young men of promise

-an old love of mine (i)

Request: Hello there, I just wanted to know if you got my previous request: Could you please write a Jon Snow imagine the reader grew up with the starks and formed a romantic relationship with Jon during that time, but she had to leave winterfell because her father married her off to some northern lord (one of the reasons why Jon decided to take the black), fast forward to Sansa and Jon trying to gather allies for battle of the bastards, they meet again and they realize their feelings only grew

a/n: hope you enjoy the first part!


“Married!” the outrageous cry of disbelief rings clear and high throughout the room. It seems the syllables are the only sounds for moments after, for the great and hulking lord that sits before the raging woman remains silent and tight lipped. 

Sons had been hard to raise alone. Daughters were harder. 

The theory had proven correct when his daughter had been born wailing and thrashing into the world, the whole of Torrhen’s Square and possibly the entire north witness to her rage. She was fearsome to behold then, a small and tiny thing full of her mothers despair. And now was the same; discontent and unadulterated anger flashing in her eyes and the light of the candles hanging from the walls bouncing off her face and making it all hollow lines and sharp angles. 

There is an anger in her that is both wild and beautiful, and is something Lord Tallhart has been witness to only a certain amount of times. But it is not common for members of his house to hide such carnal rage within them. She should not be so familiar with such wildness. Perhaps being raised among the Stark children has finally made her into one of them, and now she holds in her an undomesticated vexation akin to a wolves. 

“I will not be married father!” she is pacing now and the clink of her boots and the steel sword by her hip ring off the stone walls of Lord Tallhart’s chamber. Y/n had never been content with posing as a lady, and her attire that would rather be suited to a male made that fact all too clear to any one who set eyes on her. But her hair is still kept long and her face is far too beautiful to be kept behind the walls of Winterfell. 

“You are a Lady and therefore you will fulfill your duty and marry a Lord. I have received almost close to thirty marriage proposals and suggestions from every corner of the North, and even one from Lord Randyll Tarly who suggests a fine and strapping young son Dickon as a husband for you” his words are quick and rough, and they do not comfort her in any way but rather irritate her further. 

“I will not be sold to someone named Dickon! Or anyone for that matter” she is a graceful whirl of thick hair and clinking steel as she rushes towards her father who sits watching with eyes that are dimming with age each day “please father, you can’t make me. I want to stay here at Winterfell” 

“You can not!” the words are harsher than he had intended them, but there is a truthful anger in them that he knows he has been holding back. His daughter may be young, perhaps a year or two younger than most are when married, but a union with someone of high birth is almost paramount at this stage. 

Jon Snow watches with those black eyes that are deep with a love Lord Tallhart can not bear when he sees him watching his daughter, and it is this reason he must sell her off to someone of legitimate birth. Jon is not the only one who has a deep buried desire that seems to radiate from ever crevice of his being when he eyes y/n. Tallhart’s daughter seems to reciprocate the feelings that the Stark bastard all too plainly displays while in crowded rooms and beneath weirwoods at prayer; their eyes always meeting no matter the place. 

“This is my home, and I belong here!” y/n cries, the barrier between childishness and maturity blurring as she yet again becomes a little girl in front of him. He wishes she were small enough to cradle and kiss and young enough to believe in stories and in her fathers promises. But she is not a child any longer but a woman, graceful and beautiful and fearsome to look upon and she must fulfill her duties. 

“Torrhen Square is your true home, and when you are married some castle or holdfast will be your new one” her Lord Father tells her and there is a flash of something so sad within her eyes that he is reminded of her mother all too painfully. 

“I never asked to be raised here, but you brought me here for Lady Catelyn to foster alongside Robb when mother died and when you went and fought with the King. You made this place my home by sending me here” she tells him, a dangerous softness replacing her tone of anger that had previously seeped her words with rage “but I do not wish to leave it” 

“If it pleases you I will let you read these letters” her father gestures towards the now crinkled and folded letters that are covered in different scrawls all in black ink. Y/n can notice some of the sigils that are marked on them with wax, and some are too obscured for her to recognise, but she does not care. Names and sigils and house words do not matter to one that is already in love and marriage proposals are altogether shunned from her mind if it is not one from the only man she wishes to marry. 

But you can never marry a bastard.The words are seething and sharp as they are whispered in her ear by her demonic, stalking conscious and she imagines a cloaked and hooded figure standing behind her with a cutting grin put there by her inner torment. 

Jon Snow is all that matters but he is all she can not have. He is what the gods promise all maidens and what her mother would have wanted for her since he is so gentle and honest and good. But the gods have not listened to her prayers in years and her mother is dead. She can not imagine clearly her face anymore and can not begin to remember if Jon Snow would have been the type of man her mother would have wanted by her daughters side. 

“I do not want to read them” her voice is rough and thick with Stark stubbornness. Sometimes she thinks the direwolf is the real sigil of her blood, but then she is reminded when everyone calls her Lady Tallhart, and whenever her father reminds her. Perhaps wanting to be a Stark so much is just another commonality she and Jon share; another lie they can convince themselves of every time they kiss. Like how they convince themselves they’ll somehow end up as man and wife. 

“It would ease your mind a little if you were to read them, my dear. Some of the young men sound promising, if you were to read them yourself then you could choose more easily” 

“I do not wish to choose any man because I have already chosen someone” there are tears upon her cheeks now that trail from her eyes in the utmost betrayal. Her eyes weep sadness from them as a weirwood weeps its blood red sap, but unlike a weirwood tree the person before her weeping eyes is not bowed in prayer. He is a raging figure of a lord; a shadow of the kind eyed man she used to cry for whenever he rode to battle. She will not weep for this man however; for his eyes are filled with too much rage. 

He stands now, rough and huge hands placing flat on the table as they push himself from his chair. His shadow is large against the stone walls as the candlelight throws it against the grey and white like paint on an artists canvas. His eyes are bright and dangerous and she is suddenly filled with a great desire to stare at them as hard as she can manage, but he is much better at it than she is. 

“I will not have you choose any man without my consent, and especially a man with such low birth as the one I know you are thinking of. You defy me by consorting with him in the godswood night after night to play out whatever fantasies you may still cling onto. You loved him as a child, I saw that I did, and I regret not stopping it sooner. But boys and girls tend to strike up feelings at that age that often temper with maturity. I recall young Robb once declared you his true love at the age of eight, but that changed and I had hoped Jon’s feelings would have too” there is a kindness in his tone at the end that contests with the anger on his face but she does not stop staring at him with discontent. 

“But they haven’t” she tells him, her words wavering and flickering just like the candlelight as it burns around the room. Her fathers shoulders slump then and his grey eyes narrow as they drop to look upon the heavy oak desk that is littered with her marriage proposals. 

“No they haven’t” Lord Tallhart once again looks at his daughter, her ethereal beauty magnified by the light of the room, but the sword at her hip contests with any claim she has to ladylike traits. 

“Bastard or not father, I love him” she is pleading now she knows, something that she detests more than crying in front of people but is yet another thing she is doing as she feels the hot tears leak from her. She wipes them hurriedly from her face but it is of no use, they come as fast as she rids them “I won’t love anyone else” 

“Your mother did not love me, she did not love me for many years in fact. She bore your brother out of duty for our marriage and even after he was born I could tell she only loved me a small measure for making her son. I loved her from the moment I saw her, red hair and a smile men would kill for and a heart just as sweet” he does not look so grim and formidable when he talks about her mother, and it softens her somewhat to hear it “but she did not love me, not until Benfred was four and was taken with a fever and was almost lost to us. I stayed with her by his bedside for almost a fortnight, and after that she loved me something terrible. What I am trying to tell you is that you may not love the man you are married to but you can learn to” 

“I will never learn to love any other man” her words are ice; the very frost that coats the grounds of Winterfell and it is hard and dangerous and everlasting. Winter has come in the shape of her promise, and she knows as she looks at her father, that she can never take it back. 


a/n: this is short and jon isn’t in it yet but he will be! more parts to come! and please send me in requests. at the moment I only write for Jon, Robb or Jaime so send requests for them please!

A Cage

Originally posted by imkylotrash

Title: A Cage

A/N: This takes place during X-Men: First Class. This is my first one shot in a long time, I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Charles Xavier x Reader
Words: 1,690
Rating: T (?)
Warnings: A little angsty toward the end.

You could feel his piercing blue eyes stare at you attentively, even with your eyes screwed shut. You could feel everyone in the house. Their feelings, but you needed to focus on the man in front of you. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem for you, the chocolate haired telepaths feelings and presence always comforted you, but today was different.

Hank had recently been working on a cure for himself and Raven’s looks, and even thought they were on the other side of the house their emotions rang in clear; nervousness, excitement, thrill, happiness. It was difficult to tell where ones emotions ended and the others began. Sean was only a few rooms down, presumably with the suit Hank made him on, you didn’t need to be a telepath to know he was contemplating jumping out the window to try and fly. He was feeling very conflicted, also a feeling of dread and slight anxiety kept washing over him. Darwin had seemingly just woke u, seeing as how the kitchen was practically radiating with sleep and grogginess. Angel was still asleep, you knew without even reading her, it was way to early for her to be up. These were the normal emotions for this time of morning, albeit some of them felt a bit stronger than normal. But that could be caused by your agitation.

Every morning around this time, Charles helped you hone your power. During this time the residents of the house did various daily things. Today however, Erik had decided to you this time to train as well. You always hated when he used his powers because he always drew from anger, hate, and rage. Anytime he trained it took a toll on you, today was no exception, but it was amplified. Clearly he was using what Charles had taught him yesterday, as his emotions teetered between rage and serenity. Whatever memory he was using was powerful, though your eyes were closed you could feel tears well up behind your lids. Gritting your teeth you tried once more to concentrate on Charles, having more than a little difficulty as Erik’s emotions kept interrupting and butting int, this only caused you more agitation.

A warm hand encased yours over the wooden desk, your eyes snapping open finding blue eyes staring into yours. You felt him everywhere, your powers always amplified on contact. He was comforting, patient, understanding. His presence calmed you, reassured you. No words were exchanged, through thought or otherwise. They weren’t needed. You could tell his emotions were willing you to relax, to take you time, concentrate. Letting out a breath you gave a slight nod to him. A faint smile graced his features as he let your hand go, placing two fingers to his temple. Almost instantly you felt him in your mind. He never did anything other than observe, he would speak words of encouragement every once in a while or even tell you to relax, but other than that he left your mind alone. It wasn’t that you minded him there, quite the opposite actually, but he was to polite-only ever using his power when needed.

Blinking a few times you focused on clearing your mind, feeling Charles do the same with his emotions. You focused on a happy memory. It was the first time that you had met Raven, the two of you talking like you were long lost siblings. Remembering that you two had talked for well over three hours at a pub while Charles talked to ladies made you smile. Raven had seemed so lonely then, but not anymore. Honing in on the cheerfulness of the memory you made to project the feeling to your telepath friend. The memory never faded as memory Raven laughed loudly at something you had said, your laughter chiming in shortly after. Your hands tightened on the arms of the chair as reality hit you that Charles wasn’t laughing with your memory.

Try a stronger memory. His voice interrupted your thoughts and though you knew he meant well, were slightly discouraged. Changing tactics you focused on a different memory. This one of Hank and how ecstatic he was to find he wasn’t alone. You clearly remembered the lop sided grin he wore as he showed off for the first time. The thrill of no longer being alone, or having to hid. For once being among friends. The way his heart beat quickly in excitement as he did a back flip only to catch himself on the hanging model plane. You’re trying to hard. Glancing at your hands that had long since turned white from the grip you had on the armrest of the chair, you let out a frustrated sigh as you withdrew into yourself clearing your mind. The emotions should come naturally. Make me feel what you feel. So far you’ve shown me memories and feelings.

You looked back to him, puzzled, Isn’t that what we’re going for? Your thought came out much harsher than you expected. Charles only smiled at you.

You didn’t make me feel those emotions. It was like watching a movie, I can see how they were feeling by the way they acted, looked. You are getting better I promise. He added quickly when he heard the starts of bemoaning. This time the emotions radiated off you. If I was closer to you, you would have succeeded both times. Start off small, use the emotions you’re feeling now and project them to me. Then after a bit we can try using emotions from memories.

Huffing you looked into his blue eyes seeing the compassion there. He’s only trying to help, you thought quietly, forgetting he was still in your mind, but which feeling should I project?

Perhaps your agitation, love, or your annoyance toward Erik. He chuckled lightly in your mind, startling you. This only cause your annoyance to grow turning into anger. Couldn’t he see that you were trying your hardest? Start of small, he said.

FINE! You practically screamed in your head, causing Charles to flinch. You didn’t even clear your mind or give him anytime to recover from your outburst. Determined to make him feel something you focused on him. Using Cerebro to touch all those minds, your stomach flopped over on its self at the thought of being useless. Bile rose into your throat as you continued on your path, Charles helping Sean understand how his scream actually breaks things. Telling him that his voice is a muscle that can be trained too. Tear welled in your eyes as you felt everyone grow into their powers, leaving you behind, not bothering to wait for you or to help you. Charles was an intelligent man, who seemingly mastered his powers already. Why was he even bothering with you? You had no real power, nothing that would be useful in a battle.

Slowly you relaxed your grip on the chair, your glance falling to the floor as you saw the shock on the telepaths face. A single tear fell from your face hitting your lap. Though you slowly retracted your emotions from him, the feelings still raged on inside you. You felt Charles slowly leave your mind. His fingers just as slowly leaving his temple. You felt his eyes on you and noticed him shift away from you slightly.

“Is that how you feel about me?” His voice cracked ever so slightly, and he seemed slightly breathless. “Every time you see me doing anything, is this how you feel?” You looked up in confusion, seeing that he was fighting back tears.

“No.” You shook your head lightly, not looking away from his face.

His laugh was cold, he didn’t believe you, “Then explain that?” He gestured to you.

“Charles… It’s not-” pausing you looked for the right words. “It’s not you.”

“It’s not you it’s me?” He sounded so detached, on top of his emotions. Betrayal, and hurt. You felt like your heart was being ripped from you causing more unwanted tears to fall down your face.

“I’m nothing.” Finally you spit it out not wanting to hold his gaze but not able to break it either. His face fell. Guilt instantly washed over him. “In comparison to you, to any of you, I’m nothing.”

Charles quickly stood in front of you, touching your hair. “That’s what this is about?” You finally broke his gaze tears still streaming down your face, and nodded. Within a second you were in his arms, he held you tightly, pressing hard kisses to your hair and forehead. Relief, it felt so strong. It couldn’t have just been yours. “Is that what you’re so afraid of? Why you try so hard, sweetheart?” He didn’t ease his embrace any so you felt his chest rumble with his words. You hid your face in his shirt shaking your head.

I fear a cage. Being left until old age and death come for me, not being able to help anyone at all. Just watching while others I love die. The words couldn’t leave your lips, you didn’t know if you wanted them to.

“You’ll never be caged, love. And you help everyone here as much as I do.” You were surprised, you didn’t even feel Charles slip into your mind. “I think that I’ve just discovered another of your abilities.” He commented off offhandedly, smiling. You looked up at him, your face still puffy from crying. “I wasn’t trying to read your mind. I think that you can amplify others powers.”

“Really?” You asked dumbly. When he nodded you jumped up and hugged him. “Do you think we can practice amplifying powers soon?”

“As soon as you’d like, love.” You smiled at him. Charles touched your cheek and smiled as you thought of how handsome he was. You blushed ever so slightly before he met your lips in a passionate kiss.

Maybe you weren’t as useless as you thought. And if Charles says that you’ll never be caged then you would believe him. He had never steered you wrong before.

Grace Of The Angel

story written for @deancastielbigbang

Author and artist: purgatoan
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 53k+
Beta: @dreamsfromthebunker
Tags: Castiel/Dean Winchester, abusive Castiel/Naomi, Angst, Heavy Angst, Rape/Non-con, Major Character Death, Gambling, Suggestive Themes, Titanic AU, Mean Naomi (Supernatural), Mean Amara (Supernatural), Smoking, Unrelated Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Homophobia, Period-Typical Homophobia, Physical Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Tendencies, POV First Person, POV Alternating, POV Dean Winchester, POV Castiel, Bottom Cas, Top Dean, Rimming, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dry Humping, Blow Jobs, Explicit Language, Minor Violence

Link: story on Archive of our Own

Summary: April 11th, 1912. Two young men get on the Titanic in Southampton: Castiel Novak, with a terrifying promise of an arranged wedding after the cruise is over, and Dean Winchester, a wanderer that sees this journey as an adventure.

Their paths cross on the ship of dreams by a complete accident as Dean saves Castiel in every sense of the word, convincing the man from the first class that life might still be worth living. Throughout those few days, they fall madly in love, overcoming social boundaries and demons hiding inside them that they thought would make it impossible for them to be together.

But there’s something neither of them could predict; turns out that Titanic isn’t indestructible at all and, after hitting an iceberg, it’ll inevitably sink. It’s only a matter of time.Will it be the end of their love story or only the beginning?

A/N: It’s finally here, guys! *screams internally*

Let’s start with the fact that the idea for this thing bloomed in my head after stumbling onto a post made by @extranikiforov. So, even though I didn’t use ideas from it, it kicked me to even consider writing this thing so, thank you!

Big thanks goes to @justanothersaltandburn, because if it weren’t for his support and constant encouragement, I doubt I’d even take upon myself such a big challenge. Thanks so much, Dee, you’re the best!

Thanks to @izzyindefini and @brieflymaximumprincess for helping me with translating a very important phrase for this fic! (Not sure if you even remember, but you helped a lot ;))

And, enormous thank you to my wonderful Beta, because without her help, this fic wouldn’t be as incredible as it is now. @dreamsfromthebunker, you’re literally the best for putting up with my errors and fails, I will never be able to thank you enough!

To all of those that were waiting for this fic and constantly cheering me on, thank you so so much! I really hope this beauty lives up to your expectations!

Every chapter is written from 1st Person’s POV and it alternates every chapter. In the first chapter, we start with Cas’ POV, in the next one, we go to Dean’s POV, and so on. Oh, I envisioned Cas being around 19 in this one and Dean being a little bit older, 21 perhaps?

Also, dialogue is heavily inspired on the movie script so full credit for that to the creators of the movie.

I will have the warnings listed individually as well, so you’ll be informed to the best of my ability. Feel free to ask me about the warnings if you want more specific information and I’ll provide it!

Tags under the cut :)

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The Freshman: TV Series AU

Based on @zigislatino‘s HSS series, @zahranamazis‘ Endless Summer series, @boring-grayson’s  TRR/ROE series, and @jaxonsilva s Lovehacks series…

*#*#*#*#*#*#*# *#*#*#*#*#*#*# *#*#*#*#*#*#*# *#*#*#*#*#*#*#

*Chris is the HSM-era Zac Efron of the series and doesn’t really hang out with the rest of the cast when it comes to hangouts or guesting on each other’s social media. He’s not as nice as his character, which kinda rubs fans the wrong way.

*Brooke from LoveHacks was considered for the role of Becca, as well as Mia from High School Story. They’re all the same age, too.

*Zack and Sebastian are actually a real-life couple and Zack cried after he had to do scenes where his character went after Sebastian’s character. They are always holding hands and making out in front of the other castmates, which can be annoying at times. 

*The bangs were due to the Becca actress being re-cast between the 4th and 5th season. 

*MC and Chris had a 2 hour long fight after MC insisted to the writers that her character and Chris should be end game, while Chris insisted on Chris x Becca being endgame.

*Zig won 3 awards 3 seasons in a row for Outstanding Latino Representation by an advocacy group.

*Madison researched for a month studying famous “dumb blonde” archetypes in fiction in order to better portray her role.

*Becca and MC both donated some of their earnings from the show toward the actual Kappa Phi Sigma sorority in order to help their Scholarship fund helping out less fortunate sorority sisters.

*Kaitlyn’s coming out story was mirrored from real life Kaitlyn’s own coming out story, though in real life the mom was more of the homophobic one.

*James blushes anytime a fan says he looks similar to Michael B. Jordan and insists he never looks even a quarter as good.

*Professor Vasquez was fired after showing up to set high on cocaine. His character was meant to have recovered from his illness and be paired with Miss Twombly in a surprise pairing.

*The producers got pissed at Abbie for continuously spoiling the show through her Snapchat.

*Going on the most epic interview rant ever, James slams all the racist hate mail he had received for his character.

*Tyler’s reaction to anything has constantly made him quite the go-to guy for GIFs, because he’s extremely animated.

*The reason why Madison wasn’t able to choose between Logan and Tripp is because the writers themselves feud over who she gets to be with. 

*Leila and Tyler got into some controversy when Leila suggested on Twitter that she will have raunchy sex with Tyler in an upcoming episode, and that never happened. Fans still bother the producers asking for the missing scene.

*Gabriela was actually pregnant and they wrote the Rico story in to fit it in. 

*Arjun keeps reminding fans he’s not the same as Nishan. When will people start believing him?

*Rachel doesn’t bathe or shower before she goes on set to make everyone’s disgust realistic.

*Zack had an affair with Teddy behind Sebastian’s back which divided the cast and everyone took sides. 

*Yasmin is Hana from The Royal Romance’s real life sister.

*Vanessa Kingsley is MC with another weave.

*Natasha is actually lip-syncing along to Madison’s actual singing voice.

*Professor Atiyah hits on all the young men on the show, as she’s a real sexy cougar.

*Becca keeps promising that the writers have something in place to redeem her character, but the fans have been frustrated over the wait.

*Manny was shocked at how vulgar his character was when he first read the script, but he knew he needed to take on the role to educate the audience.

*Annisa was hired last minute when viewers were complaining of the lack of viable lesbians in the show.

*Reyna was an already accomplished blockbuster A-list actress in the Philippines, but most of the audience doesn’t know that.

*Chelsea is actually wearing her blue prom dress from high school that she never got rid of on the set.

*Zig and Chris got into a huge fight over Zig bragging that he was a better actor than “Pretty Boy” Chris. 

Fic 464: Go Ask Your...

We’ve all seen the jokes about the “team mom” and “team dad”. Here’s just one take on it.


“I am not certain what the two of you hoped to accomplish with this.” Medic shook his head as he flipped the switch of the infirmary’s Medi-gun. “No matter how often Soldier insists upon it, man is not capable of unassisted flight.”

“Hum muh…”

“And no, a pair of fabric wings attached to a bicycle does not qualify for assisted flight.” He added as Pyro sheepishly set down the smashed remnants of what looked to be dragon wings made from a pair of standard Mann Co. issued blankets.

Scout harrumphed from the gurney he’d been wheeled in on as he watched his femur slowly retract back into his leg under the pale light of the Medi-gun’s beam. “I donno. I think we almost had it that time. I almost cleared the electric perimeter fence!”

“And you are lucky you decided to take off from my infirmary roof. Respawn is not on right now. If I had not heard the crash…”

“Aw, Doc, it ain’t that ba-YEOW!”

“It is not that bad?” Medic’s eyebrow arched behind his glasses as he shoved the wayward femur back in the rest of the way. “I did not sign on to this assignment to play nursemaid to children.”

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Lieutenant Thomas Arthur Letters
2nd Gordon Highlanders
Killed in action
Source : University of Glasgow

Like many young men, he put his promising education on hold to fight a war and instead of returning to University to continue his medical studies in the session 1914-1915 he took a commission as Second Lieutenant in the 3rd Battalion of the Gordon Highlanders. The initial news early in 1915 was that Tommy was ‘missing, believed killed’. Confirmation that he had been killed in action followed, but few details. The life and death of Lieutenant Tommy Letters is commemorated at Le Touret, among the names of those whose graves are unknown.

Gang Bangs Anyways: Song Analyzes

           The disbandment of the Black Panther Party, has caused California, more specifically Los Angeles to be one of the biggest gang affiliated cities in the nation. The Game’s song: Gang Bang Anyways paints the perfect picture of what gang activity and violence is like in Los Angeles. The Game uses historic references, the use of internal and external wars, and being the product of the environment.

           Gang violence is something that America has been dealing with for more than 40 years. Even more so African-American gangs such as: The Bloods and Crips. Few people know that these two groups were started after the dismantlement of the Black Panther Party. In Gang Bang Anyways, The Game raps, “Started as Black Panthers, everything power, everything PRO Black/ Started off unified the FBI know that,” (Taylor). The Game reveals with this verse that the Black Panther Party was helping uplift the black community. The government was opposed to this because they were also receiving funding from taxpayers. The FBI set up a secret group called COINTELPRO, which targeted not only the Black Panther Party but many other ethnic and civil rights leaders.

           In addition, the review written by Dabian Witherspoon of Cle “Bone” Sloan’s documentary of: Bastards of the Party. Who is also a well-known member of the Bloods. Discusses many topics that are similar to the Game’s song.  “Gang bangers, like the members of the infamous Bloods and Crips in Los Angeles, live lives defined by violence and violent retribution…” (Witherspoon). This quote plays into the theme of The Game’s lyrics. The Game raps, “From the Hoovers to the Hundreds/From Kelly Park to Bounty Hunters/Same age as the kids in Iraq now/LA Chiraq now, funerals is packed now,” (Taylor). Throughout history, Bloods and Crips have always had a vicious rivalry. The Game reveals that it does not matter what set you claim a bullet does not have a name on it. Wheatear it’s Bounty Hunter Bloods or Hoover Crips is being claimed death is around the corner. The Game also suggest that Los Angeles is just as dangerous as Chicago. That the kids in LA are dying and getting involved in violence just like those in Iraq who are being forced into war. The quote from Witherspoon and The Game’s verse tie into to each other because both are explaining the tit for tat of gang life. If a Crip kills a Blood, then the Bloods are going go after that Crip. Then the Crips are going to go after the Bloods. Neither gang is going to stop until the vengeance is settled.

           Furthermore, The Game uses internal and external war, to further explain the love/hate relationship of gang life. The Game raps, “N***as don’t really like it but we grew up in it/City of the angels, belly of the beast get chewed up in it,” (Taylor). According to The Game Los Angeles, specifically Compton, growing up in gang life is inevitable. Wheatear it’s liked or not. Hints at the theme of internal and external war; the fact that young African-American males know that getting involved with gangs is wrong ultimately they know they have no choice but to get involved. Being surrounded by gangs all day, every day, there is a mentally of kill or be killed.

           The Game also reveals that having such a heavenly name (City of Angels) it is actually closer to hell. Which is another reference to his earlier verse, “Preachers at the pulpit, Jesus is the background/Grandmother get shot walking out the church/How that sound?” (Taylor). Again despite having such a heavenly name it’s still a city of hell. After a day of worship, a grandmother still gets shot. Leaving one to believe no one is really safe.

           The Bastards of the Party continues to discuss themes very relevant throughout The Game’s song. A reference to the earlier paragraph speaking on gang life being a never-ending “cycle of death”. The Cle’s documentary continues to look for the answers of why young black men become a part of gangs. Witherspoon writes, “Few, however, can explain the roots of that cycle, or why they would choose such a life,” (Witherspoon). Cle’s documentary provides insight and meaning by what attracts young black men to gangs. The Game raps, “Now the sh*t is worldwide cause it is what it was/We know the history and we know the sh*t could end any day,” (Taylor). The Game reveals that gang banging is not just between neighborhoods anymore, it is a worldwide situation. The Game again uses the theme of internal and external war and becoming the product of the environment. The line, “We know the history and we know the sh*t could end any day.” Reveals the decision of choosing right and wrong, once the history has been explained and the violence between gangs is seen first-hand. They know that tomorrow is not promised either. Can these young black men be the ones to blame, if all that has been seen and taught is gang life. So, regardless of the consequences gangs will still gang bang anyway.

           Cle opens up his documentary with images of the Antebellum-era, “Negroes for sell” signs and pictures of lynching’s from the early 20th century. According to Witherspoon, “The images highlight the deliberate annihilation of black of black people in America…” (Witherspoon). This plays into the historical references the Game uses. The Game raps, “Picture us chained together, under the boat, that’s a Kodak/Stolen identity, God left us here without low jack,” (Taylor). The reference to being chained together on a slave ship is also The Game asking how did black go from protecting each other and fighting together? Now black on black crime is more prevalent than protecting one another. The next line The Game is alluding to religion. A low jack is a device use to locate a stolen car and to return it to its rightful owner. The Game reveals that after blacks were stolen from their land and identities were taken. That children of slaves have no way of relocating themselves or where they have come from. The Game could also be alluding to the fact that black people rely on a religion that has done nothing but make black dependent and forget their culture.

           The hatred for blacks in Los Angeles dates back to as early as the 1940’s. In that era whites had restricted blacks from certain areas. Along with constantly being harassed by LAPD, there was also a white gang named the Spook Hunters that worked with the LAPD. Their last legal lynching was in 1948 of LA. This connects to one of the Game’s last verses. The Game raps, “Forced to find ourselves, forced to break up outta chains/Got tired of getting hanged so we started our gangs,” (Taylor). With the absences of African culture; blacks were forced to either fit into a culture that did not belong to them or start from scratch and make a new culture and life for themselves and their families. Literally having to break free of the slave chains but also having to break free of the mental chains that had kept black people oppressed for so many years.

           The Game reveals in his next line that blacks were tired of being harassed, attacked and bullied by other races. Black people began forming gangs to protect their communities. This line also has a double meaning; it is first referring to the days of lynching. As well as the violence going on within the neighborhoods. Which forces the children to stand together against outsiders and insiders that threaten harm.

           Throughout The Game’s very analytic verse he rapped about themes such as historic references, internal and external war and becoming the product of one’s environment. This essay explored how the effects of the FBI disbanding the Black Panther Party affected the black community and how it was a more a negative impact. It also examined the love/hate relationship that gang members have with their gangs. This paper is a short conversation, of the larger vision that gang life is more detrimental to that of young black men and black communities than the Black Panther Party ever was. It also opens up that dialogue if gang violence continues to spiral out of control there will be no more Crips or Bloods.  

A flash Jonsa AU. Again, sorry, couldn’t resist. :)

*******

The Healer

“Miss Stark! Come in here, we need you! Quickly now!” a voice jolted her out of her drowsiness. She hadn’t had any rest since the booming blasts heard not far away wheeled in dozens of screaming young soldiers, injured, burnt and in agonising pain.

“Anything you need Dr Davos?“ Sansa rushed in to a smaller and more private enclosure of the large medical tent. She stared at the body laying lifeless on the worn canvas stretcher. He looked familiar.

“Hand me that gauze and stop the bleeding as much as you can. He’s losing a lot of blood. We’ve got to save him, no matter what,” the elder gentleman commanded as he took the cotton gauze from her hands and placed it on the gaping wound that was spurting blood. The shells had hit an arterial vein. The gush was bright red and copious. There was no way this young man would live. Even for a terrible nurse that she was, she knew there was no way he would survive it. Still, she followed Dr Davos’ orders.

“Doctor, I don’t think we can stop the bleeding. There are other soldiers out there who need treatment-”

“Miss Stark, do you know who he is?”

Sansa shook her head. She had seen many faces, most of them young and reminded her of her brother Robb and his friend Theon but she hadn’t a clue who the body that laid before her belonged to.

“That’s Jon Targaryen. Grandson of the Duke Aerys Targaryen the Second. Do you know what that means?” Dr Davos asked her again, as he frantically changed the soaked gauze with clean ones. Sansa wasn’t sure yet she understood, that he must be someone incredibly important. More important than the other young men out there, it seemed.

“But Dr Davos… he has no pulse. I’m sorry,” Sansa lessened her grip on the gauze, releasing the wound she was assisting Davos with. More than five minutes had already passed. Jon Targaryen was possibly clinically dead. Davos paused and bowed his head, taking off his glasses. He glanced at the young lady and back to the fresh corpse before him.

“Miss Stark, this man.. This man is the future of England. He has in him dreams that would make our nation great. I know there’s something in you.. I don’t know what it is but I know you can help him. Please, Miss Stark, I’ve seen the soldiers you’ve treated, it’s as if you have the hand that gives life. Do something for this young man. He is important to us, whether you know it or not,” he said quietly, ignoring the commotion and frantic calls for him outside the private space that held the three of them.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dr Davos. I-I should be returning to the others, they need treatment,” Sansa tried to dismiss the hint of the suggestion that Davos was implying. She was about to take her leave when she felt a gentle grip on her elbow.

“He saved my life once. And I vowed to make sure he’s to return alive and well to his family once all this is over. Miss Stark, please think about it.”

Though the slight waver in his plea seemed earnest, Sansa didn’t look back. She found herself almost running out to tend to a writhing young man who had burns all over him.

It was three in the morning when Sansa restocked the medical supplies. She counted the bottles of iodine and counted them again and again, distracted by the earlier conversation Dr Davos had started with her. She glanced across at the enclosed space of the tent that kept the body of one Jon Targaryen. Dr Davos had ordered all who were on duty to keep out of that space, except for him and herself, to tend to the patient.

Sansa didn’t know what came over her when she decided to cautiously walk over to it and tiptoed inside. The whole tent was silent in the dead of night, save for the occasional groan and quiet sobbing of the patients while trying to sleep through their pain. The scene was of great dire and despair.

Sansa looked at the body and let her fingers linger along the muscular arms that laid stiff at the sides. He was frozen to the touch.

He saved my life once… He’s to return to his family when all this is over..

Sansa sighed deeply. Every time, she laid her hands, it took something from her. She wasn’t quite certain what it was but it often left her drained and dizzy and incapable of standing. Ever since she was a child, she was told she had a gift. And they said time and time again, that her gift would change the world.

The Starks were direct descendants of a long lineage of witches and magick. Everyone born of Stark blood had some supernatural ability within them. Arya had the gift of strength; Bran had the gift of vision. She, well, had the gift of bringing back life from the dead. She was warned not to use it often, and only when needed but the death and disease that encamped all around her was too devastating to ignore. She would deal with the consequences when it comes. At that moment, Davos’ plea was the only thing that echoed in her mind. She liked working with him and he had become a sort of father figure to her while she was far away from home and family. If he said it was important, she believed it to be true.

Sansa took the cold wet cotton cloth in the basin of water that was left earlier for washing. She wiped away at the dirt and blood that streaked his face and tucked away the curls that covered his closed eyes. She wondered what colour his eyes could be. Sansa grabbed the medical shears that were in her apron pocket and sliced through the thick fabric he was clothed in. Sansa had to look away from the large hole on his side that greeted her the instant she took off his uniform. She was still not accustomed to the sight of bloody wounds and the white of exposed bones jutting out from their flesh.

Sansa cleaned the dried blood from the wound and dipped her finger onto the red fluid and smeared some of it onto the spot where his lifeless heart had stopped beating. Sansa shut her eyes and began chanting under her breath.

There is none other

than the great Mother,

Who gives us life and light

and who brings the end and night;

O’ great Mother, you are the one

to whom we seek and to whom we run;

I call on your name to give your breath

back to this vessel claimed by Death

To return to its former self and might

I proclaim it with your blessing of love and light

Sansa whispered again this time into his ears and gently blew her breath on his face and leaned down to do the same on his wounds and chest. It took her three gentle blows when she felt as if she was knocked hard on her chest by some large force. Sansa stumbled back, suddenly feeling exhausted and her heart racing. Sansa inhaled deeply and clung onto the stool in the form of a large wooden stump, that stood beside the stretcher. Sansa willed herself to sit up and regain her composure. It got harder every time she did it. But she was determined to stand by her decision. If this man was really who Davos said he was, then perhaps, she had made a difference.

Sansa watched Jon intently, her insides stirring, as if ominous that it was about to happen any moment. Sansa gently thumbed along Jon’s arms again and hoped that this man would really be someone she could trust her hopes and dreams with.

A sharp gasp for air startled her, almost made her lose balance off her seat as Jon started to heave and huff to draw in air to revive his once dead body. Sansa stood up to face him. Jon’s eyes fluttered open to stare up above him. His dark grey eyes darted to her in a state of panic and fear.

“Shhh.. Mr Targaryen. It’s all right. You’re fine now, you’re in the medical tent and treated for your injuries,” Sansa assured him gently, her eyes roamed towards his open wound that had shrunk to a small hole. Jon’s eyes drifted to her direction and felt with his hands where the hole was.

“But I, I was shot.. There was an explosion… My men, they were.. Who are you?” Jon opened his mouth to speak, his speech slurred but audible. He winced as he tried to get up but Sansa gently pushed him back to lay down again.

“Gently, Mr Targaryen. You’re just recovering and you.. You need to rest. My name is Sansa Stark, your attending nurse.”

Jon was still confused and his pained facial expression made her want to embrace and comfort him. She wasn’t quite sure why.

“Now, Mr Targaryen, I would sug-”

“Jon, please call me Jon,” Jon interrupted, his breathing now steady and his revived heart establishing a somewhat normal pace. His dark grey eyes that hovered on her was somehow unsettling to Sansa. She suddenly felt a hot flush spreading to her cheeks.

“Jon. I would suggest that you rest till the next morning. Your tired body needs it. If you need water or food, I shall get it for you. But please, promise me you will stay here till the morning? Till I come get you?” Sansa asked, not realising her hand planted firmly on his heaving chest. Jon grabbed her hand in his and Sansa almost let out a small whimper. Why did this man have an effect on her? What was it about him that made her feel things she never felt before?

“Yes, Miss. But you have to promise me that you’ll do me one thing. Please find out for me if my men are all right and well. I won’t be able to live with myself not knowing. I have their families to answer to. Please, Miss. These young men are sons who have fathers and mothers who miss them. I promised I would look after them.”

Dr Davos was right. She felt it in her heart that this Jon Targaryen was someone undeniably important. And special. His dark eyes shone with a deep ferocity she had never encountered before. Her senses tingled every time they made eye contact and goosebumps pimpled her skin. To Sansa, it seemed peculiar yet exhilarating. His now warm skin mingled with her own as he held on to her hand that was still on his chest.

Sansa nodded and pulled her hand away reluctantly. She kept her shears back in her pocket and handed Jon a blanket. The night was cold and his current weakened state would still be vulnerable to the elements. Sansa smiled and turned to leave.

“Miss Sansa.”

“Yes, Jon?” Sansa turned back to him. She felt glued to the spot, there was something about him that was pulling her in.

“Thank you. Whatever you did, thank you. I owe you my life and I will forever be indebted. My family and I.”

Sansa was truly blushing now and wished the lamp that was lighting the tent did not make it conspicuous.

“It is my duty and I’m glad that you’re alive, Jon. The doctor will tend to you in the morning when you’re up from your bedrest.”

Jon nodded his agreement, his eyes never once left hers.

“Sansa.. It’s a pretty name. I’ll remember it for as long as I live. Good night, Sansa.”

A sudden urge to leap onto him and kiss him came over her, but Sansa bit down hard on her lip and merely nodded shyly to Jon, who now wore a gentle smile on his face. Gone were the pain and panic. He looked like a true gentleman.

I’ll always remember you, too,

Sansa thought to herself. She gave him a smile, bid him goodnight and stepped out of the tent, hoping to find Dr Davos. She had never wished for morning to come sooner than ever.

********

sorry this went a little long! Oops!

A Transcript of Bios from Voltron Defender of the Universe Vol. 1: Revelation

Keith Akira Kogane
Age: 26
Height: 5′11
Weight: 185 lbs.

Born in Hong Kong to a Japanese father and a Chinese mother, Keith Kogane moved with his family to the U.S. when he was three years old. At age six Keith’s father began training him in kung fu, and continued for six more years; then, tragically, not long after Keith’s twelfth birthday, both his parents died in an accident. Moving in with an aunt and uncle, Keith coped with his loss by plunging himself more deeply into martial arts training, expanding from kung fu to t’ai-chi, jujitsu, aikido, and every other disciple for which he could find a teacher.

Unsure of his future, at age eighteen Keith enlisted in the United States Marine Corps; he soon came to love the perfect discipline and order the Corps offered him, and spent several years as a field reconnaissance specialist, earning several commendations in the process.

When he was 24 Keith met a young woman named Beverly Hagel while on furlough in New York City; shortly thereafter he transferred out of his recon assignment to a permanent position at a base near where Beverly worked, and within three months Keith asked her to marry him.

Seven weeks before their wedding date Beverly was killed in an airplane accident.

Since then Keith was been on a kind of numbed autopilot, working an administrative job during the day and teaching martial arts in the evenings, waiting for his life to take shape and make sense again. It begins when he receives a visit from a Galaxy Garrison officer named Hawkins…

Keep reading

“You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you.” — Acts 1:8
Is this promise only for the early Christians? What do the scriptures say? “The promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off” (Acts 2:39). Jesus said, “If you being evil know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him!” (Luke 11:13). Acts 2:17 In the last days, God says, I will pour out My Spirit on all people; your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams.
This promise is yours for the asking. Ask and you will receive so that your joy may be full.
Prayer
Lord , fill us with Your Holy Spirit and with Your power so that we can bring Your good news everywhere. In Jesus’ Name we ask, Amen

anonymous asked:

which arab countries have still slaves ????

Most (if not all) MENA states. (Algeria, Bahrain, Egypt, Iran, Iraq, Israel, Jordan, Kuwait, Lebanon, Libya, Morocco, Oman, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Syria, Tunisia, United Arab Emirates and Yemen)


‘The Middle East and North African (MENA) countries are some of the destinations of choice for men and women seeking work. Women look for domestic and child-care work, while employment in the construction industry is the goal of the tens thousands of men from Southeast Asia living in stifling poverty.

Migrant workers have become the majority workforce in many Arab Gulf states – wealthy countries with weak or non-existent domestic-worker rights, destructive gender attitudes that suppress and control women, and endemic racism. This poisonous cocktail, rooted in prejudice and ignorance, fuels and justifies exploitation, including forced labour, physical and sexual abuse, and extreme mistreatment by employers.

Deceived and trapped (their passports, ID’s etc get taken (stolen) away by “employers”) into debt and bonded labour from the start, prospective migrant workers are duped into leaving their homes for Beirut, Dubai, Kuwait City, Riyadh or Sana’a. Naïve and desperate young men and women are promised they will be handsomely paid, that the streets are paved with dollars, that every apartment has hot and cold running water, that designer clothes, smart phones and flat screen TVs are aplenty, and that you too will live the good life, easily repay your loan to the agent and, crucially, help drag your family out of grinding poverty. With hollow promises like these, as the ILO says, migrants are “lured into jobs that either didn’t exist or that were offered under conditions that were very different from what they were promised in the first place” by unscrupulous recruitment agents. The reality for many is one of modern day slavery, imprisonment and violence; mistreatment that in many cases leads some to take their own lives.

All MENA states, apart from Yemen, are signatories to the Palermo Protocol, which clearly defines the conditions of trafficking and whose articles are legally binding, which means and employees who contravene them are guilty of human trafficking. In what could prove to be a significant action, a recent high profile case involving Meshael Alayban a Saudi Arabian princess, has highlighted the fact that the treatment of many migrant domestic workers by their Arab employers qualifies as human trafficking.According to the BBC, the “Princess is accused of forcing a Kenyan woman to work 16 hours a day while paying her far less than what she was originally promised”. She also took away “the woman’s passport, precluding her escape”. The two-year contract guaranteed the women “1,600 US dollars a month, for eight-hour work, five days a week”, but as is often the case she was paid much less – “220 dollars a month and made to work twice as long”. The unnamed Kenyan escaped on a visit to America with the royal household, and has brought a case in California (where they were staying) against the regal Alayban for trafficking. She faces a maximum prison sentence of 12 years.The vulnerability of migrant domestic workers to human trafficking in MENA countries, beyond the underlying prejudicial causes, are due to two primary factors: the Dickensian kafala (Arabic for “bail”) employment system, allied to the lack of labour protection and legal redress, and the initial recruitment process, with agents extending loans to prospectve migrants for employment fees, forging passports and other documentation and travel costs. This creates debt bondage, trapping the unsuspecting into years of bonded labour.The kafala sponsorship system forms the legal basis for both residency and employment for migrant domestic workers in the Gulf Cooperation Council countries, and in Lebanon and Jordon. Under the scheme the employer, to all extent and purposes, “owns” the migrant worker, who cannot change employers, unless the sponsor decides to sell them on to someone – a lucrative add-on for employers and a form of trafficking that fuels resistance to the schemes abolition, vehemently called for by human rights groups and all right minded thinkers.

Labour laws for migrant domestic workers in MENA countries, where they exist at all, vary in structure but not in inadequacy or lack of enforcement. All domestic work occurs beyond the protection of national labour laws, and anti-trafficking laws designed to protect migrant workers from abuse are not enforced.Under Lebanese law for example, migrant domestic workers are not allowed to leave the house without the permission of their employers, making it possible, and in many cases likely, for employers to imprison workers, exploit them and force them to work beyond their contract, with the kafala preventing the innocent victim from reporting the abuse without risking losing residency status. It is a legal trap not confined to Lebanon, which contributes to human trafficking by creating conditions of compelled service and forced labour.Confinement, dependency, weak labour laws, plus migrant domestic workers’ inability to speak the local language or understand their rights under international law (what few exist), make them acutely vulnerable. A Filipina domestic worker who tried to escape abusive employers in Lebanon told the ILO, according to CNN, “my employer broke my elbow and then tied my hands behind my back. They left me one day long in my room and put a camera there. He threatened me: ‘I’ll accuse you of stealing money and ask for my money back, and they will throw you in jail’,” she said.Another Filipina domestic worker interviewed in a detention centre in Kuwait told the ILO that her employer had raped her. “I went to the doctors and filed a complaint at the police, and then returned to work the next day. He reported to the authorities that I had run away, and the police arrested me,” she said. “My employer tells me that if I drop the rape charges, he will make sure that I am not deported.’

Sources:

1. http://www.redressonline.com/2013/10/the-migrant-slave-workers-of-the-arab-world/

2. http://www.frontpagemag.com/2011/stephenbrown/the-dark-world-of-the-arab-child-slave-trade/

3. http://www.albawaba.com/news/middle-east-slavery-528324

4. http://www.theguardian.com/global-development/series/modern-day-slavery-in-focus+world/middleeast

Nobusuke Kishi became the leader of the rising conservative movement in Japan. Within a year of his election to the Diet, using Kodama’s money and his own considerable political skills, he controlled the largest faction among Japan’s elected representives. Once in office, he built the ruling party that led the nation for nearly half a century.

He had signed the declaration of war against the United States in 1941 and led Japan’s munitions ministry during World War II. Even while imprisoned after the war, Kishi had well-placed allies in the United States, among them Joseph Grew, the American ambassador in Tokyo when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. Grew was under detention in Tokyo in 1942 when Kishi, as a member of the war cabinet, offered to let him out to play a round of golf. They became friends. Days after Kishi was freed from prison, Grew became the first chairman of the National Committee for a Free Europe, the CIA front created to support Radio Free Europe and other political-warfare programs. […]

In May 1954, he staged a political coming-out at the Kabuki Theater in Tokyo. He invited Bill Hutchinson, an OSS veteran who worked with the CIA in Japan as an information and propaganda officer at the American embassy, to attend the theater with him. He paraded Hutchinson around the ornate foyers of the Kabuki-za at intermission, showing him off to his friends among the Japanese elite. It was a highly unusual gesture at the time, but it was pure political theater, Kishi’s way of announcing in public that he was back in the international arena–and in the good graces of the United States.

For a year, Kishi met in secret with CIA and State Department officials in Hutchinson’s living room. “It was clear that he wanted at least the tacit backing of the United States government,” Hutchinson remembered. The talks laid the groundwork for the next forty years of Japan’s relations with the United States.

Kishi told the Americans that his strategy was to wreck the ruling Liberal Party, rename it, rebuild it, and run it. The new Liberal Democratic Party under his command would be neither liberal nor democratic, but a right-wing club of feudal leaders rising from the ashes of imperial Japan. […] He pledged to change the foreign policies of Japan to fit American desires. The United States could keep its military bases in Japan and store nuclear weapons there, a matter of some sensitivity in Japan. All he asked in return was secret political support from America.

The most crucial interaction between the CIA and the Liberal Democratic Party was the exchange of information for money. It was used to support the party and to recruit informers within it. The Americans established paid relationships with promising young men who became, a generation later, members of parliament, ministers, and elder statesmen. Together they promoted the LDP and subverted Japan’s Socialist Party and labor unions. When it came to bankrolling foreign politicians, the agency had grown more sophisticated than it had been seven years earlier in Italy. Instead of passing suitcases filled with cash in four-star hotels, the CIA used trusted American businessmen as go-betweens to deliver money to benefit its allies. Among these were executives from Lockheed, the aircraft company then building the U-2 and negotiating to sell warplanes to the new Japanese defense forces Kishi aimed to build.

In November 1955, Kishi unified Japan’s conservatives under the banner of the Liberal Democratic Party. As the party’s leader, he allowed the CIA to recruit and run his political followers on a seat-by-seat basis in the Japanese parliament. As he maneuvered his way to the top, he pledged to work with the agency in reshaping a new security treaty between the United States and Japan. As Kishi’s case officer, the CIA’s Clyde McAvoy was able to report on–and influence–the emerging foreign policy of postwar Japan. […]

President Eisenhower himself decided that Japanese political support for the security treaty and American financial support for Kishi were one and the same. He authorized a continuing series of CIA payoffs to key members of the LDP. Politicians unwitting of the CIA’s role were told that the money came from the titans of corporate America. The money flowed for at least fifteen years, under four American presidents, and it helped consolidate one-party rule in Japan for the rest of the cold war.

Others followed in Kishi’s path. Okinori Kaya had been the finance minister in Japan’s wartime cabinet. Convicted as a war criminal, he was sentenced to life in prison. Paroled in 1955 and pardoned in 1957, he became one of Kishi’s closest advisers and a key member of the LDP’s internal security committee.

Kaya became a recruited agent of the CIA either immediately before or immediately after he was elected to the Diet in 1958. After his recruitment, he wanted to travel to the United States and meet Allen Dulles in person. The CIA, skittish about the appearance of a convicted war criminal meeting with the director of central intelligence, kept the meeting secret for nearly fifty years. But on February 6, 1959, Kaya came to visit Dulles at CIA headquarters and asked the director to enter into a formal agreement to share intelligence with his internal security committee. “Everyone agreed that cooperation between CIA and the Japanese regarding countersubversion was most desirable and that the subject was one of major interest to CIA,” say the minutes of their talk. Dulles regarded Kaya as his agent, and six months later he wrote him to say: “I am most interested in learning your views both in international affairs affecting relations between our countries and on the situation within Japan.”

Kaya’s on-and-off relationship with the CIA reached a peak in 1968, when he was the leading political adviser to Prime Minister Eisaku Sato. The biggest domestic political issue in Japan that year was the enormous American military base on Okinawa, a crucial staging ground for the bombing of Vietnam and a storehouse of American nuclear weapons. Okinawa was under American control, but regional elections were set for November 10, and opposition politicians threatened to force the United States off the island. Kaya played a key role in the CIA’s covert actions aimed to swing the elections for the LDP, which narrowly failed. Okinawa itself returned to Japanese administration in 1972, but the American military remains there to this day.

The Japanese came to describe the political system created with the CIA’s support as kozo oshoku–“structural corruption.” The CIA’s payoffs went on into the 1970s. The structural corruption of the political life of Japan continued long thereafter.

—  Tim Weiner, Legacy of Ashes: The History of the CIA
the reincarnation au: ancient rome
  • root’s royalty. her parents are dead but she’s like the niece of the emperor twice removed or something and he doesn’t have any kids of his own
  • it’s greer and she hates him but she has access to a whole bunch of resources so she makes it work
  • he’s always trying to find her acceptable suitors and she’s Blatantly Not Interested and also always sneaking cute girls up to her room
  • they argue a lot. she never loses
  • she loves (LO V E S) ditching her security detail–an endless source of frustration for captain carter, who’s just trying to do her job and keep root safe–to slip into town
  • that’s how she meets sameen
  • on one of her trips into town she’s just meandering from stall to stall as usual. enjoying the freedom
  • and up ahead she sees a scuffle. dirt’s being kicked up, people are shouting and forming a ring around the fighters
  • root’s kind of party exactly
  • she pushes her way through the crowd and to the front of the ring to see two of greer’s guards having their asses handed to them by a girl who can’t be more than 5'2"
  • the crowd’s going nuts. this girl’s whaling on them. root’s turned on
  • she hears more shouting coming from behind her and glances over her shoulder to see half a dozen more guards headed their way
  • she slips into the ring–the girl is currently sitting on one guard’s chest and slamming his head against the ground repeatedly–grabs her by the shirt and pushes their way through the crowd
  • the little fighter is decidedly not happy to be rescued
  • “who the hell do you think–”
  • “unless you’re keen to see the inside of a jail cell you’re going to want to follow me”
  • the other girl glances over her shoulder to see the slew of guards trying to push through the crowd after them
  • she shakes herself free of root’s grip “you don’t have to hold my hand, i’m coming”
  • root rolls her eyes. they weave their way through the streets and the stalls and the crowds
  • they’re nearly trapped, eventually. guards coming up the street behind and in front of them
  • there’s a narrow alleyway to their left. a thin space between two shops just wide enough for them to squeeze into
  • root pulls her charge in after her
  • they end up VERY close. face to face, chest to chest, backs pressed up against the walls. they’re both breathing heavily
  • the guards run past them and they both let out sighs of relief
  • they stay put for a moment to catch their breath
  • “what do they call you?” root asks. the other girl narrows her eyes.
  • “you first”
  • “you can call me root”
  • “shaw”
  • root rolls that around in her mouth. “shaw. a pleasure”
  • she’s cute, this one. big dark eyes, hair tousled from the fighting and fleeing. root’s into it
  • shaw only grunts and checks the street. it’s clear
  • they slip back onto the street
  • “what happened back there?” root asks. shaw shrugs
  • “greer’s full of shit and so are his people. guards were giving a kid a hard time so i stepped in”
  • “admirable. you’re a fighter. careful, with that. greer’s always looking for gladiators to force into the arena”
  • shaw’s head snaps up. “go back. what’d you say your name was?”
  • “root”
  • “as in–”
  • “unfortunately”
  • shaw scowls. “am i supposed to bow? kiss your hand? call you Your Majesty?”
  • “if you’d like to keep all your appendages i wouldn’t recommend it”
  • shaw smiles a little at that
  • they spend the rest of the day together. at the market, then skipping stones down at the pond. shaw knows a spot away from the masses. they dangle their feet in the water
  • this becomes a regular occurrence: root escaping into town and meeting shaw at the pond. sometimes they still browse the market. sometimes root steals a basket and food from the kitchens before she leaves and they make a picnic of it
  • root never brings shaw back to the palace. she won’t risk her. for the first time she has someone she doesn’t want to lose
  • eventually she slips up. one of greer’s men, zachary, follows her when she ditches her other tails. follows her right to the pond, to shaw, who she greets with a kiss
  • they find themselves surrounded in no time at all
  • they’re dragged back to the palace and separated. shaw tossed into a cell, root locked in her room which may as well be
  • greer visits root
  • walks into the room sighing and shaking his head. “my dear samantha–”
  • “i have nothing to say to you”
  • “she’s a fighter, this friend of yours. knocked out two of my men and bit lambert before the others could restrain her”
  • root glares at him coldly
  • “it’s a pity, you wasting your time on a street rat like that. i’ve brought so many promising young men before you…”
  • root only glares. greer sighs
  • “i’ve come to offer you a proposition, my dear. a chance to save your friend. you choose a husband from those i’ve set before you, and i will give your friend a chance to save her own life”
  • root feels ill. she’s going to kill greer, she decides then. whatever it takes, she’ll bide her time, and she’ll be the one to watch the light drain from his eyes
  • “fine.” she spits. she chooses some bland man from an obsolete country across the sea. he couldn’t meet her eyes, she remembers. he’ll be easy enough to manipulate
  • greer sets the date for shaw’s trial. a big Public Event. the trial of the woman who dared to endear herself to the emperor’s charge
  • greer tells root the setup. two doors, shaw’s choice. behind one, a husband. behind the other, a lion
  • she’ll be armed with only a dagger. her fate is her own choice
  • captain carter is sympathetic, at least. she despises greer as much as anyone. she sneaks root down to the dungeon to see shaw
  • they grasp hands through the bars as root explains the situation
  • “sameen, it’s all my fault, i put you in danger, if i hadnt–”
  • “hey. it was my choice too. i don’t regret it.” shaw squeezes her hand
  • root’s in tears
  • “i’ll find out which is which,” she promises. shaw nods
  • “give me the lion”
  • root looks to her in alarm. “absolutely not”
  • shaw snorts. “im not gonna spend my life shacked up to some guy /greer/ picked out for me. and i get a dagger, right? that’s a fighting chance”
  • “against a /lion/, sameen”
  • “the lion. promise me.”
  • “i–i can’t–”
  • “root. please.”
  • root closes her eyes. nods as the tears start to fall. she cups shaw’s cheek through the bars
  • “goodbye, sameen”
  • shaw hears the unspoken “i love you” in her voice
  • “i know. me too” she whispers
  • the day of the trial, carter finds out which door contains which fate. she reports to root. door 1, lion. door 2, husband
  • shaw steps into the arena, blinking against the harsh sunlight. the crowd goes wild
  • greer smiles smugly from his seat beside root
  • shaw turns to look at them, her hand shielding her eyes from the sun
  • root has a choice
  • honor shaw’s wish. let her take her chance with the lion. watch her be torn apart in front of an audience of thousands
  • or have her dragged off and married to someone else. lose her anyways. this is the last time she’ll see shaw either way, root knows this
  • the lion or the husband
  • the lion or the husband
  • shaw is looking to her expectantly
  • root makes her choice
  • gives shaw the signal
  • shaw nods and turns away
  • root closes her eyes as greer bellows “BEGIN”
Heritage

BTSMafia!Au: All members

Summary: You lived a very comfortable life; You had a very loving and successful husband, your beautiful kids were now turning into responsible young adults, and you had more than enough money to live without worries. You were very lucky, right? You had never stopped to think about where all of this was coming from, and how it would impact your family later on in life. Now, you didn’t even have time to think. Your luck had run out.

[You’re reading:Part 1] [Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6][Part 7][Part 8][Part 9]

It all happened so fast. In a matter of weeks, your life had gone from being so perfect to… this. You had it all; a perfect hardworking husband, a supporting family, and a beautiful set of children – all who were grown up already and were turning into the most promising young men.

You had married Namjoon, a man you met at a café 16 summers ago in California. You were alone that day, and he approached with the kindest smile, and a coffee in each hand. You didn’t like coffee very much, you were actually just there because you liked that café’s hot chocolate. But he didn’t know that. He seemed so professional, with his white long sleeve shirt and black tie. His sleek haircut and silver blond hair seemed so cool. It was love at first sight and it didn’t matter if you liked coffee of not; you drank it anyway.

You we’re afraid of a new relationship because your first love had left you pregnant with your first child at the young age of 15. But this wasn’t because he bailed on you- it was because your first love, the father of your child, was killed. His family had been involved in some shady things, drug trafficking to be exact, and he, who was already 18, got himself too involved in things. His father was the one who got him involved. He asked him if he could do favors for him. Unfortunately, those favors were the ones who got him and his father killed. Growing up in Texas, you knew there were a lot of drug trafficking problems around you, but you didn’t know they were going to impact you in some way. The worse thing is, you didn’t even know what was going on. He never told you. Jonghyun never said anything. He just stopped visiting you one day and then his sister called you to break it to you. He was your high school sweetheart, but it left you with such a bitter taste.

You were a mess. So you didn’t expect Namjoon to even want you.
But he did.

You eventually found out he also had kids from his first relationship. Two of them, actually. Seokjin and Yoongi. They were already 5 and 6 when you met them. And they were the most adorable kids. They immediately got along with Hoseok – your 4 year old.

Fast forward to the most beautiful moments in your life: your marriage with Namjoon.

You married Namjoon and moved with him to Seoul. There you found out he was more than loaded with money. He worked for a huge electronics company and would travel a lot to different places. Sometimes he was gone for weeks, so you were left alone to take care of little Seokjin, Yoongi and Hoseok. From what Namjoon had told you, he had inherited a huge amount of money from his father, and that explained why he didn’t hesitate when buying anything for you or the kids, no matter how expensive it was. You were living in luxury.
His first wife, according to him, had cheated on him and left him with two kids. He later found out she was killed by some gangsters in an attempt to rob her. He said karma had gotten to her. Then he smiled so wide you could almost hear his face contorting.

You had three more kids; twins Taehyung and Jimin, and baby Jungkook. Namjoon was so happy to have such a huge family, and you were happy about the fact that even if Namjoon was gone for so long, you still had plenty of company. You had learned Korean to get by, but you didn’t go out very often. Namjoon said it was better to stay indoors anyway, so he made sure you had everything you wanted and needed in your home. Your family was not well off at all, so at first this change was huge for you. And you thanked every day for this change. You were lucky, right?

Fast forward to today.

You found yourself crying on the side of your bed. Yoongi, now 19, stood in front of you, waiting for you to finish crying, so he could continue to explain to you that Hoseok would be fine, and he would turn up soon.

“Don’t worry. You trust me.” He said, but that didn’t calm you down. It brought memories of when Jonghyun had disappeared.

“Yoongi, where is my baby?!”

I was having dinner with my family one night and they started talking about Spanish Mafias and Mexican Cartels. They told me stories about how whole families would disappear sometimes without a trace. It was very interesting to hear this and it inspired me to write this. I have read several (really good!) EXO and BTS Mafia!AUs so I thought it’d be a fun experiment.I really want to keep the story concentrated in actual cartel doings, though, because they are pretty scary and realistic. And living here in Texas, I get to hear all these stories and tell them to you guys. I hope you guys like it!