#Because a now former moot of mine was following them

[ivan-braginski-2001]

Genuinely what in the actual fuck could this possibly mean

[microwaved-toast]

Legit SO fucking true. And it only got WORSE with time. The only reason I even WANT it to stay *UP* is because 1. 10-50 friends aka the few ppl who havent left and are still actively posting are on there, and unlike most of my followers that are still on there, they actually care and 2. i want my studios (specifically Vocaronpa) to stay up because me n vinnie worked (and are STILL working) *SUPER* hard on that studio and, if it shuts down, we'll lose a lot of image & idea storage as well as comics we made and all our hard work and the time we have spent working on that studio. The only GOOD management they've done is banning Leafy, but she(??? their friend who actually HELPED kept reffering to them as she, so im assuming their pronouns are she/her) who got unbanned for like a month but never came back. Oka got banned for a WEEK for "riling up" a fucking whiny AL kid because of a mature JOKE in the DESCRIPTION of a COPYPASTA COMIC???? that was PART of that copypasta????? like omg. and cloudyy got all her comics removed and got her alt and herself banned because (and she DMed me this when I asked her) "I was told if I type in a banned users name and a random password i could see how long they are banned for, so then a bot banned me for ban evasion" ??? fucking ass moderation smh. syrup does NOTHING abt this site's shit, Kaz and Jay get away with *EVERYTHING* (and i *MEAN* ***EVERYTHING......***) and, most of the time, people ignore others' vents and posts in general and only seem to care abt themselves. had a "friend" block me bc of the Jay drama and block my alt when I tried to *calmly* ask if we could talk it out. theyre going on the DNI list with leafy n maki <333

CS users & former users. Bash me for this opinion as much as you want, but I agree with Oka 100% now. There's vents almost every day. If you need to vent to someone, don't do it on a site that doesn't give a FUCK abt u. ask someone who truly cares abt you (and you truly love &, platonically or romantically, care abt them) if you can vent to them. keep in mind if theyre in a bad position and aren't feeling good themselves, they may say no. try to comfort them if you can. and if you feel and/or don't have anyone who cares abt you, family, friend, or even teacher/an actually GOOD counselor/therapist that wont tell your parents everything and respects most, if not all, of your views and positions in certain areas even if you don't agree with them, ask someone who comforts others if you can vent to them! it could be on a vent pinterest pin where others are venting & being comforted in return, or as an anonymous tumblr ask!! just make sure to put TWs if the person is sensitive to certain topics, and, if its in a ask and ur an anon, link the previous ask you asked if you could vent in! you can *always* vent in my asks (and/or dms if ur a moot of mine) if you need <3333

tldr - CS sucks ass and even twit (not calling it X, i refuse. that shit sounds like ripoff onlyfans lmao. fuck musky <3333) is better than it imo. Oka, Tammy, Marz, Mikn, and ABG? 1000% right abt that site. wish i could quit if it wasnt so addictive and i wouldnt lose my irl and/or bestie westies n pookies who only have cs to communicate w/ me and others :(((( the only time i even 50/50 enjoy being on there is under a secret acc. not even as args bc i like never get recognized most of the time under those atp :( im sososo srry for everything thats happened to u, me, n others + moots on that site abg :((( hope ur doing ok!!!

but yea pookie wookies um i platonically luvluvLUVVVVVVV u all!!!! byebyeeeeeee!!!!!!!! stay crrrrunchyyyyyy !!! <333 mmmmmmmwah!!! <33333333

Comic Studio is a hellhole, and ive been saying this for a year now,

I get banned for trying to defend my post from criticism. It might seem that i escalated it, but no, i didnt. I simply hit back from the backhanded insults i got. But, the bigger creator gets away scotfree. And thats just how cs runs. and its not fair, whatsoever. You just have to get lucky. People who make actually good content are just left in the dust, and 10% of the time they get actually recognised.

And, i know i did some fucked up shit, and i apologise. But. You cant just make fun of me and try to ridicule me and even tell me to fucking KILL MYSELF or make jokes about DOXXING ME, someones even GOT MY FUCKING IP. Its incredibly unfair. I checked up on the site and someone who is a severe harrasser and a transphobe got banned for a MONTH. Im banned PERMANENTLY. How is that fair in the slightest?? Its really just a hivemind to be honest.

Think back to this post too.

[kemakoshume]

𝔫𝔰𝔣𝔴 – 𝔪𝔡𝔫𝔦 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

why am i losing my mind over the idea of you, a former camgirl, having skype sex with oikawa. the seasons are long, way too long for you to go with him to every single stop on their tours to play other teams, so… you two improvise.

he’d call you up late at night after he was all showered and relaxed after practice, lazing around in the king bed of his hotel room. you could tell immediately where the conversation was going when his voice dipped down just a little lower and he says, “that looks like a cute little outfit you have on baby. wanna show it off for me?”

you’d slide back your laptop, getting your whole body (give or take your feet) in frame, sitting back on your thighs looking so fuckable in your new babydoll set. you’d feel yourself up, bringing your hands to your breasts to squeeze them, breathing heavier as you imagine that they’re his hands on you.

he’d tell you exactly what he wants you to do, all the while stroking himself to hardness through his boxer briefs.

“you gonna tip me baby? i used to get paid loads to do this,” you’d tease, knowing that he knew found your past both respectable and sexy. you were his. other men spending their money on seeing you meant nothing when he was the only man who got to touch you.

“oh yeah? how much for you to touch yourself for me babygirl, hm?” he’d say, easily falling into the roleplay, “i wanna see why you used to be so popular on that site.”

you said $100 as a joke, a very obvious joke, but still… he’d flippantly pick up his phone with his free hand, a smirk on his lips, and send you $200 instead, just because he could.

“now, show me how you fuck yourself when you’re alone angel. spread that pussy open, i wanna see what’s mine.”

thank you for reading! ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊ gimme a like, a reblog, a follow, an ask (requests are open)!! whatever :D

˭̡̞(◞⁎˃ᆺ˂)◞*✰ i am a big ol slut for interacting with you guys. i'd love some moots :'D

[only-here-for-the-star-wars]

Obitine Week 2021 - 17th October - Outsider POV

Why hasn’t she said anything yet?

Obi-Wan stood dutifully behind his master, Qui-Gon Jinn, as they accompanied the young Duchess Satine Kryze on Mandalore ahead of another public event that would begin in a few days. He had seen her less and less often over the years, as Mandalore stabilised after their civil war. The presence of the Jedi at events like these was almost for show only. A token gesture of civility between the Republic and the independent sovereign state.

For now, the Jedi were following Satine into a history museum on Mandalore. She had come to speak to one of the professors from Sundari University to discuss the symbols used by their people to denote their leaders through history.

Is she trying to protect me? Because she doesn’t want to ask me to choose between them and the Jedi? Or does she not even know? Or is she embarrassed to have moved on to someone else so soon and- No. Darling Satine wouldn’t have done such a thing. This child could only be mine. Although he had the appearance of being at attention, his focus was on the two Force signatures he could sense sharing the position in front of him of Satine and his unborn child. Can Master Jinn sense it as well?

“… the mask itself served our people for many thousands of years dating back to Te Maan Mand’alor – Mandalore the First – who crafted out of the sternum of the mythosaur he and his clan defeated. Unlike the Darksaber where the victor of the duel could choose to spare the loser’s life even if they only rarely did so, in all instances the mask was passed from one Mandalore to the next at the death of the previous one, either at the hands of the new Mandalore following a death match, or due to them having fallen in combat.”

“We are a far more peaceful society now, I think that I would be fine, Professor.”

“It’s a moot point unless someone actually finds it first, your highness. This one here is a replica. Although I don’t doubt the sturdiness of the mask to have survived all these years. Te Taylir Mand’alor – Mandalore the Preserver – had integrated it into his helmet when he assumed leadership of the clans circa four thousand years ago. The rest of his helmet was full beskar, and despite dying of a head injury in battle, the mask remained sufficiently intact for it to be extricated and passed on to the next Mandalore.”

“Mandalore… the Preserver?”

“Yes, I thought you’d like that name. And he was succeeded by one of his lieutenants who went on to become Te Cabur Mand’alor – Mandalore the Protector. What we know of the story of Canderous Ordo is quite fascinating, really. The previous Mandalore – Te Darasuum Mand’alor – Mandalore the Ultimate – was killed by a Jetii Knight named Revan during a war our people had with the Republic, and they hid the mask so that our people couldn’t regroup to attack again while the Republic was rebuilding. Apparently, Ordo went and sought out Jetiise to become friends with them so he could convince the Jetiise to bestow the mask to him. And ultimately this non-traditional approach to the problem worked out for him.”

“Do we know anything else about this Mandalore?”

“Off the top of my head, nothing that would be of interest or useful to you. Just the salacious details that intrigue the public, you understand. His wife was a former Republic soldier, and they were both rumoured to be friends with a Master Jetii with whom he was also having an affair, a ‘Battlemaster’ Nacinta Qiort, who attended his funeral and participated in in some of the duels in his honour.”

“That’s quite a lot based on rumour, Professor.” Obi-Wan didn’t fail to notice how Satine didn’t even glance in his direction at the mention of an ancient couple who had done exactly what they were doing – the leader of the Mandalorians having an illicit affair with a Jedi.

“Well, it was almost four thousand years ago, and you know how the Jetiise are about their secrets- Ah! Sorry Master Jetii.”

“None taken.” Qui-Gon’s bored shrug mollified the historian.

“I can look to see if we have any records of what sort of policies he implemented in order to live up to his title, if you wish.”

“That would be appreciated, thank you.”

*

By the time Obi-Wan was following Qui-Gon up the boarding ramp to their ship to return to Coruscant, Satine still hadn’t voluntarily told him about their child. It had to be his child because Obi-Wan hadn’t seen, or indeed heard rumours, of anyone else who could possibly be the child’s father.

He felt surprisingly calm about the whole ordeal. Yes, Satine was keeping the biggest secret of his life from him, but he was no longer alone. After all, if this ‘Nacinta Qiort’ that the professor mentioned was truly a Battlemaster of the Order in her time, surely she would have a holocron stored in the archives? Sure, he might have to find a librarian who spoke Old Galactic Basic Standard and then… well there was a limit to what he could ask in front of another Jedi, but perhaps just confirming that she knew Mandalore the Preserver would be enough.

*

“I’m pretty sure it’s only those of us trying to maintain our knowledge of this old language who have been to this section since the Rusaan Reformation…” Obi-Wan had selected Zeltron librarian Waller Demaris for the task of taking him to the holocron as the youngest librarian with any capacity for speaking Old Basic. “…This is the one.” Waller reached out with his hand an using the Force, floated a holocron down from a high shelf. It was of a simple cuboidal design, with a pale blue light escaping from the edges of the device now that it was being held in a Force-adept sentient’s hands.

A Human female was projected above the cube, turning to take in the sentients in her immediate vicinity. The expression on her face was neutral, but she spread her arms in a welcoming gesture. “Librarian Demaris, Brother Kenobi, what a surprise this is. Tell me, is it already 7958 C.R.C.?”

“Uhhh…, no it’s only 7944 C.R.C. Does something specific happen in that year?” Obi-Wan looked to an equally confused Waller, but the other sentient also had no explanation.

“I think, Kenobi, you’ve missed the part where the Battlemaster happens to speak perfect modern Galactic Basic Standard, despite having died four thousand years ago.”

“Ah, my dear librarian, it’s because I have seen the future.”

“That is not a sufficient explanation for your ability to speak modern Basic.”

“Secrets Demaris, secrets. Sentients would come to me with their secrets all the time. In part, it was because Master Atris Focela’s accusation was right, for the standards of the previous Council I was ‘too permissive’, if only because I firmly believe that you should meet sentients as they truly are, not how you wish they were, because it is only from that position that you can guide them to where they ought to be. But also, because I was willing to provide practical support where requested, and I had some quite influential friends outside of the Order, a Republic Senator, the Admiral in charge of the Republic Navy, even Mandalore himself, to achieve such things if required. I suspect this is the reason you have come to see me.”

“And you know why we’ve come to see you, because you’ve seen the future?” Waller cocked an eyebrow at the projected woman, before turning to Obi-Wan.

“Indeed. I would also suggest Kenobi borrows the holocron of Grandmaster Jolee Bindo, but I know you’ll have some reason for denying that request.”

Waller turned to his data pad to bring up the details of the other mentioned holocron, frowning when he realised what those restrictions were and when they were placed – after the recorded date of this woman’s death. “That holocron has restrictions placed on it – only Masters on the Council may access it. I’m a Knight and Kenobi here is still only a Padawan so he can’t even take your holocron out of the archives.”

“I would offer to borrow it myself, because I am a Master on the Council, but I know you’ll deny that request too.”

“Uhhh, yeah. It’s because you’re not actually a sentient. You know that, right? You’re an artificial intelligence steeped in the Force that has copied as much as possible of the Force signature and mind of a millennia-dead Human.”

“I know. I will just have to remind Kenobi of it years from now so that he can come and check out the Grandmaster’s holocron for himself.”

Obi-Wan turned to the Zeltron “Waller, please. She obviously has something she wants to tell me.”

“She’s not a sentient, Obi-Wan. But fine. I’ll tell you what, how about I check this holocron out of the Archives under my name for now, and you return it directly to me when you’re done so she can help me with other translations, on the condition that I don’t get dragged into whatever your problem is that apparently requires a restricted holocron.”

“Deal.”

*

“Vod, I don’t think this is going to be a long conversation” the projected Human female’s facial expression still hadn’t moved from its neutral mask.

“What did you just call me?”

“Gar jorhaa'ir luubid Mando'a, gar kar'taylir meg ni ru'sirbur.”

“Okay, I don’t know that much Mando’a.”

“Clearly. You are here because you have some notion of my friendship with Te Taylir Mand’alor.”

Obi-Wan looked downcast for a second. They were merely friends? It was four thousand years ago, of course it was possible for history to have recorded these things incorrectly.

“You look disappointed.”

“No, it’s just that-” perhaps there is no one who can empathise after all. “I was recently on Mandalore, and I’d heard from an historian that you were friends with Mandalore the Preserver and his wife, and according to their history you were also rumoured to be having an affair with Mandalore. But you’re a Master Jedi, I should have known better than to wonder if such a thing were true.”

“You’re asking me if the Mandalorians have recorded history incorrectly? Then yes, it is not as they have described it to you.”

“You’re not going to ask me about why I’d come to seek you out?”

“No, because I have seen the future, some thirteen-or-fourteen-odd years from now. Ni kar’taylir, ner vod. Ni kar’taylir tion’ad gar kar’taylir darasuum.”

“And you’re not… going to rebuke me for it? For being in love?”

“Of course not. To my knowledge you are Human.”

“What if I said that Duchess Satine Kryze was pregnant with my child?” Obi-Wan carefully studied the projected face of the simulation of the Master before him – they didn’t flinch at his question or appear to be disgusted by what they’d just heard. He didn’t know if it was merely that the holocron itself had no programming to simulate the reaction, but he suspected that more likely the Master Jedi in question would have been disciplined enough not externally show any internal surprise.

“She will call her son Korkie, and place him in the care of a cousin. He will grow up strong and kind, with a fervour for justice that you can feel proud of.”

“So she is planning on keeping him from me?”

“Gar cuyir Jetii, ner vod. It seems to me that she won’t tell you not because she doesn’t love you, but because she does. It will be a decision she agonises over until she prioritises her respect for not just for the young man you are now, but for the Master Jedi you are to become. Thatis what I have seen. So I put this to you – will you in turn extend that same respect to her and her decision?”

Obi-Wan sat staring at the holocron of the conveniently prescient Master Jedi. The issue is resolved. If this is what has been seen, then it’s not as if I have a choice.

~~~

Mando'a All the translations for the titles of the various Mandalores are in the text itself. Vod - sibling Jetii / Jetiise - Jedi / Jedi (plural) Gar jorhaa'ir luubid Mando'a, gar kar'taylir meg ni ru'sirbur. - You speak enough Mando'a, you know what I said. Ni kar’taylir, ner vod. Ni kar’taylir tion’ad gar kar’taylir darasuum – I know you, my brother. I know who you love.

[writtenwhalien]

check in tag!

tagged by siya 🥰 @missgeniality

1. why did you choose your url?

this is a ff account and I wanted to include bangtan in it somehow, so after some thinking I came up with that :)

2. any sideblogs? if you have them name them and why you have them

a fic rec page! @writtenwhalienreads because there’s so many lovely stories on here and I wanted to share them 😋 although my tags never work and I think the navigation is all messed up, ugh

3. how long have you’ve been on tumblr?

eight and a half months.. I started oct 2020

4. do you have a queue tag?

no but i should make one ���

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

to write and share fanfic. my first ever series was an idea that wouldn’t leave my head — fun fact: I planned on writing the series, posting it, and never returning to tumblr again haha, now here I am 🤷🏻‍♀️

6. why did you choose your icon?

it was love at first sight with dicon jimin *sighs* 🥰

7. why did you choose your header?

because: maknae line. that’s it.

8. what’s your post with the most notes?

I think it’s a pwp: baby fever with 750. personally I definitely don’t think it’s my best but I guess impreg kinks are pretty popular here 😂 the day it (or another post of mine) reaches 1k, I will cOMBUST 🤩

9. how many mutuals do you have?

uhh, i don’t count my moots but there’s so many I love

10. how many followers do you have?

i’m close to my first big milestone 🥺🥺

11. how many people do you follow?

lots of talented people 💘

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

i dont think so, but i freak out over bangtan often with thirst posts :)

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

I used to use it like once a day in the evening after all my uni work, but now I’m on break so I’m probably on here more often than I should be 😂

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? who won?

how could i ever fight anyone on here?

15. how do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts?

it depends what it is. I think most things that seem imperative to share, actually are — there’s lots of things that people miss from the media because their coverage is shit or they’re biased which results in misinformation; so I do think it’s important to share things when we see them. generally, if it’s something I’m not educated on, I will reblog without adding anything myself, but very rarely I feel sure enough to just say something, usually in tags. (most often I do the former though.)

16. do you like tag games?

love them :)

17. do you like ask games?

love them :)

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

every single one ;) <3

19. do i have a crush on a mutual?

omg don’t get me started... every SINGLE ONE!

ily alll 💗💞❤️💘🥰💕✨💓

tagging: @personasintro @hantaev @chateautae @xiaokoo @jjungkookislife @kookie-chimchim @mimikookie @bangteamhyuk @army-author @cutechim @taegularities @hisunshiine @lunar-jimin @kithtaehyung @bratkook @mercurygguk and anyone else who wants to do it! 🥰🥰🥰

[edie-of-the-empire]

Ways Have Changed

- A One-Shot -

It was half-past midnight when Edelgard found herself crossing the courtyard toward the first-floor dormitories. Her feet had known where were they going long before she did. There was a conversation to be had; one she'd been fighting. Yet, fighting the words were pointless, and Edelgard knew sleep would not find her until the deed had been done.

The evening had brought with it a chill from off the Southern Seas. A storm neared. She could feel it in her bones. It was at times like these when Edelgard felt appreciation for her upbringing; her training most importantly. She could read the world, and its people. Now, if only she could apply that skillset to herself.

As she neared the steps leading down to the common-houses, Edelgard stopped dead in her tracks. A shadow, tall and slender, cast itself over the grounds near her feet. Out from behind a stack of shipping containers, Byleth approached. Her sword extended. She had the hilt of the blade directed at Edelgard's chest. She felt it lightly scratch beneath one of the golden buttons lining her blouse.

Edelgard hesitantly raised her eyes. "Professor?" She asked.

Byleth's brow pulled up into a perfect arch. "Going somewhere?" She countered, and sheathed her blade.

"As a matter of fact, I was on my way to see you." Her hands began to fidget, but she fought them still. "I'd like to speak with you, if you have a moment?"

Byleth only nodded. Edelgard knew better than to expect more. The years may have changed her, but stuck in that void, Byleth was quite the same as she had always been.

"Take a walk with me," She motioned, and Byleth followed without debate.

They were headed down toward the greenhouse. The full moon had cast its glow upon the glass walls, creating a halo of light around its canopy. It was not often Edelgard allowed herself to admire the natural world. So much of her time was spent planning and worrying; she could not recall the last time she'd taken a recreational walk around the school grounds. She could not afford to.

When they reached the bottom step, and her feet met the sidewalk, Byleth stalled in her tracks.

"You did not bring me down here to look at plants." She stated, watching Edelgard as she continued towards the greenhouse doors.

"No," She whispered honestly. "-but I thought we might admire the flowers while we speak."

Moot to fight the Emperor, Byleth took her time to catch up. She nodded graciously to Edelgard, who held open the door, and politely slid inside.

There was a small bang as the door swung closed. Byleth turned to face Edelgard. Her violet eyes were held away from the former teacher as she traveled along the brick-lining, keeping their distance between them.

"When I was young, and before she moved to Faerghus, my mother kept a garden like this one. It was smaller, of course." Edelgard began with a small laugh. "I never had much appreciation for plants, but sometimes when I come down here and see the carnations in bloom, they remind me of the little time I had with her."

Byleth was silent for a moment. Edelgard had reached out with a finger to run its tip over the soft white pedals. Byleth admired the delicate gesture from the warrior, and felt her lips pull up, only slightly.

"You had a desire to speak with me about your mother?" Byleth finally questioned.

"No," She dryly laughed. "There is just something about you that has me speaking about my past. I am afraid I don't know what it is."

Edelgard continued walking, silently admiring the plants. She reached the end of the cobblestones and came to a seat at the edge of the brick. Her hands pulled into her lap. She found Byleth standing across the way.

Byleth hesitated, keeping her feet planted, and simply stared back.

"I wanted to speak to you about your return," Edelgard divulged, and then she paused. "Well, I suppose it is discussing your absence that holds more value to me tonight."

Byleth began approaching, but slowly. Her hands were held strict at her back.

Edelgard fought a sigh. "You may sit, you know? Your pacing will set my teeth on edge."

Her expression turned stern. Byleth did as she was asked.

"I was not pacing." She defended, and dropped down at Edelgard's left.

Byleth felt the eyes working the side of her face as she kept her own gaze entranced on the greenhouse walls. She was not certain if Edelgard was sizing her up, curious if she was still fit to led, or if what she had to say was of a personal matter. Her time in the void had made it difficult to read her former student. She noticed that the years had aged Edelgard's mind beyond discern.

"You may speak openly with me." Byleth encouraged, and finally turned to meet Edelgard's stare.

"I-I know," She stammered. "It's funny. There was once a time I felt I could say anything to you, but now..."

Byleth pinched in her brows. "-now?"

Edelgard was blushing and she didn't know why. She shook her head to clear the pink hue, and met Byleth's gaze once more.

"-now, ways have changed between us." She whispered sincerely. "I am no longer your student. I am the Emperor of the Adrestian Empire, and I am leading a war against Rhea and the Eastern Church. You said, when you came back, that you would still fight for my cause, but I'm afraid I need to ask, why? Are you agreeing to this decision because you want to, or because you feel it is the only choice?"

Her green eyes enlarged. Byleth felt the skin of her forehead pull into her hair. "Why are you asking this of me?"

Edelgard uncharacteristically shrugged. "I suppose, with so much time between now and where we started, I thought it might be impossible that you would still want to fight alongside of me."

"Impossible?" Byleth hummed. "I am afraid I don't understand."

"It is nothing," Edelgard turned her head. Her eyes slipped shut. "Please, forget I said anything..."

There was only silence between them for a long moment. Outside of the greenhouse, the wind had begun to stir. Then, very gently, something touched Edelgard's knee. She fought back a gasp as she looked, finding Byleth's hand resting there above her tights. Edelgard hoped Byleth couldn't feel the shiver that coursed through her. Her jaw tipped, and she met Byleth's stare.

"It is not impossible." She stated slowly. "The years may have passed, but I still have my memories intact." Byleth watched Edelgard's mouth waver closed. "I remember why, five years ago, I chose to protect you, and I would do it again. That is my choice."

Stuck somewhere between shocked and dazed, Edelgard felt her hand leave her lap. It shook as she reached forward, inching her fingers nearer to Byleth's cheek. The hand stopped and turned. She placed her knuckles against Byleth's soft skin. Edelgard stroked along its surface, only once, and then her hand fell away.

"You are really here, my teacher?" Her voice dropped its tone. "I-I thought I might be dreaming, which is why I had to ask, but you are here... you are speaking with me like we once did. How can that be? How can it be that you came back for me, of all people?"

"I never wanted to leave." Byleth explained. She ignored the cold fingers of her former student as they clamped down on her thigh. "I was called away to rest. I believe it was the more-human part of me that needed time to heal, but I was released from the void. And when I returned, it was for my students. They were who I wanted to see."

"..your students?" Edelgard's hand slowly pulled back into her own lap. "Yes, I see. They all missed you. They are grateful for your return."

To be clumped in with the rest of her classmates suddenly hurt, and Edelgard could not explain why. She supposed it was the darker folds of her brain, explaining the full reason why Byleth had decided to fight at her side. It was for the sake of her students; all of them, but not one who was admired above the next. Byleth returned so she could protect the students from her; if Edelgard suddenly made moves to go mad.

"One, perhaps, in particular..." Byleth finally divulged.

Edelgard's eyes shot up from the ground. When her vision surfaced, she found Byleth wearing a smirk. A smirk; a real one. Byleth's brows were low, and her lips had pulled up cheekily to one side. She was teasing her.

"Am I that transparent?" Edelgard laughed, and Byleth forced a shrug.

"To me you are."

Her head was shaking, and she laughed again. "My teacher..." She mused. "How lovely it is to finally have you back."

"-and to be back," Byleth agreed. "-and to see your victory through to its end."

"It'll come easier to us now; now, that we have our favorite teacher back."

Byleth's smirk returned, but more genuine. Her crest-laden heart gave a steady lurch. "...favorite?" She inquired.

Edelgard found herself blushing again. "While I cannot speak for the others, you have always been mine; my favorite teacher, that is. You have taught me well."

Edelgard watched as Byleth's eyes traveled to the floor in thought. She was mulling over something that caused her sadness. Perhaps it was the notion of how much time had actually passed. Without thinking, and without fighting it, Edelgard suddenly reached out. Her hands forced up under Byleth's jaw, and Edelgard turned her head to face her. She could feel Byleth fighting it; the steady pressure against Edelgard's palm, begging to be released so she could turn away.

But Edelgard maintained her hold on Byleth. She dared her thumb out over her cheek. Very lightly, Edelgard traced from cheek to jaw. She stroked Byleth's lips, and she smiled.

"I am so happy you are here."

Her hands fell away, but her arms returned. She had Byleth trapped in another bone-breaking hug. Edelgard felt tears sting at her eyes, and she refused them. She would not ruin the moment with too many emotions.

"El," Byleth whispered.

Edelgard stiffened drastically; frozen by the use of a name for herself she had not heard in many years. She pulled back from the embrace. She was surprised when Byleth's hands did not leave her back.

"You called me, El." Edelgard smiled. "You remembered?"

Nodding, Byleth loosened her hold. "You said that there was no one left alive today who still called you that. I wanted to remind you that now, there is."

Edelgard wanted to curse the few tears that fell to her checks, but she would not stop them.

In that moment, the emperor who had long since shed tears was lost. Tonight, she could be just El, and that meant more to her than proving her worth to an entire Kingdom.

[lilacmoon83]

Lightning in a Bottle

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 14: Dinner Party

David straightened his crooked bowtie, but no matter how many times he tried to get it to stay straight, it seemed to defy him. He sighed and turned, as he heard Margaret come out of the bathroom. And as usual, he was stunned by her incredible beauty.

"Wow…" he uttered, as she floated to him in a white evening dress that glittered. It had a collar that dipped into a subtle v and was sleeveless with modest straps. The bodice hugged her supple curves and stopped at her knees, allowing a generous view of her beautiful legs and she wore matching low heels.

"I take it you like?" she asked.

"Like is an understatement...you take my breath away, but then you always have," he replied, as he slipped his arms around her waist. She smiled and managed to straighten his bowtie and it stayed.

Ready for this?" he asked.

"Oh...definitely not, but I still want to go," she replied. He nodded.

"Me too and hopefully, he's genuinely happy for our reunion and not out to make a buck on the story or something," he said.

"He has one last chance and if he blows it...then that's it. I'll never speak to him again," she replied.

"Well, I hope for your sake that you don't have to do that," he said.

"Me too...but I don't even know him anymore and my life is with you and our children. Tonight is mainly about making sure that he doesn't attempt to hurt the people I love by exploiting the fact that he's the father-in-law and grandfather to two of the returning passengers," she replied.

"Well…I didn't want to say it, but I'm a little worried about that. But maybe more worried that it's our son he might exploit. Henry is already attracting a lot of attention with the media, being that he was dying before the plane and when he came back...there's a cure now," he lamented.

"And if one camera takes a picture of my baby...I'll roast him and them," she promised and he chuckled.

"Is it bad that I'd love to see that?" he asked and she gave him a sultry kiss.

"What? That you like seeing your wife be a badass?" she teased and he pulled her close.

"Yeah...that…" he purred, as they kissed again.

"Not at all. I mean, I know I get turned on when you get all protective," she said, as she nuzzled her nose against his. Their lips met again and the kiss grew passionate, until they heard the door open.

"Yep...you were right, Ollie. They're making out again!" Henry called and their lips parted.

"Very funny, mister. Where is your bowtie?" Margaret asked.

"Do I have to wear it?" Henry whined.

"Yes...and you'll look so handsome, just like daddy," Margaret said, as she helped him with it and then kissed his cheek.

"Wow...look at you," David said, as he saw his daughter in a maroon dress and she looked down shyly.

"You look beautiful," he said wistfully.

"Thanks Dad ," she said, as they made their way out to the car.

"Isn't Aunt Emma coming?" Henry asked.

"She's meeting us there," David replied, as he backed out of the driveway and they drove away.

~*~

Mr. Gold stared at the photo once more, as he sat in the briefing room. They were going over the same simulation of the described conditions on that night, according to the pilot and co-pilot. Severe turbulence, wild, dark lightning, and a massive storm that had seemingly come out of nowhere.

"Mr. Gold...you've certainly been quiet. Do you have anything to add?" Vance questioned. He looked up and pocketed the photo again.

"No…I have no wild theories about wormholes or alternate dimensions to throw out. You all seem to have that covered," he expressed.

"I take it you don't subscribe to either of those possibilities," one of the Generals asked.

"Well, perhaps they are more likely than the tabloid stories about the passengers being demons or aliens. And personally, part of me would cheer if this ended up being some sort of...magic. But I think discussing all this is moot," he replied.

"So sorry we're boring you, Mr. Gold," Vance said, as they shared a look.

"It's moot until we get the autopsy results on Tisbe Taylor. I mean, that's what we've all been waiting for, am I correct? A passenger body to slice and dice," he added.

"That is enough, Mr. Gold. If you want to continue to consult on this case, then you'll start offering constructive input," the General said.

"Oh don't fret, dearies...I assure you that I plan to gather plenty of intel. But I think mine will come from the living passengers," Gold replied.

"Remind me again why this man is consulting with us at all, Director Vance?" the General asked impatiently.

"You know the answer to that, General. He's good at what he does and dealing with the unexplained," Vance offered, as the meeting continued. Truthfully, he would normally have no interest in working with the government on anything, but he had his own personal mystery to get solved and somehow, he knew the plane was connected. And more so, he had an intense feeling that the Nolan family would be the ones to solve it for him.

~*~

"Wow Em...that's a great dress," Margaret complimented, as she arrived right behind them in a wine colored dress.

"You two...damn MM," she commented.

"I know...she looks incredible, but then you always do," David said, as he wrapped his arms around her. They noticed the multitude of cars, but thankfully no reporter vans, so they approached the door. A man answered, the butler, they assumed, and allowed them in.

"Mary Margaret," Leopold said and she gave him a sharp look.

"Ah...forgive me, old habits die hard. Margaret," he corrected himself.

"It's so good to see you," he said, as he turned to David.

"And David...you've pulled off quite the miracle it seems. I am happy that my Margaret has you back," he added, as he offered his hand. David shook it with skepticism in his eyes.

"Me too…" he replied.

"And these must be my grandchildren…" he said. Margaret nodded.

"Father...this is Henry and Olive," she said.

"It's very nice to finally meet you, Henry and Olive. Come...dinner is nearly ready," he replied, as they followed him into the dining room and saw a woman approach.

"Hello dear," Cora cooed, as she brought him a glass of wine.

"Thank you, my dear," he said, as he accepted the drink.

"Leopold...aren't you going to introduce me?" she asked.

"Of course, forgive me. Margaret...this is my wife, Cora," he replied.

"Oh, it's lovely to meet you, dear," she said, though to Margaret it seemed fake.

"You are lovely...just like your mother," the woman mentioned.

"You...you knew my mother?" Margaret questioned.

"Oh yes...I knew your parents, long before I married Leopold," she said.

"Yes…Cora has been a member of our circle for a long time. She was married to the son of a former business associate of mine from years ago. After your mother died...we reconnected after her divorce," he explained.

"Convenient," Margaret muttered, as they heard another voice.

"David? Margaret?" Regina asked, as she saw them and used it as an excuse to escape the stuffy Wall Street mogul that her mother had pushed her to converse with.

"Regina?" she asked.

"Oh...you know each other?" Cora questioned, feigning ignorance.

"Henry is one of my patients," Regina replied.

"And you were on the plane together. Such a small world," Cora said.

"Yes...so it would seem," Regina replied, as Cora and Leopold took their seats at the table.

"Cora is your mother?" Margaret asked.

"Unfortunately. I take it that Leopold is your father," Regina replied.

"Estranged father...we only came here to see what he was up to. We expected reporters or something," Margaret replied.

"And instead, you got a step-sister and an evil step-mother," Regina quipped.

"That bad, huh?" Emma asked.

"Don't let my mother's fake sweetness fool you. She's up to something...she's always up to something," Regina replied.

"Usually my father is too," Margaret warned.

"Well...this dinner should be a blast," Olive quipped.

"But it's like a spy mission still, right?" Henry asked. David chuckled.

"Oh definitely, kid...because something is going on here," he replied, as they took their seats at the dinner table. There was already staring among Leopold's friends and colleagues, which was uncomfortable at best.

"So...Emma is it? You are David's sister?" Leopold asked.

"Yep," she replied.

"And what is it that you do for a living?" Leopold questioned.

"I'm a cop," he replied,

"Oh...how terribly grisly," Cora commented, but Emma took it in stride.

"It has those moments, but it's really rewarding when you put bad people behind bars," the blonde said.

"Yes...and David, what is it that you do again?" Leopold asked.

"Um, well...before the plane, I was an associate professor," David replied.

"David has a master's degree in mathematics," Margaret boasted.

"Ah, a number's man. I have many of those on my team," Leopold said.

"Yes, quite an advanced degree, like my Regina," Cora commented, earning her an eyebrow raise from the doctor. Her mother had never before expressed that she approved or understood Regina's profession. In fact, when Regina had insisted on going to med school, Cora had attempted to talk her out of it and wanted her to pursue in high finance, stating that she could become like a Queen if she got in with the right people.

"But teaching...I'm not sure I would have the patience for that," Cora added.

"Uh well...Margaret and I love teaching. We feel like we're at least making a difference, for some kids anyway," he replied awkwardly, as he noticed the pensive look on his wife's face. He could almost see the gears turning in her head and was hardly surprised by her next question.

"You know...I'm still surprised that you knew my mother. She never mentioned you," Margaret said, looking Cora in the eyes. The older woman stared back, engaged in a battle of wills with the raven haired beauty.

"Well...you were so young, dear. And Eva and I were not close...just acquaintances," Cora answered.

"I was young...but I remember everything about my mother," Margaret said, almost as if she was challenging the woman to argue with her.

"Of course you do," Cora said with a fake sweetness.

"Hey Mom...can we go out into the garden?" Henry asked, as he pointed at other guests mingling in the lit garden. As always, like her husband, he was swooping in to save her. Her big Charming and her little Charming.

"Sure sweetie...I think a little fresh air sounds nice," she said, as she got up and took his hand.

"I'm all for that," Emma agreed, as David and Olive got up with her.

"Yes...a nightcap in the garden sounds lovely," Leopold agreed, as they followed, with their wine in hand, and mingled with some of their other guests, while the tight knit Nolan family gathered by the lit fountain in the garden.

"I am so sorry about my mother. I love her, but she's a really terrible person sometimes," Regina admitted. Margaret nodded.

"It's not your fault...and my father fits in very well with her," she said. Regina snorted.

"No argument there. I bolted from my mother's house the moment I got accepted into medical school," she said. Margaret nodded.

"I left this house...after my mother died mostly. I spent most of my time at David and Emma's house. Robert is more of a father to me than Leopold ever was, even at his worst," she said sadly and felt David's arms around her waist. She leaned back against him and took solace in his embrace.

"Maybe this was a bad idea...let me take us home," he suggested. She was about to agree when Regina gasped and dropped her glass.

"Save him," the gray, stone angel said that was suddenly in her line of vision.

"Regina...are you okay?" Margaret asked in concern, trying to stay quiet to keep the other guests attention off them.

"You saw something...didn't you?" David whispered.

"You say that like it's a common thing," Regina said, as she got her bearings back.

"Darling, are you okay?" Cora asked, with concern.

"I'm fine, mother...the glass slipped from my hand," Regina replied. Thankfully, one of the guests called for Cora's attention and she left them.

"You came to the hanger too, when the plane exploded. You're getting them too," David said.

"Getting what?" Regina asked.

"Feelings...sometimes voices…" he whispered and she gave him a look.

"I know what it sounds like, but it's okay. David and Emma have been having them too, but it's not crazy," Margaret said.

"I wish I could believe that, but you didn't see it," Regina argued.

"Then what did you see?" Emma asked.

"I'm...I'm not even sure, but it was like a statue of an angel or something. Except it was talking to me and telling me to "save him"," she said in a hushed whisper.

"A calling…" Emma said.

"What?" Regina asked.

"It's something Tisbe Taylor kept saying before she was killed. I think that's as good of a name as any for...whatever this is," Emma replied. Regina sighed.

"Well…I was going to wait to talk to you about some of my findings until morning, but then I didn't expect to see all of you here," she said.

"What findings?" David asked curiously.

"Not here...I know my mother. She cannot know that any of us are having visions," Regina warned. Margaret nodded.

"My father too...he'll make a spectacle of the people I love most and I won't have that," she said. As she turned, she was proven right, as a camera flashed in her face.

"What the hell?" David asked the man.

"Ah, forgive me...this is a good friend of mine from the New York Times. I promised him an interview about being reunited with my lovely daughter," Leopold replied.

"Yes...it's quite a story. A mother, who lost her 828 daughter and a father, whose estranged daughter lost three members of her family to the plane as well. And now, you've all come together. People love a puff piece like this," the reporter said.

"I knew it…" Margaret said angrily.

"Margaret please…" Leopold said sternly.

"I wish I could say that I can't believe that you would do this and use my family for some media stunt, but I expected this actually. I just hoped I was wrong," she said sadly.

"Margaret...I live my life in the public eye and there is no denying that you are the center of quite possibly the biggest mystery of the century. It is something I have to address. I am unable to go into a meeting without being asked about my son-in-law and my grandson, the passengers. I thought one interview would give my investors assurance they need," Leopold stated.

"No...you want fame, but we do not. My family will not be the gossip for you and your rich friends," she spat.

"Oh you've long ago been the spectacle in my circle, ever since you ran away to live with your boyfriend at twelve and were sleeping in his bed by sixteen. You made yourself the spectacle a long time ago," he said sternly.

"Okay...you're done. You're not going to talk to my wife like that," David said, as he got in the old man's face. Leopold smirked.

"She is my daughter...I'll speak to her as I please," he replied.

"No...she hasn't been your daughter in a very long time. But she is my heart and soul and this was never about reuniting with her. This was about getting some kind of sick revenge and blowing up our lives in the media," he said. Leopold smirked and didn't deny it.

"But it isn't going to work. My wife and daughter went through hell for five years, but now we have a second chance and no one, least of you, is going to ruin that. So do your worst, old man...because you'll never destroy our love," he hissed, as they stared each other down.

"I see there is no hope for amends then," Leopold said.

"You never wanted amends. You want headlines," David retorted, as Margaret slipped her hand in his and they walked out. Regina followed them, until Cora stopped her for a moment.

"Regina…" she said, but she shrugged her mother off.

"Did you really think I'd want to talk to the press?" she hissed.

"Sweetheart...this is an amazing story. Think of all the good that could come from telling them about your cure for cancer," Cora reasoned.

"You don't care about my cure...and I'm not letting you and your husband exploit one of my patients to the cameras. He's just a little boy...and your husband is disgusting for the way he just treated his own daughter and her family," Regina hissed.

"Well, I was hoping you'd be different than that little tramp, but I see that's not going to happen," Cora said. Regina narrowed her gaze.

"What do you have against Margaret? You just met her," Regina said.

"Yes...and everything Leopold told me about her seems to be true," Cora replied. Regina scoffed and walked away, before catching up to the Nolans at their car.

"I'm so sorry about her…" she apologized.

"It's not your fault. But you didn't get to finish telling us what you found," Margaret mentioned. She nodded.

"We could get ice cream and then she can tell us," Henry chimed in and they chuckled, as he effectively dissolved the tension.

"You know, that sounds good. Why don't we pick some up and you can come to our house," Margaret suggested. Regina nodded.

"I'll follow you," she said, as they got into their cars and drove off, leaving Leopold's mansion behind without another thought.

[mikaylaporteus7-blog]

This former Pentagon official who now works for a Unidentified flying object investigations.

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Navy available for the in the beginning time known that the three Unidentified flying object videos which is were made by several Blink-182 performer Tom DeLonge and placed by Which the New York Times are unquestionably of good "unidentified" physical objects. CLICK Ideal here FOR Currently the ALL-NEW FOXBUSINESS.COM The Dark blue considers the specific phenomena contained/depicted in people three video as unidentified," Navy spokesman Joseph Gradisher told A new Black Vault, a online store dedicated to declassified government documents. Gradisher supplemental that the entire Unidentified Aerial Phenomena expressions is selected because this item provides each basic descriptor for you see, the sightings/observations relating to unauthorized/unidentified aircraft/objects that get been followed entering/operating here in the airspace of various sorts of military-controlled work outs ranges. 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Can life-style move from planet to be planet and even do experts have a complete spark and thus just typically the right the environment and that many spark created life -- like nation or never like our service -- based on the actual chemical situation that this is when? In an important statement for Fox News, NASA spokesman Allard Beutel said which experts claim the office is aroused about that mission to be Mars, although well by means of future quests where all prospects associated life gain been removed. "A key component on NASAs position is that will help search for the building blocks as well as signs amongst life elsewhere, and were excited about the exact findings related with our rovers on Mars currently as well as , upcoming, whilst well given that missions toward Europa, Titan, and almost every other places," Beutel said by the use of email. "Just as Nasa astronauts attaining on an Moon customized our creation of our place through the universe, the development of every day elsewhere of course would feel a compromised changing occurrence. As suffering from all discoveries, NASA should probably work so that it will confirm and thus share checked information from the planet as soon as possible." Next July, NASA is scheduled in order to really launch its Mars 2020 rover regarding what this hopes does be a single successful track for extraterrestrial life to do with the Red color Planet. This past November, the real estate agency select Jezero Crater as the type of landing recognise for this particular rover, where it is definitely expected with touch through on my surface linked the planet on January. 18, 2021. The 28-mile-wide Jezero Crater is within the to the west edge with regards to Isidis Planitia, a record-breaking impact sink north off the world wide equator. Their astronauts noted that will it is definitely home to positively some related with the "most scientifically challenging landscapes Mars has toward offer," adding that the game was in the past home to an longstanding river delta, where ancient organic substances and most other signs including microbial personal life may be more stored produced by billions having to do with years gone by. Jezero Crater was implemented out because of more in contrast to 60 locations. In enhancement to usually the Mars 2020 mission, and it is permitted to introduction at powerful estimated cost of whole lot than $2 billion, with respect to to Space News, typically the European Space Agency will almost certainly also insert a rover on Mars. The ExoMars rover is very much scheduled to assist you land on to the Teal Planet onto March 2021. VENUS Seemed to be LIKELY Liveable FOR 3B YEARS. In that case SOMETHING Difficult HAPPENED. Green defined that these two quests provide the best "opportunity to actually find life," adding the "we've has not drilled who deep down" into any planet. When we first initiated the career path of astrobiology in specific 90s all of started checking for alien x ray t shirt unnecessary life," Course continued. "We go back in mines two cientos deep toward the Earth and maybe they acquired weeping together with water this company were top notch of lifestyle. We want gone on nuclear cesspools, places where youd experience nothing may well survive, and also they were full of a life. As the bottom line is probably where in that location is fluids there is almost certainly life." In July 2018, Their astronauts made the best stunning announcement, noting the exact Curiosity rover "found fair trade molecules into rocks with an outdated lake bed room. The dirt are billions of dollars of a lot of years old, Their astronauts said, sooner than adding them had rather than found life style on the most important planet. A investigation presented in about August mooted that our Red Entire world was sizzling and whet enough for have what you need rainstorms and flowing water, an environment that may perhaps perhaps have supported life, among the 3 as well as a 4 thousand years back.

[ikesenhell]

If It Weren’t For Second Chances...

This is Chapter 6 of I See Starlight. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTE: SPOILERS FOR TO HONOR AND PROTECT. If you have not read it, please go back and do so before proceeding.

Hideyoshi’s life had taken unexpected turns before. He still wasn’t entirely certain how his life lead him to this moment. From a nothing orphan, running the streets of the City, to a bandit terrorizing the trade routes near and far, to a member of the Nine--

And now this.

It took the better part of an hour to reconcile in his mind that, yes, last night had happened. He stood in the bathroom and traced his finger around and around his lips, dragging the memory of Mitsuhide’s mouth against his up from his dream-heavy mind. Mitsuhide was given to tricks, for certain, but Hideyoshi couldn’t bring himself to believe that this was one.

But it didn’t help that no one talked about it. They woke all tangled together in Mitsuhide’s bed, legs and arms and her hair twisted around each other; it felt both so natural and foreign at once that Hideyoshi disappeared into the bathroom and splashed himself with cold water until he was completely certain he was awake.

Mitsuhide went to his training with Mitsunari alone for once. Hideyoshi busied himself training with Nobunaga, as if that would help him outrun the swirling questions. By the time they were done he was dripping with sweat and eager for a shower.

The Bookkeeper passed him on his way back into the Barracks and shot him a grin. “Hello! You look well exercised.”

He dragged a hand through his hair and tried to look less like a soaking mess. “Where are you off to?”

“I thought I might take a trip down to the docks. I don’t suppose you’d like to come with me?”

Well, the sea was nice and cold, and it seemed a moot point to shower before getting sprayed with salt. Hideyoshi rubbed his face and fixed her with a smile. “Sure. Might as well.”

Despite all the changes since the invasion, the dock was still untouched. They took the slick obsidian steps, Hideyoshi bracing his hand behind him to keep her from falling.

“Maybe one day they’ll fix these,” she sighed. “They’re awfully narrow.”

“And dangerous.”

Her teasing smile rivaled Mitsuhide’s. “Says the former bandit.”

Hideyoshi felt his whole face turn red. “You know about that?”

“I don’t think you understand how much the city idolizes the Nine. We know all sorts of things about your backgrounds.”

He couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead he offered her a meek hand and helped her down the last few steps. Grey clouds spiraled in the unknown distance, dancing and curling along each other. He could see the thick spray of rain miles away, the Trinity Islands billowing in the storm wind. Not many came down to the docks in the overcast weather, so he wasn’t shocked to find them alone.

“It looks like it’ll rain soon,” she murmured. “How long do you think until it reaches us?”

“Maybe an hour and a half? It seems to be a while off yet.”

She didn’t release his hand, and he didn’t pull away. Instead they walked the length of the dock and discarded their shoes. Bunching up the thick skirts in her hand, she settled in and dipped her toes in the freezing surf, cringing at the icy surge around her feet. “It’s quite cold.”

“It’s always cold.” He laughed at that and dipped over the side, splashing water over his face. At last his skin cooled. “They say it feeds from icecaps to the north.”

“No one has ever been there. How would they know?”

Hideyoshi shrugged and folded his legs up to his chest. “Dunno. I always left that to more well-read men than myself.”

Waves roared against the obsidian cliffs, beating their bassline rhythm into the earth. Hideyoshi wondered if Mitsunari knew they were there. Frankly, the whole idea made his head hurt. Banishing thoughts to the wind, he lay back against the weathered beams of the dock and shut his eyes, content to let the breeze skate over his face.

“Hideyoshi?” She asked. “Is that nice?”

“Mm? Yeah.” He inhaled the tang of seaweed and licked his salty lips. “Yeah, I’m kind of trying to figure out how Mitsuhide sees everything right now. He said it’s like looking out of your elbow.”

A gasped laugh. “What?”

“Look, I don’t know. That’s what he said. Maybe it’s his idea of a joke, but he seemed serious.”

Overhead, the sea birds screamed and wheeled. Hideyoshi forced all of his willpower into trying to create nothing, to construct that artificial absence that Mitsuhide lived with. He struggled to pick out the rock of the docks and the creaking timbers, the swell of her breath beside him. He listened to the rush of blood through his veins. Most of all, he tried to force down the thousand questions in his heart.

But he couldn’t.

“Hey.” Hideyoshi opened his eyes to the grey sky at last. “Can I ask you something?”

“Okay.”

“Do… is this all a fluke?”

Apparently that struck a nerve. The Bookkeeper shut her eyes and inhaled deep, as if she meant to make the whole ocean give her strength. “What do you mean?”

“I keep waiting for the shoe to drop. Mitsuhide is a joker.” Hideyoshi paused. “I don’t think he’d kid about something this serious, but I can’t help but think that at the end of it, it’ll be some sort of prank at my expense.”

She frowned at him. “Do you really think that?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I’m scared anyway.”

“Of what?”

Hideyoshi sucked in his breath and measured that question against the truth humming in his chest. What was safer: the truth, or the silence? At last, he answered, “That I’ll get this close to something I wanted and find out it wasn’t anything at all.”

Overhead, a bird screamed and wheeled, its shrill voice echoing through the city. The Bookkeeper laid down beside him and stroked a damp strand of hair from his face. Warmth followed her touch; without meaning to, he shut his eyes and just let her put her hands on him.

“I’m scared, too,” she whispered.

Silently, he wrapped his hand around her wrist and tugged her over top of him. Her neck tasted like lilac and salt, like a soft morning and a sweet goodnight. She shivered. Emboldened, he pressed his mouth against the small of her throat, then her mouth.

“Did that scare you?” He whispered against her.

She giggled. “No.”

“Good.”

---

Mitsuhide brought a stack of books back with him for translation. He was greeted at the gate by Kenshin lurking with a sword, but managed to rip out his weapon and parry the blow.

“Excellent.” Kenshin sheathed the blade, sounding more satisfied than he had any right to be.

“Don’t you have the ninja to chase?” Mitsuhide snickered. “Or Yuki? He seems to enjoy your random assaults.”

“Both of them ran off.”

“Mm, pity. Can’t imagine why.”

He bumped the door open with his hip and felt his way around the familiar kitchen, taking the stairs two at a time to the second floor. Even before he was in the hall, he could hear Hideyoshi and the Bookkeeper laughing and chatting. It warmed his heart more than he could stand. He almost thought about just seeing what they were so animated about, but he decided instead to enter the library. “Having fun? Without me? For shame.”

She gasped and staggered back into Hideyoshi, who just laughed. “You walk so quietly!”

“Everyone else here stomps around like a drunken Masamune. Someone had to be put together.” Mitsuhide shuffled the books onto the workbench. “More books for you.”

“Thank you.” She peeled back the cover of one and checked it. “Okay. Hey, I’ve got a question. Hideyoshi and I were just talking about music. What sorts do you like?”

“Me?” That was a fair question. He had the same relationship with music as he did with food: the details didn’t exactly matter, they were all lost on him anyway. “I can’t exactly say. I haven’t been privy to enough music to really have an opinion. Why do you ask?”

“Well, do you dance?”

She was going somewhere with this, wasn’t she? He cast an amused glance in her general direction, hoping he aimed true. It felt like he did. “Whatever are you trying to do, little mouse?”

“Don’t you worry about it. Just accept the surprise.”

“Surprises? Oh no no, my dear.” He snickered. “Nothing surprises me.”

But he heard the smile in her voice as she ran her hands up his arms, squeezing the curve of his elbows. “I think I might try anyway.”

---

He was surprised.

All this time he knew she was tinkering at something. In the afternoons when she returned from her book stall, she would cast off the cloak Hideyoshi lent to her and settle into her desk for a long stretch of translating, and afterward, the familiar clink of metal on metal was the backdrop to his studies. Hideyoshi passed in and out in his constant fretful way, forever offering to fetch water or snacks or checking in on the fire in the room.

“You’re aware my legs function, correct?” Mitsuhide snickered once. “It’s the eyes that don’t work.”

“Yes, but still--”

“We’re quite fine. Get back to your patrols.”

She started a habit of collecting sheet music for one end or another. He only even knew that because Hideyoshi let it slip once; she shushed him, but the secret was out. Whatever was she doing? Mitsuhide considered the options for only a short while before letting it go.

“Are you sure you don’t have a favorite piece of music?” She asked him again one night.

“I’m certain.” But he set down the book regardless, struggling to bring the world into focus around him. It took some doing to ‘feel’ the shapes of things around him still. “Why do you ask?”

“Damn. Well, this will be less fun, then.”

“Is it done?” Hideyoshi rocked forward in the chair.

“No fair if he knows what it is and I don’t.” Mitsuhide chuckled.

“I don’t know what it is either.”

They didn’t have to wait much longer. A click, and then the faint thrum of a song filled the room. Mitsuhide wondered if it were magic for a half second and realized all in one that she’d made a machine for this.

“How?” Hideyoshi gasped. “How did you do that?”

“Show me it,” Mitsuhide demanded. “I have to see this.”

She took his hands and guided him forward to a large box on her bench, easing a single fingertip forward. A small needle propped to a cone ran around the ridges of a large metal plate. He could feel the grooves and marks punched in it; no doubt those were the keys.

“This is incredible,” Hideyoshi muttered. “Absolutely genius.”

“Now you have to both learn how to dance,” she teased. “Because I went to all this trouble and I enjoy dancing.”

“Now now,” Mitsuhide chided. “Whoever said I didn’t know how?”

Before she could protest, he swept her up in his arms and spun her around. Hideyoshi yelped something about watch the table! and scooted it away from them. Her laughter rang heady in the room, circling around him same as the salty ocean wind and the patter of footsteps on the street outside, same as the echoing surge of the water against the earth. Back in she came, and he pressed his hand into the small of her back to him. God, she was so much smaller than him. He loved the stiff brush of her skirts against his shoes and the tilt of her shoulders, the way her pinned-up hair came falling down against his arm and swung out as they took long steps around. He couldn’t see her smile, but he could hear it, could feel it in the way she eased her face against his chest and squeezed her arms in tight.

“Hideyoshi,” she giggled, and the laugh pooled in his heart, “you have to learn how to dance, then.”

“I’m not much good at that,” he admitted lamely. “I’ve tried. Two left feet and all that.”

“Hm.” Mitsuhide spun her out and released her with a fingertip against her lip. “Come here. Let’s see if you’re so terrible.”

“Uh, don’t you think--”

“I can lead just fine without eyes.” Tugging Hideyoshi to him, Mitsuhide grinned down where he thought the other man’s face was. “I feel the music in my soul, Hideyoshi, clearly that’s good enough.”

“You have one of those?”

The Bookkeeper cackled and flopped down onto the couch. Snickering, Mitsuhide tilted his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you’d seen through my thin facade. Come on then. Don’t let the soulless one be better at this than you.”

Three steps in and Hideyoshi came down squarely on Mitsuhide’s foot. He grit his teeth through the pain and tried not to laugh too much (he’d never been deterred by pain the way others were, and he’d learned to keep that particular quirk under wraps). “You’re supposed to use the floor, not my person as the ballroom.”

“Sorry! I told you--”

“Take it slower. Stop acting like it’s a wrestling match.”

“Yeah, I could actually do the wrestling match.”

“Mmm, well, maybe later.”

He felt Hideyoshi’s face splotch red with embarrassment and just snickered, guiding him purposefully into a spin. “Focus man, focus. Or are you busy letting your mind go elsewhere? Do we need to explore that?”

“Wh--” He audibly swallowed. “Just tell me the next damn step.”

She laughed again in the corner of the room. Mitsuhide dipped Hideyoshi low, swept him back up, and finally released him with a grin. “Fine, fine, fine. I’ll let you wriggle out of that one tonight.”

[dragonshost]

Now Leasing: New Beginnings

Chapter 4: Pyramid

Rating: T

Pairing: Cobra x Lucy

Genre: Humor/Romance

Summary:  Lucy has finally achieved her dream, and finalized the purchase of her family’s former home. When she goes to inspect the Heartfilia mansion, however, she finds some very familiar people already occupying it. For CoLu Week 2018.

Word Count: 2,146

On FFN

On AO3

Sorry for the lateness and bulkiness of this chapter.  There’s a lot of exposition, but it’s necessary setup for a joke.  I portray the guild setup here much the same as real estate agencies (with minor differences), and it’s the setup I use as background for pretty much all of my fics.

The main joke in here is one that I have been seriously contemplating devoting an entire fic to.  It’s a fun rabbit hole to consider.

I hope you enjoy.

Lucy contemplated the plans spread out on the kitchen table before her.  It had somehow become their default spot for negotiation and planning, though in part that was mostly due to it being one of the only large, flat elevated surfaces left in the mansion.  Three pieces of glassware held the corners of the drawing secure and still as she inspected it, the fourth weighed down by Macbeth’s slumbering form.

There was a lot that needed to be done, it turned out, to turn a building into a functioning guild hall.

It also took a lot to turn Crime Sorciere’s present organization into a properly functioning guild model, for that matter.

Groaning, Lucy sank into her seat, plunking her head into the table in imitation of Macbeth.  “Why is this so difficult?” she wailed into the paper.

“Because everything in life is,” Cobra responded behind her.

Lucy raised her head, and turned slightly in order to level her fiercest glare at the dragon slayer.

He scoffed at her. “Is that the best you got?”

“No,” she grumbled as he sat down in the chair next to her.  “I’m just too exhausted to deal with you right now.”

“So what’s the problem today?” he inquired, peering over the plans.  “None of this makes much sense to me, but I’ll give it a shot.”

“How generous of you,” Lucy replied sarcastically.  Despite her words, she straightened up in her seat, and pointed at the upper floor of the mansion.  “We need to decide how many rooms we want to keep as bedrooms, and how many we want to convert to other purposes.  Which means figuring out whether you all wish to live here full time as the founding guild members, or do a kind of live-in plan for new members.  I think Jellal is working out the particulars with the Council, but I think he wants to turn this place into a kind of halfway house for rehabilitating mages like yourselves that have run afoul of the law.  It’s a good idea, and I’m not against the property being used for that.”

That last part was a little bit of a white lie, and one that Cobra surely picked up on, but in a rare display of kindness, chose to ignore.  “So what’s the problem, then?” he asked.

“Money.”  Lucy sighed heavily.  “I’ve already got a huge mortgage on this place, as I’m sure you’re aware.  There’s no way I can secure a construction loan on top of it.  Jellal was able to pony up a security deposit and first month’s rent when we signed the rental contract, but unless I go on a well-paid job soon, we won’t be able to afford even the smallest change to this place.”  She shrugged helplessly.  “And you know what my team is like, so saving money is a little difficult for me as it is, even without me dividing my time up between them and this place.”

Cobra hummed in thought, his eye darting over the plans and taking in the proposed alterations. “Wouldn’t it be up to us to pay for it? Since we’re the ones that need the place changed.”

“Eh.”  Lucy held up her hand and made a wobbly gesture with it. “Yes and no.  It’s my property, so capital expenditures are mine to deal with, and fixtures required for business are yours.  Which is which is where things get a little nebulous.”  She heaved another side and rubbed her temple with her fingers.  “Neither Jellal nor I really want to hire a lawyer to sort it out on our behalf, but it’s beginning to look like that will be necessary in the long run.  Though it’ll all be moot anyway if I can’t drum up enough money to hire one in the first place.”

“Sounds tough,” Cobra stated.  “How does a traditional guild make money, by the way?  Brain’s flow of income was never exactly obvious to the rest of us, and we weren’t interested besides, so I don’t really have a frame of reference.”

His interest in the matter perked Lucy’s spirits up slightly.  “It’s kind of like a pyramid structure,” she told him.  Reaching down to the pile of supplies by her feet, she placed a blank sheet of paper onto a clipboard and drew a triangle on it.

“I thought those were bad things,” Cobra muttered as he watched her draw.

“Pyramid schemes are a pretty common way of scamming people, it’s true,” agreed Lucy.  “But they’re also pretty useful for displaying money flow.” She drew two horizontal lines near the top of the triangle, sectioning off two small sections.  In the bottom, largest section, she wrote Guild Members.

She tapped that section with her pen.  “As you’re probably aware, in a typical guild structure a job is posted with a set reward, which the guild members take and earn upon completion.  What most people don’t realize, is that the monetary amount posted on the job is not actually the full amount being paid out.”  To the side of the pyramid, she scribbled Clients and wrote 1,200 Jewel under it, and then circled both.  “Say a client is willing to pay 1,200 Jewel for a job.  Of that amount, 1,000 will be posted as the reward on a job flyer, while 200 will be retained by the guild as payment for coordination services.  In addition, clients will also pay a small posting fee.”  Lucy wrote a plus sign and 50 under the 1,200 Jewel she inscribed earlier. Then she labeled the middle section Guild and wrote in 250 Jewel below it, and then added 1000 Jewel to the Guild Members section.

Glancing up, she asked, “Following me so far?”

“Sure,” Cobra said, his gaze still intent on her makeshift diagram.  “But what’s the upper section of the pyramid for?”

Lucy drew a vertical line down the middle of the final section, labeling one half Era and the other Gov.  “Guilds have to pay fees and taxes to both the country they’re located in, and to Era for services provided.  These fees and taxes go towards services for mages, and they form a large part of Era’s operating budget from what Levy and Mest have told me.”

Cobra thought about it for a moment.  “I guess that makes sense.”          

“There’s more,” Lucy warned him, and restrained a giggle at his resulting sigh. “For simplicity’s sake, let’s say that the amounts due the government and Era are fixed at 5,000 Jewel each.” Outside of the pyramid, Lucy wrote in 5,000 Jewel on each side since she hadn’t left enough room in the diagram itself.  “So basically, the Guild has to make enough money to pay off those obligations, and make enough to fund repairs to guild halls, or providing other things for mages.   Fairy Tail has a souvenir shop and a bar with a kitchen to help supplement the income from the jobs, but the margin of profit on both is actually very small if I understood Max correctly when he explained all of this to me.”

Holding up a finger, Lucy waggled it at Cobra.  “But there’s actually a second structure that some guilds use instead of this one.”

“Seriously?” Cobra muttered.  “Isn’t just having one confusing enough?”

“Apparently some guilds combine the two methods as well,” Lucy informed him. “Which I imagine makes the guild accountants cry.”

“I don’t blame them.  So what’s the other method?”

“The guild members pay a monthly fee to the guild, and keep all of the job reward.  I think there’s still a posting fee that the guilds retain, but yeah the members get to keep everything.  If they don’t go on jobs, though, they run the risk of incurring a large debt to their guild, however, so I’m not particularly fond of this method.”

“Wouldn’t you run much the same risk the other way, though?” Cobra pointed out. “If you don’t go on jobs, you won’t have money for your bills anyway.”

“I guess you have a point,” Lucy acknowledged.  “I guess it kind of depends on personal preference.”  She smiled at him.  “So… how does Crime Sorciere handle its finances?”

Cobra shrugged.  “Communal fund, maybe?  I’m not sure. Jellal keeps track of it all in his head, so I try to tune him out when he starts thinking too much on it. Usually when one of us needs something, we just ask Jellal to fork over the Jewels for it.”

Lucy blinked at him, a little gob smacked.  “And that… works for everyone…?” she ventured.

“Pretty much, yeah.”  When her stunned silence continued for longer than he liked, Cobra added, “Listen, it’s not like we’ve ever had proper spending money of our own with how we grew up. I doubt we’d know how to manage it, honestly.”

Pursing her lips, Lucy frowned.  “Call me strange, but even if you do make mistakes with your income, it’s still yours to make the mistakes with.  Financial autonomy is a pretty important thing to have, you know?”

Cobra shrugged.  “If you say so.”

Seeing that she wasn’t going to be able to press issue further with Cobra, Lucy decided to let it go for now.  “Alright, it’s your decision to make.  But maybe we should look into hiring a guild accountant before anything else, yeah? That way Jellal doesn’t have to… to keep it all in his head.”

“You’re surprised by that,” Cobra observed with delight, a cruel smile spreading across his face.  “What, is that something the great Heartfilia Heiress can’t manage herself?”

“Hell no.”  Lucy laughed at Cobra’s taken aback expression over her blunt, honest answer. “It’s a lot to keep track of.  I hire an accountant to go over my personal taxes every year.”

“Do you make them cry?” Cobra asked, his smile returning.

Lucy hesitated a second too long without responding, resulting in Cobra letting out a great laugh that filled the kitchen.  “You do, don’t you?!” he howled with laughter.

Giggles filled Lucy as she, reluctantly, admitted that Cobra had her pegged.  “Okay, you’ve got me there.  In my defense, my life is an utter mess.  So the accountant really should have realized that my finances would be, too.”

“However you wanna justify it to yourself.”

A groan emanated from the third occupant of the kitchen, the fourth paperweight on Lucy’s plans of the mansion.  “You two are too noisy,” Macbeth complained.

“Sorry,” Lucy apologized to her former enemy.  “If you prefer, I can return to talking about finances.  Maybe that will put you back to sleep?”

Her suggestion only sent Cobra into a greater fit of laughter than before and set her to grinning in wicked delight as well.  Macbeth sent Lucy a disgusted look before standing up and stalking out of the kitchen.

Privately, Lucy had to admit that Cobra had a nice laugh.

Suddenly, Cobra’s laughter ceased entirely.  “Wait a minute,” he said.  “So how is it that Fairy Tail makes any money?”  He waved her off when she opened her mouth to repeat her earlier lecture. “No, no.  I get the basic system.  But with Fairy Tail having to pay all sorts of damages and fines, how are they able to make enough money to keep the guild going?”

Lucy hesitated.  Her first instinct was to propose the bar and souvenir shop’s proceeds to make up the deficit, but then she remembered how little profit those endeavors actually made. In fact, the bar’s proceeds largely came from the members of Fairy Tail themselves.  Some of whom had racked up a significant unpaid tab.  Then, with all of the furniture that the members regularly destroyed…  Lucy had never heard of the guild members being forced to pay back the guild for any damages to guild property.  Somehow, Makarov had pulled together enough funds to completely redo the place as well back when she first joined.

“For that matter,” Cobra continued, either oblivious to the gears turning in Lucy head, or uninterested, “how is it that Fairy Tail can get away with destroying so many towns and such with pretty much no repercussions?  You’d think somebody would be pissed about their home being gone.”

Although she wished she could deny it, the fact of Fairy Tail’s destructive leanings was extremely common knowledge.  It was hard to reconcile how much Fairy Tail obliterated with the height of the guild’s popularity.

“It… it creates construction jobs…?” Lucy offered tentatively.  “Puts that back into the economy…?”

Cobra stared at her dead-on, his single violet eye unblinking.  “Is Fairy Tail getting…”

It was Lucy’s turn to cut him off.  “Let’s not finish that thought.”

He considered it for a moment, but eventually nodded.  “That sounds safer, yeah.”  Briefly shaking himself, he then shrugged and changed the subject.  “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

With that, the two tried their hardest to put their lingering suspicions out of their minds.

[samtheflamingomain]

zeke the survivor

I'm always late to the game on things, so I just recently decided to see "if" Survivor has a subreddit. Of course it does. It has like 6.

Anyway, I sorted by most popular of all time, and what do my eyes have to read? A fucking novel of an excuse for Jeff fucking Varner. By a former player, no less. She’s "a friend of his", she said.

I know this happened like a year ago, but long story short, at Tribal Council, Varner was on the chopping block. Having not eaten in several days, having the toll of Survivor on his psyche, (these are his words, NOT mine,) he tried to paint Zeke as a liar by saying (basically), "How can people trust you? Zeke's not who you think he is..." and continued hinting at the reveal that would "save him" and "prove his point": "Why are you lying about being transgender?"

Fucking EXCUSE ME? Again, I know this was ages ago, but I'm still pissed. I hate bringing attention to Varner, so I will talk about Zeke in a minute, but first, let's review the facts.

Varner outed Zeke to every single person on the planet. NOW, I MUST POINT OUT, that the editors of the show CHOSE TO KEEP THIS IN. I think it's because they knew they'd get some virality from it. That aside, Varner literally endangered a man for life by outing him. He's recognizable. He's from the South. He wouldn't be the first trans person to be assaulted for being trans.  Maybe people don't get it: Outing. People. Can. Get. Them. Killed.

Every person on that tribe is starving to death in the blistering heat with intermittent extreme cardio workouts. Nobody has EVER used a personal attack of that volume to try and make a move. That's part one of why I don't believe his bullshit "apologies".

Part 2: He hints at it. I don't have a transcript in front of me, but for a good few minutes the two are bantering, both at risk of going home. Varner keeps saying things like "There's stuff you don't know about Zeke" etc. This was not a spur-of-the-moment "temporary insanity" as it is put in the reddit post trying to paint him as a victim.

But there are some other facts I must point out. He is, by the dictionary definition, a victim: of online harassment and death threats. Nobody deserves that. That is illegal. But as I mentioned earlier, Zeke, as a result of what Varner did, probably recieved a lot of the same shit he did. But if Zeke got death threats (I have no source, but I'd bet my last dime on it), that's because of his gender. Varner got hate because he did a terrible thing.

Now, another mitigating point I must concede: I do not think Varner is a transphobe. He says it was a lapse in judgement, I think it was a planned, specific move, and the plain fact is that it got him unanimously voted out. He was nearly in tears at the post-tribal confessional. You could see it in the man's eyes the moment the words left his mouth. Instantly, he knew he had completely, irreversibly fucked up. It cost him a million dollars. It cost him his job. It cost him a lot and he knew that in an instant. He truly is sorry. I believe that.

But the fact that he follows up that apology with the excuse he did kind of renders it moot.

But here's another thing, the one thing really, that makes me absolutely despise Varner and have absolutely 0% sympathy for him: he wrote a goddamn book. "Surviving Shame". Bitch, you shouldn't survive that shame. That should linger with you till the moment you die. And to make MONEY off the fact that he OUTED A TRANS PERSON ON TV is absolutely sickening. I don't care enough to look it up, but I do think he mentioned that "all royalties will go to some trans charity" but I don't care. You're still getting a fucking book. You are now a public figure of sorts.

You know who should have a fucking book? Zeke. The moment the camera moved from Varners stupid face to his, I was prepared for all-out war. It was almost like he knew this would happen. It's all of our worst nightmares.  But he sat there, his face calm. And he said something beautiful: “I didn’t want to be known as ‘the trans survivor’. I wanted to be ‘Zeke the survivor’.” I think we all want to be X the Y, not the trans Y. 

He took it like a goddamn champ. It helps that the entire tribe supported him and they immediately voted Varner out, and Zeke talked a bit about it at the finale, before Jeff interrupts him to PLUG. VARNER'S. BOOK. I shit you not, go back and see, it's the very last thing that's said before credits.

The post talks about how Varner was very depressed after the episode. And people were commenting saying they hope he gets better. And I hope he does too; nobody deserves capital-D Depression, but that's not what happened. He was depressed and ashamed about a horrible thing he did. He SHOULD be depressed and ashamed, at least for a while. You know who else might've been pretty depressed? Zeke.

Look. I don't think he's a bad person. I think he's like everyone else: desperate to save face when possible. I don't know what on Earth he was thinking when he decided on a book, but I'll charitably chalk that up to general stupidity and ignorance.

Before I close, I want to throw you back even further to Worlds Apart, just to point out that this shit isn’t new. Remember Shirin? Kinda annoying, but had a really awful story (abuse, neglect, no parental contact) and was absolutely HAMMERED by this ASSHOLE for NO FUCKING REASON, AT CAMP, IN FRONT OF EVERYONE. He said something very very close to "You have no reason to be here. Nobody loves you. Nobody's waiting for you back home." And everyone at camp just kinda sat there. She went into the jungle crying alone. There was a good bit of outrage, and she used that episode to raise awareness about bullying, but I think, to make one last point, we need to talk about the show itself.

There are already limits in place on how “survivor-y” Survivor can get. There’s medical help, menstrual products, meds. They’ll even fix your glasses! That department is obviously completely separate from the editing department that decided to keep these moments in, but if they’ll allow you to retain your physical health, I think (to a point, without ruining the point of the show) they should put more thought into mental health. Part of me wonders if anyone intervenes if someone has a panic attack. Probably not. That’s part of the problem.

But they also need to make more careful editing choices. I assume they would’ve consulted Zeke on whether that would air or not because I like to believe the world is a nice place sometimes. 

And I hope nobody buys Jeff Varner’s goddamn book. Fuck him.

Anyway, I post this because I've been up all night getting lost in rabbit holes, and this was one of them. Stay Greater.

[betterdaysareatoenailaway]

'IF YOU’RE SICK, STAY HOME’ v ‘GO GET TESTED’

I woke up sick two weeks ago, dizzy and running a fever. It went away after a few days, then returned with a vengeance for the better part of a week. I contacted my coworker and my ex-partner, the only two people I’d recently been in close contact with (and with the former, we weren’t indoors, thank God...if I made her sick I wouldn’t forgive myself...her life is more important than mine, as far as I’m concerned) and warned them that I was sick and to monitor themselves for symptoms. My illness was really bad for a 72-hour period, and I was pretty scared it was COVID despite a lack of lung trouble.  Fortunately, I woke up a few days ago feeling much better and knowing that I was gonna be okay with that strange inner certainty we all have when we know we are no longer ill. Instinct operates at a blood-deep level beyond knowing. I posted on FB about how my cat Cookie had hastened my recovery and I was a little taken aback by the “you didn’t get tested?” indignation that came my way via comments and DMs. I only got six of these, but they got me thinking (and maybe that was the point).

I was quarantining. You’re saying I should have broken quarantine? As you prolly already know, COVID-19 has been a classic case study in conflicting information. The U.S. Surgeon General himself tweeted misinformation in February, scolding the public for buying masks because, in his words, “they are not effective.” He quickly came to his senses though. Now we were told to wear masks. You were a monster if you didn’t, willfully putting others at risk.

Then for a few late-March weeks it was “how DARE you buy a mask when our frontline health care workers aren’t able to wear them?” By wearing a mask you were putting paramedics in imminent peril. How could you be so callous?

Then big ten foot signs appeared on the subway: “If you are sick, stay home.” To do otherwise would be to willfully put others at risk. The CDC website and the Government of Canada website have similar instructions. If you are sick, stay home. But then we were told to go get tested, a directive I have no beef with save for the verb. Going means not staying. This is an obvious conflict. I don’t care if it’s just leaving your house once and returning once, you’re still going to be breathing the whole time. And if you are sick and you are breathing and you’re not in a self-contained bubble, you could be passing COVID onto somebody whose immune system may not be as strong as yours. In other words, you might kill somebody. It’s not as idiotic as the Surgeon General tweeting “don’t wear a mask” but “go get tested” means breaking the “if you’re sick, stay home” rule. But people told me I should have gone to get tested in a tone of shocked disgust, as if my staying home (a deliberate choice because I didn’t want to willfully put others at risk) was itself a choice that willfully put others at risk.

Sigh. 

I’m a bad person. It’s true. I’ve done terrible things in the name of opiates. But on this matter I earnestly plead not guilty. I believe I have made the right choices, COVID-wise, even when it has harmed me.

I’ve been wearing a mask since March, both in public and when walking through my own rented house, because I can’t know for sure where my roommates have been or what they’ve been exposed to. I also wanted to protect them. I even quit a job back in October because I was working in an enclosed space, a prison-cell sized 12x18 kitchen, with three other contractors, all of whom refused to wear masks no matter how many times I asked them to. Wearing a mask like it’s a necklace is not wearing a mask. I got in an argument with my boss over this, and I lost my job that day. So I’m not a “COVID is a conspiracy” guy, nor an anti-masker, nor an anti-vaxxer, nor a “that BBQ Etobicoke yahoo is right”-er. Seriously. Fuck that guy.

But this “you should get tested” v “you should stay home” argument reminds me of the trolley problem. Travelling freely through public space when you don’t know you are sick is not the same thing as choosing to travel through public space when you might be sick. 

The latter is a choice in which you might be putting other people at risk for the sake of statistical certainty. Is knowing worth this cost? I don’t think it is, especially when you can find out whether you had COVID-19 or not well after the fact, because of the presence of antibodies, when you may be less likely to pass the virus onto someone else. “So don’t take public transit,” you say? “You should have walked to the testing location.” I was too sick to walk. Would it have been okay if I had put just one person, an Uber driver or cab driver, at risk of catching COVID en route to the testing centre? (After which, of course, I would have then put the other people standing in line at the testing location at risk, and the people who administered the test at risk, and the person who drove me home at risk. Would these have been acceptable risks? Who gets to decide?)

Anyway I didn’t have any money. Literally. I had 38 cents in my bank account. So the taxi/Uber thing is moot.

So should you stay home or should you get tested? You can’t follow both directives, which means you have to decide. It’s your choice. But, as I already said, choosing to travel through public space when you might be carrying a potentially fatal illness does not jibe with the ‘if you’re sick, stay at home’ rule, nor does it fit with the fact that most cases of COVID-19 resolve themselves without medical intervention, which makes quarantining the more socially responsible and more statistically logical choice. 

Until/unless they figure out self-testing a la pregnancy tests, the whole 'if you think you're sick, go get tested' message is going to be at odds with the 'if you’re sick, stay home' message. Luckily for me, contact tracing was relatively easy because I don’t have many friends or coworkers. It might not be so easy for popular people, or people who work with a lot of other people. I chose the option that put the onus of uncertainty on ME, not on society. I don’t blame anyone for choosing to side with statistical certainty, but I’d rather not know whether it’s COVID than travel through public spaces carrying a potentially fatal virus, willfully putting others at risk. If you think knowing for sure is more important, than by all means go get tested, but don’t imply I’m being irresponsible for following a rule that is specifically meant to save lives. 

[in-flagrante]

'The Downton Abbey movie will happen': Michelle Dockery on playing Lady Mary, a toilet-cleaning con artist and a feminist cowgirl

For now, she's sweeping away her genteel reputation in Good Behavior and Godless – as well as starring alongside Bryan Cranston in Ivo van Hove's stage adaptation of the 1976 film ‘Network’

Gerard Gilbert Wednesday 27 September 2017

It must have come as a shock to fans of Michelle Dockery's Lady Mary Crawley in Downton Abbey – or perhaps as a sneaking satisfaction to those who thought the haughty aristocrat verging on the insufferable – to have witnessed the actress's follow-up television role in the American drama Good Behavior.

The establishing shots of Dockery's character, a paroled junkie grifter called Letty Raines, see her flipping burgers and cleaning a lavatory pan in a scuzzy diner and kneeing a would-be rapist in the groin. It almost feels like some form of self-abasing penance – the type that medieval nobility might practise – for all those years playing the imperious Lady M.

"I wasn't actively out to do something so vastly different," says Dockery, back in the UK after a long summer shooting the second season of Good Behavior in North Carolina. "I loved Mary, I loved that character so much, so I would be doing a disservice to go 'eugh...I want to do something completely different'. But then most of the British people watching the show, the last thing they would have seen me in was Downton, so there's no denying that will draw people to seeing Lady Mary cleaning the toilet..." 

Actually Good Behavior, which sees con-woman Letty, who is desperate to be reunited with her young son after a spell in prison, teaming up with a hitman called Javier (played by Argentinian actor Juan Diego Botto), was a role that came her way not entirely on the merits of Downton Abbey.

"I did an episode of Waking the Dead a long time ago – I must have been 24 or something – and I played this character Gemma who was a rape victim who then goes out to avenge her attackers," says Dockery, who is now 35. "She is the closest to Letty actually of all the characters I've played and it was on my show-reel, and the producers had seen it. You never know what job is going to lead to the next part in the next ten years."

It also helped that Good Behavior's writer, former Wayward Pines showrunner Chad Hodge, was "a Downton Abbey devotee" – but Dockery still couldn't believe her luck in being offered the part. "I loved the pilot when I read it: this deeply flawed complex woman. You're being constantly surprised by her life – by the fact that she has a son, that she's a con artist and a very good one. After I read it I rang my agent and said 'I have to play this woman.'"

The new season has a feel to it of The Americans, the drama in which Soviet sleeper agents pretend to be an ordinary suburban US family, as Letty and Javier try to live a normal life with Letty's son Jacob while both being hunted by the FBI. "The first three episodes of the second season are very funny because you're seeing this hitman and this thief trying to be normal and Letty cannot help herself," says Dockery. "She'll go this store and she can steal her son's school clothes rather than pay for them."

Filming took place in Wilmington, North Carolina, with 16-hour shooting days as opposed to the 12 hours on Downton Abbey. "Plus you got weeks off on Downton when they filmed the servants quarters", says Dockery. "But this show, Letty's in just about every scene, and you're like this hamster on a wheel.

"Wilmington is a wonderful place to work though because you have downtown, which is really cool and hip, and then the beach. But even then my weekends really were filled out with just resting or learning my lines. I'm constantly learning lines."

Dockery had a dialect coach to help with Letty's "general American" accent. "It takes a while to get into the movement of it," she says. "With American, you're using different muscles, with my accent as well... my Essex twang is still there and it's a little lazy at times, so the American accent is rhotic, you're pronouncing all your rs."

In person, the Romford-raised Dockery sounds nothing like Lady Mary, although she says the estuarine accent has softened over the years – except when she's had a few drinks. She won't be needing English English for quite a while however as she firmly establishes herself across the Atlantic, most recently in New Mexico shooting Godless for Netflix, a limited-series cowgirl drama being dubbed "a feminist western".

"That's what people are calling it," says Dockery. "I've certainly never seen a western before with that many female characters. The premise is Frank Griffins, played by Jeff Daniels, and his gang of outlaws are on this mission of revenge against Roy Good, played by Jack O'Connell, who's a son-like protege who betrays him. So while Roy's on the run he seeks refuge on my character's ranch, and this relationship develops between them, if you want to call it a relationship."

Her character, Alice, whom Dockery describes as a "hardened widow and outcast", lives in a town governed mainly by women as a result of a mining accident; all the men were killed. And in what sounds like a feminist High Noon, the women must come together to protect themselves against the outlaws – Dockery learning how to handle a gun in preparation for her role.

"The first thing we all did when we arrived on set was to go to cowboy camp," she recently told Vogue. "I remember when I shot a gun – the adrenaline was crazy. On Downton Abbey we had the shooting parties, but the women just stood back and wore a nice outfit and assisted the men."

"Alice was another character I was mad about and I put myself on tape for it when I was in North Carolina," she says. "I just loved her. Then I was offered and nearly fell off my chair."

Dockery won't be able to park her American accent quite yet – she makes her homecoming stage appearance at London's National Theatre later this autumn, in Lee Hall's adaptation of Paddy Chayefsky's Oscar-winning screenplay for the 1976 movie Network. Directed by Ivo van Hove, Breaking Bad's Bryan Cranston takes the Peter Finch role of the messianic news anchor Howard Beale, while Dockery takes the part played by Faye Dunaway, that of Beale's ruthless producer Diana Christensen.

"We start rehearsals in a couple of weeks and I'm so excited by the opportunity to be back at the National and working with Bryan Cranston," she says. "The timing is great because I've felt a real urge to be home again, and in the strongest sense it's kind of happened because I feel like I'm going back to my roots. The National was my first job out of drama school [in His Dark Materials in 2004], so it's a wonderful feeling to be back home."

Indeed it's easy to forget that Dockery was foremost a stage actress before Downton Abbey whisked her career off in a different direction. She was twice nominated for an Ian Charlson Award, in 2006 and 2008, and once for an Olivier Award, for her part in the Russian drama Burnt by the Sun. She was also Ophelia to John Simm's Hamlet at the Sheffield Crucible in 2010, "descending movingly into madness", according to The Independent's theatre critic.

However, Downton fans need not despair of ever seeing her again as Lady Mary. According to the president of NBC Universal, Michael Edelstein, a script is being written for the long-mooted Downton Abbey movie and a budget has been set. "Yeah, the phantom script... nobody knows. We'll see," says Dockery. "Ending Downton was very bittersweet for everyone, it did feel like something that would go on forever and felt like the audience didn't want it to end. I think that's why talk of the movie is just endless.

"I'm positive something will happen at some stage. But it is proving difficult to get together a big ensemble cast like ours, so we'll just have to see. But I'm not bored of Mary."

Season 2 of 'Good Behavior' is on Virgin TV from16 October; 'Godless' is on Netflix from 22 November; 'Network' is at the National Theatre from 4 November

From The Independent

[lurkingcrow]

Ok, so I had a few ideas about an AU of an AU of a crack AU thanks to @albaparthenicevelut @resistancepilots  @aifsaath and @forcearama . And then I got thinking. And then it got a little long. Ok, a lot long. But the mental image had so much potential...

 It all starts on Mandalore. In another universe Satine Kryze holds her tongue and Obi-Wan Kenobi leaves after saying his goodbyes and commits to becoming the best Jedi he can be. In this universe, she asks him to stay. So he does. Oh not immediately, there are after all conversations he must have with his master, apologies he must give, but Obi-Wan meditates long and hard and determines that this is where the force is calling him and so he leaves the order just after his 18th birthday. 

Qui-Gon is devastated at first. But Obi-Wan is no Xanatos - he is not leaving for power, or due to the failings of his master, but for love and the chance to bring about peace to a war-torn planet, and maybe Qui-Gon can live with that. He stays for their wedding, which for all its simplicity given the limited resources is no less beautiful. Qui-Gon does not cry, but his eyes are suspiciously wet and anyone with a hint of Force sensitivity can feel his love and pride half a planet away. Obi-Wan may still have his doubts about leaving, but having his former master's support means the world. Their bond never truly breaks, and frequent holocalls ensure that Qui-Gon is up to date with what his former apprentice is up to (Satine is not above snitching to him about Obi-Wan's reckless stunts in the hope that he can guilt her husband into behaving, and Qui-Gon is thankful for her efforts to keep their relationship strong. He is growing quite fond of Obi-Wan's lady love.).

But it is lonely in the temple without his padawan. And increasingly Qui-Gon is growing frustrated with the senate interference in Jedi activities. The missions he is sent on seem like futile wastes of time, and while he never thought he would say it, he is beginning to see Master Dooku's point about the systemic corruption being too entrenched to overcome. Honestly, these days he suspects he'd do more good running around the galaxy as some kind of vigilante peacekeeper than negotiating yet another inane trade deal that should have been resolved weeks earlier if it weren't for the egos involved... the force pings. Oh.  Qui-Gon Jinn is a master of the living force, of the here and now, and here and now the force is telling him that maybe that's not such a bad idea.

Truthfully there is little left for him in the Temple; Tahl, Master Dooku, Obi-Wan - so many of those close to him are gone. All that keeps him here is his duty, and as a Jedi is his ultimate duty not to the Force? It would be nice to pay Obi-Wan a visit, maybe take a side trip to Serreno to see what his old master is up to these days...

So Qui-Gon leaves, not quite knowing what his plans are but trusting in the will of the Force. He initially sets up on Mandalore, where Obi-Wan and Satine are more than happy to have him (once Qui-Gon has finished convincing his not-son that his leaving the order was not his fault. Satine does not permit emotional constipation in her palace after all.), but soon finds himself restless and sets out again, promising not to get in too much trouble. Obi-Wan sighs and Satine starts ordering the set of armour she knows he's going to need when it comes time to rescue his old master. After all, their future children should have at least one Grandparent to look up to right?

The Force takes him to Tatooine, where an investigation of Gardulla the Hutt ends up with him befriending a local mother and her toddler and confronting the reality of slavery on the Outer Rim. The Jedi aren't coming to free the slaves, but Qui-Gon's no longer just a Jedi is he? And he sees Shmi worry over Little Ani (So strong in the force! And yet so unlikely to ever be found and brought to the temple...) and decides that maybe he can't save them all, but there's no reason he can't try and help those he can. A bit of offhand gambling during the negotiations, a minor favour of two (that the Hutt doesn't realise will end up backfiring but Qui-Gon does) and Qui-Gon Jinn is up a large sum of credits and two newly freed Skywalkers.

(It should be noted that as there are a lack of facilities to provide a midichlorian count, and Shmi is still somewhat reluctant to admit to the whole "virgin birth" thing, Qui- Gon considers Anakin Skywalker to be a strong and promising child but not exactly miraculous. Cute though. Very cute. He likes to fall asleep against his shoulder and Qui-Gon gets nostalgic about all the times Obi-Wan did the same. Shmi looks on, and thinks.) 

They head to Mandalore to get the chips out (and to show Obi-Wan that his father old master is safe and well - minus a cracked rib of two) and  Qui-Gon Jinn is faced with a major dilemma. He really should be encouraging Shmi to consider sending Ani to the temple, where his talents can be trained, but… he looks to where Shmi and Satine are beaming as they watch Anakin attempt to sneak up on Obi-Wan who is assiduously pretending to ignore the toddler's giggles as he reads the latest reports on the rebuilding effort. Anakin inexplicably adores Obi-Wan, and it is to all appearances, mutual.  Qui-Gon has no desire to hurt his former Padawan again, and how could he be so hypocritical as to send little Ani off to an institution he’s not sure he believes in anymore? The question is rendered moot when Shmi bluntly tells him the only ones she trusts with Anakin are currently in the palace, and if he needs teaching Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan can do it. The idea is honestly a little uncomfortable for the pair of former Jedi, but they're coming to terms with what the Force seems to be asking of them.

 Which in Qui-Gon’s case seems to mean a lot of trips to the outer rim among the poor and downtrodden - oddly enough Shmi suddenly decides to come with him, claiming that Ani is safe as he can be on Mandalore, she’s familiar with some of the more unsavory parts of the galaxy and Qui-Gon needs someone to watch his back. He’s just glad for the company,  particularly when he does end up paying a visit to Serenno. Watching a former slave look Dooku in the eye and calmly and quietly call bullshit on his arguments surrounding the role of the trading unions is worth every moment. Honestly, while he may have a point about corruption within the Republic, Qui-Gon is getting a little creeped out by his former Master’s insistence on the need for strong leadership and a firm hand. It sounds like he’s advocating open conflict, and war isn’t good for anyone!

So he attempts to make his goodbyes, but Dooku is reluctant to let them leave, which means it’s time to implement the old “disappear and claim you had a vision” trick. And ok, so I won't go into details, but after a long and complex series of events involving a freight hauler, eight barrels of spiked Telosian Brandy, three janitor droids and a Twilek Dance Company they manage to make it off planet and into Hutt space where they can disappear for a bit.

But a Skywalker is still a Skywalker, not matter how much sense she has, and Qui-Gon Jinn is as much a trouble-magnet as the rest of his line, so thanks to yet another strange convergence of events involving an attempted kidnapping, five tonnes of explosives, a backroom bar on Ord Mantell, a missing shipment of Spice, an insurrection on a mining colony,  uncountable huttese expletives, one inspirational speech, a cache of heavy weapons and no less than eight marriage proposals, Qui-Gon Jinn finds himself the captain of a small fleet of ships and a band of untrained but passionate freedom fighters. Shmi has never laughed so much in her entire life!

Qui-Gon does what he does best and attempts to talk his way out of it, but it is to no avail; “Captain Jinn” is an inspiration to them all, his dedication is unparalleled and they will do all they can to aid him in his quest to bring justice to the galaxy!  Qui-Gon panics and calls in the cavalry. Unfortunately for him Satine thinks it’s a brilliant idea.

Because while she adores her husband, the Duchess of Mandalore has noticed that recently he seems to be going a little stir crazy. For all his denials Obi-Wan is a man of action, and things have calmed enough that he needs a distraction lest she start throwing martini glasses at him to make him stop hovering! Assisting a band of “pirates” in undermining the various interests who take advantage of the lawless nature of the Outer Rim to spread their influence and at the same time giving him the chance to spend time with Qui-Gon  seems like an excellent way to keep him occupied. Also, as Shmi points out, it’s exactly the type of thing that Mandalorians go gaga for - heroic warriors secretly taking out evildoers and doing good while dramatically declaring their own villainy, why it seems like the perfect outlet for those Mandalorians who long for the glory found in days of old!

She’s right. There are plenty of volunteers willing to follow their Duchess’ dashing husband to join his father mentor in cleaning up the Outer Rim. They start out small, intercepting a shipment of slaves, diverting a cargo of pharmaceuticals to a planet in urgent need of medicine, confiscating a hold full of illegal weaponry. But soon they grow bolder, raiding larger and larger targets, always making sure that those they hit deserve it and will only bring themselves greater trouble if they make a fuss about the loss of their ill-gotten gains. Soon their little group has carved out quite a solid support base, and while they never stop wondering why the Force seems so happy about this turn of events, the former Jedi actually begin to enjoy their work. They’re slowly making progress, and eventually they know enough momentum will build that uniting this part of the galaxy and freeing the slaves may one day be feasible. Also, it’s really really pissing off both the Senate and the Order, which means they must be doing something right.

And that is how Qui-Gon Jinn becomes a Pirate King, the Scourge of Slavers, Hassler of Hutts, Bane of the Banking Clan and Terror of the Techno Union. Dooku is grinding his teeth into dust with frustration. Especially since all his correspondence suggesting an alliance is either returned unopened or overwritten with sarcastic commentary and a suggestion to go deep throat a lightsaber.

That’s more than enough for now, I need some sleep, but there is more to this verse I’ve worked out. Tune in next time for “Naboo’s no good very rotten day aka Padme Amidala, Pirate Queen in Exile” “The clone wars start but the clones are late to the party” “Qui-Gon discovers he never actually formally quit the Jedi, and Yoda and Mace take advantage of this” “Plo Koon admire’s Qui-Gon’s taste in pets” and “Oh god, Anakin Skywalker, Mandalorian Pirate Prince, what have I done?”...

[readbookywooks]

21 That makes two requests for Peeta's death in less than an hour. "Don't be ridiculous," says Jackson. "I just murdered a member of our squad!" shouts Peeta. "You pushed him off you. You couldn't have known he would trigger the net at that exact spot," says Finnick, trying to calm him. "Who cares? He's dead, isn't he?" Tears begin to run down Peeta's face. "I didn't know. I've never seen myself like that before. Katniss is right. I'm the monster. I'm the mutt. I'm the one Snow has turned into a weapon!" "It's not your fault, Peeta," says Finnick. "You can't take me with you. It's only a matter of time before I kill someone else." Peeta looks around at our conflicted faces. "Maybe you think it's kinder to just dump me somewhere. Let me take my chances. But that's the same thing as handing me over to the Capitol. Do you think you'd be doing me a favor by sending me back to Snow?" Peeta. Back in Snow's hands. Tortured and tormented until no bits of his former self will ever emerge again. For some reason, the last stanza to "The Hanging Tree" starts running through my head. The one where the man wants his lover dead rather than have her face the evil that awaits her in the world. Are you, are you Coming to the tree Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me. Strange things did happen here No stranger would it be If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree. "I'll kill you before that happens," says Gale. "I promise." Peeta hesitates, as if considering the reliability of this offer, and then shakes his head. "It's no good. What if you're not there to do it? I want one of those poison pills like the rest of you have." Nightlock. There's one pill back at camp, in its special slot on the sleeve of my Mockingjay suit. But there's another in the breast pocket of my uniform. Interesting that they didn't issue one to Peeta. Perhaps Coin thought he might take it before he had the opportunity to kill me. It's unclear if Peeta means he'd finish himself off now, to spare us having to murder him, or only if the Capitol took him prisoner again. In the state he's in, I expect it would be sooner rather than later. It would certainly make things easier on the rest of us. Not to have to shoot him. It would certainly simplify the problem of dealing with his homicidal episodes. I don't know if it's the pods, or the fear, or watching Boggs die, but I feel the arena all around me. It's as if I've never left, really. Once again I'm battling not only for my own survival but for Peeta's as well. How satisfying, how entertaining it would be for Snow to have me kill him. To have Peeta's death on my conscience for whatever is left of my life. "It's not about you," I say. "We're on a mission. And you're necessary to it." I look to the rest of the group. "Think we might find some food here?" Besides the medical kit and cameras, we have nothing but our uniforms and our weapons. Half of us stay to guard Peeta or keep an eye out for Snow's broadcast, while the others hunt for something to eat. Messalla proves most valuable because he lived in a near replica of this apartment and knows where people would be most likely to stash food. Like how there's a storage space concealed by a mirrored panel in the bedroom, or how easy it is to pop out the ventilation screen in the hallway. So even though the kitchen cupboards are bare, we find over thirty canned goods and several boxes of cookies. The hoarding disgusts the soldiers raised in 13. "Isn't this illegal?" says Leeg 1. "On the contrary, in the Capitol you'd be considered stupid not to do it," says Messalla. "Even before the Quarter Quell, people were starting to stock up on scarce supplies." "While others went without," says Leeg 1. "Right," says Messalla. "That's how it works here." "Fortunately, or we wouldn't have dinner," says Gale. "Everybody grab a can." Some of our company seem reluctant to do this, but it's as good a method as any. I'm really not in the mood to divvy up everything into eleven equal parts, factoring in age, body weight, and physical output. I poke around in the pile, about to settle on some cod chowder, when Peeta holds out a can to me. "Here." I take it, not knowing what to expect. The label reads Lamb Stew. I press my lips together at the memories of rain dripping through stones, my inept attempts at flirting, and the aroma of my favorite Capitol dish in the chilly air. So some part of it must still be in his head, too. How happy, how hungry, how close we were when that picnic basket arrived outside our cave. "Thanks." I pop open the top. "It even has dried plums." I bend the lid and use it as a makeshift spoon, scooping a bit into my mouth. Now this place tastes like the arena, too. We're passing around a box of fancy cream-filled cookies when the beeping starts again. The seal of Panem lights up on the screen and remains there while the anthem plays. And then they begin to show images of the dead, just as they did with the tributes in the arena. They start with the four faces of our TV crew, followed by Boggs, Gale, Finnick, Peeta, and me. Except for Boggs, they don't bother with the soldiers from 13, either because they have no idea who they are or because they know they won't mean anything to the audience. Then the man himself appears, seated at his desk, a flag draped behind him, the fresh white rose gleaming in his lapel. I think he might have recently had more work done, because his lips are puffier than usual. And his prep team really needs to use a lighter hand with his blush. Snow congratulates the Peacekeepers on a masterful job, honors them for ridding the country of the menace called the Mockingjay. With my death, he predicts a turning of the tide in the war, since the demoralized rebels have no one left to follow. And what was I, really? A poor, unstable girl with a small talent with a bow and arrow. Not a great thinker, not the mastermind of the rebellion, merely a face plucked from the rabble because I had caught the nation's attention with my antics in the Games. But necessary, so very necessary, because the rebels have no real leader among them. Somewhere in District 13, Beetee hits a switch, because now it's not President Snow but President Coin who's looking at us. She introduces herself to Panem, identifies herself as the head of the rebellion, and then gives my eulogy. Praise for the girl who survived the Seam and the Hunger Games, then turned a country of slaves into an army of freedom fighters. "Dead or alive, Katniss Everdeen will remain the face of this rebellion. If ever you waver in your resolve, think of the Mockingjay, and in her you will find the strength you need to rid Panem of its oppressors." "I had no idea how much I meant to her," I say, which brings a laugh from Gale and questioning looks from the others. Up comes a heavily doctored photo of me looking beautiful and fierce with a bunch of flames flickering behind me. No words. No slogan. My face is all they need now. Beetee gives the reins back to a very controlled Snow. I have the feeling the president thought the emergency channel was impenetrable, and someone will end up dead tonight because it was breached. "Tomorrow morning, when we pull Katniss Everdeen's body from the ashes, we will see exactly who the Mockingjay is. A dead girl who could save no one, not even herself." Seal, anthem, and out. "Except that you won't find her," says Finnick to the empty screen, voicing what we're all probably thinking. The grace period will be brief. Once they dig through those ashes and come up missing eleven bodies, they'll know we escaped. "We can get a head start on them at least," I say. Suddenly, I'm so tired. All I want is to lie down on a nearby green plush sofa and go to sleep. To cocoon myself in a comforter made of rabbit fur and goose down. Instead, I pull out the Holo and insist that Jackson talk me through the most basic commands - which are really about entering the coordinates of the nearest map grid intersection - so that I can at least begin to operate the thing myself. As the Holo projects our surroundings, I feel my heart sink even further. We must be moving closer to crucial targets, because the number of pods has noticeably increased. How can we possibly move forward into this bouquet of blinking lights without detection? We can't. And if we can't, we are trapped like birds in a net. I decide it's best not to adopt some sort of superior attitude when I'm with these people. Especially when my eyes keep drifting to that green sofa. So I say, "Any ideas?" "Why don't we start by ruling out possibilities," says Finnick. "The street is not a possibility." "The rooftops are just as bad as the street," says Leeg 1. "We still might have a chance to withdraw, go back the way we came," says Homes. "But that would mean a failed mission." A pang of guilt hits me since I've fabricated said mission. "It was never intended for all of us to go forward. You just had the misfortune to be with me." "Well, that's a moot point. We're with you now," says Jackson. "So, we can't stay put. We can't move up. We can't move laterally. I think that just leaves one option." "Underground," says Gale. Underground. Which I hate. Like mines and tunnels and 13. Underground, where I dread dying, which is stupid because even if I die aboveground, the next thing they'll do is bury me underground anyway. The Holo can show subterranean as well as street-level pods. I see that when we go underground the clean, dependable lines of the street plan are interlaced with a twisting, turning mess of tunnels. The pods look less numerous, though. Two doors down, a vertical tube connects our row of apartments to the tunnels. To reach the tube apartment, we will need to squeeze through a maintenance shaft that runs the length of the building. We can enter the shaft through the back of a closet space on the upper floor. "Okay, then. Let's make it look like we've never been here," I say. We erase all signs of our stay. Send the empty cans down a trash chute, pocket the full ones for later, flip sofa cushions smeared with blood, wipe traces of gel from the tiles. There's no fixing the latch on the front door, but we lock a second bolt, which will at least keep the door from swinging open on contact. Finally, there's only Peeta to contend with. He plants himself on the blue sofa, refusing to budge. "I'm not going. I'll either disclose your position or hurt someone else." "Snow's people will find you," says Finnick. "Then leave me a pill. I'll only take it if I have to," says Peeta. "That's not an option. Come along," says Jackson. "Or you'll what? Shoot me?" asks Peeta. "We'll knock you out and drag you with us," says Homes. "Which will both slow us down and endanger us." "Stop being noble! I don't care if I die!" He turns to me, pleading now. "Katniss, please. Don't you see, I want to be out of this?" The trouble is, I do see. Why can't I just let him go? Slip him a pill, pull the trigger? Is it because I care too much about Peeta or too much about letting Snow win? Have I turned him into a piece in my private Games? That's despicable, but I'm not sure it's beneath me. If it's true, it would be kindest to kill Peeta here and now. But for better or worse, I am not motivated by kindness. "We're wasting time. Are you coming voluntarily or do we knock you out?" Peeta buries his face in his hands for a few moments, then rises to join us. "Should we free his hands?" asks Leeg 1. "No!" Peeta growls at her, drawing his cuffs in close to his body. "No," I echo. "But I want the key." Jackson passes it over without a word. I slip it into my pants pocket, where it clicks against the pearl. When Homes pries open the small metal door to the maintenance shaft, we encounter another problem. There's no way the insect shells will be able to fit through the narrow passage. Castor and Pollux remove them and detach emergency backup cameras. Each is the size of a shoe box and probably works about as well. Messalla can't think of anywhere better to hide the bulky shells, so we end up dumping them in the closet. Leaving such an easy trail to follow frustrates me, but what else can we do? Even going single file, holding our packs and gear out to the side, it's a tight fit. We sidestep our way past the first apartment, and break into the second. In this apartment, one of the bedrooms has a door marked utility instead of a bathroom. Behind the door is the room with the entrance to the tube. Messalla frowns at the wide circular cover, for a moment returning to his own fussy world. "It's why no one ever wants the center unit. Workmen coming and going whenever and no second bath. But the rent's considerably cheaper." Then he notices Finnick's amused expression and adds, "Never mind." The tube cover's simple to unlatch. A wide ladder with rubber treads on the steps allows for a swift, easy descent into the bowels of the city. We gather at the foot of the ladder, waiting for our eyes to adjust to the dim strips of lights, breathing in the mixture of chemicals, mildew, and sewage. Pollux, pale and sweaty, reaches out and latches on to Castor's wrist. Like he might fall over if there isn't someone to steady him. "My brother worked down here after he became an Avox," says Castor. Of course. Who else would they get to maintain these dank, evil-smelling passages mined with pods? "Took five years before we were able to buy his way up to ground level. Didn't see the sun once." Under better conditions, on a day with fewer horrors and more rest, someone would surely know what to say. Instead we all stand there for a long time trying to formulate a response. Finally, Peeta turns to Pollux. "Well, then you just became our most valuable asset." Castor laughs and Pollux manages a smile. We're halfway down the first tunnel when I realize what was so remarkable about the exchange. Peeta sounded like his old self, the one who could always think of the right thing to say when nobody else could. Ironic, encouraging, a little funny, but not at anyone's expense. I glance back at him as he trudges along under his guards, Gale and Jackson, his eyes fixed on the ground, his shoulders hunched forward. So dispirited. But for a moment, he was really here. Peeta called it right. Pollux turns out to be worth ten Holos. There is a simple network of wide tunnels that directly corresponds to the main street plan above, underlying the major avenues and cross streets. It's called the Transfer, since small trucks use it to deliver goods around the city. During the day, its many pods are deactivated, but at night it's a minefield. However, hundreds of additional passages, utility shafts, train tracks, and drainage tubes form a multilevel maze. Pollux knows details that would lead to disaster for a newcomer, like which offshoots might require gas masks or have live wires or rats the size of beavers. He alerts us to the gush of water that sweeps through the sewers periodically, anticipates the time the Avoxes will be changing shifts, leads us into damp, obscure pipes to dodge the nearly silent passage of cargo trains. Most important, he has knowledge of the cameras. There aren't many down in this gloomy, misty place, except in the Transfer. But we keep well out of their way. Under Pollux's guidance we make good time - remarkable time, if you compare it to our aboveground travel. After about six hours, fatigue takes over. It's three in the morning, so I figure we still have a few hours before our bodies are discovered missing, they search through the rubble of the whole block of apartments in case we tried to escape through the shafts, and the hunt begins. When I suggest we rest, no one objects. Pollux finds a small, warm room humming with machines loaded with levers and dials. He holds up his fingers to indicate we must be gone in four hours. Jackson works out a guard schedule, and, since I'm not on the first shift, I wedge myself in the tight space between Gale and Leeg 1 and go right to sleep. It seems like only minutes later when Jackson shakes me awake, tells me I'm on watch. It's six o'clock, and in one hour we must be on our way. Jackson tells me to eat a can of food and keep an eye on Pollux, who's insisted on being on guard the entire night. "He can't sleep down here." I drag myself into a state of relative alertness, eat a can of potato and bean stew, and sit against the wall facing the door. Pollux seems wide awake. He's probably been reliving those five years of imprisonment all night. I get out the Holo and manage to input our grid coordinates and scan the tunnels. As expected, more pods are registering the closer we move toward the center of the Capitol. For a while, Pollux and I click around on the Holo, seeing what traps lie where. When my head begins to spin, I hand it over to him and lean back against the wall. I look down at the sleeping soldiers, crew, and friends, and I wonder how many of us will ever see the sun again. When my eyes fall on Peeta, whose head rests right by my feet, I see he's awake. I wish I could read what's going on in his mind, that I could go in and untangle the mess of lies. Then I settle for something I can accomplish. "Have you eaten?" I ask. A slight shake of his head indicates he hasn't. I open a can of chicken and rice soup and hand it to him, keeping the lid in case he tries to slit his wrists with it or something. He sits up and tilts the can, chugging back the soup without really bothering to chew it. The bottom of the can reflects the lights from the machines, and I remember something that's been itching at the back of my mind since yesterday. "Peeta, when you asked about what happened to Darius and Lavinia, and Boggs told you it was real, you said you thought so. Because there was nothing shiny about it. What did you mean?" "Oh. I don't know exactly how to explain it," he tells me. "In the beginning, everything was just complete confusion. Now I can sort certain things out. I think there's a pattern emerging. The memories they altered with the tracker jacker venom have this strange quality about them. Like they're too intense or the images aren't stable. You remember what it was like when we were stung?" "Trees shattered. There were giant colored butterflies. I fell in a pit of orange bubbles." I think about it. "Shiny orange bubbles." "Right. But nothing about Darius or Lavinia was like that. I don't think they'd given me any venom yet," he says. "Well, that's good, isn't it?" I ask. "If you can separate the two, then you can figure out what's true." "Yes. And if I could grow wings, I could fly. Only people can't grow wings," he says. "Real or not real?" "Real," I say. "But people don't need wings to survive." "Mockingjays do." He finishes the soup and returns the can to me. In the fluorescent light, the circles under his eyes look like bruises. "There's still time. You should sleep." Unresisting, he lies back down, but just stares at the needle on one of the dials as it twitches from side to side. Slowly, as I would with a wounded animal, my hand stretches out and brushes a wave of hair from his forehead. He freezes at my touch, but doesn't recoil. So I continue to gently smooth back his hair. It's the first time I have voluntarily touched him since the last arena. "You're still trying to protect me. Real or not real," he whispers. "Real," I answer. It seems to require more explanation. "Because that's what you and I do. Protect each other." After a minute or so, he drifts off to sleep. Shortly before seven, Pollux and I move among the others, rousing them. There are the usual yawns and sighs that accompany waking. But my ears are picking up something else, too. Almost like a hissing. Perhaps it's only steam escaping a pipe or the far-off whoosh of one of the trains.... I hush the group to get a better read on it. There's a hissing, yes, but it's not one extended sound. More like multiple exhalations that form words. A single word. Echoing throughout the tunnels. One word. One name. Repeated over and over again. "Katniss."

[itsfinancethings]

(SALT LAKE CITY) — The Trump administration on Thursday implemented plans to downsize two national monuments in Utah, ensuring the lands previously off-limits to energy development will be open to mining and drilling. The action comes despite lawsuits by by conservation, tribal and paleontology groups seeking to restore the original boundaries.

The lands have generated little interest from energy companies in the two years since President Donald Trump cut the size of Bears Ears National Monument by 85% and Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument by nearly half, said Casey Hammond, acting Assistant Secretary for Land and Minerals Management with the U. S. Department of the Interior.

Hammond said the department had a duty to work on the management plans after Trump signed his proclamations in December 2017, despite the pending lawsuits.

“If we stopped and waited for every piece of litigation to be resolved we would never be able to do much of anything around here,” he said.

Conservation groups that have called the decision the largest elimination of protected land in American history criticized the administration on Thursday for spending time on management plans they believe will become moot. They contend Trump misused the Antiquities Act to reverse decisions by previous presidents.

A federal judge last year rejected the administration’s bid to dismiss the lawsuits. In a recent court filing, tribal groups said the Bears Ears lands are “a living and vital place where ancestors passed from one world to the next, often leaving their mark in petroglyphs or painted handprints, and where modern day tribal members can still visit them.”

It’s unknown how long it will take before a judge rules on lawsuits that were filed two years ago.

“It’s the height of arrogance for Trump to rush through final decisions on what’s left of Bears Ears and Grand Staircase Escalante while we’re fighting his illegal evisceration of these national monuments in court,” said Randi Spivak, public lands director at the Center for Biological Diversity. “Trump is eroding vital protections for these spectacular landscapes. We won’t rest until all of these public lands are safeguarded for future generations.”

The biggest fear by conservationists is that the excluded lands on some of the most pristine stretches of the American Southwest will become ravaged by mining, drilling and extraction. They also worry about off-road vehicle use and logging. Government officials opted to allow off-road vehicles on designated routes in Bears Ears, for instance, rather than choosing broader closures.

President Bill Clinton created the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument in 1996 on lands home to cliffs, canyons, waterfalls and arches in southern Utah. President Barack Obama created Bears Ears National Monument in 2016 on a scenic swath of southern Utah with red rock plateaus, cliffs and ancient ruins on land considered sacred to tribes.

Market dynamics have limited interest in a large coal reserve found in the now unprotected lands cut from Grand Staircase and uranium on lands cut from Bears Ears.

But an economic analysis by the U.S. government estimates coal production could lead to $208 million in annual revenues and $16.6 million in royalties on lands cut from Grand Staircase. Oil and gas wells in that area could produce $4.1 million in annual revenues, the analysis says.

If interest comes as energy market forces shift, Hammond said the lands cut remain under federal control and governed by “time-tested laws” and subject to environmental regulations. He rebuffed the oft-repeated claim from conservation groups that there would be a “free-for-all” for mineral development.

“Any suggestion that these lands and resources will be adversely impacted by the mere act of being excluded from the monuments is simply not true,” Hammond said.

Trump cut the size monuments following review of 27 national monuments by then-Interior Secretary Ryan Zinke. He recommended shrinking two other monuments as well, but Trump has yet to take action.

Trump said he scaled back the size of the monuments to reverse misuse of the Antiquities Act by previous Democratic presidents that he said led to oversized monuments that hinder energy development, grazing and other uses. The move earned cheers from Republican leaders in Utah including former U.S. Sen. Orrin Hatch and current Gov. Gary Herbert.

U.S. Sen. Mitt Romney of Utah also offered praise to the Trump administration for moving ahead with the plans, one day after he earned the ire of the GOP and Trump by voting to convict the president in the impeachment trial.

“I appreciate the work that the president and Secretary Bernhardt have done with our state to develop plans that will allow more of our land to be used for recreation, grazing, and management practices,” Romney said in a statement.

The Bureau of Land Management posted online the voluminous and detailed management plans for the monuments, which are being sliced into non-contiguous sections rather than one large swath as in the original boundaries. The agency also created a “Myth vs Fact” web page about Bears Ears, in which it clarifies that no extraction or commercial logging is allowed within the changed boundaries.

The agency says it received about 250,500 comments about the plans, most of which were dismissed because they dealt with the size reduction, legality of that move or timing of the planning effort. Of the comments, the agency said four included valid protests that led to changes in the final plan.