear, Arthur..."

"She's Campbell's daughter." He reminds his brother, just in case he tumbled and took a fall for the worse. John tries to break the two up, but there isn’t a soul that can tame Thomas when he’s passionately angry. 

But with the weak way Thomas executes his words, Arthur feels a pang in his heart. He knows that his brothers fell spellbound to the lady.

"Fuckin' hell, Tom..." Arthur takes a step back, swallowing. “You've fallen for her, haven't youse."

"She's happy." Thomas whispers, looking down as he chucked his cigarette on the cold street. "With me, I mean, she's happy."

“Fucking hell!” Arthur slams his hand against the table. “Out of all the girls in the land, you pick her!” Of course Arthur was thrilled for his brother, after all, he hadn’t been with a woman since before the war. But Sloan was too risky.

Polly speaks, "Tommy, you cannot love a woman like that, she, her father is an inspector for the government."

"But I am."

"You are what?" She's afraid to even ask.

"In love with her." He whispered.

“What do you want to do then?” Arthur finally asked after calming down. “Marry her and run off?” 

He felt his breath shake, “I honestly don’t know.” 

And yet, he found himself in Johnny's Yard at dawn. Thomas stilled as she stood on the grounds. He had wished, prayed and pleaded that she would accept his letter and pack her belongings. He saw her frame at the top of the hill, she stood beside the tree the two had laid in the past two evenings. Sloan’s heart was breaking as she stood by herself. No bags packed, all she had was the letter he had sent her at her side. She had met him here, this was the second time, and like the first, Sloan was quite anxious of what was to come.

Thomas didn’t allow the time or heart to say anything, so, instead, he cocked his gun back and swallowed. With her back to him, be began. "In the bleak midwinter."

She was shaking, and it pained Thomas to see her this way. She dropped the letter, the wind consumed it. Thomas looked up and watched as the love letter soared into the air.

"Thomas," She whispered. Sloan felt her heart in her throat, choking her. She clenched her fists. "Please why are you-"

"Shut up!" He snapped, it tore him apart. "Shut up."

Tears roll down Sloan's cheeks, all she can do is muster the strength to turn around. Her eyes met Thomas's, and when she saw the barrel of the gun, Sloan did feel like dying. Her heart was broken, the man she had fallen so rapidly in love with was going to kill her. This was a devastating love story. A tragedy she had read about in Julius book, Creid Erton.

"You didn't mean any of it then?" Sloan's voice is shaky as she speaks so timidly. "The love, the vow to protect me."

“I told you we should leave together. You should have listened.” His eyes glazed over. “You should have listened!” He shouts, and his fingers rim the trigger. 

There is a pop, and a bullet sores between the two. Tommy grabs Sloan and forces her to the ground, she gasps, looking up at Thomas who shields her, “Stay down.” He tells her. 

“Sloan!” Campbell’s voice comes from the bottom of the hill. “Shelby, you bastard, give me my daughter!” 

Sloan panics. “Let me talk to him” She tells Thomas, “He won’t hurt me if I tell him I’m safe-” 

“No!” 

“You pointed a gun at me, he thinks you’ll kill me.” 

Fuck, she’s right. “Be careful, please.” Thomas allows for her to stand, she slowly makes her way towards her father. 

“Dad, I’m alright.” She has her hands up. 

“What the bloody hell, Sloan?! What are you doing with Tommy? Do you know who this man is?!” Campbell lowers his weapon. 

“I love him, dad.” She starts.

“Love!?” He laughs, and raises his gun. “Yer just as stupid as yer mother.”

Thomas gasps and Sloan lets out a cry before a stray bullet punctures her shoulder, she falls back and sees the beautiful sky. Thomas is on his feet and shooting at Campbell who dies from a gunshot to the head. 

He races down the hill and grabs Sloan who is losing more blood every second. Thomas put pressure on it, and she screams in pain. He repeats that he loves her, and he’s sorry. Her world goes dark and the next time Sloan wakes up, she’s in a hospital in Belfast. 

And Tommy Shelby is nothing but a memory.

What Once Was Chapter 4

This chapter took waaaay longer than it should of, but I kept getting stuck. I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for reading!

As the sun drops below the horizon, the palace is illuminated with gold. The tallest towers seemed to kiss the stars. Across the alabaster bridge is Portia, the Countess’s servant who Armyah ran into at the market earlier that day. She walks toward the magician, meeting her halfway.

“If you told me you were Armyah I would’ve escorted you to the palace!” she teased. Armyah simply smiled back, but then, movement caught the corner of her eye. Corkscrewing through the swirling waters below was come sort of creature. She leaned over the edge of the bridge to get a better look. Whatever it is, it’s glowing like a bloodless ghost in the sparkling moat. Its body was long and rippling, almost ribbon-like. “Something catch your eye?” Portia asked, catching up with the other woman. She leans over the edge next to the fortune-teller. Her eyes light up when she spots the wriggling creature in the water below. “Oh! Do you like animals?” she inquired excitedly. Armyah smiled at her and nodded. “Oh good! You’ll definitely enjoy your stay here.” She loops her arm through the magician’s and leads her the rest of the way across the bridge. “The palace is home to all kinds of exotic pets! But you don’t want to get too friendly with that one.” She jabbed her thumb in the direction of the creature they just saw. “That’s a vampire eel, imported from faraway swamps. No eyes or ears, but they’re still pretty graceful, don’t you think?” Armyah doesn’t say anything. Even she wanted to, she didn’t think she’d be able to get a word in edgewise. “Unless you splash around a lot, they won’t even bother you. But you wouldn’t want to catch a bite. If they bite, they don’t stop drinking until the body is dry…” The fortune-teller nods slowly, peering just over the parapet at the creature as it spirals into the billowing silt. Graceful isn’t a word she’d use for the eel…terrifying seemed pretty fitting, though. Portia occupies them both with meaningless conversation all the way to the intricate doors. As they get closer, Armyah’s stomach starts twisting. Uncertainties start to bubble like water coming to a boil over a fire. Was this a mistake?

“We’ve arrived,” Portia smiles brightly. For some reason, the other woman settles Arymah’s nerves with the most simplistic of gestures. She swings her fists against the copper plating on the doors resulting in three skull-rattling rings. The pendulous doors swing open after the last echo fades and she sweeps the magician inside the radiantly lit hallways. Inside is like a different world, everything is gleaming; the floors, the walls, steep ceilings, all clean-cut and polished stone. Lining the hall on either side are many servants, standing at attention in brilliant uniform. Armyah winces slightly, she suddenly feels underdressed in her dirty, hand-made clothing. The servant just inside the door reaches out to take her bag, but Armyah clutches it close to her, unwilling to let the cards out of her possession. A chorus of welcomes chime from the smiling faces in all directions, the magician’s eyes flick left and right uneasily at the greetings. When they reached the end of the line, one servant slips away to join the pair. A kind face with exaggerated features beams up at them as they bow deeply. Barely four feet tall, a brilliant cerulean feather stands proudly from their hat of purple velvet. “How are we doing on time?” Portia asks them.

“Impeccable timing!” they exclaimed, “the first course will be served shortly. Her ladyship has yet to descend.” Portia heaves a sigh of relief.

“Perfect, run and tell the kitchen that our guest has arrived,” she directs. The funny, small person salutes dramatically and slips away behind a panel in the wall which slides seamlessly shut behind them. “Well, well! It looks like we’ll be arriving right on time!” Portia gives the magician a knowing wink and gestures for her to follow, “Her ladyship will be joining us soon. I’ll show you to the dining room.” Armyah stopped dead in her tracks.

“Dining?” she gulped, audibly, “as in…me? Dining? With the Countess?” Portia only looks at the young woman a moment before barking out a hearty laugh.

“What? Don’t tell me you thought we wouldn’t feed you!” She giggles and pats Armyah on the shoulders in sympathy. “Don’t be shy. You’re the guest of honor!” Her words make the apprentice’s stomach flutter with everything but hunger. Nevertheless, she follows the servant’s purposeful stride to the dining room. Soon, they were standing before a fine, mahogany door and Portia turns to face her. “We’ll go in together, okay?” Not looking at her, Armyah takes a deep breath and nods. She heaves open the heavy doors and leads the fortune-teller inside.

Rich scents fill her senses, unfamiliar and tantalizing. A quintet dressed in gauzy evening gowns are playing a pleasant, ambling melody. Before her, an impossibly long table laid heavy with platters of the most careful delicacies. There are foods that Armyah has never seen nor dreamed of right here in front of her. Portia pulls out a chair for her and she sinks down into the plush seat, clutching her bag to her chest anxiously. Now that the food was right in front of her, teasing her, her stomach knots. She wants to dig in, but the Countess had yet to arrive…and everyone was watching her. It takes every ounce of her effort to tear her eyes away from the table, trying to focus on anything but the delicious spread inches away. Her gaze falls on a strange painting on the wall across from her. The scene is that of a meal shared among a host of figures with the heads of beasts. The table is laden with smaller animals, provided by a central character with the head of a goat. Rays of gold glitter around its head, and its red eyes are strikingly lifelike.

“Do you like the painting?” a sonorous voice asks.

“No…” Armyah replies dreamily, without thinking. A chiming laugh pulls her from her thoughts, whipping her head to the voice’s owner. The Countess takes her seat, just as graceful as she remembers from last night. She smiles at the magician placidly.

“Such honesty!” she proclaims, “I must confess that I do not like it either.” She sneers in the direction on the offending décor. “I find it sometimes spoils my appetite. So why does it remain on the wall, where I must look at it always, you ask?” A servant appears at Armyah’s side and presents a bowl of yogurt and cucumber soup before her. She lifts the bowl to her lips and drinks generously. “Sentimental value, I suppose,” the Countess continued, “It was one of my husband’s favorites.” The magician is taken aback at the mention of the late Count. She looks back to the painting, the goat-like character in the center somehow seems familiar. Its ruby eyes so vivid it looks almost as if they’re looking right back at her.

“Beautiful red,” she mutters absentmindedly, still slurping her soup.

“Ah yes…” The Countess muses, “It is a beautiful red. But, more to the point…you have a spoon, I recommend using it.” Armyah flushes crimson, her bowl is already empty at that point. She sets the elaborate dish down carefully and wipes her mouth on her sleeve, not daring to meet the Countess’s gaze. Amusement shimmers in her brilliant, ruby eyes. “As I was saying, the goat-headed one in the middle is supposed to be him. Providing for the people, as he saw himself.” She scoffed, “Well, he certainly knew how to entertain. Festivities at the palace her exhaustive…he loved to spoil his guests.” Armyah’s empty bowl was whisked away, replaced with a dish of flaky golden pastries with some sort of savory filling. The Countess watches with morbid curiosity as the magician devours them. “Tell me, Armyah…did you ever attend our Masquerade?” She blinks up at the Countess, mouth full. “I would imagine so. Our doors were open to all…up to a certain capacity.” Armyah chews her pastry slowly, uncertain how to answer. If she did ever attend, she doesn’t remember. The Masquerade was a party held each year in celebration of the Count’s birthday. All this talk of the past, she wonders if it has to do with why she was called here in the first place.

“I know it’s a difficult matter to discuss,” the Countess reassures her, “I know how fondly the people of Vesuvia remember the Masquerade. And, of course, how deeply affected we all were by the murder.” Armyah nearly chokes on her pastry. Mercifully, she catches herself, but her pulse quickens nonetheless. “Such a terrible shock to the guests. Such a vicious injustice on this house,” the Countess looks almost forlorn until her expression hardens, “To slaughter the host while her celebrates his birthday, sharing his joy and prosperity, with open doors? A hateful crime, indeed.” The empty plate in front of the magician was replaced with a fragrant lamb dish in a complicated sauce. All she knows about the murder was through rumor and whispers. The story was full of holes, more questions than answers, but the end was always the same: The Count retired to his chambers and, by midnight, he and his bedroom were both engulfed in flames. The culprit was captured on the spot…or surrenders, the details vary. However, before he could be brought to justice, the murder escaped. The palace has been closed to the public since.

“You may be wondering why I’m telling you this. Why I called you here,” the Countess spoke with gravity. Every eye in the room was set on her. “I have been planning this for some time…This year, we will hold the Masquerade once more,” she announces. The room was split between two different reactions, delighted and petrified. “The gates will again open, and the festivities of Lucio’s honor will be more fantastical than ever.” She dabs the corner of her mouth daintily, you could cut the tension in the room with a knife. The only one who seems indifferent to the news is Portia. “As I said, I have planned all the necessary details already. There is but one loose end in need of tying.” She folds her napkin and places it back on her lap. “The murderer roams free to this day…too long he’s evaded me. So long as he stalks the shadows of this city, I cannot guarantee the safety of my guests.” She closes her eyes, her eyebrows furrow in determination. “I must find him, and I must bring him to justice before the people of Vesuvia. Surely, you know the murderer of whom I speak…” Armyah did know, she knew very well who the Countess was referring to. “Doctor Julian Devorak,” the name fell from her lip like venom, “my husband’s trusted physician.” There was a terrible crash. All eyes land on Portia, whose face is stricken with horror. The broken remnants of their dessert at her feet. “Portia?” The Countess’s eyes are wide with shock.

“F-forgive me, milady,” the young woman stammered, “slippery hands.” Two servants rush to her aid, sweeping away the shattered porcelain with wind-sprint speed.

“You are forgiven,” the Countess sighed with a wave of her elegant hand, “Anyway…this is where you come in, Armyah.” She looked to the magician as the young woman shrinks under her gaze. “The fugitive has proved very elusive. The palace guard is helpless in rooting him out, but while they continue to disappoint me…” she looks pointedly at the guards stationed on either side of her. “You come highly recommended. Your master is known far and wide.” Armyah was aware Asra had a reputation, but she didn’t realize his name was spoken far and wide. “Rumor has it that you have surpassed him already.” She wasn’t sure where the Countess was getting this information, but she would hardly say she was stronger than her teacher. However, he does go on about how gifted and talented she is. “I, myself, can see the future, in dreams whether I like it or not. That is how I know it is you who will find the fraudulent doctor who betrayed us and murdered my husband.” Her sour face softened, albeit slightly. “This is why I’ve called you here, Armyah. If anyone can help me find him, it’s you.” The Countess gives a smile that can only be described as mischievous as she takes a sip of wine.

“And…if we find him?” the magician squeaked. It’s not what she wanted to ask…she wanted to ask what would happen if she dared to tell the Countess no.

“When we find him,” the Countess affirms, setting her glass down hard, “we will bring him to justice before the people so that all may see his long-awaited punishment.” She sneers in disgust, “whether he begs for his life or hangs his head in defeat, the people will delight in his suffering. A spectacle of vengeance…the mob with love it.” Another impish smile crosses her lips as a servant fills the Countess’s glass and she takes a fresh sip. “And so, to commence the festivities the doctor will die on the gallows.” Armyah turned green at the thought. “If all goes according to plan, that is.” She rises. On instinct, Armyah does so as well. “Portia?” the Countess calls.

“Yes, milady?” she replies, stepping forward and awaiting her command.

“Show Armyah to the guest quarters. I imagine there is much to ponder before the night is out,” the smile she gives the magician is almost tender.

“Right away, milady,” Portia nodded obediently. She whisks young woman to the door after a humble bow to the Countess.

“I’m interested to see more of this magic of yours, Armyah,” she calls after them, “and I look forward to our partnership.” Portia practically pulls the fortune-teller out into the corridor. The Countess is probably counting on the fact that she’s too afraid to refuse.

They’re quiet as Portia leads her to her room, but she doesn’t mind. The Countess’ words left them both with a lot to think about. After a few turns, they pass a wide staircase, veiled in shadow. It’s cold and smells of ash. Armyah strains to see where they lead, but the darkness at the top is impenetrable. Curled up on the bottom are two large, lanky dogs. They notice the magician just as she saw them. Fathomless eyes fix on her and they silently rise from their stair. Though they look like they could strike at any given moment, she sensed no ill intent from the animals. She holds out her hand as they approach to sniff it. Huffing breaths tickle her skin and the longer they sniff her, the harder their tails swish back and forth. Portia watches is wonder.

“Oh…you actually got up from your favorite stair?” she asks the hounds, “These two never take kindly to strangers. It’s how they’re trained, but…” she pauses, hesitant, but intrigued, “I’ve never seen them act like this.” Slim snouts brush against Armyah’s sides as the dogs investigate her further. When they decide they’re satisfied, they draw back and look to the fortune-teller expectantly. There was something unsettling in their gaze. They weren’t ordinary dogs…and the deeper she looked into their eyes, the less she understood. She finds herself almost staring them down. The animals shiver and drop their heads low under the pressure of her observation. They slink back to the staircase obediently. When she looks back to Portia, her face is radient with curiosity. “I’ve…never seen them do that. For a second there, I was sure you were going to lose a couple of fingers. I’m impressed.” Armyah blushed from the compliment. “You didn’t cast a spell on them, did you?” Thankfully she laughed, the magician couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. “Ugh, remind me to get them their chamomile cakes after I get you to your room. Otherwise, they’ll be up all night.” She beckoned Armyah to follow her. As they passed the stairs she could feel her vision become hazy, almost like the feeling she gets when the cards speak to her, only more menacing. She shakes away the feeling and follows the Countess’s servant. They reach a wooden door with elaborate designs carved into it.

“Here we are!” Portia announced, “These will be your quarters for now, Armyah.” Armyah looked around at the beautiful room. It was simple compared to the rest of the palace, she was thankful for that. A large window looked over the city, dim under the moonlight. A daybed tucked under a canopy was nestled against the wall, it looked very comfortable. “You can put your things wherever you like.” Portia smiled at the magician. “Breakfast is at sunrise…I’ll be sure to wake you.” Armyah must’ve looked tired, the servant gave her a sympathetic smile. “If you find anything lacking, don’t hesitate to ask.” The fortune-teller put her bag on the bed and smiled at the other woman. “You look about ready to drop. I’ll leave you be unless you have any other burning questions?” Armyah blinked…she feels like she could tell Portia anything, but she knew better.

“What happened at dinner?” she asked, “why did you drop the tray?” The color drained from the girl’s face and she bites her lip anxiously. For a moment, Armyah thinks she just might bolt out the door leaving her question unanswered.

“You know…” she laughs nervously, “slippery hands, for one thing…” The magician doesn’t reply. “It’s just…we were all so glad to hear the Countess was expecting a guest, but to think she asked you to come here for something like this?” She quiet for a moment, then she shakes her head, “Finding that doctor who, for all anybody knows, could be dead in a ditch somewhere. I mean, it’s been years since anyone…you know.” She leans nonchalantly against the doorframe. “He could be anywhere, right?” And it’s not like the guards have had any recent leads. But now that you’re here…” she sighed, staring Armyah dead in the eyes, “the Countess is hopeful, for the first time I can remember. If anyone can help her, it’s you.” He pushes off the wall and claps the fortune-teller on the shoulder, “Sleep well, Armyah.” Her soft voice trails off as she walks through the door and shuts it behind her.

Armyah burrows herself in the soft, satin sheets and it feels as though she’s weightless. The sound of Portia’s ever distant foot-falls lull her into unconsciousness…

Of course she can’t sleep. After the day-long trek to the palace she finally has a chance to rest, but whenever she settles into the embrace of sleep she’s tugged back to consciousness. She sits up, frustrated. Once she does, she feels the faintest hint of magic in the air coming from somewhere beyond the door. Armyah slips quietly out of bed, slips on her shoes and grabs her bag. Turning the metal handle, she emerges into the brightly lit hallway. Thankfully, there’s no one in sight, she must’ve wasted a few hours tossing and turning. Shuffling down the hallway, she trusted her magic to lead her down the winding corridors. The trail leads her to a balmy veranda bathed in starlight. Below are the lush, green gardens and from the balcony she can see that the middle forms a maze of greenery with a clearing at the center. She silently descends to the garden path and follows the trail of magic through the maze. As she nears the center she can hear the soothing melody of falling water grow louder and louder. A gazing pool surrounding a beautiful fountain and a rich, old willow tree blanketing it. Hanging from the tree is a familiar face, a certain lavender snake she is delighted to see.

“Faust!” she whispers as to not alert anyone to their presence, “what are you doing here?” If she was here, maybe Arsa was too. She flicks her tongue at the magician and hovers over the gazing pool. She looks as if she wants to show her something. Armyah sits at the edge of the pool and leans over to peer in the reflective water below. The longer she concentrates on the shape of the water, the more the change; colors too faint to see start to deepen, shadows start to twist and form. She blinks, her reflection fades away and in its place is Asra, drawing water to his face and drinking deeply. Each droplet that falls from his hands sends ripples through the water and distorts his image. Armyah doesn’t speak, afraid that any sound will break the spell. She’s just relieved to see a familiar and friendly face. He shakes out his hair and blinks the water from his eyes and looks straight at his apprentice.

“Armyah?” he gasps in disbelief. He looks as surprised as she is. He leans forward, so close she can see the droplets sticking to his eyelashes. “Can you hear me?” Armyah nods, still barely able to believe she’s talking to him. If he didn’t do it, then how did she? “Incredible…” he breaths. He’s sitting cross-legged, probably beside a pond. His mount is laying beside him resting its head on his knee…it’s the same beast as she saw in her dream the night before. “I see Faust found you alright? I wasn’t sure about leaving her, but after that reading you gave me I thought I’d trust my intuition.”

“I’m glad she’s here,” Armyah admits. The serpent is still hanging from the branch. She looks very proud of herself. The magician is beyond relieved to have her near. In the pool, Asra looked pretty pleased with himself as well causing his apprentice to laugh, “I’m glad you’re here, too.” She swears she could see a blush creeping across his face, but she’s not sure why. Then the beast on his knee gives a grumbling snort resembling that of the sound of groaning wood.

“Where is here exactly?” he asks, looking behind her, “I know that tree…are you at the palace?” Armyah regales him with the details of the previous night with the Countess. However, she leaves out the part about the alleged murder breaking into their home…she doesn’t want him to worry. The more she speaks, the more interested he becomes. “Unbelievable! The day I leave is the day you needed me the most. Even then, you didn’t really need me at all.” She doesn’t say it aloud, but it would have been nice if he was there through it. The entire ordeal is still a bit overwhelming. “I’m glad Faust is with you, at least. I would guess that she had something to do with this.” He gestures to the water in front of him, “if anything happens to either of you, I’ll know. I can live with that.” She wanted to ask if he was so interested in her well-being then why did he leave in the first place, but she thought better of it. Mostly, because she’s too tired to argue. The beast on his knee groans and blinks awake, peering up at Asra. “Looks like we’ve rested long enough,” he pats the strange creature on the head and looks back at Armyah, “we have to go, but I’m really glad I got to see you.” He rises with one last glance and moves out of view of the gazing pool, the great beast lumbering behind him. The wind roars and the image was enveloped in a storm of rust-colored sand, once it clears she can see her reflection again with Faust slithering up next to her. The color of the sand, the creature beside him…everything was the same as that dream she had the night he left.

She remembers Asra once telling her magic is what you do to make the outcome of your desire become reality. Did her magic reach out to him, wherever he is, to find a familiar face in the sea of unknown surrounding her? Arymah rises, knees trembling with exhaustion, and beckons Faust to follow. Getting back to her room unnoticed is going to be a challenge. Steeling herself, she heads back to the palace. Birds chirping signal dawn is going to be arriving soon. A suffocating feeling engulfs her, and she feels almost like she’s being watched. Many eyes, from every corner of the garden. This maze is teeming with life. The rustling leaves are starting to sound like whispers. Hastening her step, she retreats up the stairs and slips back inside.

“That snake has gotten much bigger…”

Sorry about skipping over the part in Lucio’s old wing, but this chapter was getting way too long. Let me know what you think! <3

Tag list: @julians-chest-hair

Spoilers!

I didn't realize there were so many episodes of Love, Death + Robots, it's already taken me hours to watch 7 and a bit episodes (I also pause to unpack information, as I do with everything), so I'm gonna limit my general complaints and praises to what I've seen so far.

Firstly, I've noticed a trend in these stories. It's not in all of them but so far it's been in most of them. I'll expound on this later.

I'm going to list these in order.

Sonnie's Edge put me off right from the start by injecting a hard political statement in the first five minutes that influenced my perception of the piece as a whole. If I were to watch it again, or perhaps a few times, I don't think it would bother me quite as much. I can brush it off as a character quirk that adds depth or perhaps even shallowness to the characters. It is a little hard to shake that the ultimate antagonist is a man literally named "Dicko" who at one point is talked about with very general and possibly metaphorical language (which, perhaps ironically, is a failure of the Bechdel test). The odd way that the female characters are... Displayed... For lack of a better term, is quite hilarious to me. Throughout the piece Sonnie wears a practically see-through wife beater tank top and her nipples are perpetually erect. One of her cohorts merely wears an open leather jacket as a top. I don't personally see how either of these wardrobe choices adds to the story beyond the world's aesthetic, so they're just kind of there. Even more on this later.

Three Robots was a fun little short with lots of charm. Its ultimate political message was still underlying as the catalyst for the setting of the piece, while also being played off as a joke, but it didn't bother me much because personally I think no one will have the last laugh on the matter of climate change because regardless our descendants will be too busy trying to survive whatever ills either nature or their form of society brings to them. Good luck with that, kids.

The Witness was the most like an episode of The Twilight Zone, but instead of being broadcast on a public access channel, it's on fucking Pornhub. It had a really interesting premise of this sort of infinite loop with alternating roles, but all the extremely graphic nudity and sexual themes are really distracting from it. But more on this weird theme of completely gratuitous sex and nudity later (I promise I'll get to it, and I feel I have some very good points to make). I somewhat enjoyed it, but Jesus someone just tone it down. Not everything has to be Skinemax. It really does injustice to an intriguing story to compound it with needless flash.

Suits was so far my absolute favorite. I thought it was fun and exciting, with several bagsful of charm. It was so good that I don't have a lot to say about it except that I wish it had been longer. But it kind of speaks for itself in that regard, so if you watch anything at all from this anthology series based on my recommendation, make it this one. It also doesn't suffer "the theme."

Sucker of Souls was... Interesting... It had lots of fun violent action and it's portrayal of Vampires is extremely cool. It thankfully only has one bit of graphic nudity, and it isn't sexualized, it's more just benign. What is sexualized, however, is cats and dialogue. And that's a shame.

When the Yogurt Took Over was stupid and I don't care what anybody says. It was pointless. Something something man, something something arrogance and hubris, something something save us from ourselves, blah blah blah shut up. I hated this short so much that I'm not giving it the courtesy of a proper analysis. Also, tits in the Thumbnail.

Beyond the Aquila Rift was pretty good, despite some bizarre slipping accents. There was literally no reason for the primarily English cast to nebulize their accents for this one, and hearing a slip kind of takes me out of the story a little. It's a personal nitpick that doesn't apply to everyone's experience, I know. Not everyone can pull a perfect accent for multiple full-day sessions on a Mocap stage or in a recording booth. I get it. That's a me problem, not an it problem. Anyway. Like The Witness, Aquila Rift was very reminiscent of The Twilight Zone. And it did have it's own problem with gratuitous sex and nudity, and I PROMISE I'M TRYING TO GET THERE BEAR WITH ME PLEASE. The story could absolutely have been told without the graphic sex scene, and I find the implicit to be a far better storytelling tool than the explicit. Overall, I thought it was an interesting sci-fi mystery with a good (if somewhat predictable) climax (heh ignore that).

I'm still in the process of watching Good Hunting, so I think I'll wait until later to give my opinion on it. Though so far the furry vibe does not inspire much confidence. At the very least it can be justified in the plot.

Now I think I'll get to my thoughts on how some of these stories are linked.

It's this sort of sexual gratuity that I've observed Feminist-leaning Hollywood giving us whiplash over for a long time. Gratuitous sex and nudity in Hollywood exist as tools which males use to objectify females, and as female empowerment symbolism simultaneously. It's very selective and arbitrary to the point of being confusing. They seem to either worship or vilify sex, particularly the naked female form. Aquila Rift did turn it on its head by intentionally using it as a story point to distract a character (and by extension the viewer) from the insufferable reality around him, but again, I feel like the implicit rather than the explicit would have been a better choice for the story. In Sonnie's Edge (which indeed was very, very ow tha edge kind of edgy) there's a clear and obvious sapphic fetishism which tells me a lot about whomever wrote it. Personally I tend to think of lesbians as fellow human beings that I share a planet with, and not as golden fucking calves that can be exploited through marketing, posturing, and signaling, but what do I know? I have a penis.

I'm tired of everything in media being turned into softcore (or in the case of The Witness, practically hardcore) pornographic posturing. It's a dull storytelling tool that they formulate to keep the idiots interested, then they come up with a justification for it later (typically a metaphorical one, something something symbol of male gaze, something something symbol of empowerment, something something symbol of vulnerability, take your pick, there's a whole deck here). I'm not advocating that they be censored, I just wish they'd lift some of the pressure off of this particular visual crutch. It's becoming vapid.

I do want to say that I feel like we've come very very far in terms of sheer visual quality with computer animation. The photoreal graphics are slowly becoming almost indistinguishable from live action. It's very impressive, and I see it as a net positive for entertainment and only entertainment.

It does flicker a crazy conspiracy theorist switch in my mind that mankind has the capacity to use this technology for its own ends, be they political or otherwise. It scares me a bit that animation might one day become so good that we might never know what's actually going on when we watch the news media, not that we know much from the news anymore anyway. It's just frightening to me that the media could fake political statements from powerful people just to cause and stir controversy, or to cover up unsavory comments made by whatever party controls the prone-to-bias media at the time.

Deep existential dread aside, I've enjoyed much of what I've seen so far. Sorry for the long post, Tumblr hasn't added Read More to mobile. It's the most egregious of their crimes.

ADD Reviews Avengers: Infinity War

[Note: Contains spoilers for Avengers: Infinity War.] "We live inside a dream," Special Agent Dale Cooper once said on Twin Peaks. And so it has been for millions of people during the decade of Marvel Studios films that launched in 2008 with Jon Favreau's Iron Man.

I felt we had dodged a bullet back then, in the casting of talented but troubled actor Robert Downey Jr. as Tony Stark, after talk of Tom Cruise taking the role, and Marvel even publishing comic books with Stark drawn to resemble Cruise (a tactic which would actually work with Samuel L. Jackson, to the delight of just about everyone). Cruise was not right for the role. At that point I had been living with Tony Stark in my life for over thirty years, and I knew Downey would embody that part like no one else could. Thankfully Favreau knew it as well and convinced the studio to bet on Downey along with him.

But despite the unlimited potential in the characters owned by Marvel Comics, mostly borne out of the imagination and visual power of the late Jack Kirby, I wasn't expecting much from Iron Man and I doubt anyone in the movie industry was, either. Marvel's characters had been licensed time and time again to film and TV and even radio shows, and the one that gained the most traction was the TV series The Incredible Hulk, which took a few elements from Jack Kirby and Stan Lee's creation and then used them to retell The Fugitive. Similarly the less-well-regarded Spider-Man TV series used almost none of the essential aspects of that comic book's mythology, instead using the character's name and costume as a small part of a generic, episodic crime drama, not even bothering to steal the plot of a successful show, like The Incredible Hulk did.

The relative success of those shows hinged on a number of factors, among them the lack of alternatives -- you had three commercial TV networks plus PBS back then. (Which reminds me that Spider-Man also regularly appeared on The Electric Company, a show aimed at 8-10 year olds and which managed to present a more faithful wall-crawler than a primetime network series could, even allowing for the fact that on The Electric Company, Spider-Man never spoke a word.)

The 1980s and 1990s brought even more mediocre-to-terrible attempts to cash in on Marvel's characters. Dolph Lundgren as The Punisher. Reb Brown as Captain America. And a truly awful Fantastic Four movie made quickly and cheaply by cult film director Roger Corman in order to allow the rights holders to maintain their license. It resulted in a film so bad that it was never widely released and was only seen by most people through the wonders of bootleg VHS tapes sold at sketchy comicons. It should be noted that this Fantastic Four film is only marginally worse than the three later released by major studios, but with four films to their names, The Fantastic Four at this moment has more movies to its name than even The Avengers franchise, even if not a single one of them is worth watching.

Speaking of The Avengers, I went to see Avengers: Infinity War yesterday in the company of my wife Lora. I think we have seen most of the Marvel Studios films at the theater, although I have my doubts about the second Thor film. It's hard to keep track now that the Marvel Cinematic Universe (as it's called) is closing in on two-dozen full-length feature films, almost all of which are at least entertaining, and some of which have proven magical in both their mass appeal and their ability to generate revenue. Narratively, financially, and especially from the perspective of pre-2008, the continuing success of the Marvel movies is a dream that millions have been living within. It has changed the lives of many, from turning around the literal and metaphorical fortunes of actors like Downey, who no one thought would even live to see 2018 never mind be one of the most popular movie stars on the planet, and Chris Evans, whose depiction of Steve Rogers/Captain America has left far behind any memories of his participation in two of those lousy Fantastic Four movies. More interestingly this dream movie franchise has inspired and brought happiness to untold numbers of people, like that time Downey gave an Iron Man-like bionic arm to a seven-year-old boy. Or the millions of African-Americans and others who found in the recent Black Panther film an inspirational culture in which they could see themselves and their own history. These films haven't solved all the world's problems, but it's undeniable that they have brought joy and comfort and more in far greater proportion than one might have thought possible before this all began.

Which isn't to say they are perfect. I am not writing a love letter to Marvel Comics, Marvel Studios, or anyone else, really. Maybe Jack Kirby, because without him there would be none of this, but also Stan Lee, who wrote the words of so many of the comics these movies are based on. And Steve Ditko, whose imagination spawned the characters and worlds of Spider-Man and Dr. Strange. And so many other comics creators I never thought would get their due, and yet who are credited in the long crawls at the end of these films and who, I hope, are being fairly compensated for the translation of their work into motion picture form.

Like Jim Starlin, a writer/artist whose work blew me away in 1977. That summer I was 11 years old, and Starlin wrote and illustrated a two-part crossover featuring The Avengers, Spider-Man and The Thing (from the Fantastic Four) in a galaxy-spanning battle royale against Starlin's most noted creation, the supervillain Thanos. The sprawling epic was made possible by the earlier work of Lee, Kirby, Ditko and others, but it felt like something entirely new. Recently going back and reading that story, I realized how direct an adaptation of that story Avengers: Infinity War is, and that realization made me even more eager to see how the film would play out.

It turns out that Infinity War is every bit as mind-blowing as those 1977 funnybooks that inspired it were to my 11-year-old self, and for much the same reason. It's not just the epic scale of the story, or the stunning visuals, or the huge cast of very different characters being remixed in new and interesting ways. Both the comics and the movie share all those elements. No, it's the combination of all those things, plus the charm, skill, talent and determination of the actors, writers and directors, the grand vision for these films from the producers, and other factors too numerous and mysterious to be easily tallied.

So yes, I loved it. My wife loved it. It wasn't perfect in the way Citizen Kane or Synecdoche, New York are perfect, timeless films, but that's not what the MCU movies are for. They are a commercially-produced dream, made for profit inside an increasingly dysfunctional capitalist system, and perhaps another essay could be written on the dangers of allowing such dreams to make one forget the injustices and dangers of the real world, but that's not the essay I am writing today. Today I want to just reflect on the wonder of seeing this film finally come to fruition, the bringing together of franchises-within-the-franchise, and I want to state with wonder and delight that it works.

Not just for me, lover of Spider-Man and the others since 1972. It works for my wife, who didn't know who most of these characters were before she met me, and who now loves Groot unconditionally and with profound delight. It works for millions of other people, some of whom have only the faintest idea who Jack Kirby is, although almost everyone knows who Stan Lee is. Not to diminish Lee's contribution to this mythology -- without him it almost certainly would not have existed nor endured this long -- but it cannot be said enough that Kirby gets the majority of the credit. Others took the baton and ran with it once Kirby left Marvel, but Captain America, Black Panther, Thor and many other of the most endearing and exciting characters in these movies are as popular and effective as they are precisely because of the elements Kirby baked into them: Black Panther's dignity, Thor's arrogance and innate decency, and perhaps most importantly, Captain America's dedication to people over politics, to good over greed. Let there be no doubt, these are exactly the heroes we need at this moment in history, and it is perhaps not a coincidence that many of the actors who inhabit these characters have used their popularity to give voice to those less fortunate than themselves, and to use their voices to critique the current wave of fascism and authoritarianism that threaten to destroy our culture. These movies are entertainment, yes, and they have made fortunes for many of the people involved, but some of those people see the responsibility their new prominence and success has given them, and they seem to take it seriously. I'm grateful for that.

And I'm grateful for the joy in so many of these films, which reaches an almost unreal level at various moments in Infinity War. Not just seeing Tony Stark bicker with Stephen Strange, or Groot heroically assist Thor in a way only he could at exactly the right moment. Not just seeing Mark Ruffalo's sublime Bruce Banner argue with The Hulk, and therefore himself, to hilarious effect at exactly the wrong moment, only to later see him delight in having all of the power but none of the horror such power usually brings him. It's all of these things and at least a thousand more.

Like I said, it's not perfect. How could it be? In a story this wide-ranging, I was never going to get enough of Scarlett Johansson's Black Widow to make me happy. But there'll be a movie for that soon enough. I was never going to get everything I came to this for, but then no one is, when you get really granular and start picking it apart. But that's missing the big picture, and in the larger sense, it's important to note I wasn't bored or unhappy for one nanosecond of this film, as I was for every never-ending moment of the grotesque, doomed-to-fail Justice League movie. I was uneasy and scared at the beginning of Infinity War, as intended. I was amused and laughing when Peter Parker asked for a distraction on a schoolbus to hilarious effect. I was chilled when Banner announced "Thanos is coming." As I said on Facebook, "So many moments."

I have seen some concern about plot holes, but I see none. The most specific concern centers on why Dr. Strange makes the choice he does near the end, with seemingly catastrophic results for the entire universe. Did the people voicing these criticisms forget that there's another movie coming? Did they not hear Strange tell his fellow heroes that he had seen millions of possible outcomes in which they all lose, but one, and one alone, in which they succeed in defeating Thanos? To be fair, that moment is couched in dread, no doubt to conceal the fact that it is foreshadowing the ultimate outcome of the as-yet unnamed sequel, said to be the end of the book all the MCU movies to date represent in the minds of those overseeing the franchise, before the start of the next book. But I have no doubt that Dr. Strange's decision, as agonizing as it was to see the consequences of, was the one that will somehow allow all those we lost to be returned to us in some form. Well, maybe not all.

I doubt it's a coincidence that Tony Stark was the one to see the ultimate defeat of their efforts to stop Thanos, and to watch in helpless horror as Peter Parker and others died before his eyes. Since the first Avengers movie, Tony Stark's bravado has masked his increasing trauma as one cosmic threat after another homicidal robot of his own design has taken chunks out of his soul. My guess is that by the end of 2019's Avengers movie, we'll have many if not most of the toys back in the toybox and ready to be played with another day. I watched the Falcon die, but I'm sure he'll be back. And Spider-Man, and The Vision, and Nick Fury, and everyone we watch blow away in the breeze, to our horror and despair. I'm guessing the price of their return will be Tony Stark's sacrifice in the next film, likely Downey's exit from the franchise. And that would be suitable. Downey was perfect for the role of Tony Stark because in so many ways he really already was Tony Stark. Arrogant, talented, addicted. He was, and is, our gateway into this world, the reason we have been able to feel the emotions these films create in us so viscerally and so immediately. Reversing the damage Thanos does at the end of Infinity War will require a huge payment to balance the books. I will be surprised if that isn't represented by the final end of Tony Stark's journey in these movies.

After all, the great throughline of these movies has been revelation and change, as the universe these characters live in has, in a decade, come to be as expansive and intriguing as it was after many decades of hard work and imagination from Stan and Jack and all the other writers and artists who are responsible for the comic books that launched this dream we are all now living inside. Who has had more revealed to him, and who has changed more than Tony Stark? How fitting would it be for the next film to end with him making the sacrifice, finally, that he narrowly escaped making at the end of the first Avengers film?

I could be wrong, though. And I don't care if I am. I’m just theorizing. How can you not? It's fun to speculate where this gigantic story will go next. And who could have guessed, before this all began in 2008, that so many millions of filmgoers would be so thrilled by one movie after another, a series of increasingly entertaining and even diverse films that give us worlds of wonder and delight, with shocks, horrors, laughs and even love?

No, no one could have seen this coming in 2008. No one except Jack Kirby, who, if he were still with us today, might be heard to say, "I knew it all along." -- Alan David Doane

Candles In The Dark (Christmas Eve reflection, 12-24-2017)

It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m sitting here at my laptop as the snow falls outside (which is a fairly rare occurrence here where I live in Oregon, although more likely than not it won’t last for long) and thinking about what to write here. Normally I reflect on movies or shows or books or songs, but thought I would save that for my next post (maybe one for New Years), but for now I just wanted to write about whatever is on my mind. I guess what is on my mind at the moment is how it’s been a rough year for many of us, and not just here in America but all over the world, and many of us may not be feeling particularly festive because of that. Whether it’s wider social and political issues that are talked about and debated about in the mainstream media or here online, or whether it’s the more personal issues that we must face in our own lives or see our family and friends facing, whether it’s some terrible tragedy we hear about on TV or read about online, or whether it’s having to wrestle with our own loneliness or grief, the festive nature of this time of year just brings to bear how difficult or painful life can be for us, as if the childlike sense of wonder and joy and magic that Christmas should ideally be all about only succeeds in reminding us of the opposite of all of those things, of all the confusion, sadness, and disappointment in our lives and in the world. What with Christmas seeming to be in large part commercialized and often used as a way of just selling more products by businesses, and having Christmas seemingly foisted upon us whether we want it or not with movies on TV and music on the radio and everything else, it can seem like so much illusion to try to distract us or make us only briefly forget about what’s really going on in the world and in our lives, which is the dark underbelly of everything beneath the happy veneer of the holidays, a happy veneer that is mainly for little children that aren’t yet old enough to understand how hard life really is or can be, and a world full of turmoil and anxiety and injustice and lives filled with struggle and heartache and pain.

When I was a boy, Christmas was magic, and by far my favorite time of year, watching as my mom creatively and lovingly decorated the tree and my dad made up colorful bows with wrapping paper that he would hang on the walls inside and then the lights outside of the old house that I grew up in, and of course looking forward to all the presents that I would receive. Now I’m 35, and it’s been about 15 years since my parents split up, and I no longer live in that house but now live in an apartment, and while my mom who lives with my wife and I still creatively and lovingly decorates a tree every year, my dad lives elsewhere with his new wife and family and I don’t see him much, maybe once or twice a year, and there are no more colorful bows on the walls and we hang up lights on the inside of our apartment instead of outside, and while I still receive gifts from family and friends while I still appreciate it and am grateful it’s not something I look forward to as I used to, and I long ago stopped believing in Santa and his reindeer and his elves who are supposedly living up at the North Pole, and I am no longer a child but rather an adult (or at least trying to be one anyway) who looks back on his childhood both with some nostalgia and some sorrow as well, because things change, and along with that change some of the magic that I knew back then (although my childhood wasn’t all magic, that’s for sure) has lock its luster or has disappeared altogether. It’s easy to become cynical as we get older, to become cynical in the face of what is going on all around us or what is going on in our own lives, easy to believe that everything that comes along and appears to offer us any kind of light or hope to hold onto is only an illusion or a deception or a lie that we would be foolish to entertain, let alone embrace, and that to be mature adults we must simply face the fact that life sucks and you just have to deal with that fact as best you can. And I get that, and there have been times throughout my own life, including during the holidays, when I have wondered what the point of all of it is, or why we should bother celebrating anything, including Christmas, when life can be so, well, shitty, to put it bluntly, and for so many of us.

Like I lost both my grandpa Allan and a close family friend, Bryan, to cancer this year (in March and August respectively), as well as my dog Shasta (also in March, though we hadn’t had her for the last few years since we moved, having had to find her a new home, but we kept up on how she was doing), and I have had struggles and continue to have struggles in my relationships and with work and most of us all within myself, as I am still trying to figure myself out and understand what my place in the world is, and while I have much to be thankful for and my life is easier or better in some ways than it has been in the past, that doesn’t mean it’s easy or that everything is the way I wish it to be. And I know that others have lost far more than I have, and have struggled or continue to struggle far more than me... I mean I have family and friends who have gone through so much this year, their lives seemingly turned inside out and shaken to the core, and even with everything I have gone through or am wrestling with I know I should count myself lucky. But even with all of this in mind, I just can’t bring myself to be entirely cynical, or to give up on being able to experience wonder or joy or magic in my life even though I’m no longer a child. Maybe this is simply me being stubborn, refusing to accept reality, refusing to accept that I’ve lost my childlike innocence and will never get it back, refusing to accept that there isn’t more to life than just disappointment and loss, but I can’t help it I guess, can’t help but believe, or at least hope, that there is still some magic left in this world or left for me or even for all of us. For example, I’ve been hoping since my grandpa passed away that I would hear from him in some way, as I know some people hear from their loved ones, or at least believe they do, whether in dreams or visions or some other sign from them to let us know that they’re still with us somehow, but as far as I know, after about nine months, there hasn’t been any sign, which is discouraging for me to be sure... but then last Saturday my aunt Angie, Allan’s youngest daughter, came over to visit with us, and as I stood in the doorway of my mom’s room just watching her chatting with my mom (her half sister) while my sister sat nearby just hanging out I got this feeling that Allan would be happy to see that.  Not that I felt his presence in any palpable way, it was just a feeling, but maybe that’s something. And then while my mom and my sister as well as Bryan’s wife Kelly have been having dreams of Bryan as well as other experiences, I haven’t got anything really, or at least not anything that I could call a sign with any confidence, but just spending time with Kelly and my friend Kyle (Bryan’s youngest son) when they spent the night and did gift exchange with us on Friday, I got that sense too, like with Allan, that Bryan would be happy to see that. And maybe that’s something too. And though I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Shasta I know she died peacefully in her sleep of old age, being loved and cherished by a number of humans throughout her life and having overall lived a good life... and I know that Allan and Bryan were loved and cherished too, and they live on in our memories (and maybe in some other dimension too), I think this is all something too.  I think of the kindness of people in my life, family and friends and even strangers, an encouraging word or a warm hug, I think of good stories and art and music and just basic things like food and clothing and shelter and my health, which not everyone in the world has like I do, and I think of the beauty of nature, walking with my wife from her work earlier this evening in the falling snow, and I think of the many moments and memories in my life that meant so much, and even if they came and went they are still a part of me, and I think of all my hopes and dreams for the future, which may not be a certainty but are still alive inside of me...

On Christmas Eve there are many people throughout the world who hold candlelight services at churches, and while I haven’t gone to one of them since leaving the church a few years ago for different reasons, the idea of it always appealed to me, the idea of holding candles together in the dark, each one of us holding up a flame it only adds to the light that beats back the darkness. For many people Christmas is a holiday that honors and celebrates the birth of Jesus Christ, and the story of a savior laying in a manger (or a feed trough for farm animals) surrounded by angels and wise men is one that is retold over and over throughout the world this time of year. To some it’s a sweet story of hope, of light coming into darkness, of new life, and for others it is only the first part of a larger story, of God becoming a child and then growing up to be a man that would teach and challenge and heal and love and would eventually die on a cross at the hands of the very people he was trying to help, and then three days later come back from the dead. When I identified as a Christian I believed all of this, or tried to, I believed in that child in that savior in the manger and I believed in the larger story too, believed in the cross and the resurrection, believed in Jesus, much as I believed in Santa and his reindeer and his elves, I put my hope and my heart into all of it, or at least as much as I could... but like things have changed since I was a boy and I now see things differently, I could say the same now. I am not really sure what I believe in now, or where I stand on all of this. I guess you could say that I am a wanderer or a vagabond, maybe like one of those wise men (although I don’t feel particularly wise most of the time) who was looking for the Christ child. 

It’s not that I don’t believe in any of that anymore, believe in that child or believe in that story, it’s just I’m not as sure of it as I once was, because I have so many questions and uncertainties, and I no longer wish to embrace something wholeheartedly when it is a rose with some serious thorns on closer inspection, which was what the Christian faith turned out to be in my experience of it. But still, I do have something like faith I think, or at least hope. While I may no longer believe in Santa in the literal sense, I do believe in what you might call the spirit of Santa, or the spirit of giving, believe that people can be kind and generous to one another, and not just during the holidays but during any time of the year, and I think this is just as magical as any flying reindeer or toy-making elf. I could say much the same of Jesus Christ. I am not really sure whether I believe in him or not in a literal sense, or believe that everything that is written about him in the New Testament is literally true, but I do believe in what he represents to many people, I think the hope that people find in the child in the manger is beautiful, I think the thought that our Creator would become one of us is beautiful, that God would become a child in the arms of a mother, that God would share in our struggle and our pain as human beings, and even be willing to die at our hands to show his love for us, all of that is beautiful to me, and is what drew me to the Christian faith in the first place. I have since distanced myself from it because I have seen its dark underbelly, because it left me with more questions than answers, with more confusion than peace, because it disappointed me and brought me a lot of turmoil and anxiety... and its difficult to explain all of that to family and friends who still believe wholeheartedly what I once believed... but that doesn’t mean I have completely closed myself off to it, anymore than I have completely closed myself off to wonder or joy or magic or Christmas.

I still believe that there is hope in the world, and many people find hope in a child whose birth is celebrated on Christmas Day, and I still believe in miracles, and many people see the birth of Christ as one of the greatest of all miracles and see God as the source of all miracles, and the kind of God that I would want to believe in would be a God that would be willing to be born into our world and walk among us as one of us and would hurt with us and would even be willing to die for us, even at our hands, just to show us that he loves us, and many people believe that Jesus is that kind of God, or at least a reflection of that kind of God. So I am not completely closed to it, I’m just not sure about all of it, and I hope that everyone in my life that has more certainty than I do about what they believe would respect where I’m at and would allow me my uncertainty, would allow me to say ‘I don’t know’ and be okay with that. But with all that said, to me Christmas, whether you approach it as a secular or  religious holiday, is, or at least it can be, like those candelight services that I was talking about, where lights are held up and together beat back the darkness. Taking time to connect with family and friends, decorating, exchanging gifts, remembering and telling stories that give us some kind of hope, lighting candles in the dark... these traditions and rituals can be like our way of trying to beat back the darkness in this world and in our lives. Maybe it doesn’t always work, and maybe we don’t have the heart for it, but I think the desire to find light or create it and then hold onto it is human and beautiful and I believe whatever light we can find or create in our lives can, well, to put it simply, make our lives suck less and not be as shitty. So I guess you could say that I’m aware of all the reasons why people hate this time of year or don’t want to celebrate it. I’m aware of why people don’t want to have anything to do with it either on a secular level or a religious level, because I understand how much life can suck and how shitty it can be. And I understand people not believing in Santa or Jesus or any of that because I have my doubts about those things myself. But I still believe in the spirit of Christmas, in the spirit of Santa, and of Jesus, in what these things represent, or at least can represent, for many of us, I believe in our desire for wonder and joy and magic, in our desire for hope, in our desire to bring light into the darkness, in our longing and aching for these things, and I believe that there may an answer to these desires, even if not everyone can agree what that answer would be. May you, may all of us, find light wherever we can this Christmas and always, whether it’s in the kindness of one another, as human as we may be, or in stories or art or music or even in the things that so many of us may take for granted, or in nature, whether it’s in the falling snow or in the sun shining wherever we are on Christmas Day, or whether it’s in our memories or our hopes and dreams, whether it’s in a jolly old elf or a child in the manger or the magic or hope we may find in them as children or as adults, in the things that bring us comfort in our loneliness and our pain, in the feeling that maybe those we’ve lost are still with us somehow, and maybe someday, somewhere, we will see them again, and in appreciating what matters most to us, what brings us meaning or makes life worth living, and may we bring our own light into the world, and share that light with one another as much as we can, may we light our candles, however dim they may be, and together we will shine in the darkness.

Comme Tu Veux (Library AU, 7/?)

Jared can’t wait to hear what Jensen’s surprise is. All he knows is that he’s supposed to wear nice clothes and they’re getting on a train, so he can bring snacks if he wants to. He doesn’t know where they’re going or what they’re doing when they get off the train, and Jared is thrilled. All Jensen would tell him is that they’re covering both of their areas of interest this weekend. Jared rings Jensen’s doorbell, although he’s starting to wonder if he should ask Jensen if he can just start letting himself in. They’ve been officially dating for two and a half months now, and while Jared’s not going to ask for a key or anything, he thinks he should get front-door-opening privileges. Jensen lives in the safest neighborhood in the entire township—it’s not even on GPS, and unless you live nearby, you wouldn’t even know it’s there—so there’s no reason he needs to keep his door locked all the time. Although it’s Jensen, so he probably does anyway. Jensen opens the door. He’s wearing a gray argyle sweater vest (Jared’s favorite, actually) with a crisp white shirt and black trousers, and he looks every bit the stuffed-shirt librarian. But he grins when he sees Jared’s black Deathly Hallows sweater and gray trousers. “That’s perfect, actually,” he says with a chuckle. Jared’s eyes widen. “Really? It’s a Harry Potter thing?” “Of sorts,” replies Jensen with a smug smile. “You’ll find out soon enough.” Jared hoists his BB-8 bag higher on his shoulder. He’s got his iPad full of comics and Rifftrax videos, which Jared said to bring, and Jensen said he’d watch one of Jared’s movies if Jared listened to some poetry. “You got everything? Water, snacks, entertainment? It’s not a super long train ride, just about three and a half hours.” Jared nods. “I’m ready. Let’s do this mysterious thing.” Jensen grins and grabs his leather briefcase. Jared rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “God, you are such a nerd.” “You’re a nerd, too,” retorts Jensen. “I’m a geek,” Jared corrects him. “There’s a difference.” “Tell me on the way,” says Jensen, nudging Jared out the door. Jensen locks up and unlocks his Mercedes. Jared didn’t think Branch Librarians got paid that well, but Jensen explained that his family was rich by central Pennsylvania standards, and he’d bought both the car and the townhouse in cash. He didn’t have any student loan debt either, which made Jared so unbelievably envious that his head actually hurt. Jared clambers into the front seat and swings his bag into the footwell. Jensen turns on the car and immediately the stereo comes on speaking a language that Jared can’t immediately identify. “What is that?” Jensen blushes. “It’s Harry Potter à l’École des Sorciers—i.e., Harry Potter in French.” Jared stares at him. “Harry Potter in French. Because you couldn’t be caught dead reading an American children’s book?” Jensen shrugs, apparently unoffended. “I wanted a challenge.” “So you speak French? That’s real useful in an inner-city library.” Jensen’s face falls. “Yeah, I mostly wish I’d taken Spanish or Mandarin in school.” “Your school had Mandarin?” “The college did.” Jensen backs out of the parking space and points them toward the train station. They’re going to Middletown instead of Harrisburg because the parking is free there. It’s one stop further east, but it’s only a few minutes’ difference. They board the train and get a whole row to themselves. There aren’t many people on the train yet. Most people will get on at Harrisburg. Jared opens his bag and gets out his iPad. He opens Comixology and starts catching up on Injustice: Gods Among Us Year 2. Jensen gets out his own tablet and opens Kindle to something Jared can’t identify because once again, it’s in French. “Showoff,” mutters Jared. Jensen puts his arm around Jared. “Does it really bother you?” Jared shrugs. “A little. I’m an actual educator and I feel stupid next to you sometimes.” Jensen kisses his temple. “I don’t mean to make you feel inadequate or insecure. I’m just a really huge nerd. Believe me, you’re superior to me in a number of ways, not least of which is your ability to socialize like a normal person. I mean, you can talk to anyone. I envy you that.” Jared forces a small smile. “Is that my superpower?” Jensen nods, grinning. “That and being really, ridiculously attractive.” That makes Jared smile for real. “You’re not so bad yourself in that area.” “I look like a nerd, and an effeminate one to boot. You look like Conan the Librarian.” Jared laughs at that. “Conan the Librarian. I really want to get that on my nametag now.” “I dare you to put that in as a print request,” teases Jensen. “You know I actually will, right?” Jensen chuckles. “That’s what I love about you.” He kisses Jared’s cheek. “Well, that’s one thing out of about a thousand.” Jared grins and tips Jensen’s face towards him so he can give him a proper kiss. “We should compare lists sometime.” “My list is in French,” replies Jensen, but he quirks an eyebrow to show he’s joking. “You should teach me French,” says Jared between kisses. Jensen grins. “I would love that.” “How do you say, ‘kiss me’ in French?” “Embrasse-moi or fais-moi un bisou,” answers Jensen. “Embrasse-moi,” repeats Jared as best he can. “Ouai, comme tu veux,” says Jensen, capturing Jared’s lips for another kiss.

* * * They arrive in Johnstown about three hours later. Jensen calls them a cab, which takes them to Hoss’s Steak and Sea House. “This isn’t the surprise, right?” Jensen laughs. “No, we’re eating first. Then we’ll head to the concert hall.” After they eat, Jensen gets them another cab and they drive to a college campus. The cab lets them off at the Pasquerilla Performing Arts Center, and Jensen leads Jared to the concert hall inside. He hands their tickets to a student usher and she hands them two programs, which is when Jared sees what the surprise is. They’re at the Johnstown Symphony Orchestra’s performance of The Music of John Williams. Jared smiles so wide he can feel the stretch in his cheeks. “Oh my God, this is awesome!” Jensen grins and takes Jared’s hand as they walk to their seats. “I figured it was the best of both worlds.” Once they’ve taken their seats, Jared draws Jensen close for a passionate kiss. “I love it, thank you. This is perfect.” Jensen grins and takes Jared’s hand in his. “You’re very welcome. I’m glad you like it.” Jared sighs happily. “You’re the best boyfriend ever.” Jensen beams. “Je t’aime,” he whispers as the lights go down. Even Jared knows what that means. “I love you too,” he whispers.

If I should have a daughter

If I should have a daughter, I’ll instead of mom, she’s going to call me “Point B”, because that way she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always finds her way to me.

And I’m going to paint the solar system in the backs of her hands so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say, “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand”.

And she’s going to learn that this life will hit you hard in the face, wait for you to get back up just so it can kick in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.

There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry. So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself, because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be to small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried.

“And, baby,” I’ll tell her, don’t keep your nose in the air like that. I know that trick; I’ve done it a million times. You’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house, so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place, to see if you can change him. But I know she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby, because there is no heartbreak chocolate can’t fix.

Okay there’s a few heartbreaks that chocolate can’t fix, but that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything, if you let it.

I want her to see the world through the underside of a glass-bottom boat, to look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind, because that’s the way my mom taught me.

That there’ll be days like this. ( Singing) There will be days like this my momma said. When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises; when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you wanna save are the ones standing in your cape; when you boots will fill with rain, and you’ll be into your knees in disappointment. And those are the very days you have all the more reasons to say thank you. Because there’s nothing more beautiful then the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it’s sent away.

You will put the wind in win some, lose some. You will put the star in starting over, and over. And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute, be sure that your mind land on the beauty of this funny place called life.

And yes, on a scale of one to over-trusting, I am pretty damn naive. But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily, but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.

“Baby”, I’ll tell her, “Remember, your momma is a worrier, and your poppa is a warrior, and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more”.

Remember good things come in three and so do bad things.

Always apologize when you’ve done something wrong, but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.

Your voice is small, but don’t ever stop singing. And when they hand you heartache, when they slip war and hatred under you door and offer you handouts on the street-conners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought meet your mother.

All right, so I want you to take a moment, and I want you to think of three things that you know to be true. They can be about whatever you want- technology, entertainment, design, your family, what you had for breakfast. The only rule is don’t think too hard. Okay, ready? Go!

1 2 3 4 5 

Okay. So here are three things I know to be true: I know that Jean-Luc was right when he said that “A good story had a beginning, a middle and an end, although not necessarily in that order.” I know that I’m incredibly nervous and excited to be up here, which is inhibiting my ability to keep it cool. And I know that I have been waiting all week to tell this joke: Why was the scarecrow invited to TED? Because he was out standing in his field. Hahahaha I’m sorry

Okay, so these are there things I know to be true. But there are plenty of things I have trouble understanding. So I write poems to figure things out. Sometimes the only way I know how to work though something is by writing a poem. Sometimes I get to the end of the poem, look back and go, “Oh, that’s what this is all about,” and sometimes I get to the end of the poem and haven’t solved anything, but at least I have a new poem out of it.

Spoken-word poetry is the art of performance poetry. I tell people it involves creating poetry that doesn’t just want to sit on paper, that something about it demands it to be heard out loud or witnessed in person.

When I was a freshman in high school, I was a live wire of nervous hormones.And I was underdeveloped and over-excitable. And despite my fear of being looked at too long, I was fascinated by the ideia of spoken-word poetry. I felt that my two secret loves, poetry and theater, had come together, had a baby, a baby I needed to get to know. So I decided to give it a try. My first spoken-word poem, packed with all the wisdom of a 14-year-old, was about the injustice of being seem as unfeminine. The poem was very indignant and mainly exaggerated, but the only spoken-poetry that I had seen up until that point was mainly indignant, so I thought that’s what was expected of me.

The first time that I performed, the audience of teenagers hooted and hollered their sympathy and when I came off the stage, I was shaking. I felt this tão on my shoulder, and I turned around to see this giant in a hoodie sweatshirt emerge from the crowd. She was maybe eight feet tall and looked like she could beat me with one hand but instead she just nodded at me and said “Hey, I really felt that. Thanks”. And lighting struck. I was hooked. I discovered this bar in Manhattan’s Lower East Side that hosted a weekly poetry open Mic and my bewildered, but supportive, parents took me to soak in every ounce of spoken word that I could. I was the youngest by at least a decade, but somehow the poets at the Bowery Poetry Club didn’t seem bothered by the 14-year-old wandering about. In fact, they welcomed me. And it was here, listening to these poets share their stories, that I learned that spoken-word poetry didn’t have to be indignant, it could be funny or painful or serious or silly. The Bowery Poetry Club became my classroom and my home, and the poets who performed encouraged me to share my stories as well. Never mind the fact that I was 14. They told, “Write about being 14”.

Do I did and stood amazed every week when the brilliant, grown-up poets laughed with me and groaned their sympathy and clapped and told me “Hey, I really felt that too”. 

 Now I can divide my spoken-word journey into three steps. Step number one was the moment I said “I can. I can do this”. And that was thanks to a girl in a hoodie. Step number two was when I said “I will. I will continue”. I love spoken word. I will keep coming back week after week”. And step three began when I realized I didn’t have to write indignant poems, if that’s not what I was. There were things that were specific to me and the more I focused on those things, the weirder my poetry got, but the more I’d felt like mine. It’s not just the adage “ Write what you know”, it’s about gathering all of the knowledge and experience you’ve collected up to now to help you dive into the things you don’t know.

I use poetry to help me work though what I don’t understand, but u show up to each new poem with a backpack full of everywhere else I’ve have been.

When I got to university I met a fellow poet who shade my belief is the magic of spoken-word poetry.

When I was in high-school I had created Project V.O.I.C.E. as a way to encourage my friends to do spoken word with me. But Phill and I decided to reinvent Project V.O.I.C.E., this time changing the mission to using spoken-word poetry as a way to entertain, educate and inspire. We stayed full-time students, but in between we traveled, performing and teaching nine-years-old to MFA candidates, from California to Indiana to India to a public high school just up the street from campus. And we saw over and over the way that spoken-word poetry cracks open locks. But it turned out sometimes poetry can be really scary. Turns out sometimes you have to trick teenagers into writing poetry. So I came up with lists. Everyone can write lists. And the first list that I assign is “10 Things I Know to be True”. And here’s what happens, (and here is what) you would discover it too if we all stared sharing our lists out loud. At certain point, you would realize that someone has the exact same thing or one thing very similar to something on your list. And then someone else has something the complete opposite of yours. Third, someone has something you’ve never even heard of before. Fourth, someone has something you thought you knew everything about, but they’re introducing a new angle of looking at it. And I reek people that this is where great stories start from, this four intersection of what you’ve passionate about and what others might be invested in. And most people respond really well to this exercise. But one of mine students, a freshman named Charlotte, was not convinced. She was very good at writing lists, but she refused to write any poems.

“Miss”, she’d say “I’m just not interested. I don’t have anything interesting to say”. So I assign her list after list and one day I assign the list “10 Things I Should Have Learned by Now”. Number three on Charlotte lists was “I should have learned not to crush on guys three times my age”. I asked what that meant and she said “Miss, is kind of a long story”. And I said “Charlotte, it sounds pretty interesting to me”. And so she wrote her first poem, a love poem unlike any I had ever heard before. And the poem began “Anderson Cooper is a gorgeous man”. “Did you see him racing Michael Phelps in a pool/nothing but swim trunks on/ diving in the water, determined to beat a swimming champion? After the race, he tossed his wet, cloud-white hair and said ‘You’re a god‘, ‘ No, Anderson, you’re the god‘.

Now, I know that the number one rule to being cool is to seem, unfazed, to never admit that anything scares you or impresses you or excites you. Somebody once told me it’s liking walking through life like this 🙅🏿‍♂️. You protect yourself from all the unexpected miseries or hurt that might show up. But I try to walk through life like this 💁🏻‍♀️ (hands like reviving grace). And yes, that means catching all of those miseries and hurt, but it also means that when beautiful, amazing things just fall out of the sky, I’m ready to catch them. I use spoken word to help my students rediscover wonder,to fight their instincts 🙅🏿‍♂️ to be cool and unfazed and, instead, actively pursue being engaged with what goes around them, so that they can reinterpret and create something from it. It’s not that I think spoken-word poetry is the ideal art form. I’m just trying to find the best way to tell each story. I write musicals; I make short films alongside my poems. But I teach spoken-word poetry because it’s accessible. Not everyone can read music or owns a camera, but everyone can communicate in some way and everyone has stories that the rest of us can learn from.

Plus, spoken-word poetry allows for immediate connection. It’s not uncommon to feel like you’re alone or that nobody understands you, but spoken word teaches that if you have the ability to express yourself and the courage to present those stories and opinions, you could be rewarded with a room full of your peers or your community, who will listen. And maybe even a giant girl in a hoodie who will connect with what you’ve shared. And that is an amazing realization to have, especially when you’re 14.

Plus, now with YouTube, that connection’s not even limited to the room you’re in. I’m so lucky that there’s this archive of performances that I can share with my students. It allows for even more opportunities for them to find a poet or a poem that they connect to.

It is tempting, once you figured that out, it is temping to keep writing the same poem or keep telling the same story, over and over, once you’ve figured out that will gain applause. It’s not enough to just teach that you can express yourself. You have to grow and explore and take risks and challenges yourself. And that is step three: infusing the work you’re doing with the specific things that make you you, even while those things are always changing. Because step three never ends. But you don’t get to start on step three, until you take step one first: I can.

I travel a lot while I’m, and I don’t always get to eat all of my students reach step three, but I was very lucky with Charlotte that I got to watch her journey unfold the way it did. I watched her realize that, by putting the things she know to be true into the work she’s doing, she can create poems that only Charlotte can write, about eyeballs and elevators and Dora the Explorer.

And I’m trying to tell stories only I can tell, like this story. I spent a lot of time thinking about the best way to tell this story and I wondered if the best way was going to be a PowerPoint, short filme and where exactly was the beginning, the middle and the end? I wondered whether I’d get to the end of this talk and finally have figured it all out, or not. And I always thought that my veggie was at the Bowery Poetry Club, but it’s possible that it was much earlier.

In prepared to TED, I discovered this diary page in an old journal. It’s clear that when I was a child, I definitely walked through life like this 💁🏻‍♀️. I think that we all did. I would like to help others rediscover that wonder, to want to engage with it, to want to learn, to want to share what they’ve learned, what they’ve figured out to be true and what they’re still figuring out.

So I’d like to close with this poem:

When they bombed Hiroshima, the explosion formed a mini-supernova, so every living animal, human or plant that received direct contact with the rays from that sun was instantly turned to ash. And what was left of the city soon followed. The long-lasting damage of the nuclear radiation caused an entire city and its population to tune into powder. When I was born, my mom says I looked around the whole hospital room with a stare that said “This? I’ve done this before”. She says I have old eyes. When my Grandpa Genji died, I was only five years old, but I took my mom by the hand and told her “Don’t worry, he’ll come back as a baby”.

And yet, for someone who’s apparently done this already, I still haven’t figured anything out yet. My knees still buckle every time I get on a stage. My self-confidence can be measured out in teaspoons mixed into my poetry and it still always taste funny in my mouth. But in Hiroshima, some people were wiped clean away, leaving only wristwatch or a diary page. So no matter that u have inhibitions to fill all my pockets, i keep trying, hoping that one day I’ll write a poem I can be proud to let sit in a museum exhibit as the only proof I existed.

My parents named me Sarah, which is a biblical name. In the original story, God told Sarah she could do something impossible, and... she laughed, because the first Sarah... she didn’t know what to do with impossible. And me? Well, neither do I, but I see the impossible everyday. Impossible is trying to connect in this world, trying to hold onto others while things are blowing up around you, knowing that while you’re speaking, they aren’t just waiting for their turn to talk, they hear you. They feel exactly what you feel at the same time that you feel it.

It’s what I strive for every time I open my mouth, that impossible connection.

There’s this piece of wall in Hiroshima that was completely burnt black by the radiation. But on the front step, a person who was sitting there blocked the rays hitting the stone. The only thing left now is a permanent shadow of positive light.

After the A-Bomb, specialists said it would take 75 years for the radiation-damaged soul of Hiroshima City to ever grow anything again. But that spring, there were new buds popping up from the earth.

When I meet you, in that moment, I’m no longer a part of your future. I start quickly become a part of your past. But in that instant, I get to share your present. And you, you get to share mine. And that is the great present of all. So if you tell me I can do the impossible, I’ll probably laugh at you. I don’t know if I can change the world, yet, because I don’t know that much about it and I don’t know that much from reincarnation either, but if you make me laugh hard enough, sometimes I forget what century I’m in.

This isn’t my first time here.

This isn’t my last time here.

These aren’t the last words I’ll share.

But just in case, I’m trying my hardest to get it right this time around. Thank you.

-Sarah Kay

February Alban Lake Spotlight

Mike Morgan, Author

For our very first interview, we have Mr. Mike Morgan, a prolific and excellent author. He was kind enough to take time to answer our questions; but first, a quick bio for Mike:

 Mike Morgan lives in Iowa with his wife, two children, and increasingly infirm cat. After careers in the UK, Japan, and Texas involving accountancy, freelance illustration, non-fiction writing, and teaching, Mike now does improbably complex things on computers for a living. When he's not worrying about the cat or tidying up his kids' toys, Mike gets overwrought about politics and attempts to write short stories. It's possible his two hobbies get muddled up from time to time. He has written for several publishers in the UK and the USA, with pieces in anthologies, comics, and magazines. Follow him on Twitter as @CultTVMike, where he posts about all things sci-fi. Oh, OK, it's mostly Doctor Who.

 My website is: https://perpetualstateofmildpanic.wordpress.com/

 My latest project is this month's Outposts of Beyond.

  And on to the interview . . .

 Q: When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?

 A: I've wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember. I looked at book covers as a young child, maybe five or six, and thought, "I want my name on a book." When I got into comics with 2000AD and then Star Wars Weekly, this would be when I was 7, that desire spread to wanting to be in the credits boxes in comic books, too. Unfortunately, as I got older, it became apparent that selling work wasn't going to be as easy as I'd initially thought.

 I tried for a sustained period in my twenties to break into comics, but never got anywhere. At one comics convention in Bristol, while hauling my portfolio around, I got chatting with Matt Brooker, who was brutally honest with me. "Look," he said, "There's nothing particularly wrong with the way you draw, but there just aren't any openings. We hire on maybe one or two new freelancers a year and they have some quirk. You draw well, but there's nothing unique. To develop that style, you need to put in thousands of hours of practice, and you're not going to get paid for that. You don't strike me as independently wealthy, so I doubt you can afford to do it for free. So..."

 He was right. I was dirt poor. I got a job in accountancy, which I hated. But at least I could go back to affording food.

 Later, after years of doing things I loathed, and then teaching for several years in Japan, I immigrated here to the U.S. Starting a new career in Texas, I worked for seven years as a technical writer and editor, which helped me fine-tune my knowledge of English grammar and punctuation and gave me first-hand insight into how hard it is to express complex ideas in plain, no-nonsense sentences. I got enough feedback to sink a fleet of Titanics and developed a tough skin to criticism. I also learned how important it was not to treat my fellow writers the way I was treated, and I became a mentor to some of the newer team members. Although the working environment was hostile, I did love the act of writing and I found joy in helping others improve their written work.

 While all that was going on, I was continuing to put out one or two pieces of my own writing. Teaching in Japan gives you a lot of spare time, so I'd started floating a few things past publishers. Moving to Texas, I was determined to keep that up, but stuck in a car for three or four hours a day on a hellish commute, working tons of extra, unpaid hours, and starting a family didn't leave a lot of spare time. It was only with our move to Iowa, where I still am now, that I found a better work-life balance and was able to kick the writing into high gear. To my inordinate surprise, I discovered that publishers wanted to print my short stories. Not only that, but readers showed every sign of liking them. I was flabbergasted.

 I look back now and I see my name on a book cover and my name in a comic book credits box and I'm glad I never completely gave in. One of my best friends, Kath, said this to me years ago and it stuck with me: "What I like about you, Mike, is that you keep on trying." I'm sure she's forgotten ever saying that to me, but I remembered, and I've tried to stay that way.

  Q: What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

 A: Oh, a 'quirk'! I have yet to develop one with my drawing, but with my writing...? Editors have often told me, in withering tones, that I over-write. You only have to glance at the length of this interview...

 Also, as part of over-egging a box full of puddings in every story, I tend toward the proliferation of pleonasms. And uncalled-for alliteration.

 If you catch me doing it, slap me.

  Q: What do you like to do when you're not writing?

 A: I watch lots of science fiction and read comics. I really enjoy reading stories to my two kids at bedtime, too. Honestly, with two young kids in the house, I spend a lot of time taking endless delight in everything they say and do. I try to carve out a few moments every day to remind my wife how much I appreciate her.

  Q: How many books have you written? Which is your favorite?

 A: I've had 10 short stories published professionally, with two more coming out in the next couple of months. A couple of those were my Titanville stories, which were published together in an e-book by Nomadic Delirium Press, getting me my first solo front-cover credit. I have a dozen more stories in slush piles as we speak, so one or two more will probably work their ways through to acceptance this year – that seems to be the typical ratio of stories sent to stories accepted.

 I've also had a few stories in charity anthologies, and a couple of poems (one was about Star Trek and was printed by Iron Press in a collection sold throughout a major high-street chain of bookshops in the UK), a few non-fiction articles about the long-running BBC TV series Doctor Who in various tomes, and a comic strip script in the British small press comic Futurequake. Another comic script is being drawn now, as it happens, for Futurequake. We're hoping it'll be included in the Spring issue, but we'll see how that goes.

 Oh, and I worked for a short while at an online word mill, putting out articles about sci-fi. You can find them at WhatCulture.com. They accumulated about three million page-views, I think.

  Q: What inspires you to write?

 A: I am drawn to the act of wrenching something into existence through the blunt application of imagination and willpower. I am compelled to create. For better or worse, you guys are on the receiving end of that compulsion.

 When it comes down to deciding what I'm going to write about, I think there are some themes I keep returning to: the beauty in the world, the triumph of love and kindness over indifference and cruelty, the eternal fight against injustice, how any attempt to simplify the complexity of the real world down into stark black-and-white concepts will lead to hate and death...

Also, I love writing characters who are flat-out wrong. There's nothing more fun and more human than someone who is utterly convinced about the rightness of a cause, and that cause is based on an utter misunderstanding. Really, that type of thinking characterizes most of our species' history. People who are wrong deserve our sympathy, our help, our love, not our derision. Anyway, that's some entertaining stuff to write about.

One final thought – I don't want to be a downer but I do feel time pressing on me. Nothing like worrying I'll be dead in a few years to spur me to get some writing done.

 Q: Do you set a plot or prefer going wherever an idea takes you?

 A: I try to have a clear idea of what the story's about before I get too far down the rabbit hole of writing. Preferably, I have an end worked out as well, even if that ending changes by the time I get to it. Sometimes, I'll start the story with the end and work my way backward to the beginning. But there should always be a purpose to a story, even if that purpose is to have fun.

 Every time I carve a tale out of the disorganized mess of my thoughts, the process seems different. One time, the whole story will spill out of me in a rush. Other times, I have to sit down and think through what I'm trying to express.

 Every now and then, a neat idea will occur to me, but I can't find a way to get a coherent plot out of it. Then, a second, entirely different idea will come to me, and I find mashing the two disparate strands together into the same reality brings the whole thing into focus.

 For example, someone having giant spiders in her home and not being bothered by them because they're not in any way dangerous is a neat mental image, but it's not a story in itself. But, add a second strand: imagine there's a neighbor whose job is to twist facts to meet political dogma and that neighbor comes into contact with those spiders... what happens? Does she believe the objective truth that they're completely safe to be around, or does she react with emotion and twist reality to meet that baseless viewpoint? After all, that's her job.

 Boom – you have conflict. The wrong-headed, fact-denying neighbor suddenly at war with nice, harmless giant-sized arachnids. For no other reason than she can't see the truth in front of her face, which is a very common and very plausible failing. What's more, the story takes on a greater message: we shouldn't twist facts to meet our prejudices, no matter how tempted we'd be to do that if we were in the neighbor's shoes.

 That's where A Spider Queen in Every Home came from, the mingling of two ideas that, on the face of it, can't coexist in a single narrative; but, they can, and that story was picked up and published in More Alternative Truths by B-Cubed Press.

 Lastly, some publishers require that you pitch ideas. There, you have to submit a complete plot, along with character notes, up front. If a pitch is accepted, there's no scope for changing details along the way as you write the actual story. For all you know, by altering the agreed-upon tale without consultation, you might be encroaching upon territory occupied by another story in the same collection.

 When fleshing out a pitch, it can feel like you're working while wearing a straightjacket. But it's an opportunity to find ways of making the piece as entertaining as possible without venturing beyond the plan you gave your word on. I've written a couple of stories based on pitches. Unto His Final Breath in Uffda Press's King of Ages: A King Arthur Anthology was created that way, and it garnered some nice reviews. I really like the world building I got to do in that short story.

  Q: What types and forms of writing do you do? If you're also an editor, what is your niche?

 A: I mostly write short stories these days, but I toy with novels. I do have a novel I'm working on (doesn't every writer?) - but, it's the short stories that sell. I am sneakily putting together various stories that work as elements within a greater whole, so that by the time they're all published you'll find they're a novel-length narrative printed in discrete parts across multiple publishers, books, and media. That's the idea, anyway.

 For example, the Titanville stories stand alone as individual tales, but the intent is to have themes and sub-plots that build as time goes on, without requiring the reader to be familiar with every installment. The Age of Asmodeus stories have a similar approach; there's a history to that world, and each story explores a different sliver of it. As those stories go on, readers will see various characters moving in and out of segments of the series or they'll be referred to. Again, the readers won't need to read every story, but there'll be a sense of events moving forward for those who do.

 With the tales featuring Professor Lazarus, the cumulative narrative will unfold using text-based stories and comic strips. Again, that's the hope. Futurequake, a British comic, has printed one story so far and has another one being drawn at the moment. With the short stories, I've had some luck; Flame Tree Publishing printed Fishing Expedition a while ago. I've written a couple more Lazarus stories since then that I'm waiting to hear back on, so we'll see how that goes.

 But you were asking about types of writing. Occasionally, I have a poem published. More often, I'll get non-fiction pieces accepted. I contribute on a semi-regular basis to the range on media and culture put out by Watching Books. This year, they're printing a volume called You on Target about the Target series of Doctor Who novelizations, and I have two essays in that.

 With editing, I offer my services to small presses who print my stories, with regards to proofreading or checking formatting. I'm always willing to help put out the best publication possible.

  Q: What is your area(s) of subject matter expertise? How did you discover this niche? What intrigues you about it?

 A: With living in Japan for several years, I found writing stories set there pretty easy. Not much research required! There's a story of mine being printed soon by you fine people at Alban Lake Press set in Japan. Kuro no Ken (The Back Sword) is slated for the next issue of Outposts of Beyond. The scenes in Ise City take place twenty minutes down the road from where I lived for three years, and the part in the vast cemetery—I've visited that cemetery and it really is that creepy. I love Japan. Those were some of the happiest years of my life.

 Having said that, I lived for longer in Stoke-on-Trent in the UK, and that was the setting for Reverse Horror Story. Your fine company published that piece in Bloodbond just last year. I had way too much fun putting Stoke-themed jokes into that monster-mash-up. I guess, to answer your question, I'm an expert at shoe-horning places I've lived into my stories. I find having a deep knowledge of the settings makes them feel more authentic.

 But, to be clear, I've never lived on the enormous asteroid Ceres, the setting of The Library of Ice in this month's Outposts of Beyond. I'd be willing to give it a try, though.

 Being serious for a moment, I keep writing about people who are struggling because I've been through that. Want to be an expert on the poor? Try being unemployed for years on end, not having enough to eat and worrying about losing the room you're renting. That'll give you an understanding of what that life is like. Newsflash – it's really stressful and depressing.

  Q: How do you balance your creative and work time?

 A: I have yet to find any balance, but live in hope. I get the kids to bed in the evening and then try to write. Sometimes, I even succeed.

  Q: Where have you been published? Upcoming publications? Awards and other accolades?

 A: Other than the things I've already talked about, I'd like to mention Nomadic Delirium's Divided States series, which explores a post-USA North America. My contribution to this excellent range was The Wall Is Beautiful. I hope to finish a second story in this shared universe. I was also fortunate enough to have submissions accepted in their Martian Wave and Disharmony of the Spheres collections.

 One other project I'm very proud to have participated in was Metasaga's Futuristica anthology. I had Something to Watch Over Us included in that amazing collection. I can't heap enough praise on that spectacular book; if you like science fiction, you need to own it.

 As far as upcoming releases go, that I haven't already called attention to, I have a story called Buddy System accepted in Myriad Paradigm's upcoming Mind Candy anthology. The intent is for that book to be released in the next few months. I also have something in the editing pile with Red Ted Books, which should be advancing toward publication this year.

 And, yes, it's a fanzine, but I like fanzines, I'm working with the wonderful people who put out the Doctor Who-themed Fannuals to see what they might want from me for their next volume. I'm so in love with the Fannual project; it's incredible fun. It's actually what I'm starting work on after finishing this interview.

  Q: What are you working on now?

 A: Well, Alban Lake announced they were going to do something with ghost stories, so, you know, I thought I'd try to submit to that. *Grins*

 In the pipeline are more Age of Asmodeus tales, more Titanville, more Lazarus, more space opera antics, more of everything I'm obsessed with.

  Q: Who are your favorite characters to write? How did they come into being, and what do you love - or loathe - about them?

 A: I love writing about Professor Lazarus. She gives her life in every story, usually to save the world from some terrible fate. Then, next story, she's alive again, in a world that's transformed. It forces me to reinvent her and her milieu every time. And there's a point to all her deaths; it's leading to something.

 She came into being because I thought, "Hah – killing the lead character every time would be funny." Then I thought, "What if it's the same lead character every time, and there's a reason she keeps coming back?" How does knowledge of her deaths affect her? Where, at a character level, does that propel the over-arching storyline?

 Another fun character was Silas Smith in The Man Who Killed Computers (published in Disharmony of the Spheres). He's able to lie to computers and have them believe what he's saying. Once you realize how he's doing that, it's less amusing, because you also realize that he can manipulate the humans in the story. I love the ambiguity of his character. He tries so hard to convince everyone he's a hero—the story revolves around how others respond to his claims.

  Q: Any advice you would like to give to aspiring writers?

 A: If someone says you need to improve, he or she is probably right. Every writer needs to improve, every day. It's a process that never ends.

 Don't take rejection personally. It's the work that sucks, not you.

 Keep trying. Stories are only published if they're written and then submitted.

 Realize that even after you've had a pile of stories published there will still be more defeats than victories. And that it's OK.

 Anything else you’d like to add that I haven’t asked? For example, what would you like to see more of in your specific genre? In the publishing field?

 We all like to get things for free. But—! Readers: try to pay for that fiction you're consuming. The more the publishers earn, the more they can pay the writers. The more the writers earn, the more they can write. It's a virtuous feedback loop. If you can't find good fiction out there, it's because you won't pay for it.

 Or, you know, you haven't been to Alban Lake's store. There's lots of good writing there.

  Once again, we’d like to thank Mr. Mike Morgan for his time and to thank all of you for supporting Alban Lake and all of these awesome authors and artists.

September 19, 2017 I have decided to create an original + uncensored space with the intention to a) gather and sort through some of my own thoughts b) share what I feel to be worthy information with others and c) openly explore a wide variety of relevant topics that I've been vigorously studying for quite some time. Over the years curiosity, concern, and genuine personal interest have led me to research a broad array of information which I strongly feel is not only generally ignored by the masses, but often times ridiculed or exhausted before even given a fair moment of attention or consideration. Truth is not always kind and it is rarely comfortable or safe. Raw truth can often times feel very scary to take in despite ones best attempt at keeping an open mind and strong heart. That said, if you sincerely claim to be any sort of thoughtful human of substance and honor.. then you must know and breathe the following fact: IGNORANCE IS NOT BLISS. In some ways, it has almost become uncool or faux paux for a person to speak ones mind or effectively express their personal, honest and unfiltered thoughts in the present day. In other ways; people of all creeds, sex, ethnicity and age merely mechanically parrot others without attempting or being bothered to do their own research and evaluation - they skip right over the very critical part of personal analyzation which is absolutely key to (in turn) responsibly forming any original opinion at all. Many may mimic or mirror the opinions of their parents or other family members, maybe they restate narratives their friends tend to support or perhaps they simply regurgitate a few key words that a news anchor read off from yesterdays cue cards on channel whatever. Don't get me wrong, I have an immeasurable + absolute sincere respect for many individuals in the truth movement and for all those wanting to learn what is real. I don't believe there is anything more commendable than an individual who is willing to openly advocate for ALL human (and animal) rights by directly speaking out against the evil doers on this earth who repeatedly commit injustices like it's nothing. Accountability depends on knowledge. Acknowledging unpleasant issues and evils out loud (not only to ourselves, but also to others) is a crucial part of exposing the harsh realities left in their wake. There is no doubt in my mind that people all over the world are absolutely waking, but so many more are still fast asleep. Snapchat this, Facebook that, tunnel vision and daily routine take precedent and so on. Let me take a moment now to say this.. I myself value entertainment very much and I believe with all my soul that the importance of enjoying this life here on Earth in all ways humanly possible is *imperative* to keeping your spirit happy and afloat. I do not live to work, rather work to live. I collect new experiences with great fondness and I have had just as much fun at a $20 dinner as a $200 dinner. I am a concert addict and the music that deeply moves my soul truly has the unique ability to bring me alive in childlike ways. I listen to 90's trance for hours and hours at home. Bones Thugs will never ever not make me dance immediately. I never get sick of it. I regularly spend quality time with souls dear to me. I love to swim. I love all seasons and all food. The ocean makes me smile from miles away. A hint of salty air and a single ray of sunshine makes me indescribably giddy. I love to watch films of all kinds and I'm a total YouTube junkie, just like the lot of us. I often binge read books and articles during my free time to the point that sometimes, I actually have to set a manual two hour alarm to avoid blowing the whole day away and getting sucked into the author of the weeks world. I have to physically and mentally set limits over my own Self on particular days so I don't get too carried away.. so that I am still able to adequately focus on my present as well. I work full time and pay my own bills. I eat 10-12 snacks a day. I stop to pet every dog I see on the street no matter where I'm heading or what time it is. I consistently make time for traveling because creating new experiences, immersing myself in other cultures and living a wild life of adventure is half of my whole heart. In this life, I am a free spirit by design.. that said I value my family, my relationship with God and the love in my life immensely. As an adult I have acquired countless hobbies, interests and responsibilities as most of us do over time. I also regularly make time to study, research and learn more about the world I live in because I consciously choose to do so. I am so naturally drawn to caring. I couldn't even help it if I tried because this deep desire for trueness is in my very blood for better or worst and it runs all though my innermost core. I unquestionably yearn to not only grow as a free thinking person, but also to willfully expand my mind more and more with each passing day until my very last little breath. I thirst to question that which deserves debate. Occasionally, I seek answers to questions that are difficult or cannot truly be answered clearly, this can be equally rewarding and frustrating depending on the matter at hand. Here's a touch of background about me so that you can have a simple idea of where I came from as we move forward. I am originally born in Bulgaria (South East Europe) and fled from communism and the hell it left behind once lifed when I was a child. I always kept up my first language and to this day I am proudly fluent in Bulgarian. If I do have children of my own, they too will undoubtedly be raised bilingual. My family (parents and I) were temporary relocated to Germany after applying to countries outside of home via legal channels with proper papers/passports.. in crucial moments there were even in depth handwritten letters brought forth stating why 'they' should accept us into their land. That was what it is when it was. Nothing was guaranteed and everything was a gamble. When we did eventually find out that we were leaving, my parents were not allowed to tell anyone of our plans or whereabouts, not even family. We were permitted to take a total of two suitcases for three whole people. One was filled with clothes, the other packed with books. Maybe that's a part of why there is a deeply instinctual thirst for knowledge in my very blood. And maybe it isn't. I later attended kindergarten in W. Europe, I spoke + sang fluent German and after a couple of years of living in a Bavarian hotel we received more word from afar which prompted us to proceed along our path. Ultimately, we were given the option to move to St. Louis, Missouri or Thunder Bay, Ontario. My sweet parents were so brave and hopeful for better days ahead. This awesome courage is something that I can never ever repay them for, even if I tried. Despite all that they had been through back home - and despite all that they had battled and conquered always fighting tooth and nail, real masters of the poker face - the Land of the Free would surely hold a more promising future for us all. So off we went. We were each sworn in legally before a judge, took on US citizenship and then immediately dropped off with our two suitcases in tow straight into a small one bedroom apt in the middle of a grim city containing just a single mattress on the floor and a perfectly empty fridge. We didn't have an air conditioner and no one warned us we would need one. My father immediately hit the ground running and got a full time job to support us, an air conditioner was bought and a few years later my brother was born. The rest is history. As far as formal schooling goes, I went to an elementary school in North City and then later a second in South City - after that I attended a public county school until my senior year and I did not receive any formal education after I graduated high school. I have touched almost every state and spent a great deal of time in Europe, Asia and Africa. And I have a thousand more places I want to go. What I quickly learned in the years to come was that even though my high school was widely considered to be an extremely solid and reputable one, I wasn't ever really taught much about the rest of the world during my time there. We studied slavery, the Bill of Rights, the American Civil War and the Holocaust every single year. The same criteria in just slightly different forms from 6th grade thru 12th. I took math classes and I also learned how to cut open a frog and a worm during science. I learned how to play kickball and volleyball and struggled to knock out a few pull ups in gym. As a 'subject,' World History was extremely general and brief, and that particular 'subject' was only optional to graduate. You could easily have chosen the 'US Government' option if you so preferred it. Required reading was restricted to a minimal and predetermined list which was given to the teachers as a manual at the start of each semester. We took mandatory geography tests covering all the states, but were never taught too much about the rest of the worlds corners. All my friends assumed Bulgaria was somewhere in South America because it kind of sounded like Bolivia. 18 year old kid adults from 'good families' and 'nice homes' actually thought that Paris, London and Amsterdam were names of countries. They didn't know where or how to quickly find non cities like France, England or Holland on a globe unless given more than a little time to squint and wonder, spinning the neon colored globe globe round and round. No one ever taught us about Mao. No teacher mentioned Stalin. Not a singular note was taken regarding atrocious genocides all over the huge continent of Africa. My GPA on paper was very high but I felt somehow limited in my learnings later on as I began to jet around and experience new lands, cultures and countries on my own. So as I grew older and literally began to see more and more of the world as 'we' know it, I also began to question my own smarts. I began to touch different continents physically and trotted on to experience some places I had never even heard of before. I discovered cities and towns I couldn't pronounce and most times, I found myself consistent feeling invigorated by the massive breath(s) of fresh air. But occasionally, I felt unignorable deeply stunted inside.. almost child like, like something had been omitted along the way. Something big. I decided to teach myself everything that I possibly could including what was omitted earlier in my primary education. I feverishly studied world history, religion and cultures of all kinds, maps and atlases galore, languages and dialects. I studied people near and far. I studied myself. I also passionately studied the unpredictable realms of the rapidly changing world all around me in the form of journals. I wrote down so much. I filled stacks of notebooks with my learnings and flipped tons of pages along the way.. and then more pages and more pages. I read til my eyes burned. I dove into foreign press, I wrote to my senators, I watched the local news. I got lost on the Internet. I let it all sink in as much as I could take it. I did all of this because I wanted to. We are now living in a time where the brave ones who do speak out against the norm are often immediately labeled as subversive, crazy or overly "intense." These outspoken individuals are often times written off by society + regularly ridiculed for their thoughts and expressions.. as a result their messages are quickly discarded into a never ending trash bin manned by the mindless and secured by the masters.. ironically enough their voices simply just get thrown away probably ending up somewhere right alongside free will and basic rights. That said - I have always, *ALWAYS* whole heartedly believed in being a voice and not an echo, so here we are. Everything you see and read here is meant to be digested just the way it is presented, my writing and imagery of choice is always forward and direct - no more, no less. I'm not ever going to hold your hand or explain myself as if I am addressing a fragile sheltered little babe. I'm just going to share with you what I can, while I can. A few months ago I created an Instagram account (separate from my personal) where I approached topics which I felt were extremely important to our world today. I just wanted to share my findings with normal people, or most simply with anyone at all who felt like having a look. That account ranged from revisiting history to accessing current day events.. neither modern day politics as we know it nor honesty were ever excluded or sugar coated in the slightest. Soon enough people were engaging in back and forth intelligent conversation, giving regular feedback/input, asking questions and sending me kind messages of gratitude. This was so much more than I could have ever expected from just another social media outlet.. yet one day when I hopped onto IG to log in, very much to my surprise - I found that my username was no longer valid and my account had been wiped clean. This happened overnight. No warning, no reason.. here today + gone tomorrow, literally. No Instagram rules were remotely violated along the way, but down it went. Point in case: censorship is real. If you haven't realized that humanity is being systematically dumbed down by now, then it is highly likely that you too, have been systematically dumbed down somewhere along the way. I used to have a 'popular' blog online years ago where I shared personal writing photos of my life, travels, interests, etc.. that site seemed to mash together almost all my passions under the sun (music, film, art, fashion, recipes, etc etc) but I never really got 'political' there by choice - I wanted to keep that separate. I knew that I had to be very careful with my viewpoints if I ever wanted to be a writer or accepted by publisher(s) later on. Well that blog had a few million visits and a ton of followers when I decided to delete it (by choice) one day. People from all over the world wrote to me and I met dozens of them in countries all over which was super rad. Despite all that hype, for some reason it had just ran its course for me and I can say with certainly that I was definitely more bummed when this recent Instagram with just a couple hundred 'followers' was abruptly taken away bc I didn't make that choice myself. While I'm very well aware that your followers are not always your fans.. it has just become increasingly more important to me to focus on what matters to me most, everyday and in every way. Of course I still love movies and exploring exhibits at museums near and far. I still study fashion magazines from cover to cover and attend shows just like I always have. But I have a deeper desire to share with others, that which is purposefully being withheld because I wholeheartedly believe it affects us all in the end. Moving forward, I will be posting pieces I have written on topics including but not limited to; HAARP: what is it and why should you know more about it, why traditionalism and nationalism are not equal to racism/hate and the reason I will probably never vote for president in the USA again, even though I literally moved to America for freedom of democracy. The irony is so real. I am going to look inside the unignorable and ever growing parallels between the Roman Empire and the United States because they simply fascinate me. I'll review their differences too, but you will soon see for yourself that the similarities greatly outweigh the latter. I'm going to discuss impeding race wars, media manipulation, distraction tactics, corrupt politians, illegal wars, unjust occupations, false prophets, and the many toxic poisons that are destroying us not only as individuals but also as a whole. Along the way, I will share my own fears and doubts with an audience of 1 or 100 because the simple truth is: I clearly don't have all the answers, not even close. You'll read about systematic indoctrination and it's direct ties to the endless bloody wars based on lies that our very tax dollars pay for year after tired year. You'll read about why the system was born broken. I'm going to tell you all about how I discovered that most things we have been taught to believe are just part of a big story. I'm going to describe the game as I know it, call out the big players and acknowledge the pawns. I may have to remind you that the narrative is not in your favor. It never was and by the looks of things, it may never be. It doesn't mean doom and gloom. It means that self educating and awareness has never ever been more important. Until then, please remember this much.. A nation of sheep is bound to be governed by wolves. You should never confuse education with intelligence. And last but definitely never least, thinking for yourself out loud is the absolute best thing you can do in this life. ❤✌🏼

Fifth Harmony’s Lauren Jauregui sums up her decision to take part in D.C.’s historic Women’s March on Washington neatly: “I need to walk what I talk, you know?”

Talk, she does. At 20 years old, Jauregui is quickly becoming one of the most politically outspoken stars on the map, and can speak to everything from the crusade against Planned Parenthood to music industry sexism. In October, the Cuban-American came out as bisexual via an open letter to Trump voters that was scathing, to say the least. And on Saturday, she joined an impressive list of celebrities who took part in protest marches across the country and the world.

Though Jauregui admits the Women’s March marks her first trip to the nation’s capital for a protest, she says her interest in women’s rights issues sparked while attending an all-girls high school in Miami, Florida.

There, “it was instilled in me to be a confident and courageous woman,” the singer explains. “Every single girl that I went to school with is so inspirational and so powerful and so driven and so unafraid. I think that’s something we all need to instill in each other.”

To Jauregui, this also means ensuring that women of all backgrounds and experiences are included in an intersectional feminist movement. As a young woman who is a member of the LGBT community and belongs to an immigrant family, she jokes that she falls into “three categories” of minority.

It’s a diversity of life experience that extends to the rest of Fifth Harmony’s girl-power group as well. “We’re four women who are completely different ethnicities, completely different body types, completely different walks of life and opinions,” Jauregui says.

We caught up with Jauregui just after her arrival in D.C. to talk about her “overwhelming” experience at the march, the feminism stigma, and the power of millenials to make the next generation count. Watch Fifth Harmony’s performance at the People’s Choice Awards last week below, and scroll through for our Q&A with Jauregui.

Who and what are you marching for? I’m marching for human rights in general, because the upcoming administration has clearly made a statement about who they support and what kind of regime they intend to instill. I’m marching for women, I’m marching for the LGBT community, I’m marching for immigrants. I happen to fall into all three categories [laughs], so I’m marching for myself at the end of the day and for my family and my friends. And for whoever else deserves it. What were you feeling during the march? Over-fucking-whelmed. Present, aware, peaceful, and ready to go. The most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. I can’t believe that I witnessed the history that I did. I feel like a lot of people felt so alone with this new administration coming in, and they felt so betrayed. This whole entire experience is a clear indication of the fact that… we are the popular vote. This is us, out here marching. All around the world, women united, and men united, and humans alike united, and we’re not going to tolerate this. We’re not going to tolerate a fascist regime, and we’re not going to tolerate you telling us that we’re not important. Because we’re all here, and our voices matter, and we outnumber you.

How did the march alter your perspective? I’ve spent so much time in my head and in my notes and in my journals about how much pain this world is in and how upset I am that nobody cares. Going out there today and seeing how many people really care, how many people are so down to use their voices, how many people are willing to fight tooth and nail… it was just beautiful. I was so emotional at so many points. I cried so many times. This is democracy. We are democracy.

What was the crowd like? It was the most incredible, humbling experience to be in the presence of so many humans who were so willing to come together. When I was there, we were trying to get to the bathroom and then trying to get back into the crowd, and it was absolutely impossible because it was so packed, and there was this woman who was in a wheelchair. We were trying to get up onto the ledge, and she was like, “use my wheelchair! Come on!” She literally let us use her as a stepping stool. It was crazy. Everyone was so helpful, helping each other out.

Do you think public figures like yourself have an added responsibility to be politically outspoken? I think that in the entertainment industry particularly, people usually get into this business because they’re trying to just be the distraction for people. But for me, I don’t see the power in having a voice, and a voice that so many more people listen to than an average… I don’t feel right having that and not using it for the sake of educating. That’s why I think I was born and given this platform to begin with. I hate attention, I hate all of that kind of shit. But I think God gave me this voice for this purpose—to use it for the sake of uniting people and making sure that everyone knows that it’s okay to use your voice. You can be a young woman, and it’s okay to use your voice. You can be as strong as you want.

Growing up in Miami, you went to an all-girls school. How did that influence the woman you are today? Honestly, I’ve been very blessed that I was able to go through Carrollton [School of the Sacred Heart]. I attribute everything that I feel and all of the passion that I have to that school. It’s an all-girls school, and it was instilled in me to be a confident and courageous woman. “Women of courage and confidence” was the slogan, essentially, of our school. I’m just so grateful because every single teacher I encountered, all of the administration, everyone involved, men and women alike, were there for the purpose of growth of each individual girl. And each individual girl was told how special she was and how much she could influence the world. I’m literally crying thinking about it [laughs]. Every single girl that I went to school with is so inspirational and so powerful and so driven and so unafraid. I think that’s something we all need to instill in each other.

The rise of Fifth Harmony is often framed as the return of the girl group. Why do you think your music resonates with so many young girls? Some of our songs are empowering, but I feel like more so than our music, it’s who we are. We’re four women who are completely different ethnicities, completely different body types, completely different walks of life and opinions, and you can see that when you watch an interview, when you meet us. We have an energy about us that’s so unique and so intense, and it’s because of how much power we have in us as individuals, being confident, harnessing that power, and wanting to share that with other women. I feel like a lot of women hang on to our message, and it empowers them.

Have you always been so confident in your womanhood? I’m really lucky, because I have a mother and a grandmother who always instilled my power in me, always, from the day I was born. And my father, too. My parents never made me feel like I couldn’t do something because I was a girl, ever. It didn’t matter what I wanted to do. My father supported me 1,000 percent, all the way, and never told me, “you can’t do that because you’re a girl.” And on top of that, the school that I went to, and the power I was given with my education. I’m really lucky, I got only power handed to me, and I made use of it, and I only want to share that.

What place do you think young people have in politics? I think the youth is the movement. I think we are the ones who are starting this revolution, and we’re the ones who are going to see it carry through and be the ones to implement it. I think we’re in a really amazing time right now of consciousness awakening, the internet and all the connections we have to each other. All the young people involved right now, on the internet, seeing the injustice and having it there in front of their faces, it’s making them passionate and it’s making them aware. All the little kids I’ve ever talked to—little, little kids, like eight years old—they know what’s up. They’re like, “What’s going on? How is Trump president?” The fact that kids can differentiate that… I think the power’s in the youth.

You wrote in your open letter for Billboard that feminism needs “a lot of work.” How can we fix that? I think the whole stigma of the word feminism is such a problem. The only reason that anyone has an aversion to it is because it includes the word “fem,” even though it’s an all-inclusive term. I think that aversion in general is the reason why we need [feminism]. If the word “feminism” bothers you, there’s a reason why it bothers you, and only because it involves women. The issue at the end of the day that feminism fights for is equality, men and women alike. Because men also have their own stigmas that they have to follow, and stereotypes they have to follow that are detrimental to their mental health. That’s something that happens to all of us, something we’re all experiencing. By harnessing that freedom, we’re saying, “no, I want to embrace this term because it means that I get to be free.”

Are you surprised by Donald Trump’s success? I would say I’m surprised, but I also know there is a lot of hatred in the heart of the country. It’s kind of the basis on which [the U.S.] was built, essentially, because it was built on slavery—slaves were the ones who built it. I feel like people are really empowered by money, and that’s all that [Trump] offered, essentially, besides all of the other detrimental things he said. The only people who are able to look past that are people who value the economy over human rights. That exists because money is all-powerful in this society, it’s a capitalist society, so a lot of people feel like they have no option but to progress only economically.

Do you have any thoughts on the effort to defund Planned Parenthood? Just how important it is to recognize how they are responsible for so much more than abortion. That actually, abortion only takes up three percent of what they do, and everything else is just about female health and reproductive health, and making sure that women have a safe place that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg to get the medical attention that they need. People are dismissing a foundation that genuinely helps millions and millions of women across the nation for the sake of, just, myth.

Would you ever consider going into politics as a profession? I think if I do anything political, it would be activism. I don’t believe in our government, currently. I don’t believe in the way that things are going. I wouldn’t want to be involved bureaucratically, I’d want to be more activism.

Is there anything you want to say to fellow marchers? I love you, and we’re together. Let’s make some changes.

Fifth Harmony’s Lauren Jauregui sums up her decision to take part in D.C.’s historic Women’s March on Washington neatly: “I need to walk what I talk, you know?”

Talk, she does. At 20 years old, Jauregui is quickly becoming one of the most politically outspoken stars on the map, and can speak to everything from the crusade against Planned Parenthood to music industry sexism. In October, the Cuban-American came out as bisexual via an open letter to Trump voters that was scathing, to say the least. And on Saturday, she joined an impressive list of celebrities who took part in protest marches across the country and the world.

Though Jauregui admits the Women’s March marks her first trip to the nation’s capital for a protest, she says her interest in women’s rights issues sparked while attending an all-girls high school in Miami, Florida.

There, “it was instilled in me to be a confident and courageous woman,” the singer explains. “Every single girl that I went to school with is so inspirational and so powerful and so driven and so unafraid. I think that’s something we all need to instill in each other.”

To Jauregui, this also means ensuring that women of all backgrounds and experiences are included in an intersectional feminist movement. As a young woman who is a member of the LGBT community and belongs to an immigrant family, she jokes that she falls into “three categories” of minority.

It’s a diversity of life experience that extends to the rest of Fifth Harmony’s girl-power group as well. “We’re four women who are completely different ethnicities, completely different body types, completely different walks of life and opinions,” Jauregui says.

We caught up with Jauregui just after her arrival in D.C. to talk about her “overwhelming” experience at the march, the feminism stigma, and the power of millenials to make the next generation count. Watch Fifth Harmony’s performance at the People’s Choice Awards last week below, and scroll through for our Q&A with Jauregui.

Who and what are you marching for? I’m marching for human rights in general, because the upcoming administration has clearly made a statement about who they support and what kind of regime they intend to instill. I’m marching for women, I’m marching for the LGBT community, I’m marching for immigrants. I happen to fall into all three categories [laughs], so I’m marching for myself at the end of the day and for my family and my friends. And for whoever else deserves it. What were you feeling during the march? Over-fucking-whelmed. Present, aware, peaceful, and ready to go. The most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. I can’t believe that I witnessed the history that I did.

I feel like a lot of people felt so alone with this new administration coming in, and they felt so betrayed. This whole entire experience is a clear indication of the fact that… we are the popular vote. This is us, out here marching. All around the world, women united, and men united, and humans alike united, and we’re not going to tolerate this. We’re not going to tolerate a fascist regime, and we’re not going to tolerate you telling us that we’re not important. Because we’re all here, and our voices matter, and we outnumber you.

How did the march alter your perspective?

I’ve spent so much time in my head and in my notes and in my journals about how much pain this world is in and how upset I am that nobody cares. Going out there today and seeing how many people really care, how many people are so down to use their voices, how many people are willing to fight tooth and nail… it was just beautiful. I was so emotional at so many points. I cried so many times. This is democracy. We are democracy.

What was the crowd like?

It was the most incredible, humbling experience to be in the presence of so many humans who were so willing to come together. When I was there, we were trying to get to the bathroom and then trying to get back into the crowd, and it was absolutely impossible because it was so packed, and there was this woman who was in a wheelchair. We were trying to get up onto the ledge, and she was like, “use my wheelchair! Come on!” She literally let us use her as a stepping stool. It was crazy. Everyone was so helpful, helping each other out.

Do you think public figures like yourself have an added responsibility to be politically outspoken?

I think that in the entertainment industry particularly, people usually get into this business because they’re trying to just be the distraction for people. But for me, I don’t see the power in having a voice, and a voice that so many more people listen to than an average… I don’t feel right having that and not using it for the sake of educating. That’s why I think I was born and given this platform to begin with. I hate attention, I hate all of that kind of shit. But I think God gave me this voice for this purpose—to use it for the sake of uniting people and making sure that everyone knows that it’s okay to use your voice. You can be a young woman, and it’s okay to use your voice. You can be as strong as you want.

Growing up in Miami, you went to an all-girls school. How did that influence the woman you are today?

Honestly, I’ve been very blessed that I was able to go through Carrollton [School of the Sacred Heart]. I attribute everything that I feel and all of the passion that I have to that school. It’s an all-girls school, and it was instilled in me to be a confident and courageous woman. “Women of courage and confidence” was the slogan, essentially, of our school. I’m just so grateful because every single teacher I encountered, all of the administration, everyone involved, men and women alike, were there for the purpose of growth of each individual girl. And each individual girl was told how special she was and how much she could influence the world. I’m literally crying thinking about it [laughs]. Every single girl that I went to school with is so inspirational and so powerful and so driven and so unafraid. I think that’s something we all need to instill in each other.

The rise of Fifth Harmony is often framed as the return of the girl group. Why do you think your music resonates with so many young girls?

Some of our songs are empowering, but I feel like more so than our music, it’s who we are. We’re four women who are completely different ethnicities, completely different body types, completely different walks of life and opinions, and you can see that when you watch an interview, when you meet us. We have an energy about us that’s so unique and so intense, and it’s because of how much power we have in us as individuals, being confident, harnessing that power, and wanting to share that with other women. I feel like a lot of women hang on to our message, and it empowers them.

Have you always been so confident in your womanhood?

I’m really lucky, because I have a mother and a grandmother who always instilled my power in me, always, from the day I was born. And my father, too. My parents never made me feel like I couldn’t do something because I was a girl, ever. It didn’t matter what I wanted to do. My father supported me 1,000 percent, all the way, and never told me, “you can’t do that because you’re a girl.” And on top of that, the school that I went to, and the power I was given with my education. I’m really lucky, I got only power handed to me, and I made use of it, and I only want to share that.

What place do you think young people have in politics?

I think the youth is the movement. I think we are the ones who are starting this revolution, and we’re the ones who are going to see it carry through and be the ones to implement it. I think we’re in a really amazing time right now of consciousness awakening, the internet and all the connections we have to each other. All the young people involved right now, on the internet, seeing the injustice and having it there in front of their faces, it’s making them passionate and it’s making them aware. All the little kids I’ve ever talked to—little, little kids, like eight years old—they know what’s up. They’re like, “What’s going on? How is Trump president?” The fact that kids can differentiate that… I think the power’s in the youth.

You wrote in your open letter for Billboard that feminism needs “a lot of work.” How can we fix that?

I think the whole stigma of the word feminism is such a problem. The only reason that anyone has an aversion to it is because it includes the word “fem,” even though it’s an all-inclusive term. I think that aversion in general is the reason why we need [feminism]. If the word “feminism” bothers you, there’s a reason why it bothers you, and only because it involves women. The issue at the end of the day that feminism fights for is equality, men and women alike. Because men also have their own stigmas that they have to follow, and stereotypes they have to follow that are detrimental to their mental health. That’s something that happens to all of us, something we’re all experiencing. By harnessing that freedom, we’re saying, “no, I want to embrace this term because it means that I get to be free.”

Are you surprised by Donald Trump’s success?

I would say I’m surprised, but I also know there is a lot of hatred in the heart of the country. It’s kind of the basis on which [the U.S.] was built, essentially, because it was built on slavery—slaves were the ones who built it. I feel like people are really empowered by money, and that’s all that [Trump] offered, essentially, besides all of the other detrimental things he said. The only people who are able to look past that are people who value the economy over human rights. That exists because money is all-powerful in this society, it’s a capitalist society, so a lot of people feel like they have no option but to progress only economically.

Do you have any thoughts on the effort to defund Planned Parenthood?

Just how important it is to recognize how they are responsible for so much more than abortion. That actually, abortion only takes up three percent of what they do, and everything else is just about female health and reproductive health, and making sure that women have a safe place that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg to get the medical attention that they need. People are dismissing a foundation that genuinely helps millions and millions of women across the nation for the sake of, just, myth.

Would you ever consider going into politics as a profession?

I think if I do anything political, it would be activism. I don’t believe in our government, currently. I don’t believe in the way that things are going. I wouldn’t want to be involved bureaucratically, I’d want to be more activism.

Is there anything you want to say to fellow marchers? I love you, and we’re together. Let’s make some changes.