#Much less won one more valuable!

[alpaca-wizard]

I JUST WON MY FIRST X333 BATTLE! HECK YEAH!

[joeys-babe]

Joey B Blurbs: The Real MVP

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Summary: Flashforward. Joe wins MVP after an amazing comeback in the ‘24-25 season. In his speech, he has to thank the person who supports him like no other, the real MVP.

Warnings: Fluff

Pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

Imagine universe: Into The Mystic

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*NFL Honors for ‘24-’25 season*

After a hectic day of running the household alone, I settled on the couch with Tyson and Miles to watch the NFL Honors ceremony.

Joe had his name in the MVP running, and I couldn't be more proud of him.

Last season was less than stellar, with his calf strain causing him to miss camp and his season-ending injury serving unfinished business on a silver platter.

This season he showed the world who the fuck Joe Burrow was.

Not that he felt the need to, but Joe showed NFL viewers that he was worth every penny of his contract extension.

Throughout the ceremony, Tyson and Miles were scanning the audience for their Dad. They'd “helped” Joe pick out his outfit just a few days ago and were so excited to see him in it.

When it got to the MVP category, I held my breath and closed my eyes.

And the 2024 Most Valuable Player is…

My heart was beating out of my chest.

Joe Burrow!

Tyson and Miles stood up on the couch and started jumping up and down, and for once, I didn't get onto them about it.

“Daddy won!” - Tyson

“Daddy won!” - you repeated

My heart soared when Joe walked to the stage, feeling slightly nostalgic when I got deja vu about when he won the Heisman in college.

Joe started his speech by thanking his coaches, coordinators, and trainers before he began tearing up thanking his family.

My eyes matched Joe’s misty ones, just like they did at the Heisman years ago.

“But- I uhm need to thank the real MVP.” - Joe

When Joe said those words, I shook my head, thinking he was going to mention Kid Cudi or Spongebob.

“She wasn't able to be here tonight because she's too busy in Cincinnati being the best mom ever, but I would like to mention my wife. Thank you for always being my biggest cheerleader, y/n. You've been one of my biggest support systems since I was a scrawny senior in high school. I will always be grateful for everything you’ve done and continue to do that has made me the man and player that I am today. I'll admit, I was super nervous for tonight, and I called y/n in the bathroom. Her voice alone calmed me down, but the words gave me enough confidence to leave my hiding spot in the bathroom stall. Thank you for being my best friend, y/n. I love you more than life.” - Joe

Tears streamed down my face as I listened to his sweet words.

“Oh, and thanks for this award. Who Dey!” - Joe

With that, Joe left the stage and walked back to his seat, more in love than ever.

He'd never felt so happy.

When I heard my phone ding, I thought it would be Robin to point out Joe’s sweet words, but instead, it was Mr. MVP himself.

Did you watch my speech? :)

Yes. Currently crying. I love you so much, Mr. MVP.

I'll only be Mr. MVP if you'll be Mrs. MVP.

I’m not a player, though. 🤨

His next text gave me butterflies, it amazes me that his effect on me hasn't changed even after all of our years together.

Most valuable person, baby. 😁

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Authors note: short as heck but whatever

Request for this fic;

Hope you enjoyed!

[daylite-writes]

Traitor readers always hit different! How about traitor reader with all of the harbingers (but I got a special bias for Pierro) 😫. Like betraying one is bad enough betraying and hurting all? Oh boy

Oooh I like this! I am gonna split it up into separate little instances of what I think they’d be like though for my sanity. I may expand to a few other full traitor fics (esp the Pierro one I really popped off on that damn) later on if I get ideas!

Certain characters take it MUCH better than others, varying from a scale of “Oh that’s Lowkey Hot” to “DIE”.

cw: yandere (?) behaviors, murder, manipulation, imprisonment, forced marriage, forced experimentation

~~~ Harbingers reacts to Traitor!Reader (ordered best to worst ~~~

Childe definitely takes it the best. In fact, this is honestly preferable for him. He’ll let you escape back to your leaders after you find out, giving you a head start before chasing you across Teyvat. The adrenaline is the hot part. He can’t get enough. He’s so easily bored. Come on baby, run a little faster. Make it fun. And after he follows you to your master’s base of operations, he’ll slaughter them and offer you an official place within the fatui’s ranks. Under him, of course! He won, after all, and the winner takes all.

Pantalone doesn’t see this as the worst thing. He’s very familiar with traitors, spies, and secrets. Though how you got around him for so long is a mystery. Once he finds out he’ll just be so sweet. Come on, treasure, just tell him everything and he’ll protect you. No? Oh well. A pretty enough price—or a favor from his more violently inclined coworkers—will have them abandoning you forcefully or not. Then he can scoop you up and… convince you to come home with him. It’s just more leverage to have over you, and it’s perfect for a man with control issues.

Pulcinella just… drops you. He has a nation to run, and his proximity to important information is too valuable. Unlike many of his colleagues he is not willing to bend the rules for feelings. He’s old, and he knows whatever feelings he feels towards you (platonic, romantic, familial, whatever) will pass with time. He reports this information to the proper place, and trusts the people he commands to take care of you properly. It hurts, but most things do at first.

Signora really thought you loved her. She hasn’t felt passion in centuries, and now as soon as her frozen heart thaws it’s revealed you're a traitor? Her heart can hardly take it. It hurts so much. Leave. Go now before she changes her mind and kills you. She cannot bear to have another lover dead in her arms. So take this chance and go, if you don’t, ice will encase her heart and she will slaughter you.

Columbina goes the kidnapping route essentially immediately. You can’t be a spy if you can’t report back to your masters! She’s very gentle though, running her fingers through your hair, humming happily, showering you with beautiful outfits and clothes. Even if you’re paralyzed from her haunting melodies, and feathers and eyes unfurl from the corners of your vision. Like a bird in a cage. It’s really your fault for catching the attention of someone so insane and powerful.

Arlecchino reacts similarly to Capitano, she is very proficient at breaking people down, ruining them, and turning them into what she thinks you ought to be. How dare you? This is a betrayal she will have to remedy. Loyalty is necessary. She’s crueler than him about it. Less patient. You will not be coming out of this unscarred. It’s better to just give in quickly, convincing her you learned your lesson, that you’d never betray her again. Reguardless of what you do though, several house of hearth members will be stalking you whenever you’re away from her, so don’t even bother trying to get back to your masters. It will not end well.

Pierro. Oh Pierro. You’ve never seen the man so sad. For a second, he looks almost pathetic. That is, before he motions for his men to drag you down to whatever dungeons are within the palace. He doesn’t visit you for weeks, but as soon as you start to think he’s never going to look at you again, he’s there, outside your freezing cell. The sadness so heavy in this man is wiped away by fury. He, personally, drags you from your cell. You can’t even walk as he pulls you along, stumbling every time you try to get your footing. He drags you for what seems like forever, ignoring you. Eventually, you’re in the Tsaritsa’s cathedral, with the ice goddess herself standing where the priest was. She smiled at you, and fear floods your body as he forces you down the aisle. He mutters something about how lucky you are. How many strings he had to pull with his god to allow this. You’re married there, ice freezing your ankles as you stand where a bride would, heart heavy in your throat. You know then that the only option is to say “I do”.

Scaramouche does not and will never take this well. Another betrayal? Typical of humans. He will go into a rage when he faces you, and chances of you escaping that rage in one piece is slim to nothing. If you don’t, ice floods his veins as he curls around your body, just asking why why why. If you do, he’ll drag you to the infirmary, force some poor healer to fix you, and then toss you in the dungeon similar to Pierro. He won’t visit you, thinking that this is a proper punishment. You abandon him? He’ll abandon you. He’ll come around sometimes though to yell at you or sob on your lap. Other than that, expect a life of imprisonment with mild favoritism and some physical scars.

Sandrone doesn’t take it well at first. When faced with your crimes, she immediately lashes out, destroying several of her newest machines and scarring you physically. After she calms down, though, she’ll calmly figure out everything that you leaked, who you leaked it to, and begin to work while you stay in a cell in her lab. She comes back to you a few days later, in which you’ve been completely abandoned, with some sort of mechanical collar and a tracking chip. Oh calm down, she’ll say as she rolls her eyes. The surgery is quick, but done without any anesthesia. The collar records everything and will shock and paralyze you upon exiting her laboratory. The chip is for tracking, but it can also release poison into your bloodstream. There! She was being so nice, not turning you into a machine. Say thank you, it might make her more likely to feed you.

Dottore has a breakdown almost immediately upon hearing this. He’d cackle, pacing in front of you, rambling on about how bold you were to try this shit with the cruelest of the Harbingers. Really? Playing with his heart is probably the worst mistake a person could ever make. He’s never been too enamored with human bodies, but monsters? Abyssal creatures? He finds them so beautiful, and he’s been needing a new subject. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt! Just be quiet and let him make you into the ideal version of yourself. He’d never dare do this to you if you weren’t a traitor, he loved you, but all bets are off as soon as you sabotaged his work and smuggled information. And the worst part? You’d still be his lover. Forever bound. Just more monstrous than before.

~~~

Lowkey I can’t believe I wrote for all of them. I didn’t think I do them all but then I had IDEAS. Which is somewhat uncommon for me. Everyone clap!

[here-there-were-dragons]

eh, it's not really *changing* so much as people are just getting more skillfully passive-aggressive and oddly specific about it, and a lot of the people who were big on that sort of thing back then have since either threw a tantrum and left when the eye vials came back, left the game in general just because it was nearly 10 years ago, hoarded all the big-ticked items and got bored because they felt like there wasn't anything else to do anymore, felt like they won and so haven't thought about it in quite so explicit terms in awhile, have gotten bored with the idea and/or the game after it slowly became more and more the case that no one could afford to buy their Rare Collectibles tm anymore and the fever-pitch of "the final mandatory achievement to be a real fr player is to have all the sprites" culture and basically sprite collecting culture in general died off as a result, or have moved from exclusively that to being more interested in a more varied, subtle, and esoteric blend of ways to signal that they're a real, proper, acceptable player. it's a beast that's very much not dead, only lying in wait, and these people would absolutely groggily wake and come shrieking out of the woodwork anew at the mere suggestion of anything happening to one single fraction of a cent of the hypothetical resale value of their precious sprites that even they can't sell or buy anymore and no one but them even cares about ever since we all realized it was pointlessly impossible to even long-term goal for one.

The most frustrating part of the conversation about retired items is that the people who really want to push for more things to retire so that they'll "appreciate in value" don't seem to understand that if there isn't enough supply for the demand, it just means that no one gets anything.

It means that the player selling the Light Sprite for more than what my mortgage is worth...doesn't sell the Light Sprite, because most people can't fucking pay for it. And it means that players who want the Light Sprite can't have it because its only listing is beyond the definition of expensive, or that saving up for years is a race against other people trying to save up fast enough to buy it first. Either way, most players go without.

It means that, with enough retired items, you end up like GaiaOnline. Yeah, there's tons of limited items that may "appreciate in value" but the truth of that...is actually this:

Some of these items have been on my wishlist for a decade.

These items have no value because not enough of them even exist.

GaiaOnline used to be a place where "Questing" for an item was something that tons of people loved doing. Even I did it. I quested for a Fallen Wish back in the day, I quested for Inari's Beads, I quested for monthly collectibles every time one I liked dropped.

Now I'm not questing. Because the items I want simply don't circulate. This is what too many retired items does to an economy. I watched GaiaOnline die this way. Which is why I strongly oppose any retired items in any other site. Flight Rising doesn't need this.

[inchidentally]

@ the anons I’ve accrued over this year who brought up Oscar not being embraced by the media team I’m still not going to post the asks bc there’s a lot of doom etc in there but like…

(and even tho it’s easy to find out who it is I’m not including who posted it bc do NOT want hate or anything in their comments and fandom issues =/= relevance to real life teams and their jobs)

“carland0 won the McLaren constructors… Oscar was there ig anyway remember when I staged a puppet show to commemorate carland0” LIKE SHSBSBVSBSBD

and I get that to a media person the subjects are mostly valuable for how good they are on camera bc even Andrea only gets a passing mention in this post compared to a bromance and he’s the actual architect that Lando himself says is behind this win - but he’s also famously deer in the headlights when a camera is on him.

it does possibly explain why the quality and quantity of McLaren content took a sudden nosedive not long after Oscar joined. (side note that Joe also moved on from McLaren early this year who was on the media team and spent a lot of social time with Oscar and posted him more) it’s a lil sad bc if you watch any of Oscar’s Prema content where he feels comfortable and friendly with the people behind the cameras he’s hilarious and willing to “dance” and yap and be silly. even in Alpine he was actually known by broadcast teams for being funny and a sardonic yapper and meme guy. but I think the McLaren ppl mistook Oscar coming into the team in the worst possible way PR wise and clamming up as a result as that being his real personality. Nicole saying how she wanted more people to see his real personality and ironically Carlos himself warming so much to Oscar despite the on track rivalry and not rly hanging out like… I hope the media team maybe start this next season fresh and realize that people who aren’t naturals on camera are still worth putting in effort to help them relax and be themselves. and if one of the people who’s been there for so many years put in that effort then it would have a big ripple effect !!

again I am not gonna post those asks bc a)do NOT support any harassment (however well intentioned) of employees just doing their jobs and b)in the grand scheme of things socmed does not matter and c)Oscar thankfully is blissfully unaware and/or does NOT care. he brings up Carlos and Daniel and carland0 totally on his own and he is utterly free of ego about his perception or presence in McLaren media.

and while it definitely means less Oscar and therefore landoscar content per capita or whatever the phrase is, the whole landoscar dynamic is that it’s so completely not slick fun millennial YouTuber ready PR content and they’re funny and cute and have their own unique chemistry even in the under 2 minutes allowed them for each video. and ofc Oscar has his own social media to put his dry humor and chronically online references <3

but as I saw in comments on a different post, Oscar might take longer to win over the media people but the people who matter most like Andrea and the ppl in the garage and factory and crucially !! the women working directly with him all utterly utterly adore him. he’s quietly there just being a hard worker and proving himself <3

and ultimately ofc the people who don’t like that Lando said he’s decided to not joke or perform as much for media (and saying he picked up from Oscar to just be himself and relax more) can always go back to the old content! and since Carlos creates the same fun bromance atmosphere with all his teammates I mean we all know Team Torque is about to become one of the best parts of race week media. Williams media team is going to eat him UPPPP

anyway yea none of it is deep it just got me thinking about how Oscar post alpinegate withdrew so much and so many ppl haven’t looked up who he was before to realize what a fun silly chatty kitten he is and that ofc he must be bc Lando holds him in his hand lovingly for a reason - and I do think when the ppl who got used to the Carlos and Daniel school of media warm up to Oscar and learn him more we’ll get that high res DSLR filmed content again instead of portrait iPhone instagram <3

(side note the whole thing if Unboxed dropping bc of DTS got debunked. DTS hasn’t stopped any other teams content and if it were true then Lando wouldn’t be allowed to make Landologs. this was definitely a media team decision made midway thru 2023)

[nataliasquote]

Promises | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha and Anastasia didn’t know love… not until they found it in each other. But the Red Room was cold, in more ways than one

Warnings: Red Room, death, blood, shooting

Pairings: young!natasha x young!OC

wc: 2.6k

Notes: this one hurts but I’m proud of it. Another oldie again

- ⧗ -

30 pairs of pointe shoes became 20.

20 filled beds because 10.

10 black leotards became 5.

30 terrified girls became 5 ruthless ones, eyes trained... emotionless killers.

Their dainty arms capable of a swifter death than a gun. Slim fingers able to twirl a knife like someone would spin a pen.

Sleep not filled with dreams of puppies and ponies, but the haunting features of their victims. The screams, the looks of pain and anguish on their faces that each girl took in only moments before each life was ended.

Each life less important than the last.

The air was cold. No signs of love. No comfort. Just stone cold harsh reality that they had grown accustomed to. Freezing their young hearts to not feel pain.

Teaching them to crave the feeling. The satisfaction of a clean kill. A bullet straight through the heart. A silent knife slice to the throat, lodged in the stomach of an unsuspecting victim.

Somehow, the inside of the ice covered building was colder than the outside. The only sounds were barking orders and screams of pain. Each gut wrenching noise not affecting the 5 girls who remained.

Their faces were cold, no expressions as they fought through the day. No words of conversation passed between roommates, no cheers of congratulations as sparring matches were won.

These girls weren't friends. They were competitors. And losing to someone else meant death.

But there was an anomaly within. A flicker of light in the endless pool of darkness. A spark.

Hope.

Natasha Romanoff. The girl most likely to succeed. She was the top girl. Loved by all the trainers, she was the favourite. Her ruthlessness, her seductive ways were well beyond her years. So much strength in a tiny 15 year old body.

Yet she risked throwing it all away. For a girl.

Anastasia Vladimenkova.

The dark haired girl who was an incredibly skilled dancer and knife thrower. Her accuracy was unbeatable, but her sparring was not up to the same standard.

Somehow, the tiny piece of Natasha's heart that still remained took pity on her and trained her secretly at night, so she wouldn't be killed off in the next ceremony.

The girls formed an odd friendship, if you want to call it that. They didn't know love, but somehow found it in each other. And suppressed feeling spiralled quickly, so the friends turned into lovers quickly.

They would sneak out at night for stolen kisses and private moments, hands just roaming each other's bodies, trying to hold on to the last moments they got with each other. No one knew when their last day would be.

But the ceremony was looming over their shoulder, knowing their group of 5 would become 4 by tomorrow evening.

It was 2am and Natasha had taken Anastasia to the shower room, as the barred window let the moonlight shine down onto the cracked tiled floor, lighting their faces slightly.

Their bodies were pushed into the corner, Natasha's back against the cold stone as Anastasia laid her head on her chest. The atmosphere was different, they could both feel it.

"I don't want tomorrow to come." the brunette whispered,  breathing in Nat's scent as she spoke.

"I know. I don't either. Especially not if it means I lose you."

Anastasia swivelled round and sat opposite Nat, her hand on her cheek. "You're not gonna lose me. You know they don't put us against each other. We're too valuable to them."

Natasha sighed, the moonlight in the small bathroom window catching her eyes. The moon and stars looked so free, something the redhead craved more than ever. "I don't want to be an object anymore. I want to run away. With you." She turned her head back to Stasia and pulled her closer, their faces inches away from each other.

Green eyes stared into chocolate brown ones, fear dancing across their pupils. They could be as hopeful as a child on christmas, but it wouldn't stop the brutal ceremony from tearing them apart tomorrow. No one could predict the outcome, and it was something Natasha hated.

"I don't want to lose you. I cant lose you." The redhead whispered, her eyes glinting as tears filled up to her waterline.

"You have me right now. And I love you."

That was enough for the teenagers to gently press  their lips together, eyes closed in the blissful moment. It wasn't passionate or lust filled like it should have been, because the girls had never been exposed to that. The kiss was light and sweet, their lips moving together but nothing more.

"Natty." Stasia mumbled against her lover's lips. "We can escape. Tomorrow night. All we need to do is get through the ceremony. And then we go." The brunette pulled away and sat back on Nat's thighs, her legs hooked around the redhead's waist. "We can do it. We can make it work."

Nat shook her head. "How Stas? You know the guards; they're everywhere. We're small, but not that small. We can't slip past them without being seen."

"We can Nat. Please, we need to try."

Anastasia’s voice had raised slightly, which wouldn't have been an issue if everyone in their dorm room was asleep. But one blonde girl in the bed closest to the bathroom was laying awake, the sound of muffled voices sparking her curiosity.

Saskia crept out of her bed, her stealth skills coming in handy as she padded across the stone floor. Sticking to the shadows, she tiptoed across the room, hiding by the doorframe as she finally got a look at the girls who were hiding.

The red hair was an instant giveaway, and the girl she was lip locked with on her lap wasn't difficult to make out either. Natasha and Anastasia. The top girls in the class. The Madame's favourite girls.

As they spoke, Nat suddenly shushed Stasia, feeling a presence in the room. Saskia pressed herself closer to the wall, holding her breath. But Anastasia just giggled and pulled Nat's face back to her, joking about her being paranoid, which Nat accepted with a kiss.

Saskia smirked to herself, knowing how she instantly had an advantage the day before the fighting ceremony. She hovered for 10 more minutes, her smile growing wider as Anastasia’s excited voice muttered over their escape plan. It layer out perfectly in the blonde's palm and she scurried back to bed, finally able to sleep peacefully.

- ⧗ -

5 teenagers sat on the head table, tactical suits on their bodies, hair braided and pulled back out of their faces. Porridge filled their bowls, but none of them wanted to eat, the fear filling their empty stomachs, taking the space of any food that would give them energy to fight.

Saskia wandered in late, a smug expression on her stark features. She glanced at Stasia and Natasha, who were sat on the other end of the table, her eyebrow quirking up. Her plan was working.

As the girls lined up at the edge of the sparring mats, Nat reached out and linked her pinky finger with Stasia’s, their little promise ritual they performed before every fight. It was small and subtle, but it gave them a small promise and it had worked in every single fight they had done. Their promise to be there for each other. To not leave, to not betray and to not die.

Madam walked into the sparring area, her hands clasped as tightly behind her back as her hair was pulled up in a bun. She scanned the teenagers in front of her, eyes lingering on the redhead and brunette for a split second longer.

"As you all aware, today is your final sparring ceremony. The girls who survive will go on to become the greatest assassins the world has ever known. The KGB will be grateful for your services."

Anastasia gulped, her heart rate picking up. She always hated sparring; it wasn't where her skill set lay. If this was a knife throwing competition she would win by a mile. Her accuracy was unmatched.

"Natasha Romanoff." Madam's heavily accented voice called out, her eagle eyed gaze locking firmly on the redhead. Nat walked forward, wanting nothing more than to hug Stasia, but knowing it would get her killed.

"And your opponent will be... Anastasia Vladimenkova."

The girls' hearts dropped to their stomachs. No. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't part of the plan. Not at all.

With shaking hands clenched tightly into fists, Anastasia walked onto the mats, her head held high. She couldn't show her emotions right now, as much as she wanted to burst into tears. She was supposed to be made of marble, they both were, and so couldn't show weakness when put against each other. They were nothing more than sparring partners, fighting for their life.

They waited for the signal before starting to circle, fists raised in defence in front of their faces, eyes locked on each other. Natasha wished she had telepathic abilities so she could talk to Stasia, trying to form a plan in her head.

They were pulling their brunches as they fought, not wanting to cause serious injury, but causing the odd bruise here and there so it didn't look too suspicious.

But after 15 minutes, Madam called out for them to stop. She called 2 guards over and they grabbed Nat by the arms, causing the redhead to instinctively lash out, kicking and punching at her attackers.

"Nat!" Anastasia cried, running forwards before she too was dragged back. She didn't care that Madam was watching her. She didn't know where they were gonna take Natasha and terror flooded her body.

But she stopped fighting as Nat was forced into a chair, her face still as stone like and straight as ever. Not a single emotion flashed behind her eyes. Not when her wrists were tired. Not when Madam grabbed her face. Not when Anastasia had a gun forced into her hands, guards aiming their own guns at the back of the brunette's head.

"Love is for children. Are you a child Natasha?" Madam spat, her russian accent thick.

"No Ma'am."

She turned to Anastasia. "Are you a child Anastasia?"

The brunette's hands shook around the gun that was clasped between her fingers, aimed at Natasha who was sat straight on the chair. "No Ma'am."

"Weakness." She growled, her ice cold palm slapping Natasha across the face. "You are to be made of marble. Not wasting your time making faces at things like that!" Her bony finger pointed in Anastasia’s direction, seeing the weaker girl flinch under her gaze. All of Stasia’s training had gone out of the window, pure panic flooding her veins as she saw Natasha sat before her.

"Yes Ma'am." Nat's voice was emotionless, the sparkle Stasia was used to seeing completely distinguished.

"Natasha Romanoff you would have been the top student. I had high expectations for you, and you've thrown it all away. Thank you Saskia, for showing me that you're not truly cut out to take your place in the world."

"I have no place in the world." Natasha mumbled, her eyeline dropping to the floor.

"You're right. You don't." Madam turned back to Anastasia, who had dropped the gun to her side. "Anastasia. Shoot her."

"I- what?" Stasia’s eyes went wide, but there was no  hint of a joke in her instructor's eyes.

"You heard my words Vladimenkova. Kill her. You will not have any weaknesses."

Anastasia gulped but raised the gun, eyes locked with Natasha. Sweat trickled down her brow and she gulped, feeling a tear slip down her cheek.

"Nat." She whispered, trying to get a reaction from her.

"It's okay Stas. Do it. I'm with you baby. I'm always with you." Nat pushed down all of her fear. The sight of the gun brought relief, which was twisted. She was 15 years old, a gun should spark fear. Not be a source of comfort to end her pain. In her mind, if she couldn't have Stasia then she didn't want to live. And the Academy wouldn't allow her to have both.

"Nat no. I can't." She dropped the gun.

Big mistake.

The moment the metal clanged against the tiled floor, Natasha knew it was over. The guards' reflexes were fast. Too fast. The girl's pale fingers dropped the weapon and a shot was fired into her skull at the same second.

Nat had wiggled her way out of the rope, so the moment Anastasia’s body dropped to the floor, she leaped out of her chair and raced across the floor, screaming out as blood stained the old tiles. Anastasia’s body was limp as Nat got there, her eyes dull as she stared up at the ceiling.

"No!" The redhead yelled out, startling the giles standing on the opposite side of the room. She looked up at them, scanning and analysing each and every one of them. They were all scared, showing the same expression.

Except one.

Saskia had an guilty essence about her and Nat saw it straight away. She saw red and glared at her, breathing heavily through her nose. The snake. The reason her love was sprawled on the floor, a bullet hole in her skull.

Natasha's fingers curled around Stasia’s, their pinkies locking together like they'd done less than an hour before. Her tears dropped onto the brunette’ chest and she cried out before anger took over again.

Still clutching Stasia, she lifted her head again and locked eyes with Saskia, her bottom lip trembling. "YOU!"

But her rage was never taken out as 2 guards surged forwards, grabbing her arms and pulling her away. Nat's stone cold facade had dropped away and she screamed out for Anastasia, her gaze fixed on her best friend, her lover, the light in her dark life, her body laying abandoned on the floor like she was garbage.

"Stasia!! Stas no!" She kicked and screamed, fighting with all her might to get away from the guards. But her tiny 15 year old, malnourished body was no match for the 6 foot guards built of pure muscle. Not in her hysterical state. Assassin Natasha could take these guys out with 2 moves, but her body and mind weren't working as one.

She screamed and cried the whole way down the corridors, not even taking in her surroundings. She didn't know where she was until she was thrown into a cell, hearing the barred doors clang shut. But she didn't move. Her body landed in a heap on the stone floor and she stayed and wept, clawing at her chest and arms in pain as she wailed. She passed out hours later, her hands clasped together...

Her pinkies linked together.

Like the ghost of Anastasia was with her, watching over her and looking out for her, like they had always promised.

[laughingogre]

The Recluse and The Huntsman

Teaser/chapter 0 for the fic I’m writing since I have Miguel ATSV brain rot and I can’t keep all this good stuff to myself anymore. This wasn’t edited or anything like that so expect possible changes to both the characters and the plot in the future. Okay byeeee! EDIT: I made a playlist to go along with this story, the first 3 tracks accompany this chapter.

Premise: Miguel has always felt like an outcast in spider society because of the way he got his powers. But after meeting Saanvi, he’s never felt more proud to be one-of-a-kind.

Pairings: Original character x Miguel O’Hara, anti-hero x hero, enemies to rivals (it’s complicated) to lovers

Warnings: Violence… and that’s about it for this piece of the story but this list is going to get much longer very quickly.

Driving rain and the slight fog that followed with it brought a neon haze upon Nueva York tonight. A fusion of colors so outstanding that memories of another life were starting to shake off dust in her mind. Flashes of memories from an annual fireworks festival sparked a little warmth in Saanvi’s heart. Less than thirty seconds went by before she snuffed it out, leaving herself icy; instincts sharp and ready. Long, slender fingers on sure hands opened the heavy black case that lay next to her on the rooftop. Satisfaction curled her lips into a small smile as the new and improved rifle looked back at her, gleaming in the neon haze.

Hellooo beautiful, she thought. While assessing all the upgrades, the multi-functional scope and walkable trigger she requested had her grinning maniacally. She made a mental note to give Drago a little more praise for his gunsmithing as she set up a stand in the darkness of the alcove. Cycling through the scope’s options allowed for eight different modes of visibility and detection, with heat-seeking sensors that stood up against even this night’s hellish weather.

Scanning the city for a few minutes allowed Saanvi’s dark eyes to adjust to the new level of detail the scope afforded them. Once her senses were fully immersed, the hunt was on. A den of data pirates had been having way too much fun with the identities of over half the city’s even-remotely-wealthy citizens. Ever the champion of fair play, she was going to bring that fun to an end by leveling their ranks. A glance at the watch face on the inside of her left wrist showed it was just before 02:00 AM. If the intel she scrubbed was accurate, a 12-person heat signature would pop up in less than 60 seconds.

Rifle loaded and ready, she took aim and waited. Intel was good—a warehouse four klicks away lit up with bodies. Once she had a count of twelve, her finger slipped into the trigger guard and onto the trigger in a swift motion. It didn’t leave the trigger until none of them were left standing. Smoke drifting from the barrel caught the light of an ad for aphrodisiacs and coiled pink and red against the shadows of the alcove. A smile cut across her face again as a leap off the building’s edge plunged her into the deluge.

Broken glass and rubble crunched underneath graceful steps as she leisurely filled a bag with data drives, cash, and whatever valuables her victims had stashed away. Once their warehouse was picked to the bones, Saanvi took a few photographs of the scene. Horrific images of bodies that were all bloated and bruising from the new ammunition she and Drago had developed. She knelt down near the worst-looking of the bodies, preparing to take a sample. As she pulled out a small vial and tool kit, the incoming presence of another threat sent her up the wall and into the ceiling’s vent system. Damn… intel must’ve been bad… there’s more of them. Sight limited by the vent grates, alarms went off in her head to escape as she felt the intensity of the aura peaking. There must be at least five more people about to walk into this room. Morbid curiosity won over her senses, so she repositioned herself in the vent to catch a glimpse of the intruders. Footsteps that seemed almost deafening from the intensity with which she listened for them indicated it was only one person. Good strategy, sending a scout. Eyes glued to the vent, she saw a massive silhouette peel around the corner. Her senses flared up at the sight of the figure beneath her: a man standing at least six feet tall, clad in a form-fitting suit that was dark blue with pulsing sections of red. The mask on his face had a menacing symbol on it that seemed to move the way facial expressions would. It started to stir a memory inside of her but an old emotion bloomed before recall could happen. For the first time in years, fear filled Saanvi’s veins. Thoughts only of escape and safety pinging in her mind. Run. Hide. Home. Run. Hide. Home. Go. Her head became a glitched mp3 but she couldn’t take her eyes off this predator. While the hulking figure below spoke in a low, annoyed growl to someone she couldn’t see, she stilled her mind and listened for the sound of pouring rain. The sound that would lead her away from this thing beneath her as fast as possible. Her crawl through the ducts to safety began with bated breath, a silent prayer that finished only after putting two klicks of distance between herself and whatever anomaly was in that warehouse.

Once back on the rooftop where her night began, her body shuddered hard, trying to fight off every feeling of the last few moments. She failed, senses made raw and primal by a hit of animalistic fear. Suddenly she could feel everything—single drops of rain and the chill that was trying to rob her of every last iota of body heat. Memories of another life came to her again, this time in echoes of her mother’s voice bewaring her of those made to be like her but not born as they were. ‘The universe is wide and more wild than our forest. You may meet something made to be even deadlier than you or I.’ The steel in her mother’s voice at that moment wasn’t lost on her then or now.

Saanvi had finally crossed paths with Miguel O’Hara that night. Only she didn’t register him as such. To her, she had come face to face with her mother’s fear made flesh: an unnatural union of arachnid and human.

***

It had been two weeks since that night and the nightmares weren’t letting up. Tonight was no different. Having been woken up by her own fearful thrashing yet again, Saanvi migrated from the bedroom to her studio. A pot of Cuban coffee brewed in the corner, filling the air with a pleasant smell. Fingers rapidly gesturing at holo-screens that were returning more of the same useless information. She knew everyone called him Spider-Man. She knew everyone (or almost everyone) considered him to be a hero. But she wanted more than just news articles and conspiracy theories from bloggers. What she wanted more than anything was to find out what Hell he came from so she could send him back to it. There was only one way to do that where he wouldn’t be pointing his fangs at her. Before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep at her desk, Saanvi had pinged a few connections. By the time the sun shone on the city again, she had unofficially launched an infiltration and intelligence gathering mission against Spider-Man.

[ackerifle]

Captain Levi x prisoner of war reader please 😊 🙏

spoils of war!

yan. captain levi ackerman x fem captain. reader (ft. special operations squad)

+ CW. — au: canon adjacent, war crimes, treason, imprisonment, abuse of power & authority: mistreatment/abuse of pow, non-sexual nudity, choking, restraints & hot iron branding, uncharacteristically long post because it’s combined with another work i was making; not proof-read.

it came as no surprise that paradis island was capable of producing and preparing such an overwhelming abundance of competent and proficient soldiers. even if many civilians had initially criticized their old-fashioned choice of weaponry, their contentious plays on the battlefield, and even their morales as a stand-alone concern in itself; their doubts would soon be long forgotten once the soldiers had returned, claiming their first victory that would soon become countless victories. the war may still have yet to be won, but it is no secret that lady luck certainly favored the survey corps’ soldiers with all she had.

and that is precisely why levi had so easily been able to whisk you away with not so much as a glance from his subordinates and superiors alike, during an attack no less. in retrospect, you should have adamantly defended your right to fall back on this particular mission to your commander, should have let this great burden fall onto the shoulders of one of your fellow captains, and have been done with the whole situation entirely. but there was much more for you to prove to your commander and newfound nation than your other marleyan peers.

even if you had demonstrated your worth as a valuable asset time and time again, had gotten your hands dirty for the sake of marley’s name and conquest, serve your own motherland and its peoples only to turn your back on them halfway through the war; you would remain the only ‘foreigner,’ in power, a potential traitor in the eyes of soldiers who were your supposed comrades. if you could betray once, you could betray again— and those who held such leery and low beliefs of you simply could not be reasoned with.

but the judgment and distaste that was made very well clear to you by the marleyan military was nothing in comparison to levi's contempt. actually, it was captain levi now, although that isn’t such a shocking revelation when you take into account that you had also been promoted to captain status during your years away from home. however, your title was a gift from marley, not paradis, and that alone made all the more difference.

you hadn’t remembered him when the two of you came face to face after half a decade. when all of your soldiers had either met their final fates or been broken down with wounds beyond repair, captured and detained; you too, had fallen with them. and when levi had stormed down the ghastly corridor of deadmen and far worse to reap his reward of the fight well won, he had found you. the first thing he noticed was that you looked better, happier. far happier than he could’ve ever dreamed to see you when you were still in paradis— even with the absolutely disgusting mud, grime, dirt, blood, and shit smothered onto your raw and tender skin, with injuries that were likely already infected and guaranteed to last you a lifetime of scars, and well over half of your comrades-in-arms deceased. for someone who was just about to lose everything, you seemed so alive.

at the time, he had approached you wordlessly. slowly trekking his way down to your pathetic and forlorn figure, limp with lassitude and slumped in defeat in a messy pool of your own blood. given enough thought, levi thinks he must’ve looked angry back then. teeth grinding together behind a disturbing sneer, and eyes left wide open until they felt dry enough that he may as well have cried; levi acted far quicker than even his own thoughts could. as the end of his blade dipped beneath your chin, experimentally tapping the sharp side against your neck before raising the entire weight of your head until you could face him.

for but a moment's time, something vulnerable had flashed through levi’s eyes, and he remembered this feeling from his youth, that of a scared boy. his relentless heart wouldn’t stop in its persistence to beat out of his rib cage, and his sentiment, his fondness for you had resurfaced with bone chilling ardor. he was rendered completely, and wholly speechless. mouth agape and stunned into silence, but levi must have let your name slip from his lips in a voiceless whisper, because you finally opened your eyes, “do- do i, know you.” and so you had forgotten all about him.

you truly had done something so utterly unforgivable. leaving him all alone and abandoned while he remained under the unanswered pretense that you were taken; only to have been double backing on paradis the entire time, while he was the only one suffering, left in egregious shambles over your absence. so now he was going to do something unforgivable to you.

“get up.” levi always finds a way to announce his presence before making his way down to your cellar— as if the sound of him (unnecessarily) slamming the rickety door open and stomping on the the concrete steps wasn’t enough for you to catch the hint. a faint window of yellow light from above could be seen framing his silhouette on the uneven stone ground, and you brace yourself for whatever words of wisdom levi has so graciously decided to enlighten you with today, “it’s your lucky day.”

biting back a mirthful huff and an equally incredulous leer, you study his next words carefully, “we’ve got visitors coming today.” you’re quite observant of how he intentionally takes his time when it comes to unlocking your cellar door, his eyes don’t leave you, as if he enjoys seeing you imprisoned behind bars, and it makes your skin crawl, “visitors?”

your copycat repetition was intended to be silent, though you can’t help but ponder his statement aloud. there is something odd here, levi slides the door open and enters the caged room with you, you don’t know what it is, he grabs you by the arm far too intimately for someone holding a hostage, no— you know what it is; his voice, levi doesn’t bother to close the cellar door as he guides you down the ill lit, damp and dreary hallway, he almost sounds like he’s looking forward to having these ‘visitors’ coming today.

“you’ll be happy to see them.” as if reading your mind, levi offered his ominous words of assurance, if one could even call them that. opting to ignore his response in favor of studying your surroundings, partially because you weren’t conscious for the trip down, and partially to soothe your nerves, you have distant memories here— “familiar to you yet? the old headquarters’ basement.”

levi bites his tongue to refrain from adding in a sardonic jab about how you would have been there to witness the construction of the new headquarters, the symbol of paradis island’s first victory in the war, if you had simply stayed. but levi trusts that he’s spent enough time re-indoctrinating your pasts together with the days he’s been granted leave to tend to his war trophy. but his heart still aches every time he remembers your neglectful memory was due to your own carelessness, nothing to do with marley brainwashing you, or any sort of militaristic torture into subservience. was he that insignificant to you that over the span of five short years, you would think no more of him?

the two of you seem to recall your trainee days on paradis very differently, and the notion itself puts levi in a sour mood, “hurry up, the ropes don’t make you fucking immobile.” he barks with a shove in between your shoulder blades, “cuffs with enough leeway for me to move a single centimeter at a time? how accommodating!” levi shoots you a dark glare, “behave.”

it leaves your body sore when you come to a standstill atop the steps, vision straining at the introduction of an unhealthy combination of natural and artificial lighting on your luminescent-deprived eyes. levi takes advantage of your poorly adjusting eyes, suavely escorting you into a new room. there is something that you notice immediately upon entering the unrecognizable area, it is the smell of smoke. instinctively, your eyes frantically search the room to locate the source, landing on a small coal fire, all the while levi continues to usher you forward until you bump into a wooden surface.

peering down, you’re greeted by a low, yet unusually and unconventionally capacious table. each corner holds an individual ring of rusted metal, hooked to the ends with suspicious purpose. but before you can dwell on it too much, the force of levi’s hands on your shoulder and waist have you coming to your senses. with one calculating motion, he swivels you around, turning your body until you’re faced towards him, and although your hands are tied together behind your back, you struggle like you can touch him. levi is unfazed by whatever attempts you can bring yourself to muster to aid in escaping his grasp, dropping his hands to your torso with dangerous constriction before slamming you down onto the table with all his might.

your lower back takes the brunt of the force, and by god does it hurt. the edge of the table digs spitefully into your back and spine, causing you to momentarily scream in agony. and in an instant, levi distracts you from the pain when his hands start roaming your body, starting with your shirt. when he gets closer, the severity of the situation finally sinks in, and you only hope you’re wrong about what will happen next. wildly moving in his hold does little when your limbs are bound, and your legs are lifted too high from the floor for you to even do anything, and despite still maintaining full control over your movements, levi lets out an annoyed grunt either way.

his right hand quickly descends down onto your neck, enveloping your airway with a firm squeeze, enough to get you to stop violently staggering about. levi is more concerned with the position this has now put him in, only a menial worry, really; unbuttoning your shirt with one hand proves to be rather difficult, so he’ll have to tear at the fabric. like it was an ordinary sunday morning, he is more worried with the tattered frays and cloth pieces your blouse will discard, than you, a literal captive, scrambling to get out from beneath him. he decides he will both unbutton and rip the shirt, using his thumb to sloppily shove the buttons through while also dragging the article further down your body.

“fuck, don’t. this is inhumane, even for an enemy soldier!” it hadn’t crossed his mind that you may have taken this the wrong way, his intentions that is. but you did give him an idea for another day, “well, you aren't quite a soldier— no, not even a civilian of paradis anymore, now are you?”

levi halts his movements, but doesn’t release you, instead, feigning a thoughtful pause before continuing, “but that doesn't matter, even if you miraculously find your way back to marley, they won't want you back, not after i'm done with you.” your heart drops, and your thrashing increases tenfold, causing his grip on your throat to loosen with every move, but levi is able to ignore it with his determination to get those insufferable buttons undone.

the sound of a door and hurried footsteps interrupt any frenetic and hysterical thought you’re having, even levi tilts his head in the direction of the clamoring, “hm, it seems they’ve arrived.”

casual chatter could be heard nearing the two of you, and when voices were revealed you were horrified. gathering at the open doorway was a group of four soldiers, or so you had presumed, as they had the same matching uniform as levi. there were three men, and one woman; all of which who are holding something. two with the same rope that had your arms and legs tied together, one with a singular iron rod, and the lady with a water basin and a washcloth resting halfway inside the bucket and halfway on the outside. and what terrified you even further was that they seemed unperturbed by the sight before them, it’s almost as if their smiles grew wider.

“sorry we’re a little late, captain!” the woman chirped, lowering the water basin in her hands to a more comfortable position to allow gravity to uphold its weight, rather than her arms, “it’s about damn time you all finally show up, restrain her.” levi was blunt and to the point, glossing over greetings entirely, and aiming his index finger in your direction.

there was a lot going on, and levi disappeared behind the three figures approaching you in the midst of it all. the short-haired woman must have placed the basin on the floor, because her hands were definitely free when she reached for your shirt, “it’s been so long since we’ve last seen you, you know.” how she had managed to keep such a cheery tone and face while also single-handedly witnessing your torment and anguish was beyond you, and you leaned away from her touch.

“yeah, captain said you forgot all about us.” it seemed that distancing yourself from the chipper lady had landed you into the trap of another, this time, a blond man with a blithe though hurt grin on his face, “we’ve got so much to tell you.” the tallest of the three added, carelessly placing a hand on the buckle of your belt.

entering your peripheral vision was the final soldier of what you presumed to be levi’s squad, he had been the one carrying the iron rod in his hands, now absent, as he made his way towards you, finding a spot next to the woman, “a lot happened while you were away.”

that’s right, you remember them. these soldiers were of the plethora of cadets that had enlisted in the military when you and levi had graduated. you had only encountered them a handful of times, but they were recurring guests in your life thanks to levi preparing for his promotion, the one you never had the chance to witness for yourself due to your leave. who knew they would be the same people to disgrace your pride and dignity by stripping you naked, even if they were much gentler than levi ever cared to be with you, there was no greater comparison than a pack of hungry wolves. and it was so draining to fight them, you tried and tried, but when the ropes had come out, you gave in.

and their names, they were: petra, eld, gunther, and oluo— which you had only picked up thanks to their small-talk with one another as they defiled you. shutting your eyes to avoid dwelling on the feeling of having your arms and legs strewn out, wrists and ankles bound by the rope that had been threaded through those worn out coils. all attention was focused on your shallow breathing, praying to disassociate hard enough to block out their jovial conversation. but you had picked up on something else, the burning coals. expectedly, the room was airless and sultry with a running fire and six people confined to such a small room. but this scent was different, like you could smell the heat, and that heat smelled like iron.

snapping your eyes open, you raise your head as much as your neck would allow it in your pitiful position, desperately scanning the room for answers. and you get them when you finally hear levi’s voice, “grab her arms and legs, i didn’t get this shit custom made for her to fuck it up.” readily, as if anticipating this specific command, petra and oluo had taken hold of your calves, while eld and gunther grabbed the inner side of your elbows. when levi leisurely drew near the side of the wooden table, the only thing you could see was the iron bar in his hands, the black metal now a light ash grey, emanating heat even with the distance levi was holding with you.

“wait, stop. get that fucking thing away from me!” the only control you had over your own body seemed to be your mind and mouth. even when you banged against the table, pulling away from the left side of the table where levi menacingly stood, recoiling as much as you could through the grip of the four soldiers and the ropes.

if it was forgiveness you wanted, you wouldn’t get it. that much levi would make sure of. if you wanted to run away? to be disobedient? then he’d reward your bad behavior with a deservingly bad punishment. carefully, levi lowered the scorching iron pole to align with the left side of your hips, though he wasn’t cautious for your sake, of course not, you deserved this and much more, but because he refused to let your little tantrum screw this up. you could feel the metal before it even touched your skin, burning away any body hair that may have been there to a crisp, and the sheer radiating from it had you screwing your eyes shut. you braced yourself, preparing to feel the searing iron, but it never came. levi contemplated whether or not he wanted to do it slowly, or to startle you after letting fifteen seconds pass, he fancied the latter.

it was so much more painful than you thought it was going to be. the sweltering hot iron rod blistered your sensitive skin, and you shrieked and cried in pain. it was scalding hot to the point it felt as if the metal was actually ice cold, and it pressed stiffly against your side, sinking into the fat of your hips. you had screamed until you couldn’t no more, until your voice cracked and your vocal cords bled, something the soldiers restricting you seemed to ignore. but the smell, the smell of your flesh being burned to the point it would leave a fresh, bloody mark. it was nauseating, and you gagged and heaved, but nothing to come of it. and despite how hellish it was, how it caused you unfathomable pain, caused you to convulse and spasm in your restraints, the pressure of the iron rod only lasted five seconds.

levi had counted, retrieving the metal pole and alleviating the pressure of its marking on your body after five maliciously counted seconds. you couldn’t tell if it hurt worse when the cold air nipped at the new wound than it did when it had been applied to your skin. tears fell from your eyes, and you don’t recall when you had started crying, but your face was wet with those salty droplets. shuffling resonated within the room, and the weight on your limbs was released. how tired you were, defeatedly laying your head until you could feel the rough surface of the wooden table. eyelids getting heavier by the second, you dared glance at the brand on your hip, the two letters ‘LA,’ bold and clear.

if you had the energy to, you would have flinched when a hand holding onto a lightly wetted rag came into contact with the new marking. the hand was tentative and mindful, applying little to no pressure on your hip, but just enough to cleanse the burn. you could have sworn you heard the sound of humming, but you knew you heard levi’s voice, “if you so much as think of betraying me again, i’ll do more than just mark you with my initials.”

[neoliberalbrainrot]

Fuck, I'm not traumatized enough for this

Means-testing is a quintessentially liberal idea. Instead of presenting a program or benefit (eg: student debt relief) as a human right available to everyone, liberal politicians often make sure it’s means-tested, restricting the benefit to only those who fit certain criteria. These criteria are usually numerical, reflecting the neoliberal obsession with quantification and collection of data. This doesn’t help people who fluctuate above and below the threshold, and it hurts people who do qualify when they aren’t able to get through the bureaucracy in order to claim their benefit.

What does this have to do with trauma?

The means-testing of trauma and oppression is sometimes seen as a useful method of determining someone’s moral superiority in leftist spaces which, I think, are corroded by neoliberal brainrot. The thing being gatekept can vary widely; it might be a community of some kind or something more specific like a publishing opportunity. The basic idea is that you must be this oppressed to enter. Someone’s perceived identity is used as a way of determining how much trauma they have purely from demographic information, remarkably similarly to real means-tested programs, and has nothing to do with the person’s actual life experience.

Because means-testing implies a kind of quantification, if only between more or less, a hierarchy of suffering can be constructed and further used as an indicator of moral purity. The most oppressed person in a group might be seen as morally correct more often, as if there is a neat spectrum of moral correctness. In addition, this person, despite being considered morally correct, might not actually benefit from this perception if they are marginalized and face marginalization from the same people putting them on a pedestal.

This is similar to the phenomenon colloquially called the Oppression Olympics, a competition to see who is more oppressed. The pejorative name is used by those who think it is a pointless exercise that detracts from making meaningful change. In the vast majority of cases, it is, and the discussion only serves to boost the ego of the winner of the competition and cement their status within the community.

Sometimes there is even a chasm between the material status of the person who “won” the Oppression Olympics and the person who is, when measured through more objective metrics, actually the most oppressed. This is a potential avenue for elite capture; someone who is able to communicate their experience using the potent buzzwords of the scene or who otherwise has more social capital may be able to capture the clout that comes with being recognized as the most oppressed.

The competitive nature of this exercise plays into neoliberal subjectivity, with its focus on being the best, or in this case, the most oppressed. Oppression is a competition—like the Olympics. This implies there’s something to be gained. And if there’s something to be gained, is there also an incentive to lean into any experiences of oppression you can claim? I’ve observed this behavior in people, but calling them out on it is an extremely risky and usually futile proposition.

There is actually no need to determine who is the most oppressed in the vast majority of situations, so engaging in this debate takes valuable time away from doing literally anything else. It also strongly implies that vulnerability is mandatory, that you must share your experiences of marginalization in order to be seen as moral enough for the cause. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has had icky feelings when presented with an obligation to list off all the identities I can claim, as if they’re synonymous with the problems in my life.

Of course, there are many situations where it is appropriate to means-test access to a resource; for example, if there is a limited about of funding to distribute to people with the greatest need. In writing this post, I’m mainly thinking of social dynamics in activist groups and even in social groups that just happen to be left-leaning. This is trend among modern leftist “culture,” if culture can be defined as behavioral and belief patterns in a group of people.

Whatever the case, I still think it’s important to examine the idea that means-testing and hierarchies of oppression emerge as viable concepts only because neoliberal ideology is the water many Americans swim in. It might just seem natural to place a more oppressed person (whatever this actually means) higher in the hierarchy, but why? Whether or not it’s the right thing to do, why does it seem natural? Is the hierarchy important to understanding the situation, or is it being emphasized because someone stands to gain something from its enforcement? Is it being built only because the people involved are used to thinking that way? Does it create problems where there weren’t any before?

PS: if you find my writing interesting or educational, please reblog! like artists, writers depend on reblogs to make sure new audiences see their work. thanks for reading!

[minty-mumbles]

Flared Fins Mer AU Lore Dump

You can find the fic on tumblr and on AO3

Character Breakdowns:

Wind: 8 (Pup) - Tropical Mer

Adult coloring will be Orange with light blue splotches, like a koi fish’s pattern

Fun fact: He and Warriors are, in fact, very distantly related.

Hyrule: 13/14 (Juvenile) - Octopus Mer

Adult coloring: Green with golden freckles all over him

Fun fact: His healing magic is not as strong in this fic, or at least not as developed. Most of his magic

Wild: 15/16 (Juvenile) - Deepsea Mer - Adult coloring: Dark blue with teal lines. The markings on one of his arms are strangely more of a green color, for some reason

Fun facts: His fins are bioluminescent (and his markings as well, when he gets older.) He has giant fins that are good for threat displays but are very delicate. He’s a better fighter then Hyrule, but being in more fights leads to him having a lot of torn fins. Due to being a deepsea Mer, who would naturally have less opportunities to eat, he metabolizes his food well and doesn’t need to feed as often.

Four: 16 (Juvenile)  - Tropical Mer (Based off a beta fish)

Adult coloring: On one side is green fading to red on the fins, the other is blue fading to purple. As a juvenile, he only has the split green and blue

Fun fact: Four absorbed his twin in the egg, which is why his colors are split down the middle. He is the most territorial in the pod. When he and Wild get to know each other, they like to flare their fins at each other to show off and get rid of territorial aggression. Four bites

Legend: 19 (Almost an adult) - Tropical Mer (Based off a Sea bunny, which is a kind of sea slug)

Adult coloring: Light Pink with red markings

Fun facts: He is courting Ravio (A purple sea bunny.) His tail ring functions the same as his pegasus boots, which is why he could catch Hyrule

Sky: 21 (Adult) - Tropical Mer (Based off the flying fish)

Coloring: Red with silver fins and small yellow marks

Fun facts: He is courting Sun. He has a giant pet Grouper called Crimson. (Sky: Crimson is friend, not food!) Crimson is nine feet long and can pull him along faster than most mers can swim. (Groupers really can get that big. They probably aren’t really that fast though.)

Twilight: 23-25 (Adult) - Tropical/Freshwater hybrid

Coloring: Dark green with gray underbelly and thick black marks

Fun fact: His colors are so much duller because of his freshwater ancestry. He can survive in freshwater for a lot longer than others can. Sometimes goes and hunts in nearby rivers. He has an orca tooth necklace that can turn him into an orca. Yes, the Orca is called “Orcie.”

Warriors: 25-27 (Adult) - Tropical Mer

Coloring: Royal blue with orange marks on the ends of his fins. HE has a kind of iridescence to his scales that most Mer consider very pretty

Fun fact: Warriors has a twin, Linkle, who is currently very lost, wandering around in deep sea Mer territory.

Time: Very old (Adult) - Tropical Mer

Coloring: White/silver with thin red and blue line markings

Fun fact: He is mates with Malon, who is a deepsea Mer. Malon prefers to live in the deep, but they visit each other often. Yes, it is weird that a deepsea Mer would take a permanent mate but Malon does what she wants. She thinks it’s very funny that her husband adopted so many kids, and dots on them when she visits.

Worldbuilding:

Very young Mer are called fry. They are a lot more competent than human babies, being able to swim right after hatching, but during the first year of their life, they run mainly on their fish instincts. Fry are not considered super valuable to Mer, because Mer may have up to 20 fry from one clutch of eggs. Very few of survive the fry stage. Often a pod will choose the best looking/biggest fry and focus their energy on them, leaving the others to fend for themselves. (They won’t be chased away or killed, and if one does make it to puphood by themselves, all the better. But smaller pods can’t afford to feed 20 new mouths at once when all of them won’t survive.)

Those that reach a year old are called pups, at which point they shake off the more intense instincts, and become a little more reliant on their guardians. At 12-14 years old, they become juveniles. They have a huge growth spurt, and they turn from their dull pup colors to their main adult colors. Pup colors are usually either neutrals (other than white) or a very desaturated version of their adult colors. They are considered adults at around 20, around which time they gain their makings. They stop aging at around 30 years old, but keep getting bigger.

Tropical Mer stay in their birth pods unless they get a mate and decide to go to their mate’s pod, or decide to try to start their own pods. There are exceptions though, where juveniles/new adults will leave their pod because they don't fit in well.

Mer “Species” are more vague categories. There are tropical, deepsea, fresh water, octopus, etc. Most of them can still interbreed with only a little difficulty, (as long as they can get over their different social practices) so they’re not really distinct species. (Thought sometimes interbreeding can be difficult to achieve, and sometimes those children turn out sterile, like Mules are)

Tropical Mer are territorial, but they do still interact with neighboring Pods and trade at designated market areas. They aren’t isolated. Deepsea Mer are solitary, and Octopus Mer are solitary/only share territory with mates. If you are part of a social species but do not have a pod, you are considered a loner.

For one reason or another, Time ended up taking each of the boys under his fin, so to speak. Four was abandoned by his birth Pod because of his strange colors when he became a juvenile. Twilight went exploring up a river where his Tropical Mer mother could not follow, and couldn’t find her again when he came back. Sky fell asleep as a pup and got left behind when his pod moved on. Due to being twins, Warriors and Linkle were small coming out of the egg, and their pods decided to focus more on their other fry. Warriors never really integrated himself into the pod after that and left early. Things like that.

Mer can’t breathe air. A typical adult Mer can hold their breath comfortably for about 30 minutes though, so they still like to sunbathe on beaches if they can. They have gills on their neck and sides of their chest. Water flows into the neck gills and out the chest gills. The mouth is just for vocalizations and eating. As long as their necks are in the water, they can stick their heads out of the water as long as they want. They have bad eyesight above the waves.

Mer have their own language that needs to be taught to children, but they also have more internal vocalization that does not need to be taught. These vocalizations can get across more specific messages than just emotions, but the meanings aren’t as advanced as language. If you spend a lot of time around a Mer, you will be able to pick up on some of their vocalizations’ more subtle meanings, like discerning “hello” from “good morning/evening/etc.”

Mer are mostly carnivores, and they obviously do not cook their food. They do not scavenge unless they are desperate, preferring to hunt for themselves. Sometimes they eat plants like kelp for variety, but that’s not essential. Mollusk type shellfish (Clams, oysters, ect) are good snacks but aren’t really filling. 

Mer that are social sleep cuddled together and all intertwined, to keep themselves from drifting apart while they're asleep. (Less of a fear when sleeping in a cave, but in the open ocean? Many pods have been permanently split on accident because of currents moving them three miles apart in the night)

Hylians exist in this au and they know that Mer exist, but they don't interact much. There’s a language barrier, and Hylians can’t make the right sounds for Mer language and vice versa. There have been exceptions, where one species’ sign language is taught to a member of the other, but this isn’t common. Hylians are at the same level of development as in the LOZ games. They do not have modern science, etc

[skysquid22]

In Mine’s backstory in the RRGO story he doesn’t take Daigo’s warnings or authority seriously until Daigo reveals he shares the same sentiment that life is more valuable than money and saves him from his own actions. And……. Augh the little parallels between that scene at the docks and the end of Yakuza 3…….

What defines Mine's motivation is that he's struggling between two different ideals--believing that he can find someone to put his trust in vs believing that everyone is a liar who's only after their own gain. Mostly, he's acting on the latter with his actions and thinking. Seeking power in monetary gain with how he rises in the Tojo Clan ranks in his RRGO backstory and all of his actions during Yakuza 3. Kiryu calls him out on this method and Mine refuses it since he wants to believe in that other ideal. It is very, very apparent that Mine is desperate for someone he can trust for once in his life. He's searching for that answer in his backstory and he's at the point where joining organized crime is a good idea AND he nearly puts his faith in fucking Kanda. [All these excerpts are from the translation I linked above.]

But later, Kanda abandons him using the excuse that the younger brother sacrifices himself for the older brother to live which pretty much seals the idea that the bonds of the yakuza aren’t true trust between others. Factor in Mine saying his belief that their lives are more valuable than money and Kanda immediately valuing the money and the time/effort it took to make than money over Mine… it’s a complete and utter rug pull. One that he knew not to put much value in but did anyway because he wanted to believe in someone more than believe that people only care about power. Who is Mine but two wolves trying to kill each other and the winner dictates his mental and emotional state.

Wolf B won this round and Mine (implied?) doesn’t fight back and just outright asks the second acting Nishkiyama patriarch to kill him faster.

And the same process more or less happens at the end of Y3. He’s losing his reason to live only it’s worse now since he committed himself more to Daigo than he ever did to Kanda. He’s not going to try again and look for an ineffable bond because he had that with Daigo and it’s gone—the thing he’s been searching for all his life and joined the yakuza to seek becomes completely nonexistent to him. All that's left of his beliefs is the one he's been leaning on since he was a kid, that life doesn’t have value over money and everyone lies.

But just like at the docks, Daigo comes back and proves him wrong.

At the docks, Daigo proves to him that there is such thing as a bond you can fully believe in. And on the roof, Daigo wakes up, which completely upends the entire reason Mine fully adopted his nihilistic thinking and killed the optimist inside him. Kiryu was able to get Mine to understand that his thinking was completely wrong, leaving him lost and like his world had collapsed because it did practically. Both core tenements of himself were burned to ashes. With Daigo waking up, Mine realizes that he can still believe in another person.

Before he was ready to die thinking he was ‘right’. At the end, he knows he’s wrong, but he doesn’t believe he’s deserving of that bond anymore. Instead of rediscovering his reason to live, he just found a reason to die. It hurts… I imagine that if Mine was successfully talked down the vibes probably would’ve been similar to this scene in RGGO: Recognition of mistakes from both parties, Mine’s apology (which he does on the roof), Daigo offering a solution, Mine affirming his kinder core belief, and Daigo believing in Mine (ALSO happens on the roof).

Last point on Mine’s state of thinking and the parallels between his origin story and the events of Y3—Daigo straight up tells Mine that his thinking that people only lie to each other and care about power will get him killed. I love foreshadowing when writing a prequel. ALSO crazier to me is after Mine meets Daigo for the first time he’s disappointed in him because “He’s the same as me. Or how I once was…” which says so fucking much about his emotional state at that time AND his relationship to Daigo. The quote is specifically referring to the family bonds within the yakuza and how those outweigh the pursuit of power through monetary gains. Mine constantly assumes that the world is shit, thus acts accordingly to protect himself, but is clinging desperately to the idea that he can come to trust someone. A belief he’s so desperate for he joins the yakuza and nearly forces his answer as Kanda. Mine finally finds it with Daigo, I wonder if he would still consider them the same as one another. (I suppose this kinda supports the idea that Daigo could be Mine, but chose to live life with faith 'forward' rather than assume the worst of people.)

Daigo quite literally brings out the best in Mine. He’s not only Mine’s reason to live... Daigo is Mine’s proof that putting faith in trust is the right answer.

To recap:

[bl4z33467]

The Vulpixen Cannon 2

Part one^^^^^

A couple years pass. Novos trains harder than he ever had, knowing the atrocities he committed, desiring for no one to know what he has done. He believes the stronger he gets, the less likely people will know of his attractions. He tries to put on muscle, but fails due to his poor diet. Ceaser, learning from his mistakes with Altilis, makes sure that his protege, Novos, doesn't end up overweight and unwilling like Altilis. So, he makes sure he is on a strict diet, keeping him underweight (i swear this is a plot point guys). In the meantime, Altilis had been growing more mature. He began to be able to accept himself and realize the importance of his role in the legion. He became content with not becoming the next Kaiser.

Then it happens. Caesar is found dead. The tumor won. A large ceremony is held as Vulpes Novos Inculta is deemed the new Kaiser. His first act, he makes Altilis his advisor. For the next few years, the clones nearly double the legion's territory. During these years, Altilis's population grows, people begin respecting him more for his flawless battle plans and knowledge of terrains. One very interesting thing with Novos being the kaiser, he no longer has someone telling him what to do, particularly what to eat. This is a detriment to him, as he no longer was constantly on the battlefield and had whatever he wanted to eat at his disposal for the first time in his life, he began to get fatter. At first, it was good as he was sickly skinny. After a while though, legionaries began confusing the twins. This didn't bother Altilis but miffed Novos. Instead of changing his horrible diet, he trims his lovely blond curls and dyes it brown. Along with this, he gets more elaborate robes, having lots of pelts, feathers and gold accents. This only helped partially, as more and more legionaries began commenting to him that he reminded him of Altilis. He began to get more angry about this. They're saying he looks like him, acts like him, IS HIM? No! He wanted to be LIKE him, not him! novos needed to change this. But how. He was too stubborn to change his own ways, so he had to get rid of the problem itself: Altilis.

"Why do I have him around anyways" Novos thought, "The legion is doing just fine with me leading them."

Novos fails to recognize how much Altilis does to help the legion.

"I can't just, banish him. i mean, hell i could but that would damage my reputation to the legionaries" Novos begins to ponder. What can make him able to send him away. He wonders around fortification hill, studying all the various Tents buildings and other things. He spots it. A medium sized, shottily thrown together building. Altilis Library. His brother had been an avid scholar his whole life, collecting books of all sorts and maps too. A wealth of knowledge extremely valuable to the legion, that he let any legionary come and use. Novos chuckles lightly to himself, cocking his head. "Would be a shame if something happened to it" he says under his breath. He glides over to the building, and walks in. Altilis is there, nose in a book as usual.

"Hello Kaiser Novos" he says in a neutral tone, without looking up.

Novos doesn't respond but walks over to the desk Altilis sat at.

"I dont see you here often on your own acord" Altilis says while flipping a page in his book, "anything in particular you want? A map, im guessing?"

"Not this time. I was wondering, how do you keep this place bright even if its walled off?" Novos inquires.

Altilis looks up from his book finally. He looks at Novos dead in the eyes. "Candlelight....? Like we do in most areas??"

Novos smiles faintly "Thats what i thought." (He turns to leave before pausing. "Do you think you can do something for me?"

"Anything you wish, Kaiser Novos" Altilis says. Despite being Novos being Altilis's younger brother, Altilis still had great respect for Novos.

"I need you to gather me more intel of the terrain up north. As soon as possible, and as much as possible. Okay?"

Altilis nods. "Yes Kaiser" he says while putting his book down and goes off to grab an atlas.

"I need it soon and fast, so you will stay up until you've given me sufficient material" Novos said gruffly.

"Kaiser Novos, I will need to sleep soon, it has already been a long day for me and-"

Novos lifts his hand, shushing him.

"Yes, Kaiser Novos. My apologies" Altilis says. The scholar began to compile stacks upon stacks of information on the north as fast as he could. It drained the life out of him to stay up all that night and the next day before Novos waltz back into the Altilis's Library in the evening.

"Hows that information coming" Novos says with a hint of smugness.

Altilis, weary from his lack of sleep and studies, coughs up an answer. "Its been real tough, some of these areas seemed even uncharted before the war-"

"YOU LAZY BASTARD" Novos screamed, slamming his fist on the table. The candle, which was nearly burned down, wobbled. He slowly moves his head over to it and smirks, then looks back to Altilis. He whispers "No one is going to believe you." Altilis's weary eyes go shot. Novos bats the candle off the table. Altilis takes a moment before trying to put it out, but Novos had pounced on him, pinning him down. Altilis would have usually overpowered him, but his exhaustion made the effort futile.

"Novos! Brother! Why are you doing this?!? What have I done to deserve this??" Altilis cried.

"They were thinking i was you." Novos sneered.

"We have the same genetics! Of course they would, we are basically twins!" Altilis proclaimed.

Novos furrows his brow. "Not that, Altilis. They thought I ACTED like you, and you acted like ME. They were challenging my authority by insinuating that we are one in the same." The flames began to leap higher around the men.

"We aren't. You know we aren't. I know we aren't. I don't want to take your place, Novos!" Altilis said, beginning to squirm as the heat was getting to him.

Novos loosened his grip on his older clone. "I know you dont, but I want no questions about who's running the show. I can do this without you." A book shelf toppled under its own weight from the fire eating the wood below. A bunch of books topple onto the ground near them. They both look over and see a tattered old book. The title read "Canids." Both remember that night, oh some 15 years ago.

"But you- you said" Altilis said, confusion and fear in his eyes.

"I was a STUPID child!" Novos barked, If i woulf have known what was to come, I should have never given you that book." Novos gets up, and lets Altilis get up. Novos shoves him, causing the still exhausted altilis to stumble as novos dashes out of the flaming building. Altilis makes it out soon after.

The next day dawns. The library, where nearly all of the legion's books and other important paper records where held, was burned to the ground. Novos sat in on his perch atop of Fortification hill as he called out. "Fellow legionaries!" He cried, "Look at the devistation that was caused!" He motions to the smoking pile of wood. "I was there when it happened. My evil, EVIL, clone tried to light me ablaze! But I made it out, alive to tell the tale."

The crowd roared. Celebrating Novos surviving, and shouts of calls to kill Altilis sprang up across the mob.

"Pretorians! Bring me the criminal!" Novos shouted, almost theatrically.

4 men brought the weary Altilis before the crowd. His face reddened by the flames, clothes and accessories singed from the blaze.

The crowd began to shout, at first clattered and confused, but began to chant "crucify him!" Novos's breath hitched. He looked at the crowd and to his older brother. A man who he once loved and looked up to. He couldn't. He couldn't kill him. But the legionaries wouldn't accept sparing him. He had to give him a chance, something to make it out.

"LEGIONARIES! Calm down! I have a worse punishment in mind! Look at this man! He could survive years without food! I propse to let him rot in the dessert ALIVE."

The crowd roared again. It was settled. Novos motioned for the pretorians to follow him, which they did. The 6 walked deep into the Mojave desert before Novos grabbed Altilis from the pretorians and threw him to the ground. Altilis looked up to him, hopelessly. "Why... why didn't you just KILL me..."

Novos kneeled down to him, and gently kisses him on the forehead. "You're free, brother." He whispered. Novos gets up and walks back to fortification hill . Altilis, lying there to die.

[centrally-unplanned]

Do you think Germany could have won on the Eastern front?

Finished Stahel's Kiev book, which is basically more of the same from Barbarossa. He seems like he feels the need to prove Germany couldn't win, not just that he believes it and argues why.

From Tooze we know German war production was geared to aircraft well prior to Barbarossa, and Hitler refused to release large numbers of extra tanks until right before Typhoon. So there's at least some slack here.

I wish he turned the question around, asked what it would take to knock out the USSR, then see if Germany could've managed it.

~Woo Stahel posting! He is definitely a fun read regardless of if one agrees or doesn't. I am infamous for being a Barbarossa truther, I think Germany definitely "could have won" in the East. But of course, it is all around what we mean by that. If I was isekai'd into the head Third Reich in July of 1940 with a cadre of mutuals wielding absolutely authority, could I have beat the Soviets? Absolutely, none could possibly resist my strategic genius, honed on endless rounds of Hearts of Iron & Lesswrong blog posts. But that isn't a realistic scenario right, that isn't going to happen; Nazi Germany didn't have nearly enough hot elf chicks to attract any isekai protagonist portals, for one. We need to be specific here.

I tend to think the material constraints are definitely not overwhelming, the Nazis had a ton of slack. You mention the withheld reserves, and as you know from Stahel's earlier works the entire operation was run on blindly optimistic assumptions, the simple idea that a massive operational victory would usher in complete collapse, and so reserves were unnecessary. A me-at-the-helm Germany with no extra magical resources could still have had double the tank numbers, double the planes, probably a solidly higher cadre of rolling stock for resupply, and certainly things like better winter equipment (there would be hard limits, like truck supply isn't getting much higher I don't think). Something I have often highlighted is that while the Germans were "fuel constrained" it was with a policy of keeping fuel in reserve in large quantities, they were not close to the bottom in 1941. If they treated 1941 as "maximal effort, do-or-die", as I think they should to exploit their real-but-definitionally-temporary doctrinal-tactical advantage, they could not only have had bulkier armored formations and more supply "units" but ran more units in the field at the same time and for harsher tempos - part of why they didn't "field more tanks" is that they thought they were at their supply cap, but that was a policy choice.

I think you in other posts have shown you read the recent ACX review of How The War War Won, a stellar book. They mention in that review that the Germans had as many people working in airplane manufacturing as the US did in late war - of course making far less planes. But still, that was far higher than they were in 1941! Those people generally existed then, many were Soviet POWs but by no means all. Germany "woke up" to the stakes of their war in 1942, and began much more intensive economic mobilization then; nothing material was stopping that sooner.

Something that the Battle of Kiev also breaks down is a common idea that the Nazi operational advantage was predominantly in the surprise of the opening operation, that all their units were pristine and executing long-rehearsed plans, and that the path of Barbarossa was a sort of inevitable fade of that surprise. There is truth in that of course but Kiev was well after the surprise had worn off, and using units that on the Nazi's own operational charts said were so shredded as to be "unfit for offensive operations". And they still pulled off the greatest operational victory Nazi Germany ever achieved anyway. So much of Stahel's (very impressive and valuable) work is listing out like August 1941 memos and diary entries about how the Mud Sea of the Russian Steppe and the endless hordes of Soviet bodies had burned down the spirit of the soldiers, and how all the German officers were getting into fistfights with each other over a broken operational plan they had to pivot on the fly. But they kept winning, so?

Something I will criticize Stahel for is that, to make his case work, he needs Kiev to be exceptional, which he finds in Stalin's idiocy and meddling, making it a battle that should never have happened, that any sane leader would have averted. And Stalin is no strategic genius, for sure. But the case is way too strong - it rests on the hindsight 20/20 idea that the Soviet Union could just toss aside the economic assets of the Ukraine and just go on fighting. We know that that happened, that they could do that. But their victory masks how close to economic collapse they got, the days the spent on starvation-level calories building tanks that broke down after a single battle while running their rail stock and truck fleet into the ground. Perhaps, to not get into it right now, to only be bailed out by Lend Lease, the scale of which in 1941 the USSR could not have bet its horse on. He presents an overly rosy view of the idea of "strategic retreat" that the reality of war and internal Soviet thinking doesn't quite match.

Which is all to say that, under many timelines, the Nazis would have found victories like Kiev, and the Soviet leadership was not comically stupid. Our scenario of victory does no rely on a rigged game of the Nazi leadership becoming ubermensch while the Soviet rats witlessly scurry about their sinking ship or anything. I do think that a Nazi leadership that took the Soviets seriously, prepped intensively, understood the stakes that failing to achieve a quick victory meant a two-front war with probably the US on England's side, a war where they would be outnumbered 5 to 1, and so any price to boost the odds was worth paying, could have at least set themselves up for something like a win. Not guaranteed or anything, maybe not even 50% odds, but a solid chance.

Okay this went way longer than I expected, so to wrap it up quickly the next level is to ask - could the existing Nazi leadership have realized that? Can I kill off or brain-transplant just like few people and change how they operate enough while still keeping them as coherently the same entity? And I think to that the answer is probably not. I'll set aside the long case here, but you know it from reading Stahel - they had awful infrastructure for strategic planning, the median think tank today has a bigger staff than OKW did, they had ideological blinders on Soviet capabilities which they could not shed pre-first blood, etc.

And more importantly, in 1941 they were winning. They seemed safe, they seemed fine. Like, all that 1942 mobilization of the economy? It was done in part via mass-scale slavery and forced starvation. Something the Nazis were perfectly willing to do in 1943! But after they had just conquered Paris? Telling its new allies in Romania or whatever "hey we conquered Europe but our situation is so desperate we need forced labor battalions to man the Skoda Works factories"? This just isn't how politics works, no combatant did that in World War Two. The Allies in their ludicrous industrial might could afford that mistake; the Axis, trying to thread the needle of victory through the miracle eye of unlikely probabilities, could not. I don't think getting so deft a strategic tailor at the helm of the Nazi strategy was in the cards in 1941 in any of the "adjacent" timelines. You would need something pretty big to shift.

[spectralgecko]

A thought on AI

Mainly ChatGPT in this case.

I see a lot of people talking about how it lies and is a plagiarism machine, and how people are using as a substitute for actually learning how to do things like read or write well.

I think we're throwing out the baby with the bathwater a little.

In all, I suspect the issue here is much less that the tool is bad, but that how people use it is bad.

Objectively, yes people will use AI as an easy out to actually learning a skill. This is a problem. When you use it as a crutch, this is a problem, and it's hurting you badly. Learn how to write an email, learn how to read, what have you. If you do not have a legitimate reason like an inhibitory disability that prevents you from doing one of those things, learn how to do it yourself. It will serve you far better.

Does it lie? An AI can't "lie," but it will spit back out what it finds, and what its patterns mush together as a response. That's why you're supposed to fact check it. It can't be taken as law, it shouldn't. It's a computer that cannot exercise discernment. Fact checking should be basic, common sense. You fact check with real people, fact check your artificial intelligence.

Plagiarism - Funny thing, but you can actually ask ChatGPT to show you sources when you give it a question. And then you check those sources. You know, like that thing we do with wikipedia articles? Now, would I like to see more academic honesty with how AI works? Absolutely. Is there room for improvement? Absolutely. But there's also extant ways of using it that can mitigate that.

Here's the thing - AI is meant to be a tool. Any tool has a right and wrong way to use it. That's why people have to learn how to drive a car before they get their license. AI is a similar thing - there are good ways of using it, and bad ways. The good ways can be incredibly helpful, and the bad incredibly harmful. It becomes a question of which outweighs which, and I don't know if we can really answer that yet. Because it's accessible to everyone, I think we're going to see, and have already, what the tendency of humans is when given this tool. It may be good, it may be bad, jury is still out, and it's probably a bit soon to be making blanket statements that it's evil.

As a caution, I would urge anyone who uses ChatGPT to educate yourself on how it works, and be discerning and careful of how you use it. Be wary of whether you're using it as an out for developing a skill, as opposed to a genuine assistant in something.

For those who don't use it, that's fine. But please be thoughtful when discussing the topic, and remember that a tool, unto itself, is very rarely inherently good or bad - whether it becomes a net good or evil depends on who uses it and how. It may have legitimate potential as a valuable aid. Bu, if this leans towards a net bad, it will be more indicative of the morals or lack thereof of humanity than of the morals of AI itself.

Regardless of your thoughts on AI, please be gracious to each other. The goal of any discourse is to convince someone else, or win someone over. Winning the argument means nothing if you lose the person. People are not won by insults and shouting matches. Throwing mud at the people you disagree with will not convince them they are wrong, and it will probably goad them into digging in harder. By all means, have your discussions and arguments over this - discourse over controversy is healthy and good, but only when it's productive. Be gracious in your arguments, and you'll find them more productive. (Pardon the rather preachy ending, I just always see absolute mudslinging tournaments happening over these things.)

[realitys-ex]

A Mediocre Review of "Trust" by Hernan Diaz

So...this is an interesting book.

Lets get some core stuff out of the way for it: It was published in 2022, and won multiple awards, and it is understandable exactly why!

The story was cleverly told, the indipendent portions were in conversation with eachother (to be clarified later), the style shifts were strong, which I love, and seemed to have something valuable to say! (whether or not a book actually has something of value to say I think depends on the reader)

Overall, I give it an 8/10!

Now to brass tacks, which may or may not be a spoiler depending on ones view (also, note: I went into this book completely blind beyond: 'Read it' so I have no idea how much of this is usually told to people).

The book is divided into 4 parts, with various names underneath each portion (eventually you find out that the name is the presumable author).

The first portion is in a fairly dry style, and it tells of 2 people: A man who cares for practically nothing, but finds he loves the stock market for itself, is brilliant with it, and is intstrumental to the boom in the early 20s, and predicted the collapse in 29 early enough to make money off of it. And his young wife who is also brilliant even more so, but given more to literature, philanthropy, etc.

The second portion is written as a half finished autobiography: It tells of similar individuals, major life events are the same, but their care is deeper. The man isn't purely obsessed with the stock market for it's own sake, but believes that it is an ultimate good. The woman's life is far less tragic than the one in the first part. This portion has far more detail, the characters are more sympathetic and 3 dimensional.

The third portion is an old woman reviewing certain portions of her life, and it turns out, she was hired by the man to help him write the autobiography, because he was so infuriated by the lies in the first one (which was presented as a novel by clearly about him), that he needed it to be addressed. It more focuses on personalities, on actual life, as well as describing what the man actually said, before he had her edit it out of his "auto"biography.

The fourth portion is segments from the wife's journal, recounting a few of the major points from the narrative from her point of view, revealing the 'Truth'.

Now, here is the problem with the book: The details/plots of the first 2 and the fourth portion are irrelevant. There is no actual reason for it to be about a stockbroker. There is no need for it to have unwound the way it did. There is no true plot in those stories as a whole.

If it had been about a career politician, an Oil Barron, a theoretically over influential movie producer, the story would have been the same.

All that was required was that the Man be someone powerful enough yet semi reclusive that the rumor mills could go, that he be very good at his profession, that the wife be intelligent, and that they be involved in major nation impacting events (for both good and ill).

The 'plot' of the stories is just place settings for the 4-way conversation, and while the 4-way conversation is a delight, it's plot without being plot made me feel unsatisfied.

(The third portion, being to me the core, did require the details it had, but it's conversation with the others is of a different enough style that my point stands. At least, I think so.)

As well, I feel that he was weaker with some of styles than others, such that the enjoyability of reading each section was fairly uneven, though that may just be a 'me' thing.

In all, I feel it is a good book from an 'academic' standpoint: If you like clever stories, interesting literary techniques, etc. you'll love it!

But from a plot perspective it fell very flat.

[chusspaper]

The failure of Red Bull’s junior academy

Red Bull’s junior academy started in 2001 as the first kind of an organization of this type in Formula 1 world. Some of the drivers that became a part of the junior programme got into F1 and some were or are even very succusseful. You might have heard of people like Max Verstappen, Sebastian Vettel, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz or Pierre Gasly already. Looking at it like this, Red Bull Junior Program is the most successful one across all of them in F1. Seb was the first to win a race in their junior team, first to win the drivers championship and Max followed in his steps, also becoming a 4 times champion.

Max is their current biggest talent and also the root of the failure of the whole program. When he started defeating Daniel, Red Bull tried promoting any junior under their wing to try to find a suitable teammate for him. They put a lot of money and hopes towards Pierre’s career. They signed him in 2014 when he was competing in Formula Renault. They supported him during GP2 and gave him multiple testing opportunities, making him their official reserve driver and later giving him his first drive in F1 mid season in Toro Rosso. In 2019 he started as Red Bull’s driver except after bad results he was demoted back to the junior team before the season even finished. And that’s how Max’s never ending cycle of destroying his teammates started. It continued with Alex and now the same happened with Sergio who was the first driver they promoted into the team that didn’t come from their junior pool.

And that’s where the questions about the need for a junior academy began. If you are promoting other drivers while still nurturing young talents that beg for that seat, doesn’t it mean you failed them? In the last few years the situation became even more extreme. They are signing juniors left and right before any other junior academy has the chance to do so. They give them a year, sometimes even less, just to see how they perform. And if they decide it’s not enough for them, they will drop them, leaving them more vulnerable. In junior series, these are often career deciding moments.

Why is it never Yuki?

Yuki has been on the upcurve and he has been his best self on the track this year, which just proves he has been gaining experience in a steady way. Maybe it doesn’t make him a racing prodigy set to win the WDC in near future, but it shows how valuable he would be for Red Bull, especially as a second driver to Max Verstappen. It could be a mutually benefiting partnership with Yuki getting valuable experience from a 4 times WDC and Red Bull getting the maximum amount of points they could from the team game.

If we proceed with the team comparison, in qualifying he won head to head against both Daniel and Liam – 12:6 and 6:0 respectively. In races he also proved to be a better driver, although it was much closer with Daniel than with Liam 9:8 and 4:2 for Yuki. For a team that is in the lower half, the points are perhaps the most important figure, and even here, Yuki is the best driver out of the three by far. He scored 30 points for the team followed by Daniel with 12 and Liam with 4, meaning out of 46 total points, he scored 65 % of them. He qualified two positions higher than the other drivers with a p3. He also finished higher in the race with a p7 than any of the other two drivers did in their time in the seat this year. All of the numbers I just wrote down explain why Yuki finished p12 in the championship as opposed to his part time coworkers – Daniel in p17 and Liam in p21.

And so it looks like this has never been about the performance of the drivers and there has been other deciding factors. For one there is this personal dislike that Dr. Helmut Marko always expressed towards Yuki while praising Max for the same character traits. More interestingly, it could be the relationship Yuki has with Honda which granted him the drive in Red Bull’s junior team in the first place. With Red Bull’s partnership with Ford coming into action in 2026, Yuki becomes a puzzle piece that is no longer fitting into the equation with his Honda links. Even more so when Honda is joining Aston Martin from the same year onwards and the talks about Fernando Alonso retiring around that time become stronger.

The reasons behind signing Liam

Although Yuki got a chance to test Red Bull in the post season testing in Abu Dhabi, it’s said that it was more Honda’s doing than the team’s decision. Instead, when the news of Sergio Perez leaving the team broke out, the Yuki didn’t even cross their mind for the seat. Liam Lawson was promoted to the main team after only 11 races in F1 and non-satisfying results.

The main reasoning behind the decision was cited Liam’s agression and good work under a lot of pressure – something we can all agree Yuki has as well and sometimes has even been cruicified for. Liam’s seat in Racing Bulls will be taken by Isack Hadjar from 2025 onwards after his unsuccessful title charge in F2 in 2024.