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eponymous-rose · 2 months ago

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Monday!

It's been a while since I've done one of these week-in-the-life posts (and I LOVE reading them from others), and it's a particularly stressful week where I'm trying to stay off social media for Reasons, so hey, let's do this again!

It's a busy day, but it starts relatively late - I don't have to leave for the office until 10AM. So, you may ask, why on earth do I set my alarm for 8:30? Is it because I have an elaborate morning routine? Is it so I can hit the gym and go for a jog? No, no, no, it's because I have a little cat who takes the alarm as her cue to cuddle and I don't want to disappoint her, so I inevitably spend half an hour hugging her like a purring teddy bear first thing in the morning before I get up.

I respond to some e-mails as I get ready and on the bus ride over - mostly prep for our department's holiday party (I'm in the band and we're trying to get as much practice in as possible), but also a little work getting supercomputer access restored for an undergrad research assistant, offering to write a letter of recommendation so my colleague doesn't have to (we both know the student well and said colleague is traveling across the country for a funeral on a redeye flight tonight...), reworking some elements of the rubric for the faculty search committee I'm on, and confirming a meeting with my grad student.

10:45 - I get to the office and go to make my usual mug of tea... and realize in the moment I close my office door that the keys are still inside. I get the hot water from the lounge and meander by the office, but nobody's there. Just as I'm about to work up the nerve to go interrupt a more senior professor's meeting to borrow his keys, one of the office staff walks by and is happy to open the door for me, phew.

11:00 - My most senior grad student is doing an internship in Colorado this quarter (it's the location he most wants to do a postdoc at as well!), and we've set up a call to catch up after a few weeks without chatting. It's a bit of an awkward chat because he wants to go to his second conference in two months, and I had to bring out the "well, um, this is a side project you're doing with someone else's research group and you may want to check with them about where the $2000+ for conference costs is coming from". I possibly have an avenue - I might ask him to just attend for a couple of days instead of the whole time, so I can use some funding from a different grant, but I'm hoping we can get some cost-sharing going here, or possibly the other professor he's working with can present his poster for him if need be. Still, his work's going great and I'm hoping we can get him to this conference! He finishes his PhD this year, and I can attest to how helpful conferences are for landing postdocs.

12:00 - Speaking of grants, I had a successful grant come through late last summer to study wildfire smoke dynamics with novel instrumentation (something new to me!), and the whole team is meeting up for the first time to talk logistics! I also have to teach real soon, so I'm only on for the first chunk of the call, but we get some of the plan set up. Looks like we'll be meeting at a NASA facility early next year to do some siting stuff prior to the first controlled burn. I genuinely have no idea what I'm doing on this project, apart from being willing to write a big chunk of the proposal, but it's a good time!

12:30 - Class time! This is my domain-specific intro-to-python class that I developed 5 years ago and have been iterating on ever since. It's going a lot smoother this week than last, and the students are pretty responsive to my jokes (priority #1, lbr) and seem to be following along quite well, judging by the handful of questions I get after class. Not a ton of technical issues today, either, which is a HUGE win over last week.

1:30 - Forecasting time! I'm once again part of our university team in a giant forecasting contest. While I'm decidedly average at it (usually around 250th out of 1000 participants), my grad student was #1 for a while there. We chat in broad terms about the next week of weather in our targeted forecasting region.

2:30 - Meeting with another graduate student! We talk about some of the researchers he reached out to after his first conference a couple weeks ago, and we're starting to narrow down a possible author list for his first paper. He's working on writing up the methods and data for that paper while he incorporates a few new datasets into his preestablished workflow. He's been doing really well! Being a dual-major in CS means his code is a heckuva lot more organized than most second-year grad students I've had.

3:30 - ...nothing??? I've decided to skip my usual seminar and postpone one undergraduate student research meeting this afternoon (the one currently locked out of the supercomputer he needs for his project) since I have a couple of grant proposals due very shortly. I head out to grab some teriyaki to bring back to my office for lunch/dinner, but the restaurant just has a big sign out front saying "closed for FIRE" so I opt to go across the street for some chicken katsu and boba tea instead. I approve the final budget (coming up on a million dollars, no pressure) and keep plugging away at the statement of work (which is basically "what are you going to do, in detail, with one million dollars over the next three years? please tell us in exactly 15 pages, not counting your 3-page bibliography and 6 appendices"). I even find a perfect paper to reference to discuss one of our theories! We've made it through one round of reviews with our pre-proposal, and man, we'd love to do this project - it would be myself, a colleague, and a postdoc looking at some really novel stuff in severe storm predictability over the next three years. I also get a little work done on the invited talk I'm giving to a student journal club tomorrow, and work on some more e-mails (trying to set up a meeting with a friend's graduate student to help her out with some methods she's using from an older paper of mine).

5:15 - One of my colleagues has retired this year and has a farewell song he wants to sing at our holiday party, which happens to be mostly voice & piano, so we agree to meet up before the main practice and go over it a couple times before the rest of the band shows up and he has to head out to dinner. I'm really sorry to see him leaving (although I know he's delighted to get to spend more time with his kids and grandkids) - he and his wife were extremely welcoming when I started here, and were so kind and supportive when Mom died. Just very touched that he reached out to me to play piano on this one. Tragically, though, whoever was supposed to bring in the keyboard hasn't left it in the practice room, so we'll have to wait and run through it with the rest of the band on Thursday. Instead, it's back to the office to get caught up on e-mail and try to slog through more of the grant application (all today's research and work has netted me... 1 page of writing, blah).

6:00 - The rest of the band shows up! We run three songs of our eight-song setlist, and I'm somehow now playing on 4/8 of them, despite there being five people signed up for keys. It's a good time, though!

8:00 - I make it home and give Clara a bunch of new toys that have arrived with her prescription food (one of which she licks for 15 minutes straight). Luckily, tomorrow's work schedule is much more chill!

#eponymous job tag

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from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 11 months ago

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I’m (maybe?) almost done with a Théodred story I’ve been working on for a long time and, in looking back over some of my notes about his canon life, I couldn’t help clocking the many similarities between his experiences and those of LOTR’s other first son of a kingdom of men, Boromir. It’s not super relevant to my story, but I ended up with this running list and I’m just sticking it here because why not. None of this is groundbreaking stuff (and there are probably more) but so far I have that Théodred and Boromir both:

1. Were heirs to the leadership of their respective realms and held their land’s senior military positions (Second Marshal for Théodred—there being no First Marshal at the time—and Captain of the White Tower for Boromir).

2. Lost their mothers early (Théodred at birth and Boromir at age 10) and grew up in households run entirely by powerful fathers who never remarried.

3. Ended up taking on dangerous challenges at least in part because those fathers were both having their reason and good judgment manipulated by opponents (Théoden through the treachery of Gríma/Saruman and Denethor by the selective truths shown to him by Sauron in the palantír).

4. Got killed in a battle where their opponents were targeting them to the exclusion of others around them (Saruman’s forces at the Isen were told to kill Théodred at all costs even while “disregarding” others, and the orcs at Parth Galen fire their arrows “always at Boromir” while leaving Merry and Pip untouched).

5. Were trying to summon aid at the time they were struck down (Théodred is shouting “To me, Eorlingas!” to summon reinforcements when he’s fatally wounded. Boromir blows his great horn to alert the rest of the fellowship before he’s brought down).

6. Took massive injuries but lived long enough afterward to pass on last words in which they invoke the names of the men who will come to replace them as leaders and express the hope that those next leaders will achieve victory (Elfhelm and Grimbold believe Théodred is dead before they discover he’s still breathing just enough to say, “Let me lie here to keep the fords til Éomer comes.” Boromir, as we all know, lays there with those arrows in his chest long enough to be found by Aragorn, at which point he says, “Farewell, Aragorn. Go to Minas Tirith and save my people.”).

7. Died within hours of each other (Théodred on the night on February 25 and Boromir around midday on the 26) at the same age of 41 because, oh yeah, they were also born within months of each other.

8. Didn’t get a burial/funeral in keeping with their status and the traditions of their people because they died in awful circumstances far from home (Théodred dies and is buried by Elfhelm and Grimbold’s companies at the fords rather than in the barrows outside of Edoras with his ancestors. Boromir is sent over the falls by the three hunters instead of laying in Rath Dínen with the other kings and stewards of Gondor).

9. Mentored and protected little brother-type figures (Faramir as Boromir’s actual little brother and Éomer as Théodred’s cousin/adopted little bro) who would go on to achieve what they were unable to do themselves while alive.

10. Died unmarried and childless despite being extremely marriageable, in the primes of their lives and presumably expected to produce another heir. (There’s an explanation given for Boromir—he’s not into women and prefers fighting and arms—though there is none for Théodred.) (Like many other people, I have my own personal HC for Théodred’s romantic life, but that’s for another day.)

I’m not sure what to make of all that, but I find it interesting. We hear so often about contrasts between Gondor and Rohan—the different histories and heritages, the personality of cold, hard Denethor against kindly, grandfatherly Théoden, the magisterial stone and marble of Minas Tirith versus the rustic wood and thatch of Edoras, Gondor’s vast libraries and the Rohirrim’s oral traditions—but they’re so deeply linked as kingdoms and as individuals. By fate and by choice, they’re inextricably tied together, and I love the amount of detail that went into creating and including the subtle parallels between the first sons of each land as just one more way to see those ties play out.

#lord of the rings #lotr #boromir #theodred #théodred #rohan #gondor #oath of eorl #first sons #shared histories #meta

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ridenwithbiden · 2 months ago

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"In April 2020, Vanessa Guillén, a 20-year-old Army private, was bludgeoned to death by a fellow soldier at Fort Hood, in Texas. The killer, aided by his girlfriend, burned Guillén’s body. Guillén’s remains were discovered two months later, buried in a riverbank near the base, after a massive search.

In the meeting, Trump maintained a dignified posture and expressed sympathy to Guillén’s mother. “I saw what happened to your daughter Vanessa, who was a spectacular person, and respected and loved by everybody, including in the military,” Trump said. Later in the conversation, he made a promise: “If I can help you out with the funeral, I’ll help—I’ll help you with that,” he said. “I’ll help you out. Financially, I’ll help you.”

Natalie Khawam, the family’s attorney, responded, “I think the military will be paying—taking care of it.” Trump replied, “Good. They’ll do a military. That’s good. If you need help, I’ll help you out.” Later, a reporter covering the meeting asked Trump, “Have you offered to do that for other families before?” Trump responded, “I have. I have. Personally. I have to do it personally. I can’t do it through government.” The reporter then asked: “So you’ve written checks to help for other families before this?” Trump turned to the family, still present, and said, “I have, I have, because some families need help … Maybe you don’t need help, from a financial standpoint. I have no idea what—I just think it’s a horrific thing that happened. And if you did need help, I’m going to—I’ll be there to help you.”

A public memorial service was held in Houston two weeks after the White House meeting. It was followed by a private funeral and burial in a local cemetery, attended by, among others, the mayor of Houston and the city’s police chief. Highways were shut down, and mourners lined the streets.

According to a person close to Trump at the time, the president was agitated by McCarthy’s comments and raised questions about the severity of the punishments dispensed to senior officers and noncommissioned officers.

In an Oval Office meeting on December 4, 2020, officials gathered to discuss a separate national-security issue. Toward the end of the discussion, Trump asked for an update on the McCarthy investigation. Christopher Miller, the acting secretary of defense (Trump had fired his predecessor, Mark Esper, three weeks earlier, writing in a tweet, “Mark Esper has been terminated”), was in attendance, along with Miller’s chief of staff, Kash Patel. At a certain point, according to two people present at the meeting, Trump asked, “Did they bill us for the funeral? What did it cost?”

According to attendees, and to contemporaneous notes of the meeting taken by a participant, an aide answered: Yes, we received a bill; the funeral cost $60,000.

Khawam, the family attorney, told me she sent the bill to the White House, but no money was ever received by the family from Trump. Some of the costs, Khawam said, were covered by the Army (which offered, she said, to allow Guillén to be buried at Arlington National Cemetery) and some were covered by donations. Ultimately, Guillén was buried in Houston.

Shortly after I emailed a series of questions to a Trump spokesperson, Alex Pfeiffer, I received an email from Khawam, who asked me to publish a statement from Mayra Guillén, Vanessa’s sister. Pfeiffer then emailed me the same statement. “I am beyond grateful for all the support President Donald Trump showed our family during a trying time,” the statement reads. “I witnessed firsthand how President Trump honors our nation’s heroes’ service. We are grateful for everything he has done and continues to do to support our troops.”

The statement from Patel that Pfeiffer sent me said: “As someone who was present in the room with President Trump, he strongly urged that Spc. Vanessa Guillen’s grieving family should not have to bear the cost of any funeral arrangements, even offering to personally pay himself in order to honor her life and sacrifice. In addition, President Trump was able to have the Department of Defense designate her death as occurring ‘in the line of duty,’ which gave her full military honors and provided her family access to benefits, services, and complete financial assistance.”

A desire to force U.S. military leaders to be obedient to him and not the Constitution is one of the constant themes of Trump’s military-related discourse. Former officials have also cited other recurring themes: his denigration of military service, his ignorance of the provisions of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, his admiration for brutality and anti-democratic norms of behavior, and his contempt for wounded veterans and for soldiers who fell in battle.

Retired General Barry McCaffrey, a decorated Vietnam veteran, told me that Trump does not comprehend such traditional military virtues as honor and self-sacrifice. “The military is a foreign country to him. He doesn’t understand the customs or codes,” McCaffrey said. “It doesn’t penetrate. It starts with the fact that he thinks it’s foolish to do anything that doesn’t directly benefit himself.”

I’ve been interested in Trump’s understanding of military affairs for nearly a decade. At first, it was cognitive dissonance that drew me to the subject—according to my previous understanding of American political physics, Trump’s disparagement of the military, and in particular his obsessive criticism of the war record of the late Senator John McCain, should have profoundly alienated Republican voters, if not Americans generally. And in part my interest grew from the absolute novelty of Trump’s thinking. This country had never seen, to the best of my knowledge, a national political figure who insulted veterans, wounded warriors, and the fallen with metronomic regularity.

Today—two weeks before an election that could see Trump return to the White House—I’m most interested in his evident desire to wield military power, and power over the military, in the manner of Hitler and other dictators.

Trump’s singularly corrosive approach to military tradition was in evidence as recently as August, when he described the Medal of Honor, the nation’s top award for heroism and selflessness in combat, as inferior to the Medal of Freedom, which is awarded to civilians for career achievement. During a campaign speech, he described Medal of Honor recipients as “either in very bad shape because they’ve been hit so many times by bullets or they’re dead,” prompting the Veterans of Foreign Wars to issue a condemnation: “These asinine comments not only diminish the significance of our nation’s highest award for valor, but also crassly characterizes the sacrifices of those who have risked their lives above and beyond the call of duty.” Later in August, Trump caused controversy by violating federal regulations prohibiting the politicization of military cemeteries, after a campaign visit to Arlington in which he gave a smiling thumbs-up while standing behind gravestones of fallen American soldiers.

His Medal of Honor comments are of a piece with his expressed desire to receive a Purple Heart without being wounded. He has also equated business success to battlefield heroism. In the summer of 2016, Khizr Khan, the father of a 27-year-old Army captain who had been killed in Iraq, told the Democratic National Convention that Trump has “sacrificed nothing.” In response, Trump disparaged the Khan family and said, “I think I’ve made a lot of sacrifices. I work very, very hard. I’ve created thousands and thousands of jobs, tens of thousands of jobs, built great structures.”

One former Trump-administration Cabinet secretary told me of a conversation he’d had with Trump during his time in office about the Vietnam War. Trump famously escaped the draft by claiming that his feet were afflicted with bone spurs. (“I had a doctor that gave me a letter—a very strong letter on the heels,” Trump told The New York Times in 2016.) Once, when the subject of aging Vietnam veterans came up in conversation, Trump offered this observation to the Cabinet official: “Vietnam would have been a waste of time for me. Only suckers went to Vietnam.”

In 1997, Trump told the radio host Howard Stern that avoiding sexually transmitted diseases was “my personal Vietnam. I feel like a great and very brave soldier.” This was not the only time Trump has compared his sexual exploits and political challenges to military service. Last year, at a speech before a group of New York Republicans, while discussing the fallout from the release of the Access Hollywood tape, he said, “I went onto that (debate) stage just a few days later and a general, who’s a fantastic general, actually said to me, ‘Sir, I’ve been on the battlefield. Men have gone down on my left and on my right. I stood on hills where soldiers were killed. But I believe the bravest thing I’ve ever seen was the night you went onto that stage with Hillary Clinton after what happened.’” I asked Trump-campaign officials to provide the name of the general who allegedly said this. Pfeiffer, the campaign spokesman, said, “This is a true story and there is no good reason to give the name of an honorable man to The Atlantic so you can smear him.”

In their book, The Divider: Trump in the White House, Peter Baker and Susan Glasser reported that Trump asked John Kelly, his chief of staff at the time, “Why can’t you be like the German generals?” Trump, at various points, had grown frustrated with military officials he deemed disloyal and disobedient. (Throughout the course of his presidency, Trump referred to flag officers as “my generals.”) According to Baker and Glasser, Kelly explained to Trump that German generals “tried to kill Hitler three times and almost pulled it off.” This correction did not move Trump to reconsider his view: “No, no, no, they were totally loyal to him,” the president responded.

This week, I asked Kelly about their exchange. He told me that when Trump raised the subject of “German generals,” Kelly responded by asking, “‘Do you mean Bismarck’s generals?’” He went on: “I mean, I knew he didn’t know who Bismarck was, or about the Franco-Prussian War. I said, ‘Do you mean the kaiser’s generals? Surely you can’t mean Hitler’s generals? And he said, ‘Yeah, yeah, Hitler’s generals.’ I explained to him that Rommel had to commit suicide after taking part in a plot against Hitler.” Kelly told me Trump was not acquainted with Rommel.

Baker and Glasser also reported that Mark Milley, the former chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, feared that Trump’s “‘Hitler-like’ embrace of the big lie about the election would prompt the president to seek out a ‘Reichstag moment.’”

Kelly—a retired Marine general who, as a young man, had volunteered to serve in Vietnam despite actually suffering from bone spurs—said in an interview for the CNN reporter Jim Sciutto’s book, The Return of Great Powers, that Trump praised aspects of Hitler’s leadership. “He said, ‘Well, but Hitler did some good things,’” Kelly recalled. “I said, ‘Well, what?’ And he said, ‘Well, (Hitler) rebuilt the economy.’ But what did he do with that rebuilt economy? He turned it against his own people and against the world.” Kelly admonished Trump: “I said, ‘Sir, you can never say anything good about the guy. Nothing.’”

This wasn’t the only time Kelly felt compelled to instruct Trump on military history. In 2018, Trump asked Kelly to explain who “the good guys” were in World War I. Kelly responded by explaining a simple rule: Presidents should, as a matter of politics and policy, remember that the “good guys” in any given conflict are the countries allied with the United States. Despite Trump’s lack of historical knowledge, he has been on record as saying that he knew more than his generals about warfare. He told 60 Minutes in 2018 that he knew more about NATO than James Mattis, his secretary of defense at the time, a retired four-star Marine general who had served as a NATO official. Trump also said, on a separate occasion, that it was he, not Mattis, who had “captured” the Islamic State.

As president, Trump evinced extreme sensitivity to criticism from retired flag officers; at one point, he proposed calling back to active duty Admiral William McRaven and General Stanley McChrystal, two highly regarded Special Operations leaders who had become critical of Trump, so that they could be court-martialed. Esper, who was the defense secretary at the time, wrote in his memoir that he and Milley talked Trump out of the plan. (Asked about criticism from McRaven, who oversaw the raid that killed Osama bin Laden, Trump responded by calling him a “Hillary Clinton backer and an Obama backer” and said, “Wouldn’t it have been nice if we got Osama bin Laden a lot sooner than that?”)

Trump has responded incredulously when told that American military personnel swear an oath to the Constitution, not to the president. According to the New York Times reporter Michael S. Schmidt’s recent book, Donald Trump v. the United States, Trump asked Kelly, “Do you really believe you’re not loyal to me?” Kelly answered, “I’m certainly part of the administration, but my ultimate loyalty is to the rule of law.” Trump also publicly floated the idea of “termination of all rules, regulations, and articles, even those found in the Constitution,” as part of the effort to overturn the 2020 presidential election and keep himself in power.

On separate occasions in 2020, Trump held private conversations in the White House with national-security officials about the George Floyd protests. “The Chinese generals would know what to do,” he said, according to former officials who described the conversations to me, referring to the leaders of the People’s Liberation Army, which carried out the Tiananmen Square massacre in 1989. (Pfeiffer denied that Trump said this.) Trump’s desire to deploy U.S. troops against American citizens is well documented. During the nerve-racking period of social unrest following Floyd’s death, Trump asked Milley and Esper, a West Point graduate and former infantry officer, if the Army could shoot protesters. “Trump seemed unable to think straight and calmly,” Esper wrote in his memoir. “The protests and violence had him so enraged that he was willing to send in active-duty forces to put down the protesters. Worse yet, he suggested we shoot them. I wondered about his sense of history, of propriety, and of his oath to the Constitution.” Esper told National Public Radio in 2022, “We reached that point in the conversation where he looked frankly at General Milley, and said, ‘Can’t you just shoot them, just shoot them in the legs or something?’” When defense officials argued against Trump’s desire, the president screamed, according to witnesses, “You are all fucking losers!”

Trump has often expressed his esteem for the type of power wielded by such autocrats as the Chinese leader Xi Jinping; his admiration, even jealousy, of Vladimir Putin is well known. In recent days, he has signaled that, should he win reelection in November, he would like to govern in the manner of these dictators—he has said explicitly that he would like to be a dictator for a day on his first day back in the White House—and he has threatened to, among other things, unleash the military on “radical-left lunatics.” (One of his four former national security advisers, John Bolton, wrote in his memoir, “It is a close contest between Putin and Xi Jinping who would be happiest to see Trump back in office.”)

Military leaders have condemned Trump for possessing autocratic tendencies. At his retirement ceremony last year, Milley said, “We don’t take an oath to a king, or a queen, or to a tyrant or dictator, and we don’t take an oath to a wannabe dictator … We take an oath to the Constitution, and we take an oath to the idea that is America, and we’re willing to die to protect it.” Over the past several years, Milley has privately told several interlocutors that he believed Trump to be a fascist. Many other leaders have also been shocked by Trump’s desire for revenge against his domestic critics. At the height of the Floyd protests, Mattis wrote, “When I joined the military, some 50 years ago, I swore an oath to support and defend the Constitution. Never did I dream that troops taking that same oath would be ordered under any circumstance to violate the Constitutional rights of their fellow citizens.”

Trump’s frustration with American military leaders led him to disparage them regularly. In their book A Very Stable Genius, Carol Leonnig and Philip Rucker, both of The Washington Post, reported that in 2017, during a meeting at the Pentagon, Trump screamed at a group of generals: “I wouldn’t go to war with you people. You’re a bunch of dopes and babies.” And in his book Rage, Bob Woodward reported that Trump complained that “my fucking generals are a bunch of pussies. They care more about their alliances than they do about trade deals.”

Trump has often expressed his love for the trappings of martial power, demanding of his aides that they stage the sort of armor-heavy parades foreign to American tradition. Civilian aides and generals alike pushed back. In one instance, Air Force General Paul Selva, who was then serving as vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, told the president that he had been partially raised in Portugal, which, he explained, “was a dictatorship—and parades were about showing the people who had the guns. In America, we don’t do that. It’s not who we are.”

For Republicans in 2012, it was John McCain who served as a model of “who we are.” But by 2015, the party had shifted. In July of that year, Trump, then one of several candidates for the Republican presidential nomination, made a statement that should have ended his campaign. At a forum for Christian conservatives in Iowa, Trump said of McCain, “He’s not a war hero. He is a war hero because he was captured. I like people who weren’t captured.”

It was an astonishing statement, and an introduction to the wider public of Trump’s uniquely corrosive view of McCain, and of his aberrant understanding of the nature of American military heroism. This wasn’t the first time Trump had insulted McCain’s war record. As early as 1999, he was insulting McCain. In an interview with Dan Rather that year, Trump asked, “Does being captured make you a hero? I don’t know. I’m not sure.” (A brief primer: McCain, who had flown 22 combat missions before being shot down over Hanoi, was tortured almost continuously by his Communist captors, and turned down repeated offers to be released early, insisting that prisoners be released in the order that they’d been captured. McCain suffered physically from his injuries until his death, in 2018.) McCain partisans believe, with justification, that Trump’s loathing was prompted in part by McCain’s ability to see through Trump. “John didn’t respect him, and Trump knew that,” Mark Salter, McCain’s longtime aide and co-author, told me. “John McCain had a code. Trump only has grievances and impulses and appetites. In the deep recesses of his man-child soul, he knew that McCain and his achievements made him look like a mutt.”

Trump, those who have worked for him say, is unable to understand the military norm that one does not leave fellow soldiers behind on the battlefield. As president, Trump told senior advisers that he didn’t understand why the U.S. government placed such value on finding soldiers missing in action. To him, they could be left behind, because they had performed poorly by getting captured.

My reporting during Trump’s term in office led me to publish on this site, in September 2020, an article about Trump’s attitudes toward McCain and other veterans, and his views about the ideal of national service itself. The story was based on interviews with multiple sources who had firsthand exposure to Trump and his views. In that piece, I detailed numerous instances of Trump insulting soldiers, flag officers and veterans alike. I wrote extensively about Trump’s reaction to McCain’s death in August 2018: The president told aides, “We’re not going to support that loser’s funeral,” and he was infuriated when he saw flags at the White House lowered to half-mast. “What the fuck are we doing that for? Guy was a fucking loser,” he said angrily. Only when Kelly told Trump that he would get “killed in the press” for showing such disrespect did the president relent. In the article, I also reported that Trump had disparaged President George H. W. Bush, a World War II naval aviator, for getting shot down by the Japanese. Two witnesses told me that Trump said, “I don’t get it. Getting shot down makes you a loser.” (Bush ultimately evaded capture, but eight other fliers were caught and executed by the Japanese).

The next year, White House officials demanded that the Navy keep the U.S.S. John S. McCain, which was named for McCain’s father and grandfather—both esteemed admirals—out of Trump’s sight during a visit to Japan. The Navy did not comply.

Trump’s preoccupation with McCain has not abated. In January, Trump condemned McCain—six years after his death—for having supported President Barack Obama’s health-care plan. “We’re going to fight for much better health care than Obamacare,” Trump told an Iowa crowd. “Obamacare is a catastrophe. Nobody talks about it. You know, without John McCain, we would have had it done. John McCain for some reason couldn’t get his arm up that day. Remember?” This was, it appears, a malicious reference to McCain’s wartime injuries—including injuries suffered during torture—which limited his upper-body mobility.

I’ve also previously reported on Trump’s 2017 Memorial Day visit to Arlington National Cemetery. Kelly, who was then the secretary of homeland security, accompanied him. The two men visited Section 60, the 14-acre section that is the burial ground for those killed in America’s most recent wars (and the site of Trump’s Arlington controversy earlier this year). Kelly’s son Robert, a Marine officer killed in 2010 in Afghanistan, is buried in Section 60. Trump, while standing by Robert Kelly’s grave, turned to his father and said, “I don’t get it. What was in it for them?” At first, Kelly believed that Trump was making a reference to the selflessness of America’s all-volunteer force. But later he came to realize that Trump simply does not understand nontransactional life choices. I quoted one of Kelly’s friends, a fellow retired four-star general, who said of Trump, “He can’t fathom the idea of doing something for someone other than himself. He just thinks that anyone who does anything when there’s no direct personal gain to be had is a sucker.” At moments when Kelly was feeling particularly frustrated by Trump, he would leave the White House and cross the Potomac to visit his son’s grave, in part to remind himself about the nature of full-measure sacrifice.

Last year Kelly told me, in reference to Mark Milley’s 44 years in uniform, “The president couldn’t fathom people who served their nation honorably.”

The specific incident I reported in the 2020 article that gained the most attention also provided the story with its headline—“Trump: Americans Who Died in War Are ‘Losers’ and ‘Suckers.’” The story concerned a visit Trump made to France in 2018, during which the president called Americans buried in a World War I cemetery “losers.” He said, in the presence of aides, “Why should I go to that cemetery? It’s filled with losers.” At another moment during this trip, he referred to the more than 1,800 Marines who had lost their lives at Belleau Wood as “suckers” for dying for their country.

Trump had already been scheduled to visit one cemetery, and he did not understand why his team was scheduling a second cemetery visit, especially considering that the rain would be hard on his hair. “Why two cemeteries?” Trump asked. “What the fuck?” Kelly subsequently canceled the second visit, and attended a ceremony there himself with General Dunford and their wives.

The article sparked great controversy, and provoked an irate reaction from the Trump administration, and from Trump himself. In tweets, statements, and press conferences in the days, weeks, and years that followed, Trump labeled The Atlantic a “second-rate magazine,” a “failing magazine,” a “terrible magazine,” and a “third-rate magazine that’s not going to be in business much longer”; he also referred to me as a “con man,” among other things. Trump has continued these attacks recently, calling me a “horrible, radical-left lunatic named Goldberg” at a rally this summer.

In the days after my original article was published, both the Associated Press and, notably, Fox News, confirmed the story, causing Trump to demand that Fox fire Jennifer Griffin, its experienced and well-regarded defense reporter. A statement issued by Alyssa Farah, a White House spokesperson, soon after publication read, “This report is false. President Trump holds the military in the highest regard.”

Shortly after the story appeared, Farah asked numerous White House officials if they had heard Trump refer to veterans and war dead as suckers or losers. She reported publicly that none of the officials she asked had heard him use these terms. Eventually, Farah came out in opposition to Trump. She wrote on X last year that she’d asked the president if my story was true. “Trump told me it was false. That was a lie.”

When I spoke to Farah, who is now known as Alyssa Farah Griffin, this week, she said, “I understood that people were skeptical about the ‘suckers and losers’ story, and I was in the White House pushing back against it. But he said this to John Kelly’s face, and I fundamentally, absolutely believe that John Kelly is an honorable man who served our country and who loves and respects our troops. I’ve heard Donald Trump speak in a dehumanizing way about so many groups. After working for him in 2020 and hearing his continuous attacks on service members since that time, including my former boss General Mark Milley, I firmly and unequivocally believe General Kelly’s account.”

(Pfeiffer, the Trump spokesperson, said, in response, “Alyssa is a scorned former employee now lying in her pursuit to chase liberal adulation. President Trump would never insult our nation’s heroes.”)

Last year, I published a story in this magazine about Milley that coincided with the end of his four-year term. In it, I detailed his tumultuous relationship with Trump. Milley had resisted Trump’s autocratic urges, and also argued against his many thoughtless and impetuous national-security impulses. Shortly after that story appeared, Trump publicly suggested that Milley be executed for treason. This astonishing statement caused John Kelly to speak publicly about Trump and his relationship to the military. Kelly, who had previously called Trump “the most flawed person I have ever met in my life,” told CNN’s Jake Tapper that Trump had referred to American prisoners of war as “suckers” and described as “losers” soldiers who died while fighting for their country.

“What can I add that has not already been said?” Kelly asked. “A person that thinks those who defend their country in uniform, or are shot down or seriously wounded in combat, or spend years being tortured as POWs, are all ‘suckers’ because ‘there is nothing in it for them.’ A person that did not want to be seen in the presence of military amputees because ‘it doesn’t look good for me.’ A person who demonstrated open contempt for a Gold Star family—for all Gold Star families—on TV during the 2016 campaign, and rants that our most precious heroes who gave their lives in America’s defense are ‘losers’ and wouldn’t visit their graves in France.”

When we spoke this week, Kelly told me, “President Trump used the terms suckers and losers to describe soldiers who gave their lives in the defense of our country. There are many, many people who have heard him say these things. The visit to France wasn’t the first time he said this.”

Kelly and others have taken special note of the revulsion Trump feels in the presence of wounded veterans. After Trump attended a Bastille Day parade in France, he told Kelly and others that he would like to stage his own parade in Washington, but without the presence of wounded veterans. “I don’t want them,” Trump said. “It doesn’t look good for me.”

Milley also witnessed Trump’s disdain for the wounded. Milley had chosen a severely wounded Army captain, Luis Avila, to sing “God Bless America” at his installation ceremony in 2019. Avila, who had completed five combat tours, had lost a leg in an improvised-explosive-device attack in Afghanistan, and had suffered two heart attacks, two strokes, and brain damage as a result of his injuries. Avila is considered a hero up and down the ranks of the Army.

It had rained earlier on the day of the ceremony, and the ground was soft; at one point Avila’s wheelchair almost toppled over. Milley’s wife, Hollyanne, ran to help Avila, as did then–Vice President Mike Pence. After Avila’s performance, Trump walked over to congratulate him, but then said to Milley, within earshot of several witnesses, “Why do you bring people like that here? No one wants to see that, the wounded.” Never let Avila appear in public again, Trump told Milley.

An equally serious challenge to Milley’s sense of duty came in the form of Trump’s ignorance of the rules of war. In November 2019, Trump intervened in three different brutality cases then being adjudicated by the military. In the most infamous case, the Navy SEAL Eddie Gallagher had been found guilty of posing with the corpse of an ISIS member. Though Gallagher was found not guilty of murder, witnesses testified that he’d stabbed the prisoner in the neck with a hunting knife. In a highly unusual move, Trump reversed the Navy’s decision to demote him. A junior Army officer named Clint Lorance was also the recipient of Trump’s sympathy. Trump pardoned Lorance, who had been convicted of ordering the shooting of three unarmed Afghans, two of whom died. And in a third case, a Green Beret named Mathew Golsteyn was accused of killing an unarmed Afghan he thought was a Taliban bomb maker. “I stuck up for three great warriors against the deep state,” Trump said at a Florida rally.

In the Gallagher case, Trump intervened to allow Gallagher to keep his Trident insignia, one of the most coveted insignia in the entire U.S. military. The Navy’s leadership found this intervention particularly offensive because tradition held that only a commanding officer or a group of SEALs on a Trident Review Board were supposed to decide who merited being a SEAL. Milley tried to convince Trump that his intrusion was hurting Navy morale. They were flying from Washington to Dover Air Force Base, in Delaware, to attend a “dignified transfer,” a repatriation ceremony for fallen service members, when Milley tried to explain to Trump the damage that his interventions were doing.

In my story, I reported that Milley said, “Mr. President, you have to understand that the SEALs are a tribe within a larger tribe, the Navy. And it’s up to them to figure out what to do with Gallagher. You don’t want to intervene. This is up to the tribe. They have their own rules that they follow.”

Trump called Gallagher a hero and said he didn’t understand why he was being punished.

“Because he slit the throat of a wounded prisoner,” Milley said.

“The guy was going to die anyway,” Trump said.

Milley answered, “Mr. President, we have military ethics and laws about what happens in battle. We can’t do that kind of thing. It’s a war crime.” Trump said he didn’t understand “the big deal.” He went on, “You guys”—meaning combat soldiers—“are all just killers. What’s the difference?”

Milley then summoned one of his aides, a combat-veteran SEAL officer, to the president’s Air Force One office. Milley took hold of the Trident pin on the SEAL’s chest and asked him to describe its importance. The aide explained to Trump that, by tradition, only SEALs can decide, based on assessments of competence and character, whether one of their own should lose his pin. But the president’s mind was not changed. Gallagher kept his pin.

One day, in the first year of Trump’s presidency, I had lunch with Jared Kushner, Trump’s son-in-law, in his White House office. I turned the discussion, as soon as I could, to the subject of his father-in-law’s character. I mentioned one of Trump’s recent outbursts and told Kushner that, in my opinion, the president’s behavior was damaging to the country. I cited, as I tend to do, what is in my view Trump’s original sin: his mockery of John McCain’s heroism.

This is where our conversation got strange, and noteworthy. Kushner answered in a way that made it seem as though he agreed with me. “No one can go as low as the president,” he said. “You shouldn’t even try.”

I found this baffling for a moment. But then I understood: Kushner wasn’t insulting his father-in-law. He was paying him a compliment. In Trump’s mind, traditional values—values including those embraced by the armed forces of the United States having to do with honor, self-sacrifice, and integrity—have no merit, no relevance, and no meaning."

Jeffrey Goldberg is the editor in chief of The Atlantic and the moderator of Washington Week With The Atlantic.

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scilessweetheart · 1 year ago

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quotes from my senior year lit class’s modern adaptation of hamlet (titled “keeping up with hamlet”) that only get funnier the longer they sit in my brain

“how are you doing?” “oh, you know. same soup, just reheated, baby!” - hamlet, pulling a monster energy drink out of an industrial sized fridge

“polonius! why’d you stand under my copy of the atlantic?” -hamlet, after beating him to death

*snorts a line of coke and then introduces herself* - gertrude

*tagline in asides is “feels super awkward”* - hortatio

“listen to me. hamlet’s a douchebag!” - laertes

*played by a 6 foot man with a thot knot and a scrunchie* - ophelia

“he gave me his favorite monster tab necklace! plus, he’s an aries and i’m a libra. we’re a match. i even checked his natal chart.” - ophelia

“women! they’re so caught up in things. they don’t even know about the stock market. it just… it saddens me.” - polonius

*reading texts from hamlet to ophelia* “‘ophelia. i love you. i dream of smelling your skin when you sleep. if you don’t love me i will kill myself.’ you know. some real criminal minds shit.” - polonius

“life’s a prison and you’re my cell mate, guildencrantz!” - hamlet

“hey hamlet, what are you doing?” “watching the… moving pictures. have you ever seen one?” “…. you mean a movie? the tvs not even on.” - polonius and hamlet

“ophelia! you stay here and read this fanfiction. he’ll think you’re all alone.” - gertrude

*hamlet starts his famous monologue* “not this emo shit again” - polonius

“please just take your monster tab necklace back… it’s sticky.” - ophelia

“hah! that stain on the couch looks like a camel.” - hamlet

“i’m actually sending hamlet to [rival school] to be put to death. that way he’ll stop being such a little dickhead.” - claudius

“look at these two men! this is claudius and this is your husband!” *holds up a picture of handsome squidward and willy shakes* - hamlet

“great i’m going to have to kill you. this is my mob, by the way.” - laertes

“here lies the poor, dead, super dead, ophelia.” “babe! no! babe! aw fuck, the fair ophelia!” - hamlet at the funeral

“funeral costs are so expensive. *to the camera guy* how much are the royalties on this?” - horatio

#the target audience for this is so small and yet i couldn’t help myself #hamlet #i was funnier at 17 than i will ever be #also i played laertes in case you were wondering

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

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Private equity finally delivered Sarah Palin's death panels

Tonight (Apr 26), I’ll be in Burbank, signing Red Team Blues at Dark Delicacies at 6PM.

Remember “death panels”? Sarah Palin promised us that universal healthcare was a prelude to a Stalinist nightmare in which unaccountable bureaucrats decided who lived or died based on a cost-benefit analysis of what it would cost to keep you alive versus how much your life was worth.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/26/death-panels/#what-the-heck-is-going-on-with-CMS

Palin was right that any kind of healthcare rationing runs the risk of this kind of calculus, where we weight spending $10,000 to extend a young, healthy person’s life by 40 years against $1,000 to extend an elderly, disabled person’s life by a mere two years.

It’s a ghastly, nightmarish prospect — as anyone who uses the private healthcare system knows very well. More than 27m Americans have no health insurance, and millions more have been tricked into buying scam “cost-sharing” systems run by evangelical grifters:

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/01/02/health/christian-health-care-insurance.html

But for the millions of Americans with insurance, death panels are an everyday occurrence, or at least a lurking concern. Anyone who pays attention knows that insurers have entire departments designed to mass-reject legitimate claims and stall patients who demand that the insurer lives up to its claim:

https://kffhealthnews.org/news/article/khn-podcast-an-arm-and-a-leg-how-to-shop-for-health-insurance-november-24-2021/

The private healthcare sector is designed to deny care. Its first duty is to its shareholders, not its patients, and every dollar spent on care is a dollar not available for dividends. The ideal insurance customer pays their premiums without complaint, and then pays cash for all their care on top of it.

All that was true even before private equity started buying up and merging whole swathes of the US healthcare system (or “healthcare” “system”). The PE playbook — slash wages, sell off physical plant, slash wages, reduce quality and raise prices — works in part because of its scale. These aren’t the usual economies of scale. Rather the PE strategy is to buy and merge all the similar businesses in a region, so customers, suppliers and workers have nowhere else to turn.

That’s bad enough when it’s aimed at funeral homes, pet groomers or any of the other sectors that have been bigfooted by PE:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

But it’s especially grave when applied to hospitals:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/21/profitable-butchers/#looted

Or emergency room physicians:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/14/unhealthy-finances/#steins-law

And if you think that’s a capitalist hellscape nightmare, just imagine how PE deals with dying, elderly people. Yes, PE has transformed the hospice industry, and it’s even worse than you imagine.

Yesterday, the Center for Economic and Policy Research published “Preying on the Dying: Private Equity Gets Rich in Hospice Care,” written by some of the nation’s most valiant PE slayers: Eileen Appelbaum, Rosemary Batt and Emma Curchin:

https://cepr.net/report/preying-on-the-dying-private-equity-gets-rich-in-hospice-care/

Medicare pays private hospices $203-$1,462 per day to take care of dying old people — seniors that a doctor has certified to have less than six months left. That comes to $22.4b/year in public transfers to private hospices. If hospices that $1,462 day-rate, they have lots of duties, like providing eight hours’ worth of home care. But if the hospice is content to take the $203/day rate, they are not required to do anything. Literally. It’s just free money for whatever the operator feels like doing for a dying elderly person, including doing nothing at all.

As Appelbaum told Maureen Tkacik for her excellent writeup in The American Prospect: “Why anybody commits fraud is a mystery to me, because you can make so much money playing within the guidelines the way the payment scheme operates.”

https://prospect.org/health/2023-04-26-born-to-die-hospice-care/

In California, it’s very, very easy to set up a hospice. Pay $3,000, fill in some paperwork (or don’t — no one checks it, ever), and you’re ready to start caring for beloved parents, grandparents, sisters, brothers, aunts and uncles as they depart this world. You do get a site inspection, but don’t worry — you aren’t required to bring your site up to code until after you’re licensed, and again, they never check — not even if there are multiple complaints. After all, no one at the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services (CMS) has the job of tracking complaints.

This is absolute catnip for private equity — free government money, no obligations, no enforcement, and the people you harm are literally dying and can’t complain. What’s not to like? No wonder PE companies have spent billions “rolling up” hospices across the country. There are 591 hospices in Van Nuys, CA alone — but at least 30 of them share a single medical director:

https://auditor.ca.gov/reports/2021-123/index.html#pg34A

Medicare caps per-patient dispersals at $32,000, which presents an interesting commercial question for remorseless, paperclip-maximizing, grandparent-devouring private equity ghouls: do you take in sick patients (who cost more, but die sooner) or healthy patients (cost less, potentially live longer)?

In Van Nuys, the strategy is to bring in healthy patients and do nothing. 51% of Van Nuys hospice patients are “live discharged” — that is, they don’t die. This figure — triple the national average — is “a reliable sign of fraud.”

There are so many hospice scams and most of them are so stupid that it takes a monumental failure of oversight not to catch and prevent them. Here’s a goodun: hospices bribe doctors to “admit” patients to a hospice without their knowledge. The hospice bills for the patient, but otherwise has no contact with them. This can go on for a long time, until the patient tries to visit the doctor and discovers that their Medicare has been canceled (you lose your Medicare once you go into hospice).

Another scam: offer patients the loosest narcotics policy in town, promising all the opioids they want. Then, once their benefits expire, let them die of an overdose (don’t worry, people who die in hospice don’t get autopsies):

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2022/12/05/how-hospice-became-a-for-profit-hustle

You can hire con artists to serve as your sales-force, and have them talk vulnerable, elderly people into enrolling in hospice care by convincing them they have nothing to live for and should just die already and not burden their loved ones any longer.

Hospitals and hospices also collude: hospitals can revive dying patients, ignoring their Do Not Resuscitate orders, so they can be transfered to a hospice and die there, saving the hospital from adding another dead patient to their stats.CMS’s solution is perverse: they’re working with Humana to expand Medicare Advantage (a scam that convinces patients to give up Medicare and enrol in a private insurance program, whose private-sector death panel rejects 13% of claims that Medicare would have paid for). The program will pay private companies $32,000 for every patient who agrees to cease care and die. As our friends on the right like to say, “incentives matter.”

Appelbaum and co have a better idea:

Do more enforcement: increase inspections and audits.

Block mergers and rollups of hospices that make them too big to fail and too big to jail.

Close existing loopholes.

They should know. Appelbaum and her co-authors write the best, most incisive analysis of private equity around. For more of their work, check out their proposal for ending pension-plan ripoffs by Wall Street firms:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/05/mego/#A09948

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Burbank, Mountain View, Berkeley, San Francisco, Portland, Vancouver, Calgary, Toronto, DC, Gaithersburg, Oxford, Hay, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

[Image ID: An industrial meat grinder, fed by a conveyor belt. A dead, elderly man is traveling up the conveyor, headed for the grinder's intake. The grinder is labelled 'HOSPICE' in drippy Hallowe'en lettering. It sits in a spreading pool of blood.]

Image: Seydelmann (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GW300_1.jpghttps://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GW300_1.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #cepr #medicare advantage #medicare #hospice #aca #aging #death panels #fraud #california #preying on the dying

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justinspoliticalcorner · 2 months ago

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Jeffrey Goldberg at The Atlantic:

In April 2020, Vanessa Guillén, a 20-year-old Army private, was bludgeoned to death by a fellow soldier at Fort Hood, in Texas. The killer, aided by his girlfriend, burned Guillén’s body. Guillén’s remains were discovered two months later, buried in a riverbank near the base, after a massive search.

Guillén, the daughter of Mexican immigrants, grew up in Houston, and her murder sparked outrage across Texas and beyond. Fort Hood had become known as a particularly perilous assignment for female soldiers, and members of Congress took up the cause of reform. Shortly after her remains were discovered, President Donald Trump himself invited the Guillén family to the White House. With Guillén’s mother seated beside him, Trump spent 25 minutes with the family as television cameras recorded the scene. In the meeting, Trump maintained a dignified posture and expressed sympathy to Guillén’s mother. “I saw what happened to your daughter Vanessa, who was a spectacular person, and respected and loved by everybody, including in the military,” Trump said. Later in the conversation, he made a promise: “If I can help you out with the funeral, I’ll help—I’ll help you with that,” he said. “I’ll help you out. Financially, I’ll help you.”

Five months later, the secretary of the Army, Ryan McCarthy, announced the results of an investigation. McCarthy cited numerous “leadership failures” at Fort Hood and relieved or suspended several officers, including the base’s commanding general. In a press conference, McCarthy said that the murder “shocked our conscience” and “forced us to take a critical look at our systems, our policies, and ourselves.” According to a person close to Trump at the time, the president was agitated by McCarthy’s comments and raised questions about the severity of the punishments dispensed to senior officers and noncommissioned officers.

Trump became angry. “It doesn’t cost 60,000 bucks to bury a fucking Mexican!” He turned to his chief of staff, Mark Meadows, and issued an order: “Don’t pay it!” Later that day, he was still agitated. “Can you believe it?” he said, according to a witness. “Fucking people, trying to rip me off.” Khawam, the family attorney, told me she sent the bill to the White House, but no money was ever received by the family from Trump. Some of the costs, Khawam said, were covered by the Army (which offered, she said, to allow Guillén to be buried at Arlington National Cemetery) and some were covered by donations. Ultimately, Guillén was buried in Houston.

Pfeiffer told me that he did not write that statement, and emailed me a series of denials. Regarding Trump’s “fucking Mexican” comment, Pfeiffer wrote: “President Donald Trump never said that. This is an outrageous lie from The Atlantic two weeks before the election.” He provided statements from Patel and a spokesman for Meadows, who denied having heard Trump make the statement. Via Pfeiffer, Meadows’s spokesman also denied that Trump had ordered Meadows not to pay for the funeral. The statement from Patel that Pfeiffer sent me said: “As someone who was present in the room with President Trump, he strongly urged that Spc. Vanessa Guillen’s grieving family should not have to bear the cost of any funeral arrangements, even offering to personally pay himself in order to honor her life and sacrifice. In addition, President Trump was able to have the Department of Defense designate her death as occurring ‘in the line of duty,’ which gave her full military honors and provided her family access to benefits, services, and complete financial assistance.”

The personal qualities displayed by Trump in his reaction to the cost of the Guillén funeral—contempt, rage, parsimony, racism—hardly surprised his inner circle. Trump has frequently voiced his disdain for those who serve in the military and for their devotion to duty, honor, and sacrifice. Former generals who have worked for Trump say that the sole military virtue he prizes is obedience. As his presidency drew to a close, and in the years since, he has become more and more interested in the advantages of dictatorship, and the absolute control over the military that he believes it would deliver. “I need the kind of generals that Hitler had,” Trump said in a private conversation in the White House, according to two people who heard him say this. “People who were totally loyal to him, that follow orders.” (“This is absolutely false,” Pfeiffer wrote in an email. “President Trump never said this.”) A desire to force U.S. military leaders to be obedient to him and not the Constitution is one of the constant themes of Trump’s military-related discourse. Former officials have also cited other recurring themes: his denigration of military service, his ignorance of the provisions of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, his admiration for brutality and anti-democratic norms of behavior, and his contempt for wounded veterans and for soldiers who fell in battle.

[...] Trump has often expressed his esteem for the type of power wielded by such autocrats as the Chinese leader Xi Jinping; his admiration, even jealousy, of Vladimir Putin is well known. In recent days, he has signaled that, should he win reelection in November, he would like to govern in the manner of these dictators—he has said explicitly that he would like to be a dictator for a day on his first day back in the White House—and he has threatened to, among other things, unleash the military on “radical-left lunatics.” (One of his four former national security advisers, John Bolton, wrote in his memoir, “It is a close contest between Putin and Xi Jinping who would be happiest to see Trump back in office.”)

Trump’s disdain for American military officers is motivated in part by their willingness to accept low salaries. Once, after a White House briefing given by the then-chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Joseph Dunford, Trump said to aides, “That guy is smart. Why did he join the military?” (On another occasion, John Kelly asked Trump to guess Dunford’s annual salary. The president’s answer: $5 million. Dunford’s actual salary was less than $200,000.) Trump has often expressed his love for the trappings of martial power, demanding of his aides that they stage the sort of armor-heavy parades foreign to American tradition. Civilian aides and generals alike pushed back. In one instance, Air Force General Paul Selva, who was then serving as vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, told the president that he had been partially raised in Portugal, which, he explained, “was a dictatorship—and parades were about showing the people who had the guns. In America, we don’t do that. It’s not who we are.”

The Atlantic released the story of Donald Trump musing about having the same kind of generals that Hitler had and complained about paying $60,000 for “a fucking Mexican”’s funeral (Vanessa Guillén).

This man is a sick monster devoid of any empathy.

See Also:

HuffPost: Trump Wanted ‘Hitler’s Generals,’ Former Chief Of Staff Says

Daily Kos: Latest Trump bombshell—and Hitler praise—will make your jaw drop

Read the full story at The Atlantic.

#Donald Trump #Adolf Hitler #Trump Administration #Nazi Germany #Vanessa Guillén #Kash Patel #Mark Esper #Ryan McCarthy #Mark Meadows #Alex Pfeiffer #Natalie Khawam #Uniform Code of Military Justice #UCMJ #US Military #Mark Milley

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meet-me-backstage · 1 year ago

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⎈

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐞 ⎈ 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 🦇 Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 🦇 You get dragged into the unfathomable events at Starcourt Mall by your hopeless crush on Billy Hargrove and new-found middle-schooler friends. You struggle to cope with the trauma which gradually costs you your popular cheerleader reputation when you return to high school for senior year. Though this loss first appears to be the end of the world, you learn that there's worse things than levelling down in popularity.

Though even in darkness, there is always a light - for you this is Eddie Munson, who you gain an unlikely friendship in and fall for him in the process.

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒖𝒑𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏𝒔, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈!

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 ��𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 🦇 smoking, mention of and consumption of drugs, horror themes, violence (in the upside down and probs Steve losing another fight (•̀ᴗ•́)و jk jk he's king), nightmares, mention of and consumption of alcohol, mention of and a near death experience, death, bad language, blood, bullying, mention of vomit and vomiting, some domestic (mainly verbal and emotional) abuse(‼️), mention of suicidal thoughts, mention of suicide, mention of self-harm, allusion to eating disorder and smUUT so you have to be 18+ to read this series❗️

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐞 🦇 4.6K words.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐞 🦇 horror themes, nightmares, death, violence, domestic (physical) abuse, blood, mention of and consumption of alcohol and bad language.

𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠!

𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲, 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝! <𝟑

⇜ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ⎈ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫

You ceased contact with your new friends Max, Eleven, Lucas, Mike, Will, Dustin, Steve, Robin, Jonathan and Nancy after your dismissal from hospital and being back into the inescapable grasp of your mom.

Max had visited you in hospital, even leaving a bundle of candy on the side-table for when you’d wake up. Your mom saw the candy and threw it in the trash while you had been asleep.

Your mom continued to search for Rebecca because no bodies had been recovered in the mall fire. She searched even after Rebecca's funeral and the memorial service for all of those who had gone missing since the Fourth of July, assumed dead.

You refused to speak to anybody at the funeral and memorial service... you also refused to leave your room afterwards and planned on staying in there for the foreseeable future. It had been the sadness, anger you felt, but mainly the suppression of knowing the way that your sister, your dad, Billy and all the victims had died a unfathomable death, and not being able to talk about it.

It was eating you alive...

🦇 𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟓 🦇

"B-eckyy," you tiredly slur.

You wander the dimly lit streets of Hawkins in search of Rebecca and your dad. You’re wearing what looks like Max's raincoat, the yellow one that she was wearing the day that you met her.

With tears streaming down your cheeks and your vision blurry because of your eyes being so sore, you still notice the small particles in the air that look like dust... they are hard to miss and appeared in many of your visions ever since the first you ever had after Starcourt, in the hospital.

They float away from you, the particles, so you decide to follow them after moments of just examining them with an intrigued expression on your face... it’s like they are guiding you and you feel a pull, like a rope tightly tied around your waist is tugging you in the direction they are going - you let them, thinking they'd lead you to Rebecca and your dad.

It’s so dark - everywhere and everything is a dull blue on the way to the trailer park.

You can hear a hushed voice amongst the whooshing and spirals of wind, your head and eyes frantically move from side to side until you see Rebecca stood at a phone box... she is trying to make a call, you assumed to either your mom or dad because she is all alone and wearing the same clothes from the night that she went out searching for you.

You stop in your tracks to watch her, your heart sinking at how terrified she looks... then you notice a figure appear, walking towards her and she doesn't notice because she is looking the other way, holding the telephone against her ear.

"Be-hindd - you," you mumble, your lips trembling.

It's your dad, you realise - but his presence feels different as he strides towards Rebecca, goosebumps form on your neck, causing your eyes to widen and you try to shout for her only for nothing to come out... like you are being controlled.

You’re forced to just watch as she turns and notices him, relief written all over her face as she exhales, lowering the phone but still holding it, "Jeez, dad - you scared me... have you any idea how long I've been waiting here, it's like - three in the morning and I was trying to call mom," she rambles, distressed under his gaze as he silently continues walking towards her, his appearance more rugged than usual, "Anyway - w-was there any sign of - her?"

Even though you know that she hated you and you hated her... you struggle to watch her with this horrible feeling that the reason why your dad had taken so long was because he'd been flayed.

You fight whatever is controlling you and start sprinting towards her, only for the storm in the form of the Mind Flayer's tentacles to shoot towards you from behind your dad's walking figure... it physically stops me from moving by attaching itself to your wrist again, sinking deep into the scar that had been stitched up.

'You're going to watch, little miss thief.' The low, eery voice that had been lingering in the back of your head for weeks now.

"Like - hell I am!" You choke out and try to pull your wrist away, but you feel that piece of the mind flayer moving around inside you and it's way stronger, bigger than you... you cannot move no matter how hard you try to fight it.

"Are you okay, dad?" Rebecca asks, now concerned as your dad stays silent, "I know it's worrying - but we need to pull ourselves together and have hope that we're going to find her - we have to keep going-," Rebecca states boldly, but is trembling now as your dad is just metres away from her and not slowing down, "I don't know what mom's going to do to little miss when we find her or me if we don't find her... I'm so sorry for not seeing you more often dad, I will, I promise - once we find her."

"It's too late," your dad grumbles at her before snatching the telephone and immediately hitting her violently over the head with it, causing her temple to bleed.

You’d been letting out distressed and muffled noises, but witnessing your dad knocking Rebecca to the ground, it makes you scream at the top of your lungs, "Nooo!"

Suddenly your mouth is being impaled by another one of the tentacles even though it appears to only be raging air, like a tornado. You can’t close your mouth and your entire face is strained as you try to scream... all you can do is squint your eyes shut and refuse to look as tears manage to squeeze through and stream down your cheeks.

But you can still hear everything...

“Don't be afraid, Becky - look,” it's your dad, he must've been comforting her in her last moments, an arm around her or stroking her hair while she is on the floor, “it'll all be over and you won't have to worry about your silly little sister anymore.”

“D-dad - what - i-s... that?” You hear Rebecca ask weakly.

“It's the answer to the end of your suffering.”

You hear an all too familiar snarl of the fleshy Mind Flayer you’d fought in the mall - and then Rebecca's scream, making you scream with her because you don’t need to have your eyes open to know that Rebecca's face is being gripped onto by one of the tentacles, sucking the life out of her until... radio silence, pitched blackness.

You shoot up from your bed quickly, breathing heavily and frantically looking around... instead of witnessing Rebecca and your dad melting into a pile of flesh to merge into the Mind Flayer, you are in your dimly lit room... as if the entire event didn't happen. You pull your right arm from under the duvet and there it is... the stitches holding your wound together, gradually turning into a scar on your wrist.

It’s a constant reminder of what happened last month... one that didn't end like the funerals and memorials commemorating the lives lost at Starcourt, the mental bashings you’d get from your mom about how you’d killed Rebecca... no, it’s a scar in all senses of the word - it’s going to be with you every month, week, day, hour and second for the rest of your life.

The only way you thought you could escape was through sleep, that's why you’re sat up in bed right now at 7:08pm... but judging by the recurring dream you’d just had and been having since the battle at Starcourt, you couldn't even do that.

You grow restless, but you can’t even stand the disappointment of writing yet another letter that wouldn't be answered to Mason about your hurt, the pain of constant reminders, your spinning mind that made you feel dizzy all the time. Leaving your room, walking past Rebecca's untouched room, and then facing your mom was also not an option to pass the time... unless you wanted to hear her say for the millionth time: 'you did this, you tore my Becky away from me!'

No... I need some fresh air. I need to get out of this goddamn house right now.

You carefully climb out of your window in a red flannel shirt, long sleeved to cover your wrist. On your way down the drainpipe that runs down the house you fall, luckily into some bushes which cushion your fall... the mix of being stir crazy and feeling the cold night air hits you, catching you off guard... you realise that you had not left the house since Rebecca and your dad's funeral.

You run your fingers through the grass as you push yourself back onto your feet, looking around in momental wonder as if it’s your first time ever outside.

As you wander around the neighbourhood, purposefully avoiding the house that was once Heather's home... you are reminded of the reality that while you hurt and mourned over the loss you’d experienced, the world continued to spin... especially at the other side of town, where you hear the sound of distant music become louder as you choose to follow it.

Benny's Burgers. You look at the supposed abandoned place quizzically and start walking towards it.

Neon lights peek through the blinds and 'Kids In America' by Kim Wilde blares from the building. Your curiosity gets the better of you, you decide to look through a slit between the blinds... Patrick, Chance, Josh, Andy - all of the cheer and basketball team are in there... I should go, you think - until you hear a laugh, specifically Chrissy's laugh and immediately you see her cutting open a can of beer with a pocket knife.

“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” They all chant around her.

Seeing them all laughing, drinking and dancing together is a reminder that the world of reality is spinning so fast that you can’t keep up... it feels like you’d been left behind and you couldn’t even talk to Chrissy about it, definitely not in front of them anyway...

They'd make fun of me, I couldn't show them this side of me, the struggling side because I had always been the weakest link of the lot of them. I need to get away, just a black hole I could jump into and disappear into a vortex.

The first void you spot is the woods opposite Benny's Burgers, so you decide to walk into it.

There are so many random noises, twigs snapping, owls tooting, the wind blowing through the branches of the trees... it is creepily comforting and distracts you from the deafening noise happening in your mind.

You look up at the sky, which you can hardly see because of the tops of the trees merging into one another and hardly leaving any gaps for the night sky to dimly shine through.

You can see some stars and the moon peeking through, instantly making you relax as you notice the slightly darker shades on it, the subtle twinkling of the stars... You keep your head up, failing to look in the direction you are walking until... you’re lost... and you’re not even scared, you see it as an opportunity to have a breakdown in peace and to collect twigs and stones, shoving them in your jeans.

You completely lean against the trunk of a tree and let yourself slide down it as little whimpers leave your lips... How am I going to get through this? How am I going to pretend that the way they died was normal, in a fire? Pfft. How will I be able to continue cheerleading if I can't cope? How can I go on and pretend I'm fine when all I can think about is my responsibility for the death of Becky and my dad? You cry.

You place your hands over your face, whimpering into them as your bum hits the ground. You stretch your legs out as much as you can, "Look at what you've done - I hate you, I hate you for everything that's happened... not even just this summer, the last few years - the strain you put on mom, dad and Becky... how could you... and Bill-y, you didn't try hard en-ough and now... now you've l-ost everything," you choke out, "I h-ate you- ow!" You feel pressure on your leg and quickly lower your hands.

"Shit!" It’s Eddie Munson, he'd just tripped over your legs... you know it’s him because he’s wearing the same old denim vest-jacket and has the skull patterned bandana dangling from his back-left pocket. You look at him in utter disbelief as he shakes his head, shaking the leaves out of his long hair while on all fours... your breathing must be so rapid and so loud that his head whips around to look at you, his eyes are wide and looking straight at you.

You both stare at each other for a while... you thought of running from him again… but where to? To my bed that didn't even give me comfort anymore? Fuck that, I'd rather him sacrifice me... if all of the cult bullcrap about Hellfire that Becky believed was true, "What, Munson?" You find myself asking with an attitude, trying to cover up your weakness, even though tears are still flowing from your eyes.

He collapses onto his stomach and scrambles around until he's facing you, about a metre and a half away, "I thought your legs were goddamn tree roots," he says in between staggered breaths.

You keep looking at him in complete shock, still rapidly breathing at the sight of him... Did he not hear me?

He rolls his eyes and visibly deflates in his demeanour, getting uncomfortable and you hear him mumble, "Look, you can run again if you want - or I can leave," he sighs, but as you continue to stay silent, he starts to stand himself back up, "Yup - I'm gonna... go - I'm getting a real bad case of deja vu right now."

You watch him as he starts to walk away, still brushing leaves off of his outfit, “w-wait." The crisp sound of his footsteps on the leaves stop and he half-turns, staying still and looking at you with one brow raised. "D-don't go," you find yourself whispering in a broken voice.

To say he looks concerned and weirded out by your behaviour is an understatement... he just silently sits himself down opposite you, fidgeting with his jeans and listening to your sniffles as you wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt... he just listened to you crying... this must be so awkward for him, "I'm - sorry," you mumble.

"What for?" He asks, he'd had his head bowed down, but lifted it to look at you when you apologised.

You gesture at yourself and around you as you shake your head, "Just... this."

His mouth is agape for a few moments, "Oh - 's okay... I mean, it is a little weird, y’know... I'm sat here in the middle of the woods with one of the queens of Hawkins High," he states playfully and picks up a leaf, touching at it as if it’s a reminder that this is actually happening, and when he realises that it is he blows a loud puff of air out of his mouth, "This isn't exactly how I expected tonight would g-."

He doesn't want to be here - even he finds me unbearable, "So go then - go and make a couple bucks... you'll get plenty at Benny's Burgers,” you huff, rolling your very swollen eyes.

He lifts his hands in surrender, confused, "No - no... woah - what? I'm not out here for business - I just like the woods," he scratches the back of his and furrows his brows, "Thats not what I meant anyway - 's just... you ran away from me last time I tried to talk to you."

You look down now, refusing to make eye contact with him, "Yeah, well - maybe I'm too exhausted to run now," you retort, a hint of truth in your words which brings another flood of tears to your eyes... you try to hide the fact that your words had hit close to home and cover your face.

You hear him exhale and a slight shuffle of leaves, assuming he'd moved ever so slightly closer to you, "Do you wanna talk about it?" His voice is gentle, small, unsure, "I could even sit on the opposite side of the tree and it'd be like I'm not - even here," you look at him from in between your fingers as he waves his hands around in a way that suggests mystery.

You slowly bring your hands away from your face, the mascara that once had been on your eyelashes is probably smeared down your cheeks... no one has ever offered to listen... why was he doing this after the way I treated him? Why is he so eager? Why does he care so much?

He hunches his shoulders, clearly feeling defeated again by your silence and he stands himself up again, thinking he is leaving you alone with your thoughts, you bring your knees up to your chest and hug them into you tightly as you tuck your face into the space between your legs and chest.

You expect to hear Eddie's footsteps fading into the distance, but they don’t. Instead they circle the tree you are sat against and you hear him grunt, sitting himself on the other side of the tree, "W-what are y-," you mumble weakly.

"I heard you talking to yourself, m'kay - I mean, not what you said - I was kinda in my own world of... woods - stuff," a mix of him tapping his feet on the ground and twigs snapping can be heard, "I'm just gonna - sit here and if you wanna stay mute that's totally cool by me, but the only way you're gonna gain from whatever's going on here is if you... speak your mind - trust me, coming from the 'freak'... I know," he chuckles dryly, "Just pretend I'm not here - focus on yourself."

"B-but I know you're there, my brain isn't stupid," you state sassily.

"I know - that's not what I'm saying at all... I'm not even in the position to be calling you stupid, considering I failed senior year again," he sighs out, the back of his head thumping against the trunk of the tree.

"It sort of sounds like you ar-."

"Tink," the nickname slips out of his mouth quickly, hushing you... taking you back to the day you’d first met, how you both got along instantly, how he didn't judge you for not being the stereotypical ‘girly girl’, for not having many friends or listening to 'different' music… because he understood and was willing to listen... you hear him chuckle again, "Just try it ou-."

"You're not supposed - to be here, remember?"

"Sure - I'll shut up now, I promise... I do fidget a lot though, so just ignore tha-."

"Shhh!"

"M'kay," you hear the little smile on his face in his voice.

You exhale as you rest the back of your head against the tree too, you notice that your eyes are no longer watering up so much and you even have the tiniest smile on your face, only visible if looking through a microscope... you close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to drown out the sound of Eddie tapping his fingers on his sneakers, "I'm just - so exhausted... not from actually doing anything. It's my mind... it's constantly awake - even when I'm asleep and I'm forced to listen to it tell me horrible things like...," you hush suddenly, almost blurting out your knowledge of the other side of Hawkins you’d had the 'pleasure' of finding out about, "Like - I should h-ave been the one in the - mall fire instead of m-y - sister - my d-dad," you sniffle, the waterworks behind your eyes flowing again, the truth in your words scaring you, "This is so stupid," you hesitantly giggle.

Silence... like Eddie had promised you.

You sigh, "I feel like I've been lying to myself ever since I started high school and now, having experienced the harsh reality of this cruel world, I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't even recognise myself in the mirror... and if I c-can't even do that - how am I supposed to cope with anything, let alone finish school without getting kicked off of the cheer team? How am I supposed to fit in?"

The words spill out of you rapidly like the tears did from your eyes, you almost forgot that you are practically back to back with Eddie Munson and aren’t running for the hills... you look to the side and around the tree, the only visible part of Eddie is his white sneakers.

"I - wish I could be carefree. A girl who - knows what she wants and strives for it because it is the only reason she needs," you sniffle and whimper out a giggle, "I'm terrified of who I am, Eddie."

More silence... you start to hysterically sob, furiously rubbing at your eyes.

Your sobs are so loud that the sound of Eddie rushing to my side is drowned out, "Shit," he whispers under his breathe before reaching behind him and pulling out the skull and crossbones bandana from his back pocket and holding it out to you, "Here."

You cautiously take it, making eye contact with him first before you wipe your tears with it.

The smell of the bandana is musky, kind of gross, but you don’t care right now, you bury your face into it as you cry.

"Y'know, I knew a girl once who was exactly like that - carefree, knew what she wanted... but most importantly, she was herself and she didn't give a shit about what the other kids thought of her... I thought she was cool as hell at that talent show and trust me, I don't say that lightly, especially when it comes to 'balls in laundry baskets'," he chuckles and you breathlessly giggle into his bandana before peeking at him, keeping the rest of your face covered, "You've gotta look after yourself more... say you wanna do something impulsive... do it - do what you wanna do and don’t you dare think about what other people might think of you... if you do more of that then you'll find yourself again in no time, I promise."

You believe every word that he utters, "You're - r-right," you sniffle, mumbling into his bandana.

His eyes are big, like he can’t believe what you’d just said, "I'm - what?"

You weakly giggle, "Believe it or not - I believe you," you smile shyly at him and he looks down, seeming flustered.

"Wow er - that was easy - I didn’t think you would - believe in me," he mumbles unsurely and bounces his leg up and down quickly as silence rises to the surface between you again... the thoughts in your head arise, all the thoughts you hadn’t been able to say out loud about the upside down, the Mind Flayer, the truth about the 'mall fire'... you had to keep them to yourself for as long as you live. "Can I er - drive you - home?"

You snap out of your mind suddenly, your hand balled into a fist with the bandana inside it, "Y-yes - but only because I - was getting myself - lost before you showed up," you hiccup.

He smiles toothily, "Sure," he keeps his hand to his side, but his fingers move as if they're trying to grasp something as you slowly stand yourself up, "The Munson Mobile is this way - not far."

I can’t believe this is happening... Becky would've killed me for even being near the guy, what would she have done if she'd found out I’d accepted a ride from him? You shake your head, trying to focus on the sound of the leaves crunching as you make your way out of the woods leading to the trailer park.

"Your chariot awaits," you hear Eddie's voice as he opens the passenger door of his van for you, but your eyes are fixed upon what was once your dad's trailer... it is probably now occupied by someone else, to ease the pain of that thought you squeeze the bandana in your hand and give Eddie a half-hearted smile.

"Thanks,” you mumble, climbing in - again, the smell is musky. He has logos of bands stuck almost everywhere and cassettes scattered on the floor.

"Sorry for the mess, I wasn't expecting royalty," he playfully jokes as he hops into the van and is quick to switch on the engine, the music he'd been playing on his last ride suddenly blares through the speakers, "Jesus Christ!" He squeals and quickly turns it down via a small dial by the steering wheel, but it is still loud though, "Sorry about that!"

"What is it?!" Eddie takes his eyes away from the road as he drives chaotically out of the trailer park. You hold onto the handle on the door tightly, the other still subconsciously gripping the bandana, "The music, I mean!"

He raises his brows at you before looking ahead, "Dio - Rainbow In The Dark!" He bangs his head in time to the music and you look at him with wide eyes.

He sings to the song and taps on the steering wheel, still not looking much at the road. He looks at you... is the heating on... like really high? You look down, "It's wicked - I like it!"

"You do?!" He grins widely at you before squealing and swerving the car slightly to avoid a lamppost, he notices you staring ahead, wide eyed and gripping onto any handle you can find for dear life, "Sorry! Just shake it off - a bit like this!" He bobs his head more chaotically, like he doesn’t have any control over himself.

After you’d had a mini heart attack, you laugh hysterically at the adrenaline that resonated with you and do exactly what he told you to because it was what you wanted, you let yourself go and start head-banging to the beat of the song, every part of your body is moving in all different directions until beads of sweat linger on your face... and you notice that you are at the end of the neighbourhood as you look out of the passenger window.

"Oh - here - stop here!" You shout breathlessly and your body jolts forward as he suddenly slams his foot on the break of the van... you stare at him wide eyed again, your heart pounding.

Eddie just looks - proud, a grin from ear to ear, "There's the Tink I know."

Instead of hitting him for almost flinging you through the front window of his van, the shock and horror of that thought is overridden by the progress you made tonight... you smile from ear to ear too, the first genuine one since the Fourth of July... you hiccup upon realising that you are in Eddie Munson's van in your neighbourhood, "I'll - walk from here," you mumble softly as the song fades into silence.

Eddie frowns, looking down, "Are you sure? You've still got another like... five minute walk from here."

He knows where I live?

"Yes!" You blurt quickly and Eddie purses his lips, probably realising why you don’t want him to take you any further... you blink, feeling bad, "Thank you, Eddie - truly."

Eddie blinks now, looking down and shrugging, "'s no biggie." After undoing your seatbelt you hop out of the van, almost missing the step out and stumbling, but you manage to catch yourself... you still feel Eddie's eyes on you, the obvious sign being that the sound of tires screeching hasn’t invaded your ears yet, so you turn to fleetingly glance at him once more to give him a quiet 'goodbye'... but he has other ideas, "We've gotta stop meeting under the moonlight... in the woods, I'm starting to think you're a werewolf!"

You look from side to side, "shhhh - you dork!" You glare at him, but he flashes you another big and smug grin before looking down at your hand and speeding away in his van.

You look down at your hand... his bandana - you’re still holding it.

Crap.

⇝ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐞𝐧 ⎈ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆!!!!! 𝐈𝐭'𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲 <𝟑

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@sadbitchfangirl @ali-r3n @hostedparties-and-starvedmybody @kores-mun-son-n-more

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ingek73 · 2 years ago

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India archive reveals extent of ‘colonial loot’ in royal jewellery collection

File from India Office archive details how priceless items were extracted from colony as trophies of conquest

by David Pegg and Manisha Ganguly

Published: 14:00 Thursday, 06 April 2023

Five years ago, Buckingham Palace marked its summer opening with an exhibition celebrating the then Prince Charles’s 70th birthday with a display of his favourite pieces from the royal collection, Britain’s official trove of items connected to the monarchy. “The prince had a very, very strong hand in the selection,” the senior curator said.

Among the sculptures, paintings and other exhibits was a long gold girdle inlaid with 19 large emeralds once used by an Indian maharajah to decorate his horses. It was a curious choice to put into the exhibition in light of the violent means by which it had come into the hands of the royal family.

Emerald girdle of Maharaja Sher Singh, c 1840. Photograph: Royal Collection Trust / © His Majesty King Charles III 2023

As part of its Cost of the crown series, the Guardian has uncovered a remarkable 46-page file in the archives of the India Office, the government department that was responsible for Britain’s rule over the Indian subcontinent. It details an investigation, apparently commissioned by Queen Mary, the grandmother of Elizabeth II, into the imperial origins of her jewels.

The report, from 1912, explains how priceless pieces, including Charles’s emerald belt, were extracted from India as trophies of conquest and later given to Queen Victoria. The items described are now owned by the monarch as property of the British crown.

Plundered stones

To fully understand the context behind the jewels, and their place in India’s history, it was necessary to visit the archives.

A journal records a tour in 1837 of the Punjab area in north India by the society diarist Fanny Eden and her brother George, the governor general of the British Raj at the time. They visited Ranjit Singh, the maharajah in Lahore, who had signed a “treaty of friendship” with the British six years earlier.

The half-blind Singh wore few if any precious stones, Eden wrote in her journal, but his entourage was positively drowning in them. So plentiful were the maharajah’s gems that “he puts his very finest jewels on his horses, and the splendour of their harness and housings surpasses anything you can imagine,” she wrote. Eden later confided in her journal: “If ever we are allowed to plunder this kingdom, I shall go straight to their stables.”

Twelve years later, Singh’s youngest son and heir, Duleep, was forced to sign over the Punjab to the conquering forces of the British East India Company. As part of the conquest, the company did indeed plunder the horses’ emeralds, as well as Singh’s most precious stone, the legendary Koh-i-noor diamond.

The queen mother’s crown sits on top of the coffin during her funeral in 2002. Photograph: Dan Chung/The Guardian

Today, the Koh-i-noor sits in the crown of Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother, on display at the Tower of London, and it has become an emblem of Britain’s tortured relationship with its imperial history.

Anita Anand, a journalist and historian who co-wrote a book titled Koh-i-noor on the diamond, said it was “a beautiful and cold reminder of British supremacy during the Raj”, the period between 1858 and 1947 when India was ruled by the crown.

“Its facets reflect the fate of a boy king who was separated from his mother,” Anand said. The stone too was “taken far away from his home, recut and diminished”. Anand said: “That is not how India sees itself today.”

Buckingham Palace is plainly aware of the sensitivities surrounding looted artefacts. After the Indian government let it be known that for Camilla, the Queen Consort, to wear the Koh-i-noor at Charles’s coronation would elicit “painful memories of the colonial past”, the palace announced she would swap it for a less contentious diamond.

But, as was discovered by Queen Mary, the Koh-i-noor was not the only gem taken from Singh’s treasury to have found its way to the British monarchy.

Royal with a pearl necklace

Among the jewels identified in the document found by the Guardian is a “short necklace of four very large spinel rubies”, the largest of which is a 325.5-carat spinel that later came to be identified as the Timur ruby.

Its famous name is erroneous: research by the academic Susan Stronge in 1996 concluded it was probably never owned by Timur, a Mongol conquerer. And it is a spinel, a red stone similar to, but chemically distinct from, a ruby.

Elizabeth II was shown handling it in the 1969 BBC documentary Royal Family, and was clearly acquainted with the myths surrounding it. “The history, of course, is very fascinating. It belonged to so many kings of Persia and Mughal emperors, until Queen Victoria was sent it from India,” she observed.

The queen was never pictured wearing the item. However, she may have worn another of the Lahore treasures, identified in the India Office report as “a pearl necklace consisting of 224 large pearls”.

In her 1987 study of royal jewellery, Leslie Field described “one of the Queen Mother’s most impressive two-row pearl necklaces … made from 222 pearls with a clasp of two magnificent rubies surrounded by diamonds that had originally belonged to the ruler of the Punjab” – almost certainly a reference to the same necklace.

The queen wearing pearls at the Royal Opera House in 2012. Photograph: AFP/Getty Images

In 2012, Elizabeth II attended a gala festival at the Royal Opera House in London to celebrate her diamond jubilee. Photographs showed her wearing a multi-string pearl necklace with a ruby clasp.

Were these Ranjit Singh’s pearls? There was speculation they may have been, though Buckingham Palace was unable to confirm either way.

Queen Mary’s interest appears to have been prompted by curiosity about the origin of some of her pearls rather than any moral concern about the manner in which they were obtained. But a Buckingham Palace spokesperson said slavery and colonialism were matters that “his Majesty takes profoundly seriously”.

Shashi Tharoor, formerly an undersecretary at the United Nations, and currently an MP in India, said: “We have finally entered an era where colonial loot and pillage is being recognised for what it really was, rather than being dressed up as the incidental spoils of some noble ‘civilising mission’.

“As we are seeing increasingly, the return of stolen property is always a good thing. Generations to come will wonder why it took civilised nations so long to do the right thing.”

#abolish the monarchy #queen elizabeth ll #king charles the cruel #brf #colonialism #koh i noor #cost of the crown #the guardian #british royal family #imperialism

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tessansgp · 2 years ago

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Monroe County releases jail video showing inmate’s final minutes

#FuneralExpenses #FuneralPlanning #FuneralService #SeniorsFuneralCosts #SeniorsFuneralExpenses #Funeral Expenses #Funeral Planning #Funeral Service #Seniors Funeral Costs #Seniors Funeral Expenses

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halflingcaravan · 11 months ago

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The following is some 'ready made lore' for use with my TTRPG "Beta Maxx X", you can find the previous edition on Itch.io and a quick start on Exalted Funeral's website. The Ex-F version is the easiest paper copy you can get for Europe and the US (I'm in Australia so unless you love $30+ shipping costs, order there!). This section is about massive historical events that could be know around the galaxy, and could be used to help shape the level of dystopia or utopia in the game. Also note that these are written in the voice of unreliable narrators, which is deliberate to in-book dispel the idea that this is a 'Dry Dispassionate Historical Third Person Narrative'; these are going to be 'wrong' in the same way that what most people remember about Egypt, Rome, Ancient China, etc are probably wrong.

Historical Events

1312 Rebellion

The 1312 Rebellion was a heck of a thing, media from the time tells that after some brutal crackdowns by Pinnacle Corporation on Cephi-3 every existing worker union, all 1312 of them, on Cephi-3 joined together and staged a world-wide rebellion against the Corporation. They planned to destroy the corporate government, install a popular representative democracy, rewrite corporations law so that companies could only be owned by their own workers, and drastically reform the legal system as well. The Rebellion was successful in 27 days, and lasted for six years before Pinnacle helped fund and arm the Guild of Peacemakers to assassinate the entire leadership of the Rebellion, and begin a wider program of mass shootings of 1312 Members. It was another roughly eight years of terror after the assassinations began. Eventually, Pinnacle was able to reestablish the previous status quo and the Guild of Peacemakers became the police and military on Cephi-3. In the 400 years since, a number of 1312 Rebellions have appeared on different planets and some massive space stations; typically large corporations have immediately responded to a potential 1312 Rebellion with extensive propaganda, a high volume of targeted assassinations, and a large number of ‘disappearances’. 1312 is known to still be out there, and cells of 1312 members operate around the Galaxy. Their reading material has a tendency to appear in all sorts of strange corners of the Network, sometimes intrusively and other times buried in a ‘forgotten corner of some node’.

Arnaq 5

Arnaq 5 caused the founding of the Galactic Convention Against Technomagical Nuclear Weapons which is just bonkers considering the way nobody can get in the same room over standardising how you send plain text messages over the Galatic Network; how card can it be to unify 7,465 different written languages? Not trying. What happened? The Arnaq 5 War was brutal by every possible measure. The two largest corporations on Arnaq, Arnaq Industries and General Consolidated Arnaq, started one of their frequent minor turf wars over a small city in a remote corner of the planet but the unexpected happened. There was apparently an internal coup planned inside Arnaq Industries so when the Chair of Arnaq Industries left to meet with the President of Gen. Con. Arnaq a small fusion bomb had been smuggled into one of the vehicles and detonated destroying a building and killing most of the senior management of both corporations. The Managing Director of Innovation, Nillz J Browly, then seized Arnaq Industries and mobilised the corporation into a Total War posture. As the war became more intense, Browly decided to end the war as quickly as possible without caring about any consequence to the people or the planet of Arnaq. They ordered the use of the Polter-475, a massive fission bomb enhanced with extensive magic to stabilise a number of manufactured radioactive elements. While it was ostensibly launched at a battlefield, the blast radius and radiation radius were so large that a quarter of the third largest land mass on Arnaq was turned into a wasteland. Then the skeletons started appearing. These skeletons began walking out of the wasteland armed with blaster weapons (some worked and some did not) and into the nearby settlements indiscriminantly murdering regardless of their corporate affiliations. Slowly the wasteland expanded, behind the advance of the skeletons, and at that point the Convention was started, the planet of Arnaq abandoned, and some people speculate the Harvesters self-formed from the ruins left behind.

#ttrpg #indie ttrpg #ttrpg design #cyberpunk #scifi #scifi au #indie ttrpgs #theyre all cowards

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sweetyyhippyy · 3 months ago

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Family drama below the cut 🙃 its a lot so if you stick around to read it, you a real one 🩷

So December 8, 2023, my mom’s godson, my godbrother, passed away unexpectedly at 41.

He was my mom’s baby before me and he was the brother/sibling I never had. Literally one of the worst days of my life.

He’s been with his wife on and off since high school (late 90s/2000s) and her family and his family have beef going way back.

They have a son together and he’s 17. She had a daughter during one of the times they were broken up and she’s 10.

When all the stuff was being arranged for the funeral and stuff, she was already kind of being distant, only involving her family in stuff and accepting their help.

All of her family (mom, dad, sisters, brother, and I think one of her cousins or aunts) was there at the cremation to say goodbye, yet my mom had to beg to be able to go, my dad and I weren’t able to go and say goodbye (literally still hurts my heart to this day).

Fast forward a few months after everything, my Nina tells my mom that his wife didn’t have enough money to do the cremation and the funeral (his dumbass didn’t have life insurance 😒) so she asked for help from her. Of course they helped her, and took out a loan to help pay for I think half the cremation and all of the funeral costs. She gave them one payment of $250 between January and May and that was it. So my mom sent my Nina some money to help pay for it.

At this time, the wife was also distancing herself more, not going over, not letting them come over, not calling, not letting her daughter go over and see my Nina or anything. Just being so stand-offish.

Fast forward to now.

A few weeks ago, the son called his tata (my Nina’s husband) and asked him if he would escort him tonight for senior night for football along side his mom.

Of course he said yes to him.

Well I think today (?), he was on the phone with his tata talking and all of a sudden he got quiet on the phone and his mom took the phone from him and told him “we’ve been through a lot over the last few months, this is just something him and I should do together.” And basically disinvited him.

My Nina also said he stopped by to visit her a few weeks back and he was telling her that all his mom does is yell at him as soon as he gets home from school or from practice. And that’s exactly how she was with my godbrother, always yelling about something.

I understand that she lost her husband, but she wasn’t the only one who lost him. The kids lost their dad, his mom and dad lost their son, his brothers lost their brother, my mom lost someone who was practically her son. We all lost him, you shouldn’t be pushing us away and acting like we’re nothing, when we’re all here trying to help and get through all of this pain.

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henrypreppy · 2 years ago

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Barrington Estates: Prologue

Barrington Estates is the gem of the tri-county area for gated living communities. It has everything a member of the upper echelons could want: large, beautiful houses; meticulously manicured landscapes; fantastic schools; and the exclusive Barrington Country Club to rub shoulders with the elite that all but govern the southeast from its private rooms and putting greens. Not many make it here without significant contributions to the HOA. Grant and Jennifer Dean, however, were one of the few exceptions.

The Dean family was one of the founding families of the club and community. They had the house on the hill that was envied by everyone. The late Donald Dean, grandfather of Grant Dean, made sure to keep it immaculate. It was a sort of slap in the face to Truman McMaster, the general manager of Barrington Country Club; the house on the hill—the one all the pictures and magazine spreads loved to showcase—was owned by the board member who opposed McMaster at every turn. Rumors abound regarding their feud. Some speculated it was a result of a business deal gone awry, others posited that they needed some form of drama to keep themselves entertained. Only Donald and Truman knew the truth of the matter, and now one half of that truth was buried with Donald.

Grant was not particularly familiar with Barrington Estates, his father, Don Junior, being the prodigal of the family. Junior let his father’s house at eighteen with a large sum to his name and spoke to his father only two years later when it was nearly gone and Grant was on the way. Junior refused to move back in to the estate, but was funneled money from Donald so that Grant may not have to bear the sins of his father. Junior, ever-bent on regaining what he had, drove his wife Therese away when he began selling drugs.

“I don’t care if Grant is at college!” Therese would scream again and again, “I don’t want to have that dangerous business near me or my son!” After many of such arguments, she filed for divorce and cut Junior off.

A year later, Junior’s hand was cut off for stealing five kilos from the wrong cartel. He didn’t die immediately, though he couldn’t clap as his son walked across the stage to graduate. Only a few short months later, his stump turned septic and the infection withered the rest of him away. Had he less pride, perhaps Junior could have lived. Nevertheless, Grant turned to his grandfather for assistance with the funeral costs—which was all-too-high for the all-too-low head count—and moved in with his grandfather, who died all-too-soon from the grief of having failed to save his only son.

Now, upon returning from their hasty honeymoon and keeping with his grandfather’s request to not cohabitate with his college sweetheart, Grant was helping Jennifer move in with him.

Jennifer was a curvy woman, the areas under which she calculated from the nudes she sent Grant in their senior year. She graduated with a degree in physics and landed a job as a teacher in a high school one district away. She was smart, witty, and had green eyes that seemed dull unless they were in the right light; her hair was a wavy dark brown butterfly cut that flowed just past her shoulder blades.

Grant, by contrast, was plain but not unattractive. He kept his black hair in a shaggy mop and had nice cheekbones covered by a short scraggly beard. His gangly appearance frequently made others think of him as a stoner, which seemed fitting for a political science graduate. Though, a stoner could have never kept up with the stress of his internship as an aide to the governor. So far, that was his only achievement of note, outside of getting to marry the nerdy firecracker, Jennifer.

Jennifer didn’t have much of her own to move in; she was barely out of college. Still, a beat pickup truck packed with boxes is bound to look out of place in Barrington. Jennifer barreled up the large circular driveway to the McMansion, the rusted sides of the old Ford a stark contrast to the immaculate ivory-colored pillars she pulled toward.

Grant had already emerged from the house, having heard the beater booming a mile away. The houses were spaced out well enough, but the sights and sounds certainly brought some attention. He glared at the rustled curtains that indicated they were being watched from neighbors’ windows. As Jennifer approached, he waved and jogged toward the truck to open the door for her.

“M’lady,” he snickered with equal parts irony and sincerity as he opened the driver side door.

“M’sir,” she retorted, rolling her eyes. She stepped out of the truck and slammed the door behind her. Stepping forward, her mild exasperation faded to a wide smile and then to a kiss for Grant.

Grant embraced her, and his hand drifted from her back to her ass as he attempted to go for more than a gentle peck.

Still smiling, she pushed him away playfully. “Babe, didn’t you say your neighbors are super nosy?”

“Yeah, but what are they going to say? We just got married.” Grant planted a kiss on her cheek before breaking the hug.

Jennifer chuckled lightly. “I’d at least like to wait before hearing them ask about kids, though. I can already hear some old heiress down the street: ‘I saw that hussy from the other side o’ town pull up in a rusted out truck and start trying to make love right on the concrete!’” She said mimicking an elderly raspy voice.

“The neighborhood is not like that. They’re older and they’re traditional, but we’re married. So, it’s fine. Either way, you live here now, and they can’t change that.” He pecked her again on the cheek and began leading her inside by the hand, a middle finger raised to the neighbor’s window with the other hand.

Jennifer gave another signature eye roll and followed Grant. “You’re ridiculous,” she chortled crossed the threshold. The large foyer opened before her, decorated with a combination of farmhouse and mid-century modern decor. “This…” she announced, hearing her own echo, “This is also ridiculous.”

“Yeah, my grandfather was a pretty wealthy dude, but not out of touch. He wasn’t stodgy or anything. Still feels weird with him gone,” Grant trailed off and sighed.

“You okay?” Jennifer asked.

“Things have just been moving too fast. Graduation, a funeral, a wedding, another funeral, and a honeymoon all in like four months.”

“It’s okay, baby,” she assured him. “We’ll get settled in and settle down for a moment.”

“I know. I just want to slow down for a bit. You just mentioned it, but can we hold off on baby talk. I know I’ll hear enough of it from the neighbors.” Grant suppressed a grin.

“There’s a smile. I knew you still had some wit in you,” Jennifer prodded. “Now, where’s the bathroom?”

“First hallway on the left, first door on the left. I’ll start unloading your truck in a moment.”

“Thanks,” she cooed before pecking him on the cheek and rushing briskly around the corner. “This place is huge,” she bellowed back.

“Yeah, just like my—“

Ding dong! The doorbell chimed.

“You’re a child.” Grant heard before a door closed.

“Were get already walking up the fucking driveway?” Grant grumbled to himself. He gathered himself before yanking the door ajar. “Hey!” He said, shifting to a bright chatter. “How can I help you?”

Grant was greeted by a man and woman appearing to be in their late thirties or early forties. The man stood tall and was slightly overweight. His chestnut brown hair was in a generic left-parted business cut. A thick chevron mustache rested above his light smile. He wore a white golf shirt with the country club’s logo—a “B” with two smaller “C”s stacked directly to the right—on the chest, and pleated khaki pants that did little to hide the two huge lumps at the top of either leg. The woman had red hair pulled back into a sporty ponytail. Her cheekbones were high on her slender face, and her makeup was subtle outside the fiery red lipstick. She was dressed more casually in a bright athletic top, black leggings, and neon running shoes.

The man spoke in a low tenor: “Hey! Welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Franklin and this is Jess. We live just next door to you.” He gestured to his right, even though the next house was a good hundred yards away. “We’re the Mullinses.” Franklin continued, extending his hand, and growing his light smile to a bleached Hollywood grin.

“Thanks for the introduction,” Grant offered cautiously but genuinely. “I’m Grant. My wife Jennifer has just started to move in. She stepped off to explore.” He turned around and called back into the house, “Honey! Come meet our neighbors, the Mullinses!” Turning back to the new neighbors, he gestured, “Come in! Come in!” The couple crossed the threshold and was guided toward the kitchen.

“Why, thank you!” Jess said brightly with a slight southern twang. The Mullinses took an extensive look around the house as they walked, noting the decor and size of the house. “Y’all have a lovely home,” Jess continued as they began to settle into the kitchen.

The small talk continued in the kitchen over some coffee and tea. A toilet flush and sink running announced Jennifer’s impending arrival. As her footsteps approached, Grant approached the doorway, made a grand gesture and announced his wife’s less-than-grand entrance: “Introducing, the reason for hastily closed curtains and prying eyes, my lovely wife, Jennifer!”

Jennifer silently walked through the display to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. She leaned against the counter, took a small sip, and acknowledged the guests in stark contrast to her husband’s introduction: “Hey. I’m Jennifer.” Her face contorted, suppressing a smile that turned into a chortle.

The stark facade broke after the Mullinses introduced themselves and realized the humorous intention behind her introduction. They actually got along quite well, despite worries of stuffiness from both parties. As it turned out, Franklin was an investor and Jess was close to launching her fashion line of women’s clothing with actual pockets. Grant had to fill in the history of his last four months and his relationship with his late grandfather. Grant himself had only dropped off his things two weeks ago and was still settling in. Jennifer, of course, had just arrived that day; so, her few items from the bachelorette pad were still in the truck.

Mr. and Mrs. Mullins helped them bring in the boxes—only around twelve in total. It was light work, but stomachs grumbled by the end of it. Reading the room, Franklin spoke up, “How would you like to join Jess and I for dinner?”

“Someone finally suggested food!” Jennifer immediately replied. “I’m down. Are you, babe?” She turned to Grant.

“Let’s do it. You a good cook, Jess?” Grant challenged.

“I’m awful, but Franklin is worse,” Jess laughed. “We were going to the club tonight.”

“Ohh! The country club! Excuse me!” Jennifer mocked.

Jess shrugged and smirked. “We make due.”

“My grandfather said just a little about the club before he passed. I’m sure you do,” Grant intuited. “We’ll have to change before we go, though.”

“Of course!” Franklin said. “Jess will have to as well. Just come over to our place in a few and we’ll head down together.”

“Hell yeah! I’m down for some bougie food,” Jennifer announced before hoisting a wardrobe box and hiking upstairs.

Grant walked with the Mullinses to the door. “We’ll be over there in just a few. Next house down the road, right?”

“Yep! 127,” Franklin confirmed. “See you soon!” He called, walking out the door with his wife.

Grant waved after them, watching them walk down the driveway before shutting the door.

Grant changed from his regular streetwear to a pale blue dress shirt and khakis. Jennifer stripped her sweats and was in a day dress within three minutes. It was not long before the Deans were knocking on their neighbors’ door, eager for food. Inside, the sound of hard-soled shoes echoed through the hall like a metronome. The rhythm concluded as the door opened and the tall Mr. Mullins stood before them, having only changed into a pair of black penny loafers.

“Come on in,” he said, ushering the Deans over to a couch. He himself sat in a chair opposite them, legs spread, and abnormally large bulge all the more defined. “Jess should be down in a moment.”

Grant and Jennifer had a hard time not sneaking glances at the pronounced moose knuckle in front of them. Grant blushed as Franklin noticed and locked eye contact with him. Eventually, Grant broke the silence: “So how long have you and Jess lived here?”

“I’ve lived here since I was a kid,” Franklin replied without breaking eye contact.

Heels clacked down the stairs as Grant finally looked away, peaking at the bulge again. His eyes immediately darted back up to see a smile and wink from Franklin.

“Sounds like she’s ready,” Franklin said, rising from his seat. Grant attempted to sneak another glance as the bulge settled into place before rising himself.

Jess reached the bottom of the stairs and announced herself, “Ready to go.” She wore a pale green blouse, black skirt, and black heels. She shook her head, showing off her wavy red hair released from its workout ponytail. She impatiently waved the lot to the door as she proceeded.

Franklin took the opportunity to put his arm around Grant and began walking him out, declaring with a grin: “You’re going to love steakhouse Fridays. They’ve got every cut of meat you could want.”

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inthememetime · 2 years ago

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I'm working on stuff for Funeral Rights, the sequel to Cleaning the Gravestones (read here!). Let me know what you think, or if you have any suggestions!

Funeral Rites starts about 3-4 years pre-canon, when Vlad (Senior Lab Manager & Assistant CTO) receives a job offer that the family can't really afford to refuse as CTO of Axiom Labs in Amity Park, Illinois.

This kickstarts some plot, in which Vlad and Harriet end up trying (and probably succeeding) in gaining custody of Danny and Jazz for the following reasons:

They're both mildly ectocontaminated, which should NOT be happening

Yes, the bruises on Danny are probably mostly from his bullies, but some of them are bigger than a child's/teenager's hand, and Danny won't explain them

Both kids avoid being at home at all costs

Vlad's so-far buried trauma regarding the Fentons

Important to note: the Fenton parents aren't evil in this. They're misguided, neglectful, don't like to take the consequences of their actions- basically, they're bad scientists and bad parents, but they aren't intentional about it.

Cleaning the Gravestones was largely about blending the natural and unnatural, accepting that not everything can be understood, not going out of your way to hurt what you don't understand, developing and using support structures, and building both platonic and non-platonic relationships. It's also about learning to hide in plain sight.

Funeral Rites is going to flip a lot of that on its' head. It's learning where the line you cannot cross is. There's a breaking down of support structures (Danny and his parents, Wes and his dad, Dani, Katie, and their dad once they learn he's a murderer), and choosing what, if any, relationship to build back.

It's learning sometimes the secrets you keep for your family's safety can really bite you. Finally, it's about gaining closure: maybe not everything is perfect, or even close, but if you can at least pick up the rubble, maybe you can build something again. Above all: what really makes a monster? Is it being inhuman? Or something else? And how much of our destiny can we really rewrite?

Due to length, everything else under the cut.

Obviously, some things are different from canon. Vlad hasn't stewed in anger/hatred over the Fentons, he's (mostly) moved on. He and Harriet are (happily) married. They've got kids. So Vlad can't be Danny's narrative foil. That will be filled by someone else.

Walter Weston is an ally in this, unlike in CtG, where he was the primary antagonist. He's able to accept consequences, and feels a lot of guilt; he's eager to make up for his actions any way he can. Wesley is a lot like his dad 10 years ago, though thankfully isn't cursed by a spirit of madness.

Jazz is tired of being a mother at 13, and doesn't know how to fix things. She wants to be a kid, for once in her life, and the Chin-Masters family is promising to help with that.

Danny starts off with feelings of jealousy;

#inthememetime #danny phantom #vlad masters #danny phantom au #redeemed vlad masters #harriet chin #harriet x vlad #bad news #dani masters #cleaning the gravestones #funeral rites

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in-my-shifting-era · 2 years ago

Text

Some Days Are Harder Then Others

Eddie Munson (Angst that ends with lots of Fluff)

Warning: talk of the death of a parent and grief. Some mature language.

Summery: Reader is having a hard time with some personal issues and is canceling plans with Eddie and he wants to get to the bottom of why that is.

Authors Note: As someone who has experienced parent loss this is a bit self indulgent.Also my messages are open to anyone who has lost a loved one and needs someone to talk to. I may have cried writing this so be warned.

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Grief is a bitch, that’s the easiest way to put it. They say it gets easier with time but after 7 years the wound still bleeds. Losing a parent at age 11 make’s grieving complicated and isolating. The loss becomes part of who you are and that means sharing the news with new friends and even partners that come into your life.

Eddie knew about your father’s passing from when it happened in middle school. Word traveled fast after administration was told and you where absent from school for 2 weeks only returning after the funeral service. He was one of the few kids that didn’t walk on egg shells around you when you came back.

You sat alone at lunch on your first day back. Eddie invited himself and sat with you. He immediately talked your ear off about the cool new pin you were wearing on your backpack. The pin belonged to your dad. It was from some band he liked and wore on a hat. Now it was one of the few things you had to remember him by. Eddie made a day that was destined to be hard and uncomfortable a day you met your best friend.

Eddie always let you grieve freely, he encouraged it actually. He’d ask you to tell him stories of your late father and he even gave you flowers on the anniversary of his death every year for you to put on his grave. You slowly fell for the metal head in your years of friendship leading up to a relationship your senior year.

Eddie likes to claim he repeated his senior year three times just so he could graduate with you. Now that you are finally graduating Eddie has stepped up his academic efforts to have at least a solid “C” in each class to pass. You study with him most nights and actually get him to do his homework with lots of breaks for cuddles and snacks.

So when you canceled your usual celebratory ice cream date for passing your math test on Wednesday with Eddie due to a headache he wasn’t hurt just concerned. Then you told him you had to watch your neighbors kid after school Thursday he was bummed but let it slide. His final straw was when you didn’t show up to school at all on Friday. He knew something was up and he was going to find out just what it was.

He completely ditched school after first period when he learned you had never shown up to class from Gareth. All the awful scenarios plagued his brain as to what could be happening with you. Did your car break down?Where you sick? Did you wanna break up with him and where avoiding him at all costs?

His mind raced until he made it to your house and seeing your moms car in the drive way. He put his van in park and practically ran to your front door knocking a little too eagerly. Your mom opened the door quickly and smiled softly when she saw Eddie with a worried expression on his face. He gave her a polite smile before he spoke. “Hello Miss y/ln, is y/n home? She never came to school today.”

Your mom actually really liked Eddie. Even before he was officially your boyfriend she always thought he was so polite and sweet. “Hi Eddie. She did stay home. She’s been having a rough few days and I told her to take a day off. She didn’t tell you she wouldn’t be coming in? You two are joined at the hip I figured you already knew.”

Eddie frowned at the thought of you not telling him something was wrong. Your mother caught on to this and spoke again. “She tells you everything doesn’t she? I actually had to pry this one out of her myself. She’s been missing her dad a lot lately. I think the thought of graduating without him around has finally sunk in.”

Eddie’s heart felt like it had completely shattered hearing that. He gave your mom a soft smile as he rocked on his feet gently. “I think I know where to find her now. Thank you.” She sent him off with a knowing nod and smile. She watched as Eddie walked back to his van and started on his way to find you.

Hawkins cemetery was a few miles from your house. Not an easy walk so he figured you drove. He was proven right when he could see your car from the entrance of the cemetery. He parks his car just outside the gate and walks in knowing how to get to your father’s grave from visiting with you before.

You sat by the grave marked with your father’s name. Tears stain your cheeks as you pick at grass that surrounds the garnet stone. “Graduating should be exciting right? All the bull shit of high school is almost over and all I can think about is that you won’t be in the crowd watching me walk across that stage. Ready to give me flowers like you always did when I accomplished something.” You wipe another fallen tear as you bring your knees to your chest.

Eddie finally makes it to where your sat, your shaky voice now clear as he approaches you. He goes to announce his presence but stops when you softly continue your talk. “Eddie’s going to be with me though. I know you never got to meet him but I think you’d really like him Dad. He makes me really happy and he treats me like a gentleman. Just like you always told me I deserve.”

A wide smile quickly finds its way to Eddie’edds face as he hears you talk about him to your father. He knows you like to catch him up on all the things going on, good and bad. His heart sores knowing he is something good in your life. Eddie steps closer and his feet meeting the grass close to where you’re sat. “Mr y/ln, I’ll do everything I can to get her those flowers for walking across that stage. She deserves it, for getting me there too.”

You look behind you quickly recognizing Eddie’s voice immediately. Seeing him makes all the confusing emotions flood over and your eyes fill with tears. “Eds .” You’re quickly enveloped in a huge as Eddie joins you where you’re sat in the grass letting you cry into his shoulder. “I’m sorry if I interrupted your time with him.” Eddie rubs your back gently as he speaks knowing how it calms you down.

You shake your head again his shoulder and attempt to steady your shaking breathing. “You’re not interrupting. I’m sorry I disappeared lately.” Eddie pulls you back a bit, only enough to be able to wipe your fallen tears. “You don’t have to apologize for anything princess. You are aloud to feel your emotions however you see fit. Just know I’ll be here for you. Even when the ugly grief clouds cast over head.”

You give your boyfriend a small smile and a nod laying your head against his chest gently. “I’m pretty sure you heard what I said about you to him. I ment it. He would have really liked you Eddie.” You take his calloused hand into yours and play with his rings gently. Something that has always soothed you. Eddie pulls you closer to his chest. “I still aim for his approval you know. He may not be here to scare me straight into treating his daughter right but I still do everything I can to be a man he’d be happy to have stolen his daughters heart.”

You pull back gently and cup Eddie’s face with your hands and smile widely up at him. “ I don’t know how I get so lucky to find a guy like Eddie Munson but I’m not letting you go. Got it.” Before Eddie can even respond your crash your lips into his. He kisses you back instantly and pulls away after a short moment. “I’m not going anywhere princess. You’re kinda stuck with me.” Eddie tightens his grip around you gently and kisses all over your face making you giggle loudly.

Once he stops he lets you catch your breath and he smiles down at you. “I heard something about getting you flowers at graduation? Do I get a bouquet for myself as well?” You roll your eyes playfully at his comment and lay against him as you talk about graduation and make plans for what will happen that day. Your dad being involved in every step of the way.

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x reader #eddie fluff #eddie angst #eddie x y/n #eddie blurb #eddie stranger things #eddie x you

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